The Captive Reporter
by Edward Mitchell


INTRODUCTION 

Television news reportage is no glamorous job. It requires physical stamina 
and a cool head, not to mention a nose for ferreting out the unlawful and 
presenting them in an organized manner. Sometimes it means playing cop. 

That's a tall order for any man, and taller still, for a woman . . . so 
Sherrie Williams, channel 2's "Two Is There" investigative reporter 
discovered. 

Anxious to crawl out of the tedium of the teLevision newsroom and out into 
the streets where news is made, voluptuous Sherrie finds herself embroiled 
in a hot child pornography case whose kingpin is the infamous Shaker 
Jones-San Quentin riot instigator, heroin dealer and rapist. 

Posing as a young boy, Sherrie braves the infestation of the Tenderloin to 
investigate the amoral goings-on about the Peep Show Palace, the purported 
stage setting of crime and lust. In the musky smelling, dank confines of a 
storefront backroom, Sherrie Williams discovers the price one must pay to 
become a news reporter. 

But it doesn't end there. Enter a jealous cameraman, once too often rebuffed 
by the lovely blonde reporter, and armed with a mini-cam capable of reaching 
270,000 viewers live on the evening news; and take a 'tits and ass" news 
director who's willing to sacrifice anyone to boost the ratings, and you 
have a thrilling story of revenge, lust, and the deflowering of a virgin 
news reporter. THE CAPTIVE REPORTER is just that: the story of lost 
innocence. 

-The Publishers 


CHAPTER ONE 

"Listen to me, girl. These bastards peddling kiddie porn have no respect for 
cherry reporters like you," growled Bill Potters. 

Intensely penetrating eyes, shaded by caterpillar eyebrows, glared beyond 
the glass cage of the news director's office to flick lightly over the 
temptingly chipper reporter sitting across his desk. Beyond, the howl of 
teletype computers vomiting out news copy from UPI and AP, chorused the 
scream of telephones to create an atonal cacophony for the assignment 
editors in their electronically rigged cage next door. 

Exciting though it be, the newsroom could be a snake pit, hissing with 
tempers, spitting venom, making careers, breaking careers. For Potters it 
was a love-hate relationship. The newscast, six o'clock and eleven P.M. was 
his life; it made him itch with the omnipotent power of feeding the public's 
empty heads with daredevil cocaine smuggling and sex crimes. Nielsen and 
Arbitron ratings were his fix. 

Yet his consciousness could not cope with the imminent guilt of throwing 
this fresh-faced creature, the neophyte of the news channel 2's news 
investigative team, into the syphillitic reality of the Tenderloin's porno 
ring dealers. 

Sherrie read the indecision in the set of his narrow brow. "But this morning 
in the conference room meeting, you said.. . . " The anxious lovely leaned 
forward, thrusting out melonous breasts as if Potters' seeing eyes were the 
mini-cam's lens. 

"I know what I said," conceded the wiry man, straightening. "Herb'll be back 
from Mt. St. Helens tomorrow, if the fucker doesn't blow again . . . he'll 
cover the story." 

The finality made Sherrie's proud shoulders droop with frustration. Throwing 
one lithely stockinged leg over the other, she squirmed agitatedly in the 
chair, mindless of the creamy thigh peeking out from beneath her slitted 
black skirt. A strand of honey hair twirled about a slender, red-tipped 
finger as she stared him boldly in the eye. One direct glance just might 
break Potters' iron-willed determinism. 

The risky assignment of penetrating the Tenderloin's kiddie porno ring was 
the ticket out of the tedious newsroom. Rewriting UPI teletype releases and 
munching down salads at your desk hardly paved the road to the network news' 
door. Sherrie's heart pulsed beneath the stretched knit of her pink angora 
sweater. 

Potter had solicited volunteers, and she had offered. Flat and dried. Now 
what was the problem? No way was this 'tits and ass' news director going to 
snuff out her career! Sherrie's glossy lips pouted girlishly. 

Potters' fingers drummed a tattoo, facial muscles pulled. Why the hell 
didn't he hire an ugly intellectual, instead of this sweet bodied Marilyn 
Chambers look alike. Instinct warned of trouble. 

Chloe perfume, symbolic of her softness, made his nostrils flare 
stentoriously, distorting his aquiline nose. He couldn't get within ten feet 
of her without getting a hard-on. Damn female news reporters think they got 
balls between their legs! 

"You could get raped, murdered . . . these aren't pussy cats, honey . . . 
we're talking cold blooded assholes who'd sell their baby daughters to a 
syphilitic paraplegic with hemorrhoids," Potters drove into her, wishing he 
were giving her a cock lashing instead of a verbal one. He threw his arms 
behind his head and leaned back to ease the zipper's bite into his balls. 

"I'm a brown belt in karate," came the silvery peal of confidence. 

Potters squinted. 'Tow?" he snickered sardonically. That the power to hurt 
lay dormant behind thick and curly, fluttery eyelashes windowed by 
Mediterranean blue eyes made him laugh. He envisioned some black bastard 
wrapping his fingers in those honey blonde locks and yanking at her lovely 
head while he unzipped his pants and hauled out a hunk of black meat about 
to be stuffed down her swanlike throat.. . . Potters eyes were fixed in 
space, with rational hanging onto a star. To feel those cherry-red lips 
nibbling at this cock, throat bloating to swallow all of him.. . . 

"Mr. Potters, are you okay?" 

"What?" Potters flushed like a young boy caught toying with his genitals 
under the covers. "I was just thinking. . . . " 

Pearly white teeth clamped over a pouty bottom lip. Instantly she 
straightened, jutting out a dimpled chin. "Please be practical," Bill. This 
station can't afford a sex discrimination case right now and that's exactly 
where you're coming from!" she charged. 

Potters rubbed his brow. Be practical.. . yes that Was a damned good idea. 
Mentally, he pulled his cock from cherry lips, hauled up his zipper and 
fixed on the station's ratings. 

Channel 2 was sorely trailing both channels 7 and 9 . . . the precise reason 
why the 'Two Is There' investigative team had been sent out to sniff the 
kiddie porn kingpin's trail. We haven Y had a juicy cult killing or 
assassination in two goddamned months, he cogitated silently. Potters 
smacked his lips decisively. 

Time to go after vice, when murder failed. 

Potters' hand slipped from behind his head; he shook a bony finger at her. 
"Shaker Jones is no Martin Luther King. He's the kind of bastard who kidnaps 
boys and forces the brat into oral sex with dirty black whores . . . how do 
you feel about that?" he challenged. 

Sherrie's mouth went dry. Butterfly wing eyelashes fluttered. 

"See . . . see what I mean!" He banged his fist on the table. "One fuck up 
on your part, and my career is dead." Palms flat on the desk, he levered 
himself up off the seat. "Innocent kiddies sucking dirty cunts . . . that's 
what sells news! Who the hell cares about dirty water, radiation, 
earthquakes . . . it's dirty cunts the public wants to hear about!" 

Nielsen ratings . . . 20 in a 30 share, flashed red in his tired eyeballs. 
"You think you're reporter enough to handle that?" 

Sherrie's hand flew to her flushed throat. "Mr. Potters, I promise I'll get 
us back in first place.. . . " 

Potters' jaws meshed overtime, like he was chewing gum. "We gotta beat those 
suckers at channel 9!" 

"Let me do it!" 

"Tits and ass, Sherrie, that's what sells the news!" 

"I can do that! I can do that better than anybody in this station!" Blue 
eyes scintillated confidence and a hot streak of repressed sensuality that 
hadn't passed by Potters unnoticed. 

"Get your ass out of here before I change my mind!" 

Potters fell with a grunt into his chair. 

"Yes, Mr. Potters!" she rasped and flicked a twirl of honey hair behind a 
gold-ringed ear. "And . . . and thank you!" 

Richly swelling hips rose from the chair and trembling hands methodically 
gathered the notebooks and news clippings which she clasped to her pink 
angora chest. Beneath her lace brassiere, her heart pounded and nipples 
hardened. Pink flushed her cheeks. 

Potters noticed how Sherrie's puffy nipples had a habit of hardening into 
bumblebees under tension . . . when a UPI release was tossed on her desk 
with a five minute rewrite deadline . . . or now, at the thought of 
preparing to meet Shaker Jones. The news director dwelt upon that lusty 
thought as Sherrie's curvy half moon buttocks slunk between the tightly 
laced cubicles that was the newsroom and headed down the hallway to the 
research library. 

Sherrie dropped the file of clippings and notebooks on the table, tremulous 
with ambitious apprehension as the thought struck home that this was it! 
Working in teLevision, the pressure of making your mind do what your body 
dared not attempt, was fun and exciting . . . but that wasn't the meaty guts 
of it. The newsroom was just a reflection of the real world of news, where 
people were born and died in crazy patterns of fate that attract the 
public's empty-headed attention. And news reporters who took themselves too 
seriously. Then, too, women who'd sleep to get a story. Who needed that? You 
had to prove yourself in this business . . . and that meant coming face to 
face with the Shaker Jones of the world. 

Hurriedly, Sherrie rifled through the papers, sorting news clippings from 
reporter fact sheets. "Born December 13,1948." She gazed at her scribbled 
notes, mentally piecing together the murderous puzzle that was Shaker Jones, 
rapist, murderer, dope peddler and God only knew what else. "Kingpin in San 
Quentin uprising, January 1972. Convicted of heroin dealing and aggravated 
assault on prostitute." Sherrie gulped. Never convicted of the heinous 
crimes he stood for! 

The "Two Is There" reporter plucked a mug shot from the litter and held it 
studiously before her eyes. "Rapist. . . " The word caught in her throat, no 
corporate water polluter he. Aside from the Marin County dog poisoner, this 
reporter had yet to encounter violent death in her one year of reportage. 
Now the dark, compelling eyes of a convicted rapist stared back at her . . . 
the eyes of the man she must investigate! 

Uncontrollably, Sherrie's shoulders began to shiver; she drew a few deep, 
calming breaths to still her heart and cool the flush swabbing her neck and 
rushing southward to unnervingly titillated nerve centers. This nearly 
hysterical, electrical sensation had been attacking her with undue 
regularity of late, and she knew what it meant. 

Job burnout was the latest in psychic complaints, these days. True, she had 
been thinking more of work than pleasure, and exhausted herself to the point 
of ignoring social inclinations. Somehow, the photograph of a panther-like 
rapist with a sensuously shaven head and shining black eyes depthless and 
daring, had triggered the core of feminism. 

The photograph fluttered from her fingertips; one hand clutched at her 
throat, red flush creeping northward to add a pink glow to her apple cheeks. 
Nervous, strangely agitated and tingling to her curled under toes, she 
wished to God she could turn off the switch to that part of her feminism 
that was too long void of satisfaction, and too short on control. After all, 
she was a career girl, not a cheap, gum-chewing secretary prowling singles 
bars in hopes of quick gratification, night after night after night. Dimpled 
chin squared with determination. She was an intellectual, a teLevision 
reporter who should be able to suppress the physical. 

Abruptly she blinked and stared at the wall. What if she had to play cheap 
trick female to investigate Shaker Jones? Brown belt or black belt, a man 
with demonstrated instincts such as Shaker's, could snap her in half in no 
time! Could she sleep with him to get the goods on him? Was it worth it? 

A delicate hand flapped uselessly in the air. Of course not, she rebuked 
doubt. A man like that could sniff sex three blocks away-even from the 
gutter of the Tenderloin. Yet the withering feeling that she might not have 
the experience to even attract his libidinous interests struck home. 

Last weekends' foray at Studio East, a singles disco, wafted back to haunt 
her. Dolly, the assignment room editor, had coerced her into an after work 
drink. The week had been a bruiser; misreported news, one reporter fired for 
showing up late for work, disappointment of losing the arsonist story to 
Herb who hadn't time for it anyway, since he was sitting on the rim of Mt. 
St. Helens at a swanky resort, sipping wine and waiting for the dome to 
blow. An after work drink sounded like a good idea . . . at the time. 

Everything sounds like a good idea . . . as when she jitter-bugged with an 
IBM salesman under strobe lights, dizzy on screwdrivers and ended up in the 
parking lot, squished against the salesman's leased BMW with his fingers 
itching toward the see-through support of her gauze brassiere! 

"I've never met a news reporter," he'd hissed in her ear, unlocking the car 
door and easing her inside the rich, leather smelling interior. "Do you like 
cocaine?" he smirked, leaning over her lap to open the glove compartment and 
haul out a compact mirror and razor blade. 

Sherrie gulped, eyes bugging. "I-I've never tried it . . . I . . . " 

A rolled dollar bill was thrust up her right nostril and the hissed demand 
to take a deep snort. 

"This shit's expensive . . . don't spill none," he barked, keeping his 
hungry eyes on every white flake. 

"Feel good?" 

Not wanting to insult his generosity, she complied; a warm gush of blood 
numbed her skull. "Mmmmmm . . . yes . . . " 

"Makes most women hornier n' hell," he chuckled, filling his own nostril. 
"Makes you wanna fuck. Had more "menage a trois" on this shit than booze," 
he added, keeping one eye expectantly rapt on her expression. His expression 
screwed up more tightly with each snort. "You into women?" came his final 
question before locking the cocaine mirror behind the glove compartment 
door. 

He lingered over her lap. Sherrie let out a yelp of alarm and numbed disgust 
as he clamped his mouth to her right breast and blew hot air into her 
sweater, bathing her nipple in soothing warmth. It puckered . . . instantly. 
She shivered at the feel of coolness between her trembling thighs and wailed 
in alarm as one hand shot expertly under her skirt to roam into the 
forbidden territory up between her thighs. But no leg stroker this one! One 
practiced finger dipped below the lacey leg of her black silk tap pants to 
dip into the softly curling yellow fleece nesting her vagina. The touch 
sparked off that strange, tingling sensation racing through her entire 
body-something she had experienced for the first time in a long, long while. 
She squirmed on the crinkling leather seat and bit down hard on her lower 
lip, trying to quell tne devilish, tickling sensations. The hot-blooded IBM 
salesman in his leased BMW probed deeper into the warm, moist depths of her 
femininity. 

"Please, no.. . . "she hissed through clenched teeth, thinking she might 
strike the gentlemanly nerve within him. Another whine . . . this time 
metallic, and Sherrie drew in her breath as he rolled to one side and yanked 
down the zipper to his gray Halston pants. 

Parking lot lights deter neither robber, mugger or rapist, and Sherrie 
Williams felt helplessly thrust into that last category as streams of 
giggling, wine-sodden disco fans spilled from their cars to the rocking 
club. "Please . . . I.. . " She clawed at the window. 

A tall black man in white suit and black shirt winked at her and kept on 
walking. 

Sherrie's eyes fell downward-onto the light splashed, throbbing, pulsing 
shaft of his penis, flexing with lustful energy. Before she could react, he 
had grabbed her hand and wrapped her fingers around that squirming, hot, 
mushroom-tipped staff of male flesh. 

"Nooo...!" 

He glared up at her, insulting the woman within her. "I didn't turn you on 
to coke for nothing.. . now get me off . . . just rub me a little," he 
cajoled. 

It felt warm and strangely inviting, but foreign; she would have drawn back 
her hand, had he not pushed his adventurous fingers more boldly into the 
tight warmth of her quivering young vagina. This sudden invasion into 
unknown territories, sent an electric shock of rippling, almost unbearable 
pleasure up her backbone, pinning her to the leather seat, and gasping in 
deep, steaming breaths. 

Was it the drug? Was it the liquor? Why was Sherrie Williams squeezing that 
warm pulsating cock? These were questions the demure teLevision news 
reporter demurred asking herself. 

Her feminine instincts took over, drowning out emotion, helplessness and 
sparking the need for satisfaction. Within seconds, the two of them were 
pumping and plumbing each others genitals, creating unholy moist sounds 
within the tightly locked car. Crowds passed by the window now, but Sherrie 
didn't care. 

TeLevision was spontaneously exciting, but sex, Sherrie decided in a rare 
moment of inhibition, was unthinkingly wonderful No thought involved in this 
reportage, ran a silly refrain through her miasmaed brain as she gazed with 
wonderment down at his enormous penis clutched in her red-fingered fist. 

She looked silly, propped up in the seat with her legs shamelessly spread, 
as a man mangled her tidy skirt and plumbed the depths of parts of her she 
hadn't known existed. Furtively, she began to stroke that long hard shaft, 
moving the leathery foreskin up and down over the bulging mushroomed tip, 
marveling at the elasticity of the hot, smooth skin. He moaned with pleasure 
and she echoed the refrain, the two of them rocking back and forth in the 
seat to the scream of Donna Sommers' "Love To Love You, Baby" emanating from 
the club. 

"I shouldn't be . . . do-doing this . . . " her brain screamed; but her 
sizzling nerve ends retorted joyously. Instinctively, her creamy, slender 
thighs fell open, opening the playground to the moist mysteries of her 
virginal cunt. Her hand pumped at the rigid tube, until.. . . 

"Oh Christ . . . Oh Christ.. . " he muttered, ramming his fingers so high up 
into her cunt he raised her two inches off the seat. Suddenly he gasped and, 
lopping an arm around her neck, pulled her flat down on the seat, draping 
one slender ankle around the gear shaft. 

Sherrie fought to stave him off . . . no luck. He had flattened her on the 
seat, one hand ripping her black silk panties off her body like tissue paper 
on a child's gift. Her blonde head thrashed from side to side and 
undecipherable epitaphs spilled from her rosebud lips. 

With a snarl, he flicked his hips forward powerfully, stabbing blindly with 
his lust-thickened penis and trying to shove the hot tube into the 
defenselessly, seeping hole of her virginal cunt while she wiggled and 
squirmed to avoid him. 

She beat at his chest, she tore at his hair. She forced her thighs together 
with an iron will, clamping his pulsating penis between the silk stockinged 
thighs. 

Maybe the lacey friction of her garter belt rubbing against the smoothness 
of his cock did it.. . but he exploded in a fiery gust of sperm that shot in 
an arc between her quivering thighs to glisten like dew drop.. . . 

Facing the smirking Dolly was the hardest part.. . that and the fear of her 
own sexuality, fear of being swept away without warning. 

Now, as Sherrie gazed at the penetrating eyes of a felonious criminal, that 
same powerful feeling swept over her again. 

But why should Shaker Jones upset her? "Six feet six inches tall, with dark 
eyes and shaven head. Enormous build," the description read. Exactly the 
description of a common Tenderloin thug who needed to be put behind bars. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

A bus groans by, its door hissing open long enough for debarkations. A ass 
staggers toward the gaping door . . . too slowly. The watchful bus driver 
eyes the foul passenger with disgust and spinning off, spits dirt in his 
swollen eyes. 

Such insult brings no emotion; the leather skinned man shrugs his shoulders 
and swaggers meaninglessly back to the sidewalk where he slumps against a 
paint-chipped storefront. "Peep Shows 25c" the sign above him reads. The ass 
squints at the words dripping before his dizzied eyes, and collapses in a 
ragged heap on the vomit-stained cement. 

Typical vignette in San Francisco's Tenderloin. How ironic the name. Loins 
here are hard and practiced. Doubtlessly, the inhabitants of that dank area 
never considered the irony, most have never seen beyond. 

Stepping over the snoring wino, one enters the storefront. Nostrils itch 
with dust; eyes bug with alarm. Attention is instantly drawn upwards toward 
neon bulbs sprinkled rectangularly around a faded and outdated photograph of 
a naked woman in white plastic knee boots and beehive hair-do. Below a sign 
in hand-painted letters reads: "Peep Shows 25c." One wonders if this is the 
main attraction; no sound of gurgling delight or screaming sadism filters 
through the dust-heavy opera curtains. The eye falls to rows of 
cellophane-glossy magazines with puppy-eared corners. Human flesh, naked and 
raw, is strewn along the shelves like smudges of dog excrement. Every act of 
carnage known to man and animal lives on those shelves. Eyes dart to the 
opposite wall where glass cases containing plastic sex toys are lined up 
like so much army ammunition. A defensive glance to the face behind the cash 
register, and one realizes this is no play pen. 

Shaker Jones fingered the bills in the cash register drawer with the 
precision of a man accustomed to counting large sums of cash. The muscles in 
his square black jaw meshed, adding unneeded strength to his face, smooth as 
rattlesnake skin . . . except for a jagged knife scar left as a trademark of 
San Quentin race riots. One paw reached up to stroke his chin, and thick 
lips pooched out in cogitation. Nostrils flared stentoriously, eyes fixed in 
space. A crease cratered his high, wide brow stretching to a shaven skull. 

Fingers the length of cigars, and just as thick, pulled a cigarette from the 
pack on the counter and, emptied, he crushed the cellophane wrapper and 
dropped it heedlessly. Fleshy black lips parted reluctantly, for his 
instinct was drawn elsewhere. The sinews in his neck pulsed as he turned his 
head to squint in the direction of the velvet curtain below the peep show 
sign. 

A peal of lusty laughter, heinously feline, stung his ears. Disapprovingly, 
he squinted, slipped the bills into his Levi pocket and headed with panther 
predatory strides towards the darkness beyond. 

The bald headed Negro pulled aside the dust-heavy curtain and stared into 
the dark, musty confines that smelled of unwashed laundry, cigarette ashes 
and emptied whiskey bottles. The curtain fell from his clutch, shutting out 
muffled street noises. 

The room darkened drearily, save for a fugitive beam of unwashed sunlight 
falling diagonally over the rumpled bed shoved against the wall. A hydra of 
ebony arms and legs, showing slow movement gradually untangled. 

Shaker's eyes focus on the tarnished four-poster brass bed which looked 
schematically out of place as if it were the central stage for a coming 
attraction. 

"Ohhh . . . babee.. . " chimed a voice belonging to a black woman stretched 
prenatally on the bed, her slinky dress wrinkled across her hips. One 
swollen, ruby-tipped breast spilled out of the v-necked dress which shone of 
warm satin in the errant sunlight. A woolly patch of hair raised from the 
pillow, head dizzy with drugs. She turned her head slowly, as if aware of an 
ominous presence. Movement intensified, as eyes focused on the black giant 
towering above the bed. 

She scrambled to her knees, pulled the dress tidy and cleared her throat in 
instant contriteness. "Sh-Shaker.. .hi.. . . "An urgent glance in the 
direction of the man stretched out on the bed, pants straddling his ankles, 
electrified the room. 

Wearily a man's head rose from the pillow. "Wha' the fu--. . . " In a flash 
of black motion, a man sprang to his feet, yanked up the zipper to his 
pants, and grabbed for the wrinkles mass of his shirt on the floor. The 
clatter of a spilled ashtray cut the silence. 

Shaker remained reticent, eyes, deeply penetrating and directive, speaking 
for him. The cigarette fell from his fingers; he stomped it out with his 
shoe and crossed his arms over his thick chest. 

"Jus' takin' some time off, Shaker . . . tha's all.. . . " laughed the other 
nervously. "Ain' been nobody come in the store nohow.. . . " 

Shaker's jaws started working as if he had a mouthful of popcorn. "You been 
shootin' my shit again, Daisy, ain' ya?" came the rhetorical statement in an 
easy tone. 

The black woman sniffed and stared at the floor, cringing. 

"Don' you lie to me!" Rows of even white teeth glowed in the darkness, 
creasing an angered face. 

"Nnno, I been good, really I been Shaker . . . I. . . " Daisy's voice rang 
with a confidence she didn't feel. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, 
smoothed her dress and patted the wooly hair in dire effort to make herself 
presentable. "There ain' been nobody in, Shaker . . . business ain' been 
so.. . " 

He stepped closer, casting an ominous shadow over her withering presence. 
Daisy's eyes widened fearfully and a wail of anticipatory pain cut the air. 

A black arm shot out to grab her, twisting her arm behind her back and 
bringing her to her knees. She let out a wail and fell sobbing her black 
melonous breasts tumbling unheeded from the low-cut faded pink satin gown 
she wore. 

"Don' lie to me.. . you been pinchin' dough outta the drawer to buy shit.. . 
" His voice crescendoed like a slow starting engine, primed for take off. 

His eyes fell on the littered nightstand where a single silver needle caught 
an errant ray of sunlight filtering from the window overlooking the trash 
can laden alley beyond. Beside it lay a match book and a thin belt. 

Shaker's leg drew up, his knee shot out and caught Daisy below the chin, 
tossing her backwards on the floor where she lay in a sobbing, drugged 
stupor. 

"We go' work to do," he growled in a deep, menacing voice that could have 
belonged to God himself. "Jarvis be gettin' hungry for more stuff. Ge' your 
ass outta here and find us kids." Then to Daisy: "Better straighten up, 
woman, or that needle's gonna be hangin' outta yo' asshole . . . instead a 
Carter's dick." 

The corner of Carter's mouth twitched. "I tho' we's done with that kid shit, 
Shaker . . . we can' go on doin' that crap fo'ever.. . " He laughed 
nervously and shrugged. "Maybe we push a little mo' H and forget the kid 
shit. . . you know, man, like I got kids a my own.. . " He wiped his nose 
with the back of his hand; a pearl of blood from the needles' track 
surreptitiously disappeared in the wrinkle of his sleeve which he anxiously 
unrolled to cover the marks. 

"I say we get kids . . . business's too hot now.. . . " 

"You, you be the boss, Shaker," repeated Carter with ripe conviction, 
quickly buttoning his sleeves with trembling fingers. 

The bald headed black man dipped the full six-feet six-inches of muscularity 
beneath the faded opera curtain, leaving behind a weeping woman falling into 
drugged slumber behind him. 

Carter's eyes fixed on the black hulk whose departure had left the room one 
shade lighter in temperament and conviction. He hated the idea of risking 
that one slender thread of fate that could put him behind bars again. Money 
was loosing its attraction for him. 

His concerned eyes fell on Daisy. That she'd been stealing money from the 
register was no surprise to him. Poor dumb bitch, he thought, fastening his 
belt. What a helluva life . . . and he'd been more than witness to her 
demise. 

When he, Jarvis and Shaker had teamed up in San Quentin and were later 
paroled, Daisy had been his first lover. One thing led to another, one petty 
crime to one graver vice . . . until this. 

Carter's shoulders quivered with unsung regret, manifesting itself as a 
sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. The merry-go-round of crime had 
him spinning . . . too fast to get off. 

The curtain rose and fell, leaving Daisy a crumpled heap on the 
bottle-strewn floor. 

Ruby red lips chewed thoughtfully on the pencil's eraser, blue eyes fixed on 
nothing. Butterfly wing eyelashes flickered, bringing the teLevision news 
reporter back to planet earth and back into the teleprompter clacking 
confines of Channel 2's newsroom. 

To circumvent Bill Potters' daily inquisition into the proposed penetration 
of Shaker Jones operations, flashed an emergency signal in her brain. More 
detailed strategies shouldered that concern. How to station the mini-cam to 
catch suspicious, incriminating movements about the Peep Show Palace . . . 
how to get inside the store unobtrusively without sticking out like a Nordic 
on a slave trade block. 

Decisively, she glanced up at the clock announcing noon, and slapped shut 
the reporter's notebook sitting at her elbow. The rich swell of her bosom 
heaved a sigh of determinism. A tingling sensation tickled her puffy 
nipples, puckering them into little nubs poking through the loose knit of 
her snug sweater. 

Methodically, she reviewed the facts. Fact number one: He was suspected of 
kidnapping male youth and forcing them into disgusting acts of oral and anal 
copulation somewhere near his storefront. In a sleazy prostitute's 
apartment, maybe? Or a heroin dealer's den Fact number two: Once convicted 
of heroin dealing, chances were the filthy maggot used some illicit drug to 
subdue his victims and lessen their pain. 

Obvious as the facts remained, the man shielded himself with an invisible 
wall of confidence and security. 

How to get to Shaker . . . how, how, how! 

Sherrie's lips pursed in frustration. Two cubicles away, Bill Potter's 
booming voice challenged the teletype computers and rose above the noontime 
clank of reporters spewing out copy for the noon news now three minutes 
away. Pressure was on. By this afternoon, Potters wanted a plan of action. 

Bill Potters rubbed his nose and glared over two partitions to where the 
blonde haired nymphet of the news department sat chewing on her pencil. 
Christ, what a set of lips . . . The sensational thought cut through the 
iceberg of news trivia clogging his mind with titanic force. He itched his 
nose, cold from an illicit snort of cocaine in the control booth moments 
before, and leveled his eyes on her. A corner of his mouth twisted up in 
merriment. Shit, her nipples are hard again . . . must be thinking about the 
Shaker Jones story. A little pang of guilt centered in his bloated groin 
stung his brain. Something didn't sit right with handing a gutsy assignment 
to a delicate rose like Sherrie. Still, if she succeeded in breaking the 
story, Christ the Nielsen ratings! Life was a chancy game, he convinced 
himself at last and he hadn't become news director by playing every 
teLevision station general manager's deck of cards. You had to have 
something raw and real up your sleeve to survive this business; he only 
hoped he wasn't using Sherrie as the Queen of Spades. 

Sherrie nibbled at her lip and ran down the alternatives. Do I use all the 
available facts (based on supposition, really), and build a case around 
suspicious action in hopes of catching him in the act? That this approach 
would require a part-time mini-cam operator and Potters' daily monitoring, 
quickly squelched that idea. Besides, I'd run the risk of making a complete 
ass of myself in front of Potters and the whole newsroom. We're dealing 
merely with suspicions, Sherrie Williams, so don't let your ambitions 
short-circuit on you! 

Or . . . she further cogitated, pooching out her bee-stung lips in an erotic 
pose that made Bill Potters belch, do I snoop around on my own (without 
Potters' consent) and piece together the tawdry snippings of corruption with 
hopes of breaking the case live on Channel 2's "Two Is There" newscast! Was 
there any choice? 

 CHAPTER THREE 

"Transfer, please.. . . " 

"Huh?" The mini bus driver gaped between heads of boarders clambering into 
his Mission vehicle, to get a closer look at the Charles Dickens youth 
dropping two quarters from manicured fingers into the coin box. Strands of 
silken blonde hair peeked out under the tweed billed cap shadowing a set of 
wide blue eyes the color of Marin County skies in the heat of August, 
accentuated by high, David Bowie cheek bones. Despite the over-sized, 
patched jacket and suspendered trousers, something sensually ethereal 
trapped his attention. San Francisco had its potpourri of humanity, but this 
creature belied all stereotypes! 

"Yeah, sure kid." The driver peeled off a transfer slip as the slight-framed 
creature headed toward the back of the bus. 

The driver's blatant stare unnerved Sherrie, not that she wasn't nervous 
enough. Through narrowed eyes, she glared back and grabbed the transfer from 
his fingers, reading his thoughts too clearly. He probably thinks Fm a male 
prostitute! The things I have to go through to get a lousy story! 

Sherrie threw herself into the nearest seat and carefully tucked an errant 
strand of gold back under her cap. Eyes leveled on her from every direction, 
setting her at war with herself. Stomach muscles knotted with apprehension. 
Maybe she should have accepted a common human interest story, like the Marin 
County dog poisoner or the plight of the hapless elderly, instead of 
tackling a cold-blooded child molester single handed! 

A bubble of sixth-sense rationale seemed to stick in her throat; the feeling 
that many of us experience and shrug off as deja vu, when indeed we should 
listen and listen well! Sherrie's stomach muscles began to knot. But it was 
too late to turn back now. Potters was hungry for a story. 

The bus rumbled along, hydraulic brakes hissing at every guttered curb to 
open its doors to unhurried passengers heading to and from dingy pawn shops. 

One could buy and sell anything in the Tenderloin: mother's wedding ring, 
blood, your own flesh. This section of the city echoes days of the Great 
Depression, earthquake ravages of 1906, even the recent tragedy of the 
mayoral assassination occurred not five blocks away. The giant sponge of 
decadence, mayhem and disorder. 

This dispirited aura struck the blue-eyed news reporter as lithely she 
hopped down from the bus' step, kiddie-corner from the "Peep Show Palace." 

The air smelled sour, the cement beneath her tiny feet stained. A lump 
caught in her throat. A set of impossible wide, innocent blue eyes peered 
out from under a black and white tweed billed hat, watching, measuring the 
slow steps of winos in no hurry to go anywhere. Ahead a crowd of tattered, 
leather-skinned men sat slumped on the stoops of the city-funded Methadone 
Center. Sherrie's step quickened; she yanked at the bill of her cap with one 
delicate hand, while the other delved into her pants pocket to finger the 
metallic rectangle that was her only weapon-a mini-Polaroid camera. 

"Hey, boy . . . how's 'bout a match for a vet. . . huh?" Out of the corner 
of a wide blue eye, Sherrie caught the slurred movement of a toothless, 
bedraggled creature rising to his feet, with one arm extended ready to grab 
her! 

"S-sorry . . . I.. . " Lithe legs scissored to catch the green walk light. 
"You fuckin' little cock whore bastar' . . . " he grumbled after her, 
filling the air with the street's filth. 

Sherrie shuddered. The indecency of it all! What turn of fate erased these 
creatures' pride, to allow themselves to fall to this level! The reporter in 
Sherrie made some quick deductions as she ducked into an alleyway outside of 
the Peep Show Palace whose name had to be a joke, she thought, again 
fingering the camera in her pocket. 

Trash cans, turned over by winos in search of nutrition to fill their 
wine-sodden gullets, littered the alleyway. 

Abruptly, Sherrie's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes bugged blue. 
Somebody was hiding between the trash cans! 

A thick-ankled foot appeared like the head of a curious snake from between 
the cans, wagging back and forth to gain momentum. Then came the ragged hem 
of a dress, an alcohol bloated body and the face of a woman, a typical San 
Francisco 'bag lady', who'd found herself a ray of sunshine between the 
reflective metal of the trash cans. 

Take a few pictures and get out of here, Sherrie's better sense railed. 
Hugging close to the Peep Show Palace's alley side wall, Sherrie 
surreptitiously drew the camera out of the dark depths of her pocket and 
cautiously raised it to eye level. Snap . . . a shot of the pawn shop across 
the street.. . a good place to station a mini-cam. Snap . . . the diagonal 
length of the Palace, marked by two dirty windows overlooking the alley . . 
. a perfect window onto the goings-on of Shaker Jones. 

Her mouth warmed with the taste of imminent success . . . one window away 
from the heroin dealer, child molesting criminal! 

Fuckin' dirty, messy business . . . Carter was grumbling, wiggling the 
toilet's rusted handle irritatedly. Finally, it flushed. "Fuckin' dump . . . 
" 

His mood hovered somewhere between anger and somnambulant depression. Maybe 
the junk did that to him. You needed some kind of escape, he rationalized 
clumsily, when you dip your soul in the hellish business of kidnapping young 
kids and forcing them into perverted sex acts before a camera's asexual eye. 

It all started when he met up with Shaker after his parole. To run heroin, 
you needed a solid cash base; down payment on a business, you might call it. 
Kind of a sophisticated business, he quipped inwardly to himself, over 
viewing the sordid procedure. They paid a printer a helluva lot of bucks to 
whip together the glossies and distribute them out of a reputable book 
distributorship. 

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he opened the rusted medicine 
cabinet to rattle a couple aspirin into his black palm. Throwing back his 
head, he tossed them down and wedged his woolly head in the shaving cream 
encrusted sink to suck a stream of water from the faucet. 

Was it his imagination, depression of shooting H? His nostrils itched from 
the scent of trouble. Carter held out his hands and watched them shake. 
Pinprick pupils stared aback at him in the mirror. His skin felt tight, of a 
sudden, as if his body wanted to break loose of its identity. A hand reached 
down to cup his genitals . . . and he thought of Daisy. 

Shaker had no right to come down on her like that. If it weren't for Daisy 
there'd be no cover for the operation. Hell of a mouth, though, continued 
the stream of conscience panging thoughts. Tha' lady sho' do know how to 
suck cock.. . . 

Abruptly a rattle of trash cans in the alley sent him flying to the window, 
nose pressed to the dirt smudged glass. A drunken female wino lay between 
the trash cans and a slight bodied young boy.. . . 

Was that a boy? 

Carter squinted and rubbed his eyes. The lithe bodied creature looked scared 
as a turkey on Thanksgiving eve. Shading his light-sensitive eyes with a 
shakey palm, Carter studied the boy's slender shoulders draped in an 
oversized jacket and the crisp, clean trousers and spotless tennis shoes. 

"Pigs sendin' out kids to spy on us, the fuckers!" he muttered to himself, 
feeling blood gush to his nostrils and adrenalin shooting through his veins. 

A back door of the apartment opened onto the alleyway, and that's where 
Carter slunk. Nimbly, his fingers worked at the latch, slowly pulling back 
the lock. Carter squinted against the light, jaw muscles meshing, body ready 
to spring. His eyes raked over the lithe creature, catching sight of the 
honey blonde hair tucked under the cap. 

"Fuckers think they're so clever.. .cocksucking assholes!" he thought. 

He pumped his black fists, ground teeth together, and pounced on his prey. 

"Ahhhhh!" Sherrie shrieked. A salty tasting hand clamped over her mouth, arm 
locked under her chin, dragging her backwards. Drawing back her elbow, she 
rammed him hard as she could. She felt her crazy bone gouge into the soft 
sac of his testicles and felt, too, the arm tighten viselike under her 
dimpled chin. 

"Uaggltfih . . . " she sputtered, tearing at his arms with red-tipped nails. 
Carter gritted his teeth and tightened his hold, feeling the air hungry 
lungs pant with need. "I . . . can . . . can't breathe . . . I . . . please. 
. . . " 

"Snooping bastard.. . . " 

The heels of her tennis shoes bumped along the steps, making it impossible 
for Sherrie to get a footing. Deeper into darkness he dragged her, 
tightening his grip until stars flickered before her eyes. Red fingertips 
went numb.. . and the world went black for Sherrie Williams. 

He tossed her on the rumpled bed, like a sack of potatoes, with a jarring 
force that sent the tweed hat flying. Carter stood panting. Instantly he 
blinked, squinted and scratched his head. 

Swirls of honey hair, glistening like an angel's, tumbled about Sherrie's 
shoulders. A fugvtive beam of sunlight played over the softness. Slowly it 
came to him. 

"The fuckin' kid's a woman . . . " Police department decoy? A crease of very 
real concern wrinkled Carter's brow. He bent over the figure, his face 
breaking into an expression mirroring a mixture of awe, delight and 
consternation. 

Wheezing noises hissed from Sherrie's swollen throat. With painful, languid 
movements, she struggled to raise her bruised body off the foul smelling 
sheets with their sneezing scent of unwashed sex. The effort overwhelmed her 
and defeated, she slumped back in fear and pain, rolling over onto her back. 

Carter squinted down at the high cheek bones, the wide set eyes and fresh, 
virginal skin framed by tons of swirling blonde hair. Nimbly his fingers 
worked at the buttons of her cotton shirt, opening one by one until the 
white, untainted lace of her brassiere peeked through the flap. Urgently, he 
slipped the suspenders down over the slope of feminine shoulders and lifting 
each arm, peeled off the jacket sleeve and shirt with it. 

A gallon of blood rushed to Carter's groin, bloating his testicles 
hurtfully. Satin soft skin, so creamy you wanted to dip a spoon into it, 
made him grin in awkward disbelief. Hot, black fingers tore at the zipper of 
her trousers. He yanked them down, pulled them off her legs and tossed them 
to the floor. 

The abrupt movement made Sherrie's eyes blink open with the rapacity of 
flashing traffic lights. "Ahhh. . . " One leg shot out to jab the hovering 
black man in the groin. The shot was well aimed. One delicate foot with 
deceptively steely strength, caught Carter between the legs. He howled in 
pain, gnashing his teeth, and. . . . 

Whack! 

"You fuckin' white bitch . . . I'll show you. . . ! " 

Stars sprinkled before Sherrie's eyes as a sledge hammer fist caught her 
elegant cheekbone. A whimper of pain bubbled from her rosy lips. 

Carter panicked. Sweat beaded his brow. Shaker and Jarvis were due back any 
second. His black fists drew up into tight balls of tension. He slammed a 
fist into the wall, cursed, and swung around to stare at the captured female 
lying lifelessly on the bed. 

Voices in the storefront made his heart flutter. Shaker would be furious. It 
had been his responsibility to lure some scummy eight-year old, some 
hookie-playing, hungry kid from the projects . . . and instead, here lies a 
scrumptious, firm-bodied woman who, from all appearances could have been 
Marilyn Chambers herself! That changed the complexion entirely. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Sherrie's perky nose twitched from the sneezy smell of unwashed linen and 
stale cigarette smoke. Strange that her forehead burned febrilely and yet 
the rest of her body was chilled, as if she was laying on wet sheets. 

Noisy, argumentative voices echoed from somewhere close by. She was back in 
the newsroom, listening to Bill Potters rant and rave at a shriveling 
reporter. But where was the clank of typewriters and howl of UPI 
telecomputers? And why was she standing apart from it all? 

Two blue eyes popped open to stare into dank space. Reality swamped down on 
her and she shrieked of wild-eyed fear. The effort pained her throat and 
blurry-eyed, her head collapsed back on the bed. 

But she'd seen them . . . her captors. Six black eyes glowering hungrily 
down at her. Dear God, I'm naked . . . what have they done to me? She tasted 
fear, felt it crawl snake-like up her spine. Her throat was clogged with 
phlegm, but she dared not cough to clear it, or move to attract attention. 

"Somebody shut that bitch up!" snarled Shaker, shooting a killing glance at 
Carter who was responsible for this mess. "Stick a needle in her ass and 
shud 'er up before somebody hears." 

"Somebody mention needles?" chimed Daisy. A blur of red satin rose from the 
dingy sofa as she strutted over to the men who'd been fighting over tactics. 
Shaker was irate that Carter had blundered. Shaker was visibly unnerved. 
That a white woman dressed as a young boy was captured prowling about the 
alleyway was proof enough that heat was on. Jarvis, the most innocuous of 
the threesome, was anxious to toy with the catch before letting it free. And 
Carter was inclined to agree. 

"Shaker, baby," Daisy dug blood-red fingertips into the taut muscles of 
Shaker's thick neck. "Daisy girl can do her man a favor one time. What say 
we forgets this afternoon's brawlin' and let ol' Daisy prick a needle inta 
that white southern cracker flesh . . . huh?" 

Shaker stared straight ahead, eyes immobily fixed on Sherrie's creamy, 
virginal flesh. His thick upper lip curled. "Do it.. . jus' get ridda the 
bitch." 

Sherrie cringed on the bed, the unbelievable dispute over her fate too much 
for her delicate senses to handle. They were talking about injecting a 
needle into her arm, shooting her up with murderous drugs: Heroin! 

The shimmer of Daisy's red satin flitted to the nightstand near the bed. 
Sherrie felt cattish eyes glaring down at her and saw, through one slitted 
eye, a slinky satin gown veiling an ebony body with skintight tenacity, 
rounding the voluptuous, panther-like curves of the black woman's richly 
swelling body. As she bent, the dark melons of her breasts spilled from the 
v-neck bodice, showing all but the puffy dark nipples scraping the seam. 

Blood-red fingertips plucked the syringe from the ash-dirtied nightstand. 
"I'll go fix us a little taste, boys," winked Daisy, heading off for the 
bathroom to melt down the China White heroin. 

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours, it seemed. Sherrie shivered 
listening to Carter and Jarvis banter in thick-tongued ghetto language she 
couldn't understand. One of them fell upon her and pulled tight a leather 
strip around her arm, cutting off the circulation with a brutal force. 

"Look a' them veins," Carter quipped. "Jes right for pokin'. " 

"Ahhh . . . " Sherrie sucked in her breath as a needle jabbed into the 
bulging vein inside her elbow. A warm gush of liquid sunshine swam through 
her veins, numbing her fingertips and deadening the pain in her throat. She 
didn't feel the release of the leather strap or the cold steel leaving her 
vein. 

Languidly, her body ceased battle. She melted into the mattress, her body 
turning to butter, warmth oozing through her being like nothing she'd ever 
felt. 

Her glazed eyes opened to see Daisy and Billy standing above her, hovering 
there with toothy, grinning faces. 

"I never looked at 'er real close . . . shit, she's got a body won' stop fo' 
a freight train," whistled Carter, cupping his genitals lewdly. 

The comment sent Shaker out of angered lethargy. Contempt wrinkled his 
smooth brow. Between his muscular thighs, the sac of testicles bloated with 
the longing for tasting the forbidden. And in a black man's world, a lush 
bodied white woman is forbidden fruit. He didn't object when Carter's 
calloused fingers began working at the buttons of her shirt. 

"She got real class, Shaker . . . this babe ain' no Tenderloin whore!" 

Daisy bristled. "Whore!" She spat, showing even white teeth between red 
painted lips. "Huh? You don't think ol' Daisy's such a whore when she's 
suckin' yo' black cock!" The black woman's upper lip curled with hostile 
disdain she sneered down at the alabaster silken skin with curved in richly 
swelling perfection. "I jes' pump tha' bitch's arm full o' my junk . . . and 
you be putting me down fo' that? You owe Daisy somethin', honey." 

Anxious to prove her black superiority, Daisy kneed her way onto the bed 
and, slipping a strong arm under Sherrie's lithe body, hauled her upright 
and slipped a rumpled pillow behind her blonde head. Swirls of blonde hair 
tumbled about Sherrie's creamy white shoulders, dipping about her puffy 
nipples. 

"Le' this white moth'r fucker watch a real woman make a man happy!" 

Carter had no objections. He started working at his pants' zipper and in 
seconds, had pulled them down over the long, lanky forms of his muscular 
thighs, yanking down his jockey shorts to let his black, meaty cock spring 
free! 

"Do yor' stuff, Daisy . . . teach this snoopin' white cunt some tricks cause 
in a minute she's gonna be usin' that pretty white mouf to satisfy a black 
man!" 

In small, splattered degrees Sherrie struggled out of drugged consciousness. 
Under heavy eyelids, two blue eyes focused blurrily on black, approaching 
shadows. She felt the mattress sag as the forms closed in on her. She could 
smell their sweat, salty with lustful expectation! With a whimper, she tried 
to crawl away, but hands, black and masterful, grabbed her tight by the 
upper arms and pinned her to the headboard. To fight was impossible; the 
heroin had taken from her every last drop of adrenalin; fear froze her 
senses, dissipating into a warm, languid sensation of laissez faire. The 
needle had drained her of the will to defend herself, leaving her a jellied 
mass of creamy female flesh! 

"You white bitch . . . " snickered Daisy, her black Afro hairdo casting 
shadows over Sherrie's cringing, white form, ". . . watch real good, hon, 
cause you gonna be doin' the same thin' when he done shootin' his cum in 
Daisy's mouf!" 

A terrified whimper bubbled in Sherrie's throat. 

Daisy grabbed the black meat of Carter's penis between both of her hands and 
rubbed it salaciously. The long, mushroom-headed stalk of hot flesh jerked 
to stiffness beneath the demanding touch of Daisy's practiced fingers. 

"Nice fingers, Daisy . . even if yo' face ain' nothin' to look at . . . " 
muttered Carter teasingly. He thrust his hips forward. "It be tha' tongue 
I's cravin'. . . . " 

"Yeah, baby, Daisy nev'r stops usin' 'er tongue.. . . " 

With a groan of lustful expectation, Daisy leaned over, her lushly feminine 
profile bathed in a warm yellow glow from the nightstand lamp. Rearing up on 
her knees, she wriggled the tight red satin dress up over the ebony swells 
of her buttocks, up over her round hips and over her head, letting the black 
melons of her breasts bob free. She wore neither panties nor brassiere. 

Lasciviously, she licked her thick, red painted lips with the tip of her 
pink tongue and stared at the huge mushroom of Carter's cock head. Slowly 
her hand reached out, her head bending in synchronized effort, her lips a 
breath away from the seeping cock head. 

With the tip of her tongue, she flicked it lizard-like in the air and 
brushed it fleetingly against Carter's hardened penis. "Mmmmmm . . . " she 
muttered delightedly, tasting the piquant juices of male cum. 

Slumped against the headboard, breasts slowly heaving with the slackened 
effort of breathing, lacey bikini panties creating a blue strip over her 
softly bowled belly, Sherrie's jaw fell slack in something between disgust 
and awe as Daisy knelt slavishly before Carter, the two half moons of her 
buttocks shimmering darkly in the lamplight. 

On his knees, Carter held the throbbing length of his cock in hand, rubbing 
its piquant juices across the woman's fleshy lips until with a groan of 
delight, Daisy took the full cap of his bloated penis in between her soft 
lips like a Venus Fly Trap hungry for a morsel! Carter's head fell back, 
moans of gurgling delight filling the room as Daisy trailed her soft tongue 
over the hot blue veins of Carter's meaty, blood-bloated cock. 

"Ohhh . . . Daisy . . . you go' me ready to shoot.. . . " bellowed Carter as 
he clenched his cheeky buttocks tightly together and shoved another two 
inches of hot male flesh down her ravenous throat. 

Jarvis punched out his cigarette and tore off his pants in one swiftly 
manipulated movement. His hot, hard penis jutted free like a snake 
slithering through the grass. "I gotta get me some a' that!" 

He knelt ominously behind the mouth of Daisy's flagrantly bared ass cheeks. 
His hands stroked the luscious flesh of her hips, positioning her 
sumptuously, proud black bottom in direct line with his pelvis. 

With Daisy, the sex expert, there was no need to cajole her into position 
for a double jab, but his male ego dictated anyway: "Ge' those hands in 
fron' o' you, hon," he grumbled as he took his thumbs and dug their 
pudginess into the tender, blue-veined flesh of her ebony thighs as his 
thick, hot penis bumped stiffly against the rounded swells of her naked ass. 

"Spread them sweet thighs so Jarvis can git hisself some of that tight black 
pussy!" 

Eagerly, Daisy squirmed into position, wiggling her ass cheeks teasingly 
back at him. In high-headed euphoria, the captive woman watched this 
degrading display of rampant sexuality in drugged stupefaction. 

Jarvis grinned a wide white flash of lust as he surveyed the tapering 
feminine smoothness of Daisy's satiny back as he pulled her close to him to 
ready her for a fast ram into her steaming black cunt from behind. Some 
women were meant to be fucked in missionary position only, but Daisy was a 
dog-bitch from way back. 

Daisy spread her exquisite thighs butterfly fashion, the nerve packed pouch 
of her pussy easily visible beneath the widely spread forms of her thighs. 
In one fast movement, Jarvis' thick cock was stuffed up her tight black 
cunt, making a wet, sloshing noise that stung Sherrie's buzzing ears. She 
could hear too, his sperm bloated balls slapping punishingly against her 
ebony buttocks bringing a moan of joy to her cock-stuffed lips. In eager 
appreciation, her eager cunt muscles clamped hungrily around his jutting 
penis as though a million tiny fingers were trying to push it into the warm 
depths of her belly. 

"Ah, Christ, baby," moaned Jarvis. "You be one tight mama!" 

Daisy snickered smugly from her lover's lustful comment and craned her neck, 
her black lips stuffed with Carter's male flesh and glowered at the white 
fleshed girl slumped in a drugged stupor against the brass headboard, her 
glassy eyes staring fixedly at the debauched menage a trois taking place an 
arm's reach away. Beneath her, the bedsprings groaned, echoing their 
delight. 

Daisy was in heaven! She would show this white pansy-assed hussy who could 
suck cock . . . and who was the real woman! White bitches were all the 
same-snotty nosed cunts who thought they were better than she just because 
their skin was one shade lighter. 

Within seconds after Jarvis' squelching jab into her pussy, Daisy's 
frantically sucking mouth began a vacuuming pressure on Carter's bloated 
penis. In the breath-hissing silence of the dingy apartment, a liquid 
slurping of juices in Daisy's mouth sloshed around the wetly lubricated pole 
of Carter's cock. With her pearly front teeth, she nibbled and teased 
devilishly at the seeping eye of his black manhood, teasing it, taunting it 
to maddened size. 

"Keep tha' mouf suckin', baby . . . " rasped Carter, ". . . cause I gonna 
give you an ice cream sundae.. . I'm gonna fill that black belly so fulla 
cum it be comin' out yo' ears!" 

"Mmmmmm . . . " Daisy indicated that was fine with her. To show her unspoken 
joy, she wiggled her ass cheeks, mashing into Jarvis' groin, scraping her 
sex-sensitive skin against his kinky pubic hair. The sensation against her 
clitoris was electric, sizzling. 

With one black eye fixed on the white captive's placid face, Daisy put on a 
show for the news reporter; she fondled the twin sacs of Carter's bloated 
and hair-matted balls. She used her thumb and forefinger to grip the base of 
his blood-fed shaft, squeezing and milking the meaty cudgel as though she 
were trying to force the sperm out of it. 

"Ann . . . sheet. . . " Jarvis grunted hotly in animal arousal as with a 
roar, he grabbed hold of Daisy's rounded, fleshy hips and rammed into her so 
hard it nearly sent Carter careening backward off the bed. 

"Watch it, man . . . " complained Carter, levering himself solidly up on his 
knees. 

In answer, Jarvis, with a punishing thrust, rammed his meaty length to the 
rubbery limits of Daisy's slavishly open pussy until her body shook with the 
intense vibrations of his assault. She was thrust forward, buffeted against 
Carter's groin, the proud, dangling melons of her naked breasts crushed 
obscenely against the hairy athletic limbs of Carter's lanky thighs. The 
rubbery, slithering tip of Carter's penis drubbed against the back of her 
throat, gagging her. 

Through her heroin-induced stupor, Sherrie could still see and hear the 
sexual play going on about her; she heard the ruttish breathing and smack of 
naked flesh slapping against naked flesh. In the haze of the yellow light 
splashed over the sweat-glistening black bodies creating a hydra of arms and 
legs as they plunged into each other's orifices, Sherrie felt a quivering in 
the pit of her belly. Head slumped against her right shoulder, she dazedly 
glanced down at her body and noticed in a shock of modesty that she was 
naked, except for the immodest blue strip of silk of her lacey bikini 
panties. 

She struggled to concentrate on the nude sensation and the shameful 
humiliation it brought, but her concentration seemed to center on the 
diamond chips of her perky red nipples. Why did that always happen to her? 
she wondered dully. The least amount of tension and it feels as if someone's 
holding an ice cube to them, so tingling and crinkling were they. 
Unblinkingly, she stared at the jagged movements of the three sweat-soaked 
naked bodies connected by cocks and mouths and one pussy, one very willing 
pussy. 

Instantly she convulsed in horror. It felt as if she were being 
electrocuted! Her eyes counted them: two men and one woman. She was naked 
for a reason, being held captive for a reason and that reason would soon 
unfold itself. From the corner of the squalid surrounds, she heard Shaker's 
thick-tongued voicf confirm her worst of fears. 

The dark figure stood at the edge of the bed, eyes raking over the white, 
naked swells of perfection, centering on the pouting mound of her 
fleece-fluffed pussy behind the shamefully immodest patch of her bikini 
panties. 

"You look kinda like Marilyn Chambers . . . " he grinned salaciously, his 
fleshy upper lip curling. "Tha' chick be one bad cock sucker . . . we gonna 
see what tha' pretty mouf can do . . . . " 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

These black bastards are hot tonight, Daisy grinned inwardly. Even though 
they got rather rough at times, she appreciated them. Theirs was a 
synergistic relationship; she rented the building, giving them a front for 
their porno peddling and drug trade, and they took care of her. So what if 
Shaker got hot when he discovered bills missing from the register? He needed 
her as badly as she needed him. 

And she needed Carter and Jarvis right now! Despite his weight problem, 
Jarvis was nimble in bed, though prone to brutality. Her black spine 
shuddered at the thought of him using the full force of his body to hammer 
the seeping insides of her prostituted cunt. She could feel an intense, 
radiant heat on the insides of her naked ass-cheeks as his black cock 
hammered against her sensitive vaginal crevice. 

In the pit of her belly, a dull pain grew from the force of Jarvis' bloated 
penis stabbing at the spongy cervix tip. Daisy blatantly wiggled her naked 
pussy back onto Jarvis' bloated stalk for the sheer joy of reading the awe 
on the white captive's face. Marilyn Chambers, huh? If these boys thought 
the blonde haired bitch was so hot, they ought to give her a little of what 
Marilyn Chambers got . . . two black cocks at once, and see if that didn't 
wipe the dumb faced grin off her face! 

The warm friction of Daisy's fleshy lips slipping wetly up and down the fat 
length of his penis, caused sparks to fly in front of Carter's eyes. He 
worked his seeping cock tip in and out of the fleshy trap of her slobbering 
mouth, his hands holding her ears in case she tried to back off when he shot 
his seed into her gullet. He adored nothing more-well, a quick prick of H, 
maybe-than to watch a bitch on her hands and knees slaving over his cock, 
watching her expression fade from fear to awe of his mastery and finally to 
masochistic fever as he gushed her gullet with sperm. The sense of 
domination made him stronger, braver . . . and when you're around Shaker, he 
thought in a burst of understanding, you needed that extra shot of 
adrenalin! 

Jarvis' penis grew another inch as he studied the black shimmer of Daisy's 
naked back bathed in the amber lamplight. The panther-like muscles of her 
strong neck, down the curve of her spine to the small of her back straining 
and twisting slavishly to accommodate the twin pricks invading her body. Her 
kinky black hair crowned her head like the queen of the jungle felines, 
bouncing as he rammed into her cunt. His cock was being scorched by the heat 
boiling in the cock-filled cavity of her pussy. 

He snorted with lust from the sight of ass flesh bulging just beneath the 
luscious half moons of her trembling, black buttocks. That juicy bulge was 
Jarvis' favorite part of a woman's body, that little roll of sweet flesh. 
Hungrily, he grabbed hold of those two ebony handles and squeezed it between 
steely fingers, hearing a short gasp of hot air wheeze from Daisy's 
overworked lungs. Jarvis slammed into her pussy with a force that made his 
heavy testicles slap against her fleshy buttocks. 

An arm's reach away, Jarvis detected a low whimper of fear and, rearing his 
head, he glowered at the cringing white woman sprawled across the bed. 
Shaker had grabbed her arm and she was protesting mightily, held tight in 
his black clasp. Fleetingly, Jarvis wondered if she'd ever been touched by a 
black man before. He doubted it, from the hell she was raising. But no one 
paid any attention . . . not with Daisy's pungent love juices slicking his 
cock and making it glisten! 

"Hell, Daisy . . . you be drownin' my balls back here with yo' cunt juices!" 
He grunted from deep within his throat at Carter. "Let 'er have it, man. . . 
. " 

The bed shook and the mattress complained, nearly rocking off the bedspring 
as the two men went wild, pumping their penises into Daisy's pussy and mouth 
with a dreadful fury! 

Pinned to the mattress by Shaker's steely arms, Sherrie could only mutter 
epitaphs of revulsion and fear as she watched bug-eyed as the men punished 
the black woman beyond redemption! The fat black man had grabbed her hips 
with his fists to gain leverage and then rammed into her as if trying to 
drive a spike through her belly, while in the front the other gleefully 
pulled his ebony cock from her fleshy lips; then with a grunt, jabbed it 
back down her throat. 

Daisy murmured and gurgled sounds that to Sherrie had to be screams of pain 
and terror, but from the way she wiggled her ass cheeks back at the pudgy 
bellied man and tossed her head from side to side like a dog playing with an 
old shoe . . . Sherrie had to doubt. 

Daisy's satiny, black skinned body beaded with sweat as the men worked their 
pricks like a pair of black jack hammered in and out of her willing body. 

The room reeked of musky sex juices and sweat. . . creating a sultry, lusty 
primitive smell. She realized then, in a shriek of horror, that she would 
soon be a forced participant in this diabolical orgy. "Nooo . . . please . . 
. let me go . . . " she murmured, flailing her blonde head from side to 
side. "No . . . I refuse . . . please.. . . " 

Shaker's fleshy lip curled up sneeringly. He grabbed Sherrie's dimpled chin 
between his thumb and forefinger and held it still. "Watch, you white cunt . 
. . cause that little white ass o' yours gonna be swingin' next.. . . " 

Sherrie's blue eyes bulged in fear. She swallowed thickly as, horrified, she 
watched the black woman suck her tormentor's penis, vacuuming the seed from 
the depths of his testicles, digging her red nails into the strength of his 
black thighs and buttocks as he grunted at her wicked act of fellatio! 

"Ohhh . . . jesus . . . yeah.. . . " 

Those muscular legs suddenly buckled and, as though someone had knocked the 
wind out of him, he collapsed. The heat of lust steamed from the shaft of 
his ebony cock; he paused, sucked in his breath, and rammed his manhood down 
her throat with all the strength left him. His balls spewed out a viscous 
stream of scalding cum spurting from the throbbing head of his penis! 

One would have expected Daisy to scream and yell. But not this woman well 
seasoned in the game of sex. She mewled in pleasure from the salty taste of 
male sperm flooding her tonsils, dripping down her esophagus to pool in her 
gullet. In a frantic effort to keep from choking, she breathed through her 
nose, warm blasts of hot air streaming against the leathery sacs of Carter's 
balls and making him groan with pleasure too great for description. 

Now with a bellyful of hot cum sloshing around her insides, Daisy grabbed 
his cock and shoved it between the deep cleavage of her warm, dark breasts, 
engulfing his still spurting cock with her breast flesh and rubbing the 
mushroomed tip against the nubs of her nipples. Dribbles of cum shot up to 
shower her face, her breasts, finally to roll in salty globules down her 
richly bowled belly, filling the crater of her navel. 

As a final tribute to his maleness, Daisy wrapped her dainty fist around the 
withered tube of flesh and rubbed the dribbling sperm over her glistening 
naked body, groveling in animalish submission. From behind, Jarvis hammered 
into her cunt. 

He groaned, threw back his head and in one movement, wrapped the tapering 
blackness of Daisy's exercised legs around his thick thighs so that she was 
supported now only by the strength of her legs. The tighter she wrapped her 
legs around him, the deeper he could bore into her steaming cunt. 

Just for show, for the pleasure of showing off in front of the cringing 
white captive, Daisy locked her legs behind Jarvis' back and brought the 
heels of her feet to press into his back. She held her hands in the air 
before her and pumped her tremulous thighs against his pelvis as every raw, 
lust-filled nerve in her body revved up for the climax that would be her 
reward. To feel a thick male cock sawing into her belly, banging against the 
spongy tip of her cervix was a glimpse of heaven . . . and the thrill of a 
wicked, screaming orgasm from being fucked from behind was heaven itself. 

"You black mo'her. . . fuck me. . . make me cum . . . use that fat black 
prick, you ba'stard.. . . " 

Sherrie's ears stung from the obscenities spewing from Daisy's mouth. Yet 
she watched from her pinned down perch as the black prostitute threw herself 
into a jaw clenching state of ecstasy. 

The shrill scream of pain and pleasure pierced the stillness of the dingy 
room. The bed shook and banged against the wall as Daisy ground her ass 
flesh around Jarvis' black, flabby belly and pudgy thighs. Her eyes rolled 
back in her head and her buttocks jiggled like jello as she jackknifed her 
strong body, her long tapered fingers clawing into the bedspread as she 
steadied herself for the peaking climax about to gush from the glistening, 
pulsing bud of her swollen clitoris and crackling over the diamond chip 
peaks of her blackberry tipped breasts. 

"Fuck me . . . Jaaaaa'vis . . . fuck meeee!" 

Sherrie's delicate fists wrapped around the headboard to keep from being 
spilled over the side from the movement of the mattress as Daisy, steaming 
with lust, swung her head from side to side, chanting obscenities and 
groaning out her orgasm. 

"Oooohhh . . . black asss . . . black assss.. . " Jarvis hissed between 
clenched teeth. The flab of his body shook from the effort of hanging onto 
the squirming, wiggling panther bodied woman whose cunt lips were squeezing 
his cock as if trying to strangle it. But, ah, the exquisite ball bursting 
pressure! He felt a painful, aching tickle rush through his balls as the 
incredible river of his cum exploded like a hot geyser from the head of his 
mushroomed cock. 

"Mmmmmm . . . . ah . . . cum in meee . . . " Daisy's plea was gurgled. 

In answer, Jarvis rode the bucking, black skinned female sheened with sweat 
and another man's cum as his bearish chest heaved and sighed with the 
vibrations of his own lust. Sweat dotted his face and thick shoulders to 
steam down the curvaceous slope of Daisy's proud black back. Every muscle in 
her sinewy body wriggled with demonic pleasure. Inside her belly, the 
milking force of her cuntal muscles vacuumed the seed from her lover's 
testicles, sucking it out like a milking machine. After she'd robbed him of 
his strength, she collapsed on the sex-soaked bed, white trails of thick cum 
streaming down her ebony thighs. 

A silence, eerie and ominous, fell over the room. Tangled arms and legs 
moved slowly, as if belonging to the same person. Sherrie's drugged mind 
struggled through the cloudy haze of unreality to decipher the meaning of it 
all. She only knew that it had been enacted for her benefit. Inside, warm 
gushes of liquid sunshine suffused her lithe body, numbing the pain in her 
head. Yet the cold blade of fear cut through complacency. She squirmed to 
kick herself free of the steely hands holding her captive, her large blue 
eyes misting with pleading emotion. 

"Let me gooo . . . please. . . " 

"Fo'get it, girl. . . our little miss Marilyn Chambers be puttin' on a show 
for the poor black bastards in cell block ten. We don' never git to see 
white chicks like you in this part o' town . . . you snoopin' chicken shit 
cop!" 

"No . . . I'm not . . . " Sherrie flailed her head from side to side, as 
strands of honey hair clung to the tear wetted rouge of her apple cheeks. 

With a shove, Shaker released his hold on Sherrie's lithe arms which he held 
pinned over her head. "Don' you never say no to Shaker, babe . . . " he 
warned in a thick-tongued voice. "Don' you never say no to Shaker . . . " 
His voice had lowered to a whisper. 

Glaring at her through wicked black eyes which, to the fear-stricken news 
reporter, seemed to be capable of penetrating steel, he levered his 
thick-muscled black body off her cringing, creamy one and kneed his way off 
the bed. 

"Somebody clean 'er up . . . ge' that blood off 'er face . . . I wan' my 
little Marilyn Chambers lookin' pretty with my black cock stickin' way down 
'er throat.. . " 

"Noooo!" Sherrie bolted off the bed in a frantic leap for freedom. Her legs 
felt jellied, but her will was honed to steel. 

I am a virgin, was the last thought to richochet around her miasmaed skull, 
before she was cruelly slapped back down on the mattress. Dear God, Vm a 
virgin. . . 

 CHAPTER SIX 

"Good evening. I'm Jack Sommers with the "Two Is There" evening report." 

The news director stared at the teLevision screen in his office. Six o'clock 
brought temporary relief to Bill Potters. At this hour six-days a week, the 
telephones silenced with heated reports of attempted suicides and traffic 
jams, the twix computer dulled to an occasional belch from New York 
headquarters, and the stage was set for the next morning's Nielsen ratings. 
Whether the public realized it or not, the news sold teLevision, not baby 
diapers and Japanese make automobiles. 

And hot blonde haired, ripe assed reporters like Sherrie Williams. Potters 
pooched out his lips cogitatingly, while the bland faced reporter droned on 
about boring consumer prices . . . he hadn't seen Sherrie since lunch. Last 
visual image he'd had of her was those rosy lips chewing on the pencil and 
big blue eyes staring off into space. 

Ah, what the hell . . . Potters shooed a hand dismissingly in the air. She 
probably spent the day researching that Shaker Jones character . . . the big 
ugly black man, he snickered to himself. Again the image of Sherrie's blonde 
hair wadded in the fist of a black rapist while he tugged at his pants 
zipper in coldblooded oral rape crackled through his brain. 

Potters swung around in his swivel chair and raked worried fingers through a 
shock of graying hair. Common sense determined he was a fool for sending a 
defenseless woman out on the streets to cover the story of a convicted 
heroin dealer suspected of heinous crimes. And yet.. . if she broke the 
story.. . . 

The clock struck six thirty and the tired on-air reporters began drifting 
down from the studio and into the newsroom. Potters shot from his chair and 
grabbed the arm of Jack Sommers. 

"I'm looking for Sherrie . . . any idea where I might find her?" 

"Hell no . . . " grumbled the reporter, tearing out of Potters' grasp. "If 
you see her, tell her she screwed me up on the white shark story. I didn't 
have a 

Goddamned word of copy. . . . " 

Potters stroked his chin. Sherrie had never been negligent. Now where was 
she? 

"Uggghhh . . . you're ch-choking me!" gurgled Sherrie, tearing at the arms 
gripping her around the neck. Arms, dark, muscular arms holding her captive. 
The reality was too great for the blonde haired, blue-eyed virgin to bear, 
and willfully she forced her mind into a numbed state of being. The aborted 
burst for freedom had consumed every ounce of strength left her, leaving her 
body strangely pleasantly warmed and opiated. 

Shaker had her pinned to the mattress, his black, monolith body pressing her 
nearly naked form against the squeaking bed. He cut out her light, cut out 
all hope of escape and now he was cutting off her air. He pressed his thick, 
fleshy lips to hers and jabbed his foul tasting tongue between her pearly 
teeth. The others snickered as he tormented the white captive. Sherrie 
kicked her heels into the bed and snapped at his broad nose with her teeth . 
. . but he had her pinned. Grunts of angered protest gave way to weak 
whimperings of despair. 

Finally, Shaker lifted his head and grumbled at Carter. "I said somebody 
wash the blood off 'er face.. . I don' like no taste a blood . . . none 
'cept pussy blood. . . . " 

The last remark blazed red in Sherrie's mind. 

"How's 'bout I use my tongue," jibed Jarvis. 

Dizzily, Daisy raised her head off the pillow where she lay in a rumpled 
heap. "Somebody fix me a needle . . . I wan' a needle . . . . " Her voice 
was shaky, her groping hand trembling. 

"We ain' got no more, hon," spoke up Carter. "Blondie here go' the rest. . . 
. " 

"I said I wan' more shit . . . now somebody git me some shit or I gotta go 
out on the fuckin' street to get high . . . . " Her voice was thick with 
need. 

"Shuddup and move over, sister . . . blondie and l's ready to take over the 
bed . . . . " 

Daisy's pleading hand reached out to grasp Shaker's arm for understanding. 
With a snarl, he tore her hand free. 

"Leave me the fuck alone.. . . " 

"But.. . I . . . I wan' some shit 

Whack! One steely backhand sent the ebony bodied woman careening over 
backwards onto the floor where she lay in a heap. She lay there whimpering, 
the room silencing except for the pathetic sound of an addict shivering 
towards withdrawal. No one in the room saw the black form crawl snake-like 
through the opera curtain into the closed storefront.. . or heard the 
fumbled clank of the cash register drawer open. 

They had their eyes full. Shaker had flipped Sherrie over onto her stomach 
and was kneading the soft, tantalizing flesh of her alabaster ass cheeks 
with his strong black hands. His fingers dug into her body, white flesh 
oozing between them like so much bread dough. 

"Holy shit . . . " Carter felt his testicles bloat from the sight. 

On the bed, low plaintive murmurings could be heard . . . "Don't touch me . 
. . there.. . please, just leave me alone . . . " moaned Sherrie as the 
three black men pounced on her at once, poking and probing at her anal 
crevice as if a white woman might be built differently from a black woman. 

'Can' have no ass fuck without some lube," chuckled Jarvis, reaching down 
beside the bed and opening ajar of hand lotion. "Daisy uses this shit for 
sandwich jobs. Wan' me to git 'er ready for ya, Shaker?" 

Squeezing a palmful of the oily lotion into his hand, he rubbed the cool 
liquid over the soft mounds of Sherrie's buttocks. 

Sherrie shuddered from the cool liquid bathing her body. She felt movement 
behind her and dimly reasoned in her drugged mind that the fat man had 
replaced the black monolith who'd nearly broken her back from sitting on 
her. The breath wheezed out of her lungs then and a bubble of fear escaped 
her rosy lips. 

He was flipping her numbed body over and running his greased hands over her 
full, unprotected breasts, smearing the oozing liquid over the blood-red 
tips of her nipples and kneading them between his thumb and forefingers like 
marbles. The punishing caresses made Sherrie yelp with pain. His fingers 
roamed down over the soft white bowl of her belly to snake with a brutal 
force into the naked crack of her pussy. 

"Now it be time for Blondie's bath," jibed Jarvis, his tongue watering from 
the thought of nibbling at the tender pussy lips nestled behind blonde 
fleece. His flabby belly bounced as he fell to his knees beside the bed and 
wedged the white captive's legs open with his black steely hands. "Ah," he 
sighed and smacked his lips. He stared at the tuft of blonde hair glistening 
in the lamplight and placed his face so close to her private parts that his 
warm breath bathed the swollen pink folds of her pussy flesh. 

Oh, Lord, she was naked from the waist down. I must struggle to concentrate 
and defend myself against these rapists! Why, why did I accept this 
assignment'. She bit down hard on her pouty lower lip and tasted her own 
blood. 

Instantly her body stiffened. Her back arched from the sizzling sensation 
down between her thighs. Someone's lips, fleshy, sensuous lips were clamped 
on the flesh of her pussy. The hot, moist contact sent a startling sensation 
pulsing through her like liquid air. She writhed spastically from the thick, 
wet tongue probing across the nerve-filled buds of her cuntal flesh, snaking 
into the never-touched home of her warm, pink womb. 

That warm tongue ventured up to the oil marble of her clitoris, roaming 
through the hairy forest while his stiffened middle finger slowly began to 
penetrate the secretive flesh of her virginal vagina! 

"Ohhh . . . no, please . . . " A plaintive wail bubbled from the captive's 
lips as the stiff finger twisted its way up into her belly. Half way up, it 
met with resistance, but that didn't stop Jarvis. 

Dazedly, Sherrie glared down between the rich swells of her naked breasts to 
see Jarvis' head bobbing slowly up and down like a cork in water between her 
widely stretched thighs. Dear Lord, her legs were pulled so far apart, the 
cords of her tendons stood out like telephone cords! 

In the blurry haze of despair, one shred of reality stood out above all: she 
was about to lose her virginity and there wax nothing she could do to 
prevent it. One woman against three demented men and another mindless 
female! It didn't paint a rosy picture. 

Now Jarvib' thick lips glistened with Sherrie's cuntal juices seeping 
femininely from the heart of her womb. His paws fondled and stroked the 
sensitive flesh of her inner thighs and naked loins. Sherrie blinked open 
her eyes and a mirage of dark, leering faces grinned victoriously down at 
her, the amber lamplight adding a shadowed effect that was not quite real. 
None of this was real.. . the hands, the tongue slowly creating within her a 
strange quiver of arousal that had never been awakened in her before. And it 
all seemed centered in the nub of her manfully manipulated clitoris! 

Was it the drug they had shot into her veins that made her hunger after the 
touch of male hands? Did virginity, the sacred treasure she had so long 
guarded, mean that little to her? God, everything was out of control, out of 
her hands and in the hands of the fat bellied black man whose masterful 
hands were kneading her body with a demanding touch her libido could not 
deny! 

Jarvis felt Sherrie's tight, smooth stomach quake as he plunged his tongue 
up her nude cunt. To make certain he had her where he wanted her, he thrust 
the slimy length of his wet tongue up into the velveteen walls of her pussy, 
so deep he licked her hymen. To merely humiliate her was not enough; he 
craved to turn her into a goose bumped mass of tingling female flesh and 
prove to Shaker and Carter who was the man here! 

Sherrie moaned as she stretched the sore length of her arms over her head. A 
libidinous desire to spread her naked thighs wider apart made her do just 
that, opening all of herself to the slobbering black man licking noisily at 
her vagina. Some alien force within her guided her movements; she tensed her 
abdominal muscles and flinched her buttocks as she opened the columns of her 
slender thighs wider to him. 

For once the news reporter asked no questions (and avoided all lies) of the 
situation. Helplessly pinned beneath his weight, what choice had Sherrie now 
but to lie back and let the drug calm her fears. The feel of Jarvis' tongue 
swabbing her pussy was heavenly, far more wonderful than the sharp pang of 
fear. 

Jarvis crushed his face against the insides of Sherrie's slender legs, his 
thick lips mashed against her virginal pussy lips, both lubricated by her 
cuntal juices . . . rubbing back and forth, with tantalizing noisy strokes. 

Hands slid under her buttocks to knead the firm, tight mounds while the 
devilish tongue slithered wetly in and out of her pussy, flicking 
maddeningly at her clitoris on the out-stroke and driving her to insanely 
ticklish heights of ecstasy. Sherrie struggled to physically deny herself 
the wicked desire swelling up within the unplundered realms of her feminine 
libido. It didn't work. Some say the first time is always the best, and so 
the virginal blonde could hardly be expected to close the gates to ecstasy 
she'd yet to experience. At least that's what her subconscious concluded, as 
she flailed her head from side to side, mumbled epitaphs gurgling deep in 
her throat. 

A steely hand yanked Jarvis' hulking body off the lithe blonde. "I said 
clean off her head . . . leave 'er cunt to Shaker!" 

A set of liquid blue eyes sprung open as the deliciously licking mouth 
lifted . . . never to return. Her ears picked up the lust crazed snickers of 
black men staring down at her naked, goose bumped body. She detected 
Shaker's voice, Shaker making the demands. Shaker Jones.. . the cold blooded 
sadist, the rapist, the murderer! She clenched her jaws tight and read in 
his snappy black eyes her very thoughts. 

The six-foot six-inch black man stroked his chin cogitatingly, his muscled 
chest rippling with sweat under the amber light. "On second thought, maybe 
we all three oughta git 'er at once. We been foolin' 'round here too long 
already. If the snoopin' little bitch be a decoy for the cops, we ain' got 
much time to git ridda 'er." 

Sherrie drew in her breath and felt her heart might burst with fear. A news 
reporter isn't much different from a policeman in the eyes of a criminal. 
Had they found her camera? Blue eyes fiery with terror, raised pleadingly up 
at the three black men hovering over her like dark dreams of horror. Their 
eyes raked over every swell and curve of her naked body, making her flesh 
crawl as if an army of ants were crawling from the tips of her curled under 
toes to the red-tipped fingernails. She could feel their raping black hands 
mauling the nubbing tips of her crinkled nipples, gouging the tender 
membranes of her virginal vagina with their sinewy fingers, and bruising her 
unmarried flesh with their blue-veined black penises! 

The fear-stricken news reporter lay spread-eagled on the rumpled bed, 
cringing from the sight of three black skinned torsos, hard muscled and 
panting, their naked, hairless chests beating with revengeful lust! A 
whimper broke from her chest as the recent image of Daisy groveling on the 
bed between two sadists who, unbeknownst to her, reveled in humiliating her 
womanhood. And Daisy had done nothing to stop them . . . she fed their egos, 
loving the punishment. 

Sherrie's eyes fixed on Shaker's black girth of maledom. When had they 
stripped naked, she wondered dizzily, blinking at the black snake hanging 
halfway down his thigh. Before her unbelieving eyes, that black snake raised 
its head toward the ceiling, the mushroomed head wagging from side to side, 
the single eye dripping venom. Blue, thick veins pulsed with wicked lust. A 
forest of thick, kinky pubic hair forested his loins, like a camouflaging 
bush to hide the creeping snake. Beneath lay twin bloated, leathery sacs of 
his virile testicles! Sherrie gulped and closed her eyes. 

"Too much for ya, baby?" he glowered. "Ain' nothin' like a dirty black dick 
to get you white chicks goin'. . . and now you gonna git all three black 
dicks at once. . . . " 

"Noooo!". The painful cry tore from Sherrie's swollen throat. 

Shaker's black eyes snapped with rage. Drawing a deep breath, he bloated out 
his powerful chest and sneered down at his white captive. "Don' you never 
let me hear you say no to Shaker.. . cause you be one dead bitch . . . " His 
voice was hardly a whisper, but his voice came through loud and clear. 

Silence fell over the dingy room. Carter and Jarvis turned to each other, 
yet neither spoke. Maybe mess around with the bitch for a while, shoot her 
full of dope and leave her in Tenderloin alley. Fate would take care of the 
rest. Now Shaker wanted to take fate in his own hands. That they'd taken 
their luck in abducting children, dragging them back to the apartment, 
shooting them up with heroin and forcing them into masochistic sex was as 
far as they wanted to trust their luck. Murder! And a cop on top of it all! 
Jarvis scratched his head and chuckled nervously. 

"Take it easy, Shaker . . . we don' gotta get all uptight. . . . " 

"Shut the fuck up!" bellowed the six-foot six-inch sadist. 

His accomplices realized all too well the force behind Shaker's foul moods, 
and this cringing white woman's negative answer to his manhood was putting 
him in one foul mood. 

Shaker's jaw muscles moved ominously; sparks snapped from his eyes. Glaring 
down at Sherrie stretched nakedly on the bed, he yelled: "Get up.. . up on 
your knees . . . and don' you dare say no to Shaker Jones again.. . . " 

Sherrie struggled up on her knees; tears clouded her wide blue eyes. Rubbery 
and weak and totally traitorous . . . that's how her body felt. She longed 
to spit him in the eye, curl her rosy lip up at his precious manhood, but 
she had neither the spirit nor the defense to do so. It seemed a mile, the 
short stretch from one side of the bed to the other. The effort of knee 
walking across the bed to where Shaker stood in front of her, created a 
strange scraping friction between her slender white thighs, sparking off the 
unwanted ticklish charges snapping around in her naked loins. She paw-walked 
across the mattress in front of them, naked, giving them a bird's eye view 
of her alabaster, half-moon buttocks and the shadowed mounds of her breasts 
dangling from her slender rib cage. 

A face so innocent it would have made the devil cry, stared up at her black 
tormentor. Dimpled chin trembling, liquid blue eyes blinking helplessly up 
into his grim face, she subconsciously swallowed pride in hopes of appealing 
to his nobler character. But nothing noble reflected in the ebony hewn 
primitive fertility statue standing with thick arms crossed over his chest! 

If Shaker showed no outward sign of arousal, his accomplices did. The sight 
of that perfect white body with its creamy hills and valleys shadowed in 
soft lamplight sent their penises lurching before her horror struck eyes. 

"I said get you' fuckin' white ass over here!" 

Pearly teeth clamped over a rosy lip, Sherrie approached, her eyes riveted 
to the venomous cum-filled snake wagging from side to side a tongue's length 
from her face. His control over his body mesmerized her, the way he could 
will its direction. Slowly, his hand reached down to grab that black meat 
and a tight fist pumped and milked. 

Sherrie, whose acquaintance with male genitals was limited to parked car 
petting sessions, blinked at the size of his male weapon. 

"I wan you to git me off . . . I wanna shoot cum all over that pretty white 
face o' yours," snarled Shaker. "An' I wan' you to be nice to my buddies 
here, get my drift, sweetheart?' 

Three black men closed in on her. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Sherrie bit at her fist. All three at once! But she had never been with a 
man! 

He was asking her to use her mouth on him and her hands on Carter and 
Jarvis. Dear God! She couldn't! 

"Suck it, white bitch . . . suck it like Marilyn Chambers sucked that black 
dick---" hissed Shaker. 

"No! Nooo!" 

Whack! A black hand caught Sherrie alongside her cheekbone. She tumbled 
nakedly to the side, but black demanding hands righted her immediately and, 
wrapping steely fingers in her shimmering hair, he pulled her head back. 

A rubbery prodding at her lips felt hot and smelled musky and definitely 
male. Sherrie opened her eyes to see the black, awesome girth of cock flesh 
drubbing against her fevered lips. Shaker grabbed her blonde hair by the 
roots and jerked her head upward to stare pointedly into her tearful blue 
eyes. 

"I wan' you to look at me the way she looked at her black man . . . you 
stare into m' black face," he spat, ". . . cause I wanna see that pretty 
white face when I make you swallow m' black cum!" 

Sherrie's stomach turned topsy turvy from his sadistic contempt. No brown 
belt in karate could save her from this demented creature's unpented lust. 
Never had felt submissive to a man . . . not even hot tempered Bill Potters. 
Now, she felt weak, submissive and without the will to choose. He was her 
primitive god . . . this black fertility symbol. He would decide if she 
lived-or how she died. 

Numbed by the realization, she parted her lips and slowly closed around the 
black knob of his lust-bloated penis. It felt surprisingly soft on her lips, 
though the piquant taste was foreign to her virginal taste buds. Her mouth 
watered from the musky taste of him, her nostrils stung from his manhood. 

"I said to take me . . . open wider!" 

The hiss of Jarvis' and Carter's sucked in breaths sounded in the room as 
they watched the white captive tenderly part her lips and claw her white 
hands over his stony black thighs to support the painful angle of her head. 
She had been kneeling on the bed, but now she rose to her haunches. 

"Suck! Suck!" he commanded, the scar on his face staring ominously down at 
Sherrie. 

Blinking back hot tears, Sherrie closed her eyes and another three inches of 
Shaker's blood heavy penis slid into her throat. Dear God, I have a black 
man s penis in my mouth, she thought dazedly. But self analysis and 
reportage had no role in survival, and realizing that, she blotted out the 
fear of fate and concentrated on the warm, velvety sensations cuddling her 
supple, naked body. Her cheeks hallowed like a baby sucking its thumb, 
creating a warm sucking pressure on Shaker's penis. 

"You be too easy, but you be catchin' on," guffawed Shaker, showing neither 
pleasure nor appreciation. "You don' wanna be forgittin' ma' buddies now. 
Take a prick in each hand, baby." 

Sherrie squeezed back a tear and blindly reached out to obey his order. 

She experienced a pinching pressure under her chin. Immediately her eyes 
popped open. 

"I done say keep them eyes open . . . cause I wanna see yo' face when I 
comes in yo' mouth.. . . " 

The sadistic set to his jaw muscles meant business. Misty eyes riveted on 
his commanding black ones, her elegant hands stretched out to right and left 
and felt the warm, moist flesh pulse with urgency. Her fingertips found the 
rubbery webbing of their twin penises and she heard one of them groan as her 
grip tightened around both of the steely hard cocks. 

"Pump, milk, baby . . . pump those pricks like they be tits . . . . " 
sneered Shaker. 

Reluctantly, Sherrie's grip tightened around the hardening tubes; fearfully, 
she milked her fists in unison as she nibbled on the fiery cudgel of 
Shaker's salty tasting cock. Her throat still ached from the earlier beating 
and she found it difficult to breathe freely with his foot-long cock forced 
half way down her gullet. The perky tip of her arrogant nose brushed and 
scraped against his hairy groin, creating two hot funnels of steaming breath 
that shot from her nostrils to waft through the pubic locks and warn his 
bloated testicles crushed against her chin. 

Shaker showed his first sign of approval. He grunted, a deep rumble 
emanating from the depth of his cruel heart, at the feel of her sweet warm 
mouth on his cock. She nibbled tenderly, tasted, teased in the most innocent 
gestures. No vacuum cleaner mouth like Daisy, this one! Only once had he 
tasted the pleasure of a white woman's body, and then at the point of a gun. 
He'd knocked her unconscious, spoiling the sport of rape. 

Now Shaker's mind was firing with wild and steaming lust shadowed by a 
sadistic need for revenge. Animalishly, he placed both of his paw-like hands 
on either side of her tiny white face and scraped her face over his meaty 
cock and leathery balls, scraping her nose back and forth over his crotch 
until she fought for breath. 

The captive news reporter's eyes watered, rolled hack in her head and 
convulsed from the violent action. Each inhalation clogged her nose with 
matted pubic curls. He was so demanding, so rough, so masterful . . . so 
unlike the pathetic IBM salesman! 

Had the curious minded woman been able to control her thoughts, she might 
have exploded from the fierceness of this horrible fantasy come true. The 
empty longing for a man able to command her sensuality without destroying 
her femininity and desire . . . the long weeks of relentless working with no 
pleasure to sluice the weeks of tedium . . . all that would have culminated 
into one blinding moment of ecstasy, except for one factor. She feared she 
would die in the end. Now the drug had obliterated that fear, and she 
experienced a warm, temporal glow of sensuality that knew neither future nor 
past. He was her fulfillment . . . there would be none alone. 

Her wet tongue worked over the fleshy tautness of Shaker's cock-tip! Pearly 
front teeth stabbed arousingly against his hard staff and he leaned forward, 
bending his knees so that she could stretch her neck until her mouth took 
all of his meaty cudgel down to the scraping base. Sherrie sensed her 
forehead rest against his hard-muscled belly; felt the muscles strain and 
ripple beneath the hideous oral assault. 

The stoic sex god showed no outward emotion, though his forehead and chest 
sheened with perspiration that dribbled saltily onto Sherrie's naked white 
flesh to mingle with the moisture beading her satiny skin. The perfume of 
sex and rape stung the air. 

Shaker kept his eyes riveted on the white captive slave working at his groin 
and his buddies' cocks with soft, gentle hands. The low rattle of their 
shallow breath told him both were sizzling between their legs, their sperm 
bloated balls swelling to the point of explosion. Contemptuously, Shaker 
mesmerized his captive with his black eyes, exerting a power over her body 
and soul. He had enslaved a white woman. 

Sherrie's fist gripped her captors' penises, their thrusts becoming violent 
and erratic. To maintain her balance she held tightly to the penises gushing 
with blood, hardening, warming her palm and dampening it with oozing 
ejaculatory juices. 

Would they be content with her hands . . . or would they command more of her 
virginal body? 

"I don't care if you've been working six months straight," yelled Potters at 
the mini-camera man who'd unfortunately stalled about the newsroom and now 
caught the news directors' attention. "This is teLevision . . . if you can't 
take the pressure . . . get out!" 

George straightened; his jaw fell. Nobody refused Bill Potters. Shifting his 
weight, he mentally calculated time and a half at union wages. 

Seeing his victim had calmed to submission, Potters continued in a more 
rational, if not human, tone. 

"Your assignment's to go down to Eddie Street to the Peep Show Palace.. . . 
" 

George's blonde lashes blinked. "Hey, wait a minute . . . if you're talking 
about the Shaker Jones shake down, find another victim.. . . " He backed off 
and grabbed for his jacket tossed over the assignment desk. "I want no part 
of it." 

"You want your job, smart ass?" Abruptly, Potters calmed of necessity; the 
general manager had poked his head into the newsroom and that usually meant 
an inquisition into the developments of reportage. "We have a reporter down 
there . . . somewhere . . . " Here he drew in a sharp breath, his foul 
conscience betraying power. "Sherrie Williams. She hasn't reported in 
today." 

"Sherrie! In the Tenderloin?" George shifted his lanky weight despairingly, 
his voice whining for want of explanations. "Why the hell didn't you send a 
man to do a man's job.. . . " Bad enough the damned teLevision stations bled 
you dry, they gotta try to kill ya, too . . . for a fuckin' story! 

Grabbing his coat, he stomped past the general manager who regarded him with 
a curious stare, headed for the equipment room to grab equipment and headed 
for the garage. No guard was available to issue a news van, so he hopped in 
the beaten up station wagon that sufficed for lesser assignments such as 
this.. . . 

Lesser assignments . . . huh! The car rammed into gear and screeched out of 
the underground parking lot. 

George's cheeks were aflame with contempt. Sending a delicate flower like 
Sherrie Williams to investigate a convicted heroin dealer . . . Christ! Did 
Bill Potters think he was running a police force? He pounded the wheel and 
ran a red light. Damn him and his tits and ass news. Anything for a story! 

The station wagon nosed inconspicuously toward the disease ridden streets of 
the Tenderloin. At a stop sign, he uncrumpled a piece of memo paper bearing 
the address of the Peep Show Palace. In a sloppy parking job, he left the 
car in a yellow zone and locking the vehicle, he pulled up the collar of his 
leather jacket and went to work. 

Hands thrust deep into his Levi pockets, Addida shoes slapping cement, he 
charged the crosswalk and stopped at the street light. A woman dark as the 
night, wearing a red satin dress that clung to every crease and curve of her 
slinky ebony body, caught him by the jacket sleeve. 

"Where ya headed, honey?" 

Daisy, riding high on the sky train of euphoria, felt honed for revenge. 
Fuck Shaker, Carter and Jarvis.. . she'd managed to score her own junk. 
Anyway, they had their white bitch to play with. If they didn't need her, 
she'd find someone who did. A nice white boy.. . Shucks, wouldn't that make 
Shaker shit in his boots to see ol' Daisy roll in with a pretty white boy? 

"How ya doin,' honey?" she repeated, thrusting out a hip and patting the 
wooly Afro haloing her head. Eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings. 

The abruptness of blatant sex freely offered made George balk. He scratched 
his head . . . maybe it wasn't so freely offered. "Sorry, I don't pay for 
it." 

"Pay? You imagine white boys . . . who talkin' about paying for it?" Daisy's 
upper lip curled in disdain. "What you take me for . . . a whore?" 

Above the rancid sourness of the fog-dampened sidewalk where dogs excreted 
and winos vomite, George's nostrils stung with the smell of sex. He wanted 
no part of her. A jerk freed him from her grasp, but at the price of a tiny 
rip in his leather jacket. 

"Wait a minute, you honky white bas'ard! You's talking to a business woman . 
. . I ain' no whore!" 

Might as well save yourself some shoe leather, fellow. Maybe she could 
direct him. "Around here?" he queried. 

Daisy nodded, a smile creasing her panther-eyed face. "Jes' down the 
street.. . I owns the Peep Show palace, if ya's up for a little peep, 
darlin'. " 

George gulped; he pressed on. 

"Hey, you come back here! Ah, shit.. . I almost had me a white boy," she 
snapped her fingers and disgruntled, her high heeled shoes clacked on the 
night-dampened cement as she headed back down the street to her apartment. 

Her mental state hovered somewhere between relief and expectation. Relief 
that the boys hadn't found a boy for the night's filming. In truth, she was 
tired of forcing the poor little boys into ramming their noses up her pussy 
and nibbling at her tits. She couldn't stomach the action much longer. If 
the kid got it up, she couldn't feel his cock inside her anyway, and oral 
sex just wasn't the same with an eight year old with no front teeth. 

"Ah, shit. . . " If only she could divorce herself from the needle . . . 
then she could rent herself a little place out of the Tenderloin and maybe 
run a lingerie store. Shrugging her shoulders at idle hopes and pipe dreams, 
she strutted on down the street. 

The storefront was dark, save for a naked bulb hanging above the cash 
register. The store, from a passerby's objective stand, wore a dusty coat of 
corruption. Daisy's dark hand clutched the door knob and turned. 

"Ah, shit. . . " she mumbled, finding the door unlocked. Shaker would have 
my skull. Abruptly, fearful expectation gave way to jaw clenching anger. 
Somebody in the back room was having one hell of a good time. Their precious 
white honky bitch.. . thinks she's so fuckin' hot. 

Along came anger bubbled hurt and rejection. Daisy's always (food for a fast 
fuck . . . good ol' Daisy . . . ! ! ! ! . Sulking, she pulled aside the 
faded opera curtain and glared unnoticed at the white captive's naked body, 
contortedly propped up against Shaker's hulking black body. Her head was 
forced back in such an angle that swirls of blonde hair tickled the 
illuminated half moons of her buttocks. Gurgling, squelching noises mingled 
with deep throated moans and groans stung Daisy's ears. 

Slowly the curtain released from her fist. Down on hands and knees, keeping 
a low profile, she crept toward the nightstand and soundlessly pulled open 
the bottom drawer. Long black fingers sought out the hard plastic tube. With 
a revengeful grin on her face, drugged black eyes peered over the edge of 
the bed. Cat-like, she kneed her way unnoticed onto the bed. 

A congested heat began to gather in the pit of Daisy's belly. Black eyes 
fixed on the white female buttocks staring her in the face, she fingered the 
battery operated vibrator. With smug revenge, she licked her fleshy lips, 
delighting in the taste of dried cum. Hand over hand, she positioned herself 
on her stomach behind Sherrie's goose bumped buttocks. 

Carter eyed her first. "Hey, where'd you come from, Daisy?" Sensing her 
intention, he grinned lopsidedly and blinked his eyes in rapturous delight 
from the delicious pressure of Sherrie's working fist. 

One swift move of the black hand and. . . 

"Ann . . . mmmfff.. . " Sherrie struggled to swing around and investigate 
the sudden attack upon her buttocks, but Shaker's steely hands held her 
tight. She did not fight the pressure of female thumbs spreading the deep 
valley of her buttocks' nude cleavage. A strange gush of chill air flowed 
coldly over the quivering hole of her anus as Daisy's pooched lips blew into 
the crevice tormentingly. 

Stretched out cat-like on her belly, glassy eyed and shivering with lust, 
Daisy positioned the plastic vibrator between the tight young swells of her 
white captive's ass and flicked on the switch. 

"AHHHHHH!" Sherrie stiffened! The vibrator tip tickled at the door of her 
rectum, feeling as if someone had turned on an electrical switch. 
Shuddering, goose bumped, her teeth tickled and her insides felt ready to 
explode! Deftly Daisy moved the vibrator up and down along the captive's 
sensitive anal sphincter muscle. 

"We's all pink on the inside," muttered Daisy, licking her lips and staring 
curiously at the white buttocks a tongue's reach away. She kneaded the 
round, rich swell of Sherrie's left buttocks cheek, squeezing it cruelly 
between her black fingers like so much bread dough. She do got a nice ass, 
though.. . 

The incredible friction created from the surrogate penis scraping and 
drubbing hotly at the unexplored door of her anus, twirling like a plastic 
tongue trying to squirm its way into the nether depths of her bowels, began 
to chafe. 

"Come on, honey buns . . . move tha' ass," jibed Daisy, ". . .or I gonna 
shove it right up that pretty rosebud asshole!" Her voice was thick with 
lust. 

Do what? Sherrie shuddered. She reacted instinctively, trying to eliminate 
pain and heighten pleasure. The heroin had vaporized thought. Slowly she 
moved her buttocks in gyrating, insinuating circles, arching her back 
exaggeratedly. Her creamy breasts bounced to the strained workings of her 
trembling, shivering nakedness. 

Black bodies surrounded her, naked bodies, smelling of perspiration and 
another woman's cum, their muscles rippling ominously in the dim lamplight. 
She felt Shaker's giant hands holding her head in a slavish position, while 
Daisy kneaded her buttocks with squeezing, sadistic force. Trapped by naked 
flesh! Sherrie Williams, investigative reporter, sophisticated, virginal! 
She could hear the men's deep throated breathing with each thrusting lunge 
of her head and buttocks. 

Daisy mewled contentedly and, rolling over, tore her dress over her head and 
flopped nakedly back down into position. Damned clothes always gets in the 
way. . . . She pressed her puffy nippled breasts against the satiny flesh of 
Sherrie's back, squashing their blackness against the captive's creamy white 
skin. She reached her small but deft hands beneath Sherrie's belly and, 
finger-walking up her belly, felt for the round, ripe melons of Sherrie's 
breasts. 

"Ugfjhhh!" Sherrie shuddered at the feel of another woman's hands closing in 
on her naked breasts, mashing them together until her hardened nipples 
rubbed each other into diamond chip hardness, something a man had never done 
to her. In a drugged corner of her mind, the realization that a woman was 
touching her shone through. Strange, too, it didn't repulse her. 

Daisy rose up onto her knees and with the grip of her cuntal muscles, held 
the vibrator in place, feeling it vibrate and tickle her cunt while the 
pointed tip bored into her captive's anus. Now the black woman's hands were 
free to roam and explore the luscious globes of Sherrie's breasts, to 
squeeze, torment, taunt. 

Shaker, grunting with wicked pleasure, straightened his knees, forcing 
Sherrie to crane her neck in a torturous angle, her head thrown back so far 
her long blonde hair tickled Daisy's budding clitoris. His snaking black 
penis raped her mouth with cruel force. The others could hear her gasping 
protests, see her big blue eyes blink with pleading tears . . . and Shaker, 
grinning evilly, continued to force his black cock down her throat. 

To keep from choking, Sherrie had to relax her throat muscles. Once or twice 
she started to gag, but Shaker wouldn't permit that. Small pearls of pre-cum 
slickened the path to her esophagus, easing the pain, salving the wounds of 
this brutal oral-rape. 

"Holy sheet," gasped Carter. "She do tha' bettern' no Marilyn Chambers ever 
do . . . lookee!" 

Daisy's wicked smugness faded. Her fleshy lips drew up into a pout. How many 
times had they told her there wasn't anybody who could suck cock like their 
Daisy? Fearing that to be replaced as queen of fellatio might jeopardize her 
trade-off arrangement with Shaker, she ran her fingers over the swan-like 
stretch of Sherrie's throat. Sure enough, she could feel the bulging outline 
of Shaker's enormous cock stuffed halfway down the captive's belly! 

Shaker's cruel black eyes never blinked, never flicked from Sherrie's soft 
blue orbs. His mesmerizing stare seemed to call her off to exotic places 
filled with erotic sex gods demanding service of lesser mortals. The curl to 
his upper lip joined in chorus to say: "You love my black cock stuffed down 
your white throat.. . . and don't lie!" 

Fortunately for Sherrie, cogent thought was a thing of yesterday. Disgusting 
and self-denigrating as the reality was, she had let these men force her 
into fellatio. She could have let them kill her with the needle. She had 
been drugged . . . but every act calls for a reaction, and she had reacted 
of her own will. Beneath the sophisticated fluff and drugged excuse, their 
lurked in the angel's soul a devilish wish to be subjugated and domineered 
by a masterful sensual creature . . . someone potent and rigid. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

"Want another drink, kid?" The voice rasped above channel 2's network news, 
blaring from its dusty perch above piled up beer cases. 

"Huh . . . oh, yeah.. . " George's eyes ran up two hairy arms, over sloppily 
rolled up shirt sleeves, up a row of buttons opening onto a hirsute chest to 
a face whose watery, reddened eyes mirrored decades of bar life. 

Channel 2's cameraman watched the amber liquid slosh into his shot glass. 
Distractedly, he studied the dribble pearling down the glass' side. 

"Here's to you, Bill Potters, you asshole," toasted George and threw the 
burning liquid down his gullet. 

"You say somethin', kid?" The bartender slipped the whiskey bottle back into 
its dusty row. Somehow this kid didn't fit into his normal clientele. 

Sherrie Williams-disappeared because of the tits and ass news director. What 
a hell of a story, he thought desultorily. He tried to piece it together. 
The black whore on the street, the Palace Peep Show Palace, Sherrie's 
failure to report to the assignment desk. One more shot and he'd have nerve 
enough to pull himself off the tattered barstool and enter the jungle of 
Tenderloin street life. 

"You ever hear of a place called the Peep Show Palace?" he squinted at the 
bartender. 

The bartender corrected his posture and raked his eyes over the young boy. 
Lots of decoys on the streets these days, better to keep to yourself. "Don' 
know nothin' 'bout the place, kid." Nimbly, he grabbed the five dollar bill 
dampened in a pool of whiskey, and darted for the cash register. "That all 
for you, kid?" 

Sherrie felt as if a million hands were pawing at her body, mauling her 
naked flesh like a Thanksgiving turkey being prepared for the oven. Her 
nakedly crouched over frame started to tremble and convulse from the 
masterful power of three men and one drugged woman playing at her vulnerable 
flesh. 

Cock in her mouth, a cock in each fist, and a hard-nosed surrogate cock 
drubbing at the eye of her rectum. . . ! All these cocks to promise her 
ecstasy. She wiggled her buttocks against the plastic penis held securely in 
the oozing hole of Daisy's cunt, while it buzzed and twirled with ticklish 
power in her anus. Every inch of her naked flesh goose bumped and joggled. 

Above her the masterful black fertility statue, once stoically commanding as 
a Cigar Store Indian, began to break through reticence with signs of 
impending orgasm. The scar streaking across his cheek deepened with each 
wincing inhalation. "Unggghh . . . ahhh. . . " He ground his jaws, grunted 
and sucked in his breath through clenched teeth. The grip on his white 
slave's neck tightened chokingly as he rammed his black, glistening cock 
almost free of Sherrie's rosebud lips, then jammed it powerfully back down 
her swan-like throat! 

"Ahhhh . . . white bitch . . . suck my cock, you bitch whore . . . suckkk!" 

Breath steamed rapaciously in and out of Sherrie's nostrils, flaring like a 
frightened deer below wide unblinking eyes that stared in confused fixation 
up into the depthless blackness of her master's eyes. Every cell in her body 
tensed in preparation to spring toward a needed orgasm that would milk these 
three cocks dry and free her from Daisy's clutch as she ground the plastic 
penis into her tightly muscled cunt. 

Daisy stared down at the jiggling half moons of 

Sherrie's naked ass, feeling a sense of black superiority as with a hip 
flexing movement, she shoved the vibrator tighter up into her captive's ass. 
The wide end vibrated into her own cunt, milking the cuntal muscles with a 
ticklish sensation that made her ready to cum! 

Shaker, Carter and Jarvis would see, damn them, who was the woman in the 
room! 

The afternoon light had faded into shades of darkness, leaving the amber 
glow of the lamplight to bathe the room in an unearthly glow conducive to 
the grunts and moans and slurping lustful sounds hissing from the chests and 
mouths of her rapists. Sherrie's throat felt chafed, and her lungs burned 
for want of oxygen. The steel wool of Shaker's pubic hair ground against her 
battered face with long, deeply thrusting strokes that cut off her air. The 
warm, moist juices sloshing about inside her mouth let her attacker's penis 
slip between her pretty lips as though it was ramming deep inside her pussy! 

Shaker's bulging testicles smacked punishingly against her dimpled chin with 
each cock stuffing thrust of his powerful penis. On every fifth lunge he 
varied his torture by stuffing his cock painfully down her throat, while his 
balls mashed up against her throat, and held it there. He ground and twisted 
and mashed his genitals against her pale face and down her esophagus while 
his nostrils flared stentoriously and he held her face captive with his big 
hands. Sherrie's eyes watered, her nose stung, her throat ached . . . and 
still she sucked. 

But stamina was growing thin; every muscle and sinew in her body felt as if 
she'd been put on the rack, stretched and violated to its limits. 

And Daisy was going wild, flexing her hips to jab the vibrator further up 
her captive's rectum, twirling it in circles and holding it tightly there 
while her own orgasm swelled like flood waters behind a damn. The black 
prostitute felt it start in the tips of her hardened nipples, ripple down 
her naked ebony belly to spark to the raw tip of her clitoris. Red-tipped 
fingers twisted and taunted Sherrie's nipples as she humped the white 
captive like a bitch in heat. She reared back and fucked like a man, boring 
the vibrator up the tender sphincter muscle with sadistic force. 

They worked in unison, sweating and groaning in a cacophony of lust. The 
pressure of Daisy's frenetic humping shoved Sherrie forward onto Shaker's 
cock, ramming him deeper down her throat. To maintain balance, Sherrie 
grasped harder onto the twin black cocks in each fist, grabbing them 
desperately as if they were a life raft. . . they were her only means of 
keeping from being asphyxiated by Shaker's enormity cutting off her air 
supply. 

She shivered then. A warm gush of cum bathed her back as Daisy let out a 
wail of relief. Now the surrogate penis felt like a live cock inside her 
rectum, and Sherrie muffled out a scream of agony as it bored up into the 
sensitive nether hole, buzzing, gouging, tearing. 

"Tha's it, white cunt.. . yeah . . . " muttered Daisy, rocking furiously 
back and forth as her cum dribbled down the plastic penis to bathe her ebony 
thighs in sticky juices. And yet she rode Sherrie's ass until every hot drop 
of her cum had squirted from the heart of her womanhood and onto the white 
captive's naked buttocks! 

Satiated, Daisy slumped to the side, and the vibrator fell from the seething 
cuntal folds and from Sherrie's anus in a lewd, plopping sound. 

"Somebody better clean up 'er ass," snickered Daisy. "An' don' ask me.. . . 
" 

"You got 'er dirty, bitch," growled Jarvis. . . "you clean 'er up! We ain' 
done with 'er back door yet." 

Daisy wagged a hand at him and curled up on the bed ready for a nap. 

"Hey, Daisy.. . you clean 'er up, or there ain' gonna be no mo' junk . . . 
and I ain' talkin' politics!" Jarvis belched his demand before his knees 
buckled from the ball bursting hand-job that made him sweat and hum with 
ecstasy. His nostrils flared from the warm, sweet smell of pre-cum. 

"Ah, shit.. . " grumbled Daisy, rising dizzily to her knees and padding 
nakedly toward the bathroom. Pipes rattled, the toiled flushed, and seconds 
later she returned with a dripping, wet washcloth in hand. Wearily, she eyed 
the sadistic defilement of the blonde haired lovely. 

Sherrie was gasping for breath on Shaker's out-stroke. "Unhgghh . . . 
Ungghhh . . . " her protests maintained a steady beat that made Daisy wince. 
Beside Shaker, Carter and Jarvis flexed their hips like crazy wind-up toys, 
in time to Sherrie's pumping fist. 

"Here be yo' fuckin' washcloth," complained Daisy, kneeing her way up onto 
the bed and stationing herself on her haunches so that she could drag the 
cold washcloth over the sex-sizzling crevice of Sherrie's ass cheeks. 

The chill was numbing. Sherrie yelped. For a second her lips fell free from 
Shaker's driving penis and fearing reprisal, she anxiously retrieved it, 
sucking it deep into her throat. 

"Tha's it, baby, you learnin' real good . . . " mumbled Shaker with an evil 
grin. 

Daisy hummed as she stroked the rough washcloth over Sherrie's anus and, 
loosing herself in her task, her drugged eyes drifted desirously to the 
white swells of Sherrie's ass cheeks. She rubbed the cloth along the 
hairless crack, up to the swollen blood-fed lips of her vagina, up to the 
oily nub of her clitoris. 

"Nnnngghhh . . . " muttered the white slave. Sherrie's belly tightened; her 
back arched at the electricity sizzling in the raw nerves of her clitoris. 

Daisy propped herself up on one elbow and eyed her captive curiously. She 
massaged Sherrie's pussy with rougher strokes, subconsciously following the 
rhythm of Shaker's raping penis. Sherrie let out a sigh and let her thighs 
fall open, spreading her knees wider to give room to Daisy's temptingly 
working hand. 

Perhaps on some psychic level, Sherrie was praising the heroin which allowed 
her to suppress the ultimate torture yet to come: the shredding of her 
hymen. But the drugs coursing through her bloodstream, the rape of her mouth 
and this attack on her naked pussy, had left Sherrie Williams a goose bumped 
quivering mass of female flesh-trapped for need of release. Her entire 
nudity felt open to attack.. . and still she hadn't cum! 

A low groan roared above her as Jarvis' knees started to buckle from the 
delicious pressure of Sherrie's working fist, squeezing his cock to an 
explosive erection, shooting out a pint of scalding sperm! Sherrie's fingers 
sensed the violent pulsations of the charging cum as it erupted from the 
unseeing eye of his penis and shot in a steaming arch onto her dimpled face, 
dribbling down her neck to glob on the diamond chips of her nipples. 

That started Carter off. With a yelp, he shot his seed in a fountainous 
spray from the left. The room stung with the smell of hot, dripping sperm . 
. . male seed spraying the air! 

That left the steely body hovering above Sherrie's captive body. Shaker 
began to ripple with sadistic ecstasy. He threw back his head and bellowed, 
breath spitting through clenched teeth. "Awww . . . ahhh . . . eeeaaattt 
ittt!" The walls reverberated from the scream of release. His knees buckled 
and his black, satiny skin shimmered over his rib cage. The tendons of his 
neck stood out in bold relief from the violent explosion centering in his 
sperm bloated testicles. His taut buttocks clenched, the sinews in his arms 
corded; he grabbed Sherrie's head and ground her face with orgiastic 
violence over the steaming, fiery blackness of his steel hard groin. 

"Ahhh . . . " It erupted, a geyser of hot, male seed. "Suckkk . . . " he 
hissed desperately. 

The hot sperm bathing her throat with sticky, salty sperm burst from the 
head of the stone hewn cock of her fertility god with the force of a garden 
hose. 

Sherrie gagged, wanted to spit and wrench from the thick globules of cum 
dribbling down her tender throat. With vigorous force he humped her battered 
face, grinding his groin over her tortured nose, scraping away dried blood. 
Spatulets of cum dribbled lewdly down her chin as the sperm from Carter and 
his lustful companion covered her satiny body with rivers of sticky lust 
that clung to her pure, white flesh like dew on rose petals. 

To torment humiliatingly, he held his cock deep within her throat until 
every last squirt had slimed its way from the steely tube, now spent and 
flaccid. It slipped from Sherrie's tender lips, while her fists clung hard 
to the twin cocks growing limp. 

Carter pulled free first. "Christ almighty . . . " he whistled. His eyes 
fell to Daisy's busily working fingers playing in the soft nest of the 
captive's pussy, then upward to Daisy's cat-like smile. "Havin' yo'sef a 
good time with tha' white mama, ain' ya?" 

Shaker pulled free and sank into the sofa's weakened springs, his expression 
stoic and placid. An aura of unsated power, pulsing from his shaven head 
declared him king. Then all heads turned to him as he announced: 

"Get ridda 'er. We got stuff to be doin'. " 

Laying cuddled on the bed like two spoons, Daisy lifted her head to stare at 
Shaker; beside her, Sherrie's numbed brain failed to grasp the meaning of 
his command. 

"I jus' be gittin' 'er warmed up, Shaker," pouted Daisy, stretching her 
black arm over the white stomach to let her fingers play in the moist nest 
of the captive's vagina. Her middle finger slipped into the naked hole with 
a squelching sound. 

The pit of Sherrie's vagina was screaming for relief. It felt as if a 
million red devils were pricking the swollen fleshy folds of her pussy with 
tiny pitchforks. Somehow she sensed it was over . . . and ironically, that 
seemed unfair. Didn't she deserve satisfaction after having given so much to 
so many? 

 CHAPTER NINE 

A long, dark shadow crossed the room. Shaker rose from the sofa; a sharp 
inhalation of breath, the whine of a zipper, and he was ready to go. "We 
gotta pick up tha' oz of H," he growled,". . . get yo'r pants on." 

"Naw," snorted Carter. "I ain' got none of tha' white pussy yet!" 

Shaker shook an angered finger at his accomplice. "Lis'en," he spat between 
clenched teeth, the facial scar exaggerating his cruelty, "You be the one 
picked up this bitch from the alley, now it be yo'r respons'bility to kill 
'er!" 

Jarvis whistled through his teeth and shaking his head, reached down for his 
pants. "Glad it ain' me." 

Shaker and Carter exchanged heated glances. It was Shaker who broke the 
silence. 

"Knock 'er out wit H and take 'er body down to the Bay and toss 'er over the 
Dumbarton Bridge. They won' find 'er for days.. . Besides," he added, 
rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, "they'll think it be part of the 
Oakland drug wars goin' on now. . . . " 

Carter turned as pale as a black man can get; his Adam's apple bobbed as he 
swallowed thickly. He tried appealing to Shaker's machoism. "Come on, man," 
he pleaded, spreading his hands. "Ain' often we find a toy like this." 

His dark eyes cast reluctantly toward the bed where Sherrie Williams 
half-conscious captive body lay squirming and wiggling under Daisy's 
practiced touch. 

"Don' you be gettin' us busted," snarled Shaker. "We don' know if this bitch 
be cop or some kinda pervert," snarled Shaker. Despite the ego-pumping bliss 
of having enslaved the beautiful white bodied woman, he was in a sour mood. 
It made him itch in the balls when things went awry . . . and Sherrie 
Williams was the venom that made him itch. 

Shaker scratched his head, glaring down at the twitching captive body. 
Trouble smelled in the air. Had Carter not found her snooping in the alley, 
dressed up like an orphan boy, another five grand would have graced his 
black, hungry fist. His snappy eyes fell on Daisy. Pathetic bitch. . . 
pathetic black bitch . . . But damned good at toying with young boys, 
bringing their naked young chestnut-sized balls to hardness and making them 
squirt their young seed into her mouth-before the eye of the camera. The 
second she spread those luscious black thighs, the boys wiggled down on 
their bellies and suckled her pussy with the instinctual delight of a baby 
sucking his mother's breast. 

The moralistic implications of deflowering young boys . . . all, what the 
hell. It stabbed at Shaker's consciousness none. They gotta lose it sometime 
. . . better at the hands of a practiced woman like Daisy than some 
pimply-faced virgin yelling rape in the back seat of a stolen car. 

"Stuff tha' cock in yer pants," he indicated to Jarvis. "We gotta twist 
somebody's arm into lettin' us get the H on credit." 

In seconds, they were dressed and out the door, leaving Carter and Daisy to 
keep watch over the mindless white captive. 

Vestal virgin to black witchery . . . raped, defiled. 

George pressed his leanness to the paint-chipped walls of the Peep Show 
Palace, whose neon lights splashed his pallid cheeks in an unearthly glow 
that might have been the sacrificial pyre's fire glow. He swallowed tightly. 

Mesmerized by the lurid beauty of Sherrie William's comatose body, naked and 
glistening with globules of-Oh, Christ, don't let it be . . . the words 
choked in Channel 2's cameraman's throat-cum . . . cum . . . from a black 
man's dick\ Sherrie Williams, sacrificial lamb for Bill Potters' tits and 
ass news team! The bastard oughtta be proud of himself. News reporters rape 
. . . great for the ratings! 

Striking rattlesnake like, he jabbed his head toward the window and pulled 
his eyes free reluctantly. He gulped, the Jack Daniels burning his gut. 
Besides three black men, that was a black woman lying beside Sherrie with 
her finger stuck up channel 2's news reporter's pussy! Mesmerized, he stole 
another peek and felt a tightness in the crotch of his Levis. His hand 
cupped the ominous bulge and pinched it a little, subconsciously comparing 
his size to the black one dangling between taut thighs halfway to his knees. 

Good, the men were leaving now. Two at least.. . leaving Sherrie on the 
cum-stained bed in the rat hole of existence, musty with the stench of dirty 
linens and dirty needles . . . flanked by a naked black man and an immoral 
black woman toying with her body unmercifully. Ah, Bill Potters, what a 
great story for you! 

Hate, revenge, disgust clogged his brain, along with a trickle of arousal 
which turned inward, brought all the negative emotions home to roost. He 
couldn't pry his eyeballs loose from the lewd scenario enacted for him on 
the cleaner side of the smudged window! 

The slam of the front door jarred Sherrie from the hazy mistiness of 
druggedness. To the right of her (or was it the left?) warm blasts of air 
hissed from Daisy's slumbering nostrils. The black female tormentor had 
fallen asleep and let her raping fingers, oozing with warm cuntal juices, 
fall from the captive's pussy. Sherrie lay on her side, breathing heavily, 
struggling to free herself from the black arms embracing her, but finding no 
strength to move. 

A dulled sense of awareness told the white captive she was being sandwiched 
in by black flesh. Carter had ambled over to the bed and, staring down at 
the perfect white flesh, had stretched his black body out alongside the rich 
swells of her captive form. 

Studiously, he regarded her perfect profile, swollen from beatings and 
Shaker's rape of her mouth. Pearls of drying cum encrusted her lips, her 
hairline. Sadly, he envisioned her bloated beauty after a day of floating in 
the algae-thickened, turtle infested sloughs near the bridge. 

Why the hell you gotta come into Carter's life, woman, he wondered, feeling 
tinges of self-pity at being the appointed one to kill such beauty. Could he 
do it? His stomach knotted. Black eyes raked over the high swell of her 
aristocratic cheekbones, bruised by his own fist. Shit.. . ! He sucked in 
his breath. I could smell trouble . . . goddamned bastard . . . I shoulda 
kneir betta . . . Now Is gonna be behind bars and Shaker go free. And Shaker 
be the man gets all a her pussy . . . 

The sensual longing of possessing this white beauty combined with vengeful 
epitaphs aimed at Shaker's selfishness worked overtime. Damn it, if he had 
to kill, he'd possess her first.. . make her his slave, become her master! 

Silently, he kneed his way upright onto the bed, the black pole of his 
potent cock dangling between his taut thighs rising its head toward the 
ceiling. 

The feel of legs pushing against her naked flesh stirred Sherrie. She opened 
one swollen eye at the feel of being rolled over supine onto her back. 
Someone was straddling her waist with their buttocks pointing toward her 
face and his legs spread on either side of her dainty head. Nostrils wafting 
from the muskiness, she felt the weight of his body hiss down onto her 
burning lungs. 

Had she orgasmed after that brutal rape of her mouth, wondered Carter, 
sniffing. Shaker coulda least made er cum . . . 

Gently his tongue licked hungrily at the soft petals of swollen pussy flesh 
between her sleek thighs. Front teeth nibbled at the tendons of muscle on 
the inside of her slender thighs as he wiggled his buttocks so that his 
meaty cock was nestled between the full, ripe melons of her naked breasts! 

Blinking one blue eye, Sherrie stared into the dark, rippling muscles of 
Carter's back as he slowly rocked his powerful pelvis back and forth, 
drawing his long, hard cock into the valley of her warm, deep cleavage. The 
liquid heat of his penis sizzled on her soft, mammalian flesh and as he sunk 
his weight onto her breast, the breath burned in her lungs. 

"Ahhh . . . ! " Sherrie shuddered from the sudden feel of soft lips, cool as 
menthol on the swollen folds of her cuntal flesh. His moist tongue burrowed 
into the blood-filled walls of her vagina, writhing violently, deliciously, 
soothingly. 

The fantasy to bite a woman's clitoris, chew it till it bled bubbled in 
Carter's libido, but he fought down the urge, reminding himself she was a 
gentle woman. Yet the vixen posture of her opened thighs and the wickedly 
rich aroma of her cunt overcame his senses and his black hands began to maul 
her cheeky buttocks as his webbed penis slithered hotly in and out between 
her violated breasts glistened with streaks of pre-cum. 

Head throbbing, Sherrie rose off the pillow and her eyes opened in stunned 
bewilderment as she stared at the erect, black cock snaking through the twin 
hills of her milky breasts! Leathery, bloated testicles slapped lewdly 
against her chest with his slithering, snake-like movements. With his weight 
pinning her to the mattress, there was no escaping this lizardly attack. Yet 
his skin was warming, rubbing against her pure whiteness. 

Sherrie Williams, news reporter, sophisticate, 'untouchable snob', molted 
into a slithering reptilian creature whose raw nerve endings demanded 
satisfaction. Convulsively, she felt her naked thighs open eagerly to 
Carter's slithering, warm tongue as it brushed across the nub of her 
sensitive clitoris. Her buttocks clenched and trembled and in her dazed mind 
his throbbing penis was an extension of his wildly working tongue dipping 
into the heart of her womb, swabbing at the threads of her hymen. Her entire 
naked body-from her curled under toes, to the diamond chips of her 
nipples-sparked like a shorted out electrical cord whose plug was the bud of 
her throbbing clitoris! 

Sherrie's legs sighed open as she felt herself slipping into an altered 
state of conscious-a bodiless being floating in space with sparkles of light 
shimmering before her unseeing eyes. Carter's tongue hotly encircled her 
nude cunt, making her legs scissor and spasm as if someone were holding a 
hot wire to her thigh. Her buttocks shivered as a frantic, desperate need to 
orgasm sizzled through her body. 

She had to cum or she would short circuit! After pleasing so many didn't she 
deserve to cum? Sherrie shivered and shook with the need for release. Her 
breath deepened from the labor of breathing, her chest heaving from the 
burning air hissing from her lungs. Reality had vaporized along with her 
breath; a total stranger, a black man, hungrily licking at her virginal cunt 
while his slithering penis slipped wetly between her breasts, was but a 
sensation with no emotional threads attached . . . only the raw physical 
sensation of lust. 

"Unnnggghhh . . . " Cum encrusted lips parted in a low moan of bestial heat, 
as her naked ass began a desperate humping rhythm beneath her captor's 
weight. 

Carter's throaty grumblings of animalish delight chorused Sherrie's groans, 
as his face bounced against the trembling, jiggling flesh of her naked 
thighs! A pain jabbed at his groin as his penis' skin tightened glove-like 
around the milky swells of the white captive's luscious breasts, trapping 
his veiny cock as though it were her cunt he was drubbing into with chafing 
warmth. The puffy areolas of her nipples had hardened from the warm 
friction, tightening them into bumblebees of pleasure. White on black 
drubbed and rubbed . . . creating the final salacity that sent Carter 
tumbling over the edge of pleasure, and taking his white captive with him! 

"Ummmmaammmahh aaaaggggghhhhhnnnngg-gggggggg . . . " a litany of limitless 
pleasure bubbled from Sherrie's swollen lips, stained with blood and cum. 
Who was slave and who was master? Carter slobbered his soft tongue, lapping 
slurpingly at her naked pussy, adoring it with subservient glee in efforts 
to please the white princess. Waves of sensual euphoria flooded her brain to 
wash away the stains of tension and guilt. A flash flood swept over the 
damned up walls of virginity as a wild charge of electrical power crackled 
from the tips of her chafed nipples to the swollen bud of her lust-filled 
clitoris! 

"Ahhh . . . oh, oh, oh!! " Who she was and where she was were silly 
inquisitions now. Sherrie's tortured throat burned from the scream of 
release as her naked thighs goose bumped and trembled with delight under the 
wicked throes of her first tongue-induced orgasm. 

Carter let out a wail of helplessness as his meaty cock gushed a river of 
thick, hot cum spewing over the milky swells of Sherrie's naked breasts. 
Like dew on rose petals, it clung precariously to the tips of her nipples . 
. . hanging on the precipice of orgasm. 

Little by little, Sherrie Williams was losing her virginity and little by 
little her mind floated painlessly above her body. 

Sherrie Williams was not alone in the parting of mind and body. George 
glared hungry eyed at the salacious feast laid out on the rumpled bed. 
Luscious white thighs spread, pussy lips blood fed and throbbing, feeding 
the thick, slimy tongue of a black rapist! 

Christ! George slapped his forehead, trying to jog his senses back into a 
respectable order. Between his tight thighs, his penis throbbed to an 
unbearable erection, the eye of it seeping with envious joy. A pair of 
nostrils snorted with indignity. Didn't the squirming, wriggling body know 
it was being raped? He'd heard deep in the heart of every angel lay a 
dormant desire to be raped, defiled, degraded; but never had he judged 
Sherrie Williams, impeccable, arrogant Sherrie Williams to be of that 
shameless category! 

Pressing his nose to the smudged glass, his forehead furrowed and eyes 
squinted for signs of resistance. Not in the trembling, widespread thighs; 
not in the head spraying blonde hair over the pillow in a lustful dance of 
euphoria. He straightened and pinched the sac of his Levi-clad testicles in 
the palm of his hand. To call the assignment desk and alert the police would 
have been the manly thing to do; but the sperm-heavy load weighting his palm 
was a manly thing to . . . very real and very pulsing. Swallowing down a 
lump of guilt, he stealthily unzipped his pants and hauled out into the neon 
splattered night, the veiny tube of his thrusting penis. He squeezed the 
throbbing hardness and a pearl of pre-cum, that could have been the tears 
wetting Sherrie's blue eyes, oozed from the tip. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

One hand nervously raked through a shock of graying hair, as Bill Potters 
paced his office. Through the glass cage his eyes fixed on a handful of 
night reporters preparing for the eleven o'clock edition of the news. A 
cacophany of typewriters sluiced the silence and meaningful puffs of 
cigarette smoke blued the air. Neither element echoed the tension stiffening 
his body. 

Decisively he threw himself to the assignment desk and hammered a fist on 
the desk. The night editor bolted and stared bug-eyed up at Bill Potters' 
reddened orbs. 

"I need the report from George." He thrust out a hand and grabbed futilely 
at air. "Goddamned it, where's Sherrie Williams? Has she called in? We need 
her story to fill the gap on tonight's news." Again he clawed at the back of 
his neck and began pacing. "No murders, no violence . . . what the hell kind 
of newscast is that?" 

Studying the furrowed brow above darting, hen-like eyes, the assignment 
editor straightened and shook his head for emphasis. "No report from 
either," he retorted flatly. 

"WhatV Potter spun around on his heel. "What the fuck's going on around 
here?" He glared at the beads of sweat on the editor's stoic forehead. "Get 
another crew to cover the story . . . I want a story, do you hear me, you 
asshole?" 

The news director stomped out of the room and headed for the sanctuary of 
his office and slammed the door shut. He threw himself into his swivel chair 
and started interrogating his consciousness. 

Should he follow nobler instincts and alert the police to the possibility of 
foul play regarding one luscious-assed Sherrie Williams with the result of 
spoon-feeding the police department with the mayor's and press' honors . . . 
or should he savor the taste of showing the viewing community (ignorant 
shits they were) that television was a viable vehicle at stopping crime? And 
all, of course, live on the newscast! 

Flicking his wrist, he glared at his digital watch. Fight forty-two and 
twenty-one seconds. 

Across town, another dictator of foul intent stomped aggravatedly from a 
scene of conflict. No cash, no ounce of heroin. 

The hulk of Shaker Jones' six-feet, six-inch frame streaking like black 
lightening down the sidewalk with the puppy-doggish companion two-stepping 
to keep pace, might have been humorous. That is, until an unwary drunk 
holding out a dirty palm for a spare nickel crumpled to the gutter in pain 
from a sharp elbow catching him in the Adam's apple. 

"Fuckin' nigger . . . cocksucker," the wounded wino grumbled, struggling to 
his knees in time to see Shaker make an abrupt right and disappear into the 
tawdry storefront. 

Cracking his knuckles under the crippling force of his other hand, Shaker 
kicked open the door to the Peep Show Palace and sent it flying off its 
hinges. It crashed against the Bondage section of the bookshelf and women in 
chains and ropes with apples and cocks in their mouths tumbled domino-like 
from the shelves. 

Jarvis, fast on his heels, pleaded, "Keep cool, man . . . you be gettin' the 
cops 'ttention." He, too, felt frustrated and angry at the sour turn of 
events. Twenty thousand, street value, had been foiled because of the 
snooping blonde Carter had dragged off the street. 

Now Shaker's mood hovered between murderous assault and frustrated rage as 
he stomped into the bedroom of the back apartment and eyed the mattress 
where Sherrie Williams supine white naked body lay. Beside her lay Carter, 
snuggled up like a black orphan during the Civil War milking on a southern 
mama's breast. Childlike, gurgling noises bubbled jubilantly from his 
throat. 

One yank of the black opera curtain ripped it from the rod. Shaker balled it 
up in his fist and, snarling, tossed it to the floor. His upper lip curled 
in disgust. "What the fuck's goin' on here! You suppose to off the bitch!" 
Shaker's eyeballs bulged from his head in rage. Adrenalin pumped up his 
chest as if a bicycle pump were stuck down his esophagus. He grabbed Carter 
in one steely fist and tossed him off the bed like a rag doll. 

Carter futilely tried to defend himself. Rolling over onto his stomach, he 
grabbed for the knife Daisy kept in the nightstand. Its shimmering, steely 
length glinted under the lamplight. Crouched on hands and knees, he eyed the 
superior strength of Shaker's massive body; his eyes traveled from toes to 
chest and back again. 

Before he could spring, a foot caught him in the side of the head, knocking 
the knife from his hand. The sickening sound of a cracking skull made Jarvis 
wince. 

Shaker's upper lip curled; the scar deepened. "Anybody else gonna fuck wit' 
Shaker?" 

His nostrils flared like a race horse at the end of the line. His eyes fell 
on Sherrie Williams' pristine body. 

In one violent movement, he tore off his pants. "Somebody gonna pay for this 
shit!" 

Sweat dribbled down his hairless forehead, his bald head shimmering with the 
sweat of intended labor. Sinews pumped adrenalin through his vengeful body, 
pumping pints of blood to bloat his groin to sadistic proportions. He 
grabbed the meaty girth of his growing cock and shook it at the comatose 
victim. 

"I gonna kill ya with my cock, white bitch!" he spat, his eyes remaining 
fixed on Sherrie's fluttering eyelids. 

"Huh?" In swooning tranquility, Sherrie opened an eye and caught sight of 
the black spear lancing between her torturer's hands. The eye oozed milky 
pre-cum, hanging at the tip. The black hand pumped, and the penis grew 
longer with each stroke. The sleek movement of the foreskin mesmerized her 
and Sherrie blinked, letting her blue eyes travel up over the muscle taut 
belly and nakedly sheened chest. Something caught in her throat: it was a 
scream. 

Throwing himself on the bed on all fours, Shaker positioned himself 
superiorly above his white slave. Without ceremony and without mercy, he 
shoved the heavy length of his black, blood-fed cock into the tiny, virginal 
hole between Sherrie's white thighs. 

"Aaahhhhhhnnnngggg!" She could feel the tender hymen tissue rip, could feel 
the gush of sacrificial blood bathe his raping black penis in witness to the 
treasured loss. 

Deep within his throat, Shaker growled at the warmth bathing his cock. 
Levering himself up, he gazed down at the blood streaked rivulets trailing 
down Sherrie's alabaster thighs. "Holy shit.. . we got us a cocksuckin' 
white virgin!" he growled sadistically. The thought pleased him; it doubled 
the joy of rape. 

Sherrie's chest heaved from a scream that died in her throat; a black, salty 
hand clamped over her cum-encrusted lips. A mournful whimper was all Jarvis 
and Carter heard. The pain, the agony was beyond description, despite the 
numbing heroin. It felt as if a tree trunk had been bulldozed its way up to 
her belly button. The shock to her system brought tears to her eyes. 

Shaker held his cock there, luxuriating in the feel of its throbbing rape. 
He wanted to turn her snotty white guts into pudding, wanted to kill her 
with his cock. Below him, Sherrie's body wiggled in red hot pain that 
refused to cease as, levering himself on the palms of his hands, he bored 
deeper into her; his black penis slithered deeper into the bloodied hole, 
trying to reach her throat. 

"Ahhh . . . " Sherrie's mouth went dry, her fingernails dug into the palms 
of her hands. Faint and weak, she could only moan and not resist. 

"You keep them blue eyes on me, honey, I wanna see you scream yo'r last when 
I kill ya with my cockl" 

From the hateful, animalish expression, she had no reason to doubt him. 
Hovering like the black shadow of death, Shaker inched into her. The 
swollen, blood-filled flesh of her violated cuntal walls offered no 
resistance to the incredibly hard hunk of male flesh. Tears of fear and 
bewilderment dampened her eyes. She blinked back the dew and clamped her 
pearly teeth over the salty rim of her bottom lip. A sob broke from her 
throat and a hysterical scream tore from her lungs . . . instantly silenced 
by a whack across her bruised face. 

"Shaker says keep them eyes openl" 

Sherrie stared up into the cold, cruel eyes of her black master. 

Mercilessly, Shaker mauled her belly with his cruel hands, kneading his way 
up her supple, white body to the ripe, strawberry-tipped mounds of her 
succulent breasts flesh. A snicker of sadistic joy curled his lip as he 
mashed her breasts together and rubbed her crinkled nipples together as if 
they were two pieces of flint. The excruciating friction chafed the tender 
skin into reddened nubs. 

Gulping back a tear, Sherrie's eyes disobediently lowered from the scarred 
face down to the fleshy mounds. Were those her nipples rubbing against each 
other in orgasmic joy? A wicked sensation sizzled through her belly to 
center in the nub of her clitoris. 

A dull, aching congestion weighted her lower belly as it pleaded to be 
lightened of its sweet-scented cum! 

With a grunt, Shaker bored the last five inches of his ebony hewn penis into 
the cringing white belly of Sherrie's virginal cunt! 

"Ung! Unggh!! " Breath caught in her lungs. She felt the liquid heat of her 
cock-filled womb gorge and seep with naked lust from the throbbing heat of 
his damnably huge cock. 

This pleased him-venting his anger, getting revenge. Gazing down at the 
glistening, bloodied stump of his cock, he watched it disappear into her 
white belly! This time he ground his kinky black pubic hairs against 
Sherrie's swollen cuntal lips, milking the final lustful charges from her 
tight, unused cuntal muscles. 

Beyond the shredded tissue of her hymen, Sherrie felt the head of Shaker's 
blood-fed cock drub at the rubbery tip of her never-before touched cervix. 
Friction of two naked bodies rubbing and scraping at the most sensitive 
points of their beings, sent electrical chills sizzling along Sherrie's 
ragged nerve synapses. He had violated her most private being; he had 
conquered her, she realized in a gush of terror. Violated, defiled, he would 
fuck her until she died! 

In torturously grinding circles, Shaker started a rhythm of drawing back. 
His meaty cock freed her cunt with sickening slurping sounds. He watched the 
pink folds of her pussy cling hotly to the hard black flesh of his penis . . 
. as her mouth had earlier! 

"Ahhh . . . " Sherrie shivered as the black animal used his muscled force to 
slam back into her with a force that jiggled her breasts and rammed her 
blonde head against the brass headboard rail. 

Suddenly, he pulled back and slammed in with all his power. This time she 
spilled sideways, her head hanging over the edge of the bed. 

"Somebody hoi' the bitch down!" he boomed. 

Four black hands pinned the cringing white captive to the bed, holding her 
as if she were a human battering ram. Hold tight they did-grabbing her arms, 
her belly, her thighs, mauling her tender flesh and leaving it bruised-while 
Shaker gored into her belly another two blood swollen inches. 

Carter's head ached above the temple, and his throat burned from Shaker's 
attack. Sympathy for the white captive simmered into racial hatred. Grabbing 
her breast, he dug his dirty nails into the tender flesh and delighted as 
lifting his hand, a red mark lingered hurtfully. He'd been a fool not to get 
rid of her earlier. They'd been a tight foursome-Daisy, Jarvis, Shaker and 
he-until the white bitch stole the show. 

Consciousness gave way to sensation, blurred, fuzzy, crackling within 
Sherrie's held down body. Only feeling and a holocaust of pain-filled 
pleasure stormed her body. Her cunt was sore and ravaged . . . but her 
libido was far from satisfied! She longed to be rid of the empty years of 
working hard and finding no pleasure in men. Along with that desire lurked 
the need to be destroyed, hurt, because somewhere at the core of her being, 
she knew such wickedness was wrong. 

Slaved and enslaved stared at each other, daring the other, goading the 
other on. Instinctively, she wiggled her naked pussy up against his engorged 
prick, delighting in the electric feel of kinky pubic curls stroking her 
oily clitoris. She arched her back and ground her soft buttocks into the 
sex-soaked mattress like a whore trying to satisfy her John! 

"Whoopie! Lookit 'er go!" whistled Jarvis. 

Tremblingly, Sherrie's thighs slowly snaked up to encircle her tormentor's 
smooth, black legs. Rhythmically, she rocked her cock-stuffed pelvis over 
the black meat of his cock; the sound of her labored breathing rose above 
the confusion taking place outside the window. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Punishing cock thrusts dug into Sherrie's pussy with a force that nearly 
cracked her pelvic bone. She bit down on her swollen lower lip, splattered 
with blood, and flailed her head until her honey hair, shimmering golden in 
the light, cascaded on the rumpled coverlet like angel down. Tears spurted 
from the corners of her large, blue eyes. The liquid sloshing of her bloody 
juices filled the room. 

"Ahhh . . . tight cunt, tight cunt.. . " hissed Shaker in a frenzy. 

Sherrie opened her watery eyes to glimpse down, straining her neck at the 
glistening black pole coated with her sexual juices. It slithered like a 
black snake into the forested hole of her pussy, hugged and swabbed by the 
warm folds of cuntal flesh. 

The terrifying realization that his cock, the very cock she watched violate 
her body, had incited her to the point of lubricating him for penetration 
added a spark of lust that built, seethingly inside her belly with a fury 
she could neither control nor deny. Somewhere within her virginal soul, a 
black demon lurked . . . freed by one of its own color! 

"Ohhh . . . more . . . deeper. . . . " she mewled, thrashing her head. 

Shaker snickered lewdly. "You be gettin' more, honey . . don' you worry 
none." With that, he hammered into her sloshing pussy with a series of 
pelvic crunching thrusts. Jarvis and Carter had to brace themselves to keep 
from careening over backwards and keep the captive on the bed. 

A cracked, pink tongue wetted swollen lips. "Yesss . . . " hissed Sherrie in 
a monosyllabic demand soon to be answered. The demon inside of her screamed 
to be exorcised! Glazed eyes rolled convulsively about her head, her tongue 
compulsively wetting the cum-encrusted line of her lips. Goose bumped, 
cock-stuffed thighs trembled, quivering under the sadistic assault. 

Six black eyes stared bewilderedly at the frenetic woman. Their thoughts ran 
in a similar pattern: this woman was a virgin two hours ago. 

Savagely, Shaker slipped his hands under Sherrie's buttocks and lifted her 
into a posture that outlined his cock burrowing into her belly. It came as 
no surprise that Jarvis gawked hungry eyed at the nakedly shimmering form. 

Loosening his hold on the captive, Jarvis' face went tight as he ripped off 
his pants and shirt. No protest came from the leader when Jarvis whispered 
thickly: "Turn the cunt over and les' get 'er from both ends!" 

With a wicked snicker of approval, Shaker lifted Sherrie to a sitting 
position with his black penis still buried in the oozing depths of her 
belly. 

Jarvis licked his thick lips and studied the smooth, satiny curve of her 
back, dipping down to a tiny waist and swelling deliciously at the hips. Two 
perfectly formed white buttocks stared vulnerably back at him. Kneeing his 
way onto the bed, he took his blue-veined penis in hand and aimed it at the 
target of Sherrie Williams' virginal buttocks! 

Jarvis took control. "Let 'er down, Shaker!" With a deadly, swift aim, he 
parted the tender buttocks cheeks and cruelly rammed the mushroomed tip of 
his huge penis into the nerve-packed hole of her unguarded anus. 

Had it not been for Daisy's lurid preparation, Sherrie might have fainted 
dead. But the sphincter muscle had stretched, widened, to accept the plastic 
core of the vibrator-had already experienced the inexorable, excruciating 
pressure of anal rape. No teasing, no preparation; he rammed straight as an 
arrow into the hairless target of her rectum. 

"Nooooo!" Pain and humiliation joined in a screech of helplessness. 

The meaty pole of Jarvis' sodomizing cock was forced into her as 'Shaker 
squirmed to bore his glistening pole into her seeping cunt another three 
inches. She sensed him grow inside her belly, pulverizing intestines, 
membranes-anything in his path. 

Sherrie Williams was hopelessly sandwiched between two powerful superior 
black bodies, their sweat rivering with her own, their lancing manhood 
gouging into her stretched orifices with relentless force. 

"Fuck the shit outta the cunt," snarled Shaker, grinding his jaws in unison 
to the savage grinding of his bloated loins against the sensitive, soft 
curve of Sherrie's naked crotch. 

Brutally gripping the twin cheeks of her flawless buttocks, Jarvis drove his 
tunneling pole of meat to the rubbery nether depths of her bowels! His 
breath snorted hotly on her back, his penis gouged into her anus. The 
libido-feeding sight of Shaker's bloated penis half-embedded in the pink, 
fleshy folds of her vagina made Jarvis grunt and hiss with savage glee. 

"Ow!! ! Ummph!" Sherrie grunted and groveled, flailing her honey hair in a 
wild dance of desire, her breasts bobbing and jiggling from the sadistic 
force of this double rape. 

The two men worked in unison, pounding into the captive's body until the bed 
threatened to collapse. Beside them, curled up kittenishly, Daisy slumbered 
peacefully. 

From the back Jarvis watched his slippery blackness being swallowed up into 
the captive's buttocks, ripples of intense arousal stabbing at his groin. 
Carter had slumped back in bewilderment, his grip on the captive lessened to 
an occasional push to keep the threesome from tumbling off the bed. He 
sensed she was getting into the rhythm of it, humping up and back at both in 
a soft, pagan rhythm that would have shamed Daisy's clumsy attempts. 

The searing pain of Jarvis' evil sodomy found companionship in the chafed 
nub of Sherrie's swollen clitoris, alive with the pulsating need to explode 
into orgasm. Sherrie sensed her body respond to pain with pleasure, giving 
her rapists pleasure for every thrust of pain they inflicted upon her! The 
need, the desperately searing need for orgasm commanded her body-even at the 
hands of these torturous rapists! The heroin, bless the heroin, her 
subconscious mind prayed appreciatively. 

Jarvis felt the strong sphincter muscles tease his penis with an elastic 
intensity that made him gnash his teeth and bellow out with lust. "God . . . 
your ass . . . your tight white ass!" His stomach rippled with pleasure that 
shot hot arrows of sperm to his groin. His fat thighs slowly broke into a 
rapacious humping as he forced the white captive to enslave herself on 
Shaker's murderous penis. 

As Sherrie arched her back and thrust her thighs forward to capture more of 
Shaker's penis in her cunt, Jarvis clenched his buttock muscles and rammed 
his cock into the dark recesses of Sherrie's pristine ass. The threesome 
worked in a rhythm, a soulful rhythm: As Sherrie shoved her thighs 
backwards, rocking, Jarvis pulled his blood-fed cock out almost to the 
mushroomed head, watching the ravaged folds of her raped anus cling to his 
blackness. Her violated ass-flesh gripped him slavishly, wantonly. Dangling 
against the bedspread, his balls began to throb and ache, his raging cock 
bloating, gouging, boring into the tenderness of her once virgin rectum. 

Even the mouse in Channel 2's newsroom knew better than to defy Bill 
Potters. Meet the deadline-or get fired! And when he declared: "I want clips 
from the Peep Show Palace for the eleven PM newscast," he meant precisely 
that. 

Flicking his wrist to check his digital watch every few minutes, Channel 2's 
mini-cam operator, Ralph Jasperson, hustled through a small crowd of 
curiosity seekers following him and his grip, John. In route to the assigned 
block of Eddie Street, they passed by the dingy bars wherein some pressed 
their noses to the window to witness firsthand the upcoming bust. Nobody 
came into the Tenderloin with television cameras unless the police arrived 
first-or so they thought. 

"These people think we're cops. Imagine that!" John, two weeks as grip, 
exclaimed, swinging around in wonderment of his first urgent assignment. 

"You can thank Bill Potters for that," glowered Ralph, stooping under the 
weight of the camera balanced on his shoulder. "I don't know what the hell 
we're going to find to take pictures of . . . an empty storefront . . 
.dildos?" he snickered exasperatedly, reading the bug-eyed expression on his 
grip's face. 

The paint-chipped storefront was within sight now. "Peep Show Palace" 
blinked in flamingo neon not twenty feet away. The eerie light bathed the 
two in an unearthly light as in unison, they paused. 

"You really think Sherrie Williams would be fool enough to go in there 
alone?" John couldn't fathom the decency of it. 

Ralph scratched his head, a furrow of concern creasing his forehead. "And 
George . . . what happened to him?" 

"You don't suppose they're . . . " John gulped and surveyed the inglorious 
setting of his first mini-cam assistant assignment. This was living proof 
that television is not synonymous with glamour. 

Ralph charged on. "Let's station ourselves in the alley. . . maybe we'll be 
able to get an idea from there." 

The wicked demon within Sherrie Williams' soul pounded at the door of 
satisfaction, demanding release from a long years of virginity. The sizzling 
passion within her soul cried for a climax . . . at the hands of her 
diabolical captors! Better at the hands of a stranger, than not at all, her 
subconscious reasoned. 

The news reporter's frazzled brain slowly accustomed itself to the raping 
penis jabbing into her tender, once virginal orifices. The sweet scent of 
Negroid sweat mingling with the sweat juices of Nordic skin, made her 
nostrils flare with a tremor of passion that bubbled and crackled in the 
heat of her raped loins. 

Their ragged, wheezing male breath snorted from black, flaring nostrils as 
they pounded into her ravaged body with a brutal, crunching force. Ebony, 
blue-veined cocks sawed into her tender flesh as if trying to dissect her 
with twin blades. Yet some untamed, naked corner of Sherrie's libido wanted 
the thrill of these cocks boring into her cunt and asshole, battering 
against each other through the torn membrane of her hymen and now, through 
the thin tissue separating her genital orifices. Their blood-fed meat jabbed 
at each other, dueled for dominance of her loins! 

Sherrie's alabaster skin beaded with perspiration, her teeth gnashing 
desperately together, eyes glazed and blind to all but pleasure. Breath 
hissed from her overworked lungs as she struggled and fought for orgasm, the 
shivering, cataclysmic relief that only orgasm could bring her ravaged, 
needful body. 

"Ohh . . . ahhhhhhh!" Blonde head thrashed, breasts bounced with strawberry 
tips hard hubs of crinkled, chafed flesh. Someone's blood (was it her own?) 
had dried on her left breast. Her deep, guttural cry was echoed below in the 
liquid slurping of her copious cuntal juices swabbing Shaker's ebony cock in 
a sticky flow of musky smelling juice from the depths of her violated pussy. 

Only the need to experience total shame and degeneration drove her on, for 
certainly reason and logic had been torn from her with the first tearing jab 
of Shaker's penis through her tender hymen. 

"Mooorrrreeeee . . . " she pleaded, squeezing elephantine tears out of 
unseeing eyes. "Fuck me, deeeeeeper!" Her voice trailed off into a pathetic 
Muselike wail. 

"Huh?" Carter, who'd been standing by dumbfounded, rubbed his bruised temple 
and stared down at the battered, swollen features that was Sherrie Williams. 
After they'd finished raping her, she would be neatly disposed of. Then 
what? Back to prison? This time for rape and murder. He cringed. Might as 
well take advantage of the situation, he reasoned selfishly. 

He hovered over her bouncing body, riding Shaker's cock and Jarvis' too. He 
kneed his way onto the bed and gave Daisy a little shove that sent her 
spilling onto the floor with a dull thud. Positioning himself on his knees, 
an easy reach from Sherrie's rosebud lips, he put his knees on either side 
of Shaker's shoulders. Carter clasped Sherrie's slender shoulders with his 
strong hands so that the thick staff of his pre-cum dewed cock tip sprang 
toward her gaping mouth. He smeared her lips with strands of his glistening 
pre-cum. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

A shadowy movement in the alleyway outside of the Peep Show Palace made John 
bolt. "There's somebody standing at the window!" He gulped. "You can find 
yourself another grip . . . I ain' sticking around!" A retraining hand 
caught him by the arm. 

Red-faced and shaking, George stuffed the stiffened tube of his penis into 
his pants. The tender flesh dragged across the saw-toothed open zipper. He 
swore and winced. Crap, I was just about to cum, too.. . He sensed eyes 
watching him. Probably the police ready to nail me for window peeping . . . 
oh, shit. The cameraman almost wished that were the case when he swung 
around to face Channel 2's mini-cam operator and his punk grip. 

"George.. . . ? " Ralph's expression fell somewhere between relief and 
anger. "What the fuck you doing? Potters is going crazy!" 

George sucked in his breath; his testicles felt like two twenty pound lead 
weights were choking off the blood supply. Walking was no easy task. 
Stealthily he followed the camouflaging shadow of the building wall until he 
faced Ralph. Jaws parted as he stuttered out a reply, when Ralph's beeper 
bleeped. 

Keeping his eyes suspiciously glued to George's guilty face, he plucked the 
beeper from his belt and flicked the button. "What the fuck's going on?" 
bellowed Bill Potters. "You got two hours to get live footage or you're all 
fired!" 

"Yes, Mr. Potters . . . we've found George." 

Silence fell on the other end until: "What about Sherrie Williams? Any sign 
of her?" 

"No, sir . . . we just got here." 

Thoughtful silence, again. "Get footage of the place so we can start 
breaking the story. We'll continue it on the noon news tomorrow and six 
o'clock, if she's still missing." 

Abruptly a fiendish grin broke out over Potters' face. Fortunately his 
cameramen couldn't read the reason for the tight smugness or they would have 
dumped the cameras in the trash cans. "News 

Reporter Missing from On The Spot Report!" What a hell of a story! Christ, 
it could hit local headlines! 

"I want news, you lazy bastards . . . and I want footage . . . anything that 
moves, shoot. Shots of the building, shots of those diseased bastards 
jacking off at the magazine rack . . . I want to see all on tonight's eleven 
o'clock newscast-or I'll blackball all of you! Get my drift?" 

The threesome stared at each other. 

"Can he do that?" gulped John. 

Ralph nodded. "His father-in-law owns the network." 

"He can do that," repeated John, downtrodden. 

"We got to rind Sherrie-quick!" Ralph's shoulders heaved; he rubbed his 
temples and thought: Why me? "You see her, George?" 

George paled and spoke low and evenly. "All of her . . . every inch." 

Reacting to instinct and the burning need of the screaming demon within her, 
Sherrie's blue eyes popped open wide and her delicate, white hands shot out 
to touch the black sacs of Carter's bloated balls to knead them reverently 
between her nimble fingers. 

"Ohhh, babeeee," he cooed, running his black fingers through her angel hair. 

As she had seen Daisy do, she opened the cracked and cum-encrusted line of 
her bruised lips and slipped them easily over the spongy, mushroom head of 

Carter's penis, bathing the salty flesh with her wet, warm tongue. 
Babyishly, she flattened the tip of her pink tongue against the eye of his 
cock as she sighed at the feel of his hands closing over her ears. He 
groaned in lustful appreciation of her gentle manipulations. 

"Suck it, angel baby, suck itttttt!! ! " 

Humming deep within her throat, she bobbed her head up and down as she 
worked her soft mouth over the peaty pole of blackness. Her sensitive tongue 
experienced the squeamish wiggle of his blood pulsing veins. The taste of 
him was briny, piquant, masculine, dominate.. . . 

Four bodies or one body? Who could tell? Their cocks, stuffing her every 
open hole, became extensions of herself. The more frenetic and vicious the 
attack upon her body, the more grinding and twisting and violent became her 
responses. 

Snarling, she grabbed the black tube of Carter's penis and squeezed her fist 
as hard as she could, all tenderness vaporizing like steam from a witch's 
cauldron. She felt the veins flood with blood, bloating it another half inch 
in girth. With slow, precise movements, she slipped her lips from off the 
mushroomed head. Sherrie's tongue went wild now from the musky smell of 
Carter's balls cushioned against her dimpled chin. Her tongue went wild, 
bathing the spongy head, dipping into the seeping slit, licking away the 
pre-cum with ravenous hunger, while mewls of delight and ecstasy gurgled 
from her throat. 

She had tasted male cum once tonight-but once tasted, twice craved! 

For Sherrie Williams there was no Channel 2 newsroom, no Bill Potters 
hounding her for news copy . . . only cocks . . . black, swollen cocks . . . 
the cocks raping her mouth, her anus, her cunt! 

They humped and bumped and knocked into each other, all four seething with 
desire to dominate one another. Now Carter, the most gentle of the three 
men, shed his mantel of tenderness and snorted with sadistic lust. Cruelly, 
he grabbed Sherrie's ears and brutally thrust his saliva-slickened penis 
back into the womb-like hole of her throat! 

Sherrie went wild with the need to swallow his cock, to suck it down her 
throat as she had Shaker's. The taste was an aphrodisiac dominating her 
senses. With a desperate grunt, she reached behind his black buttocks and 
clasped her white hands to the muscular flesh to pull him towards her, 
screwing her throat deliberately as she struggled to suck the seed from his 
groin with belly heaving swallows. 

Ensconced in hedonistic pleasures, the hydra of arms and legs, heads and 
cocks were oblivious to the activities outside the rain-smudged window. 
Another blessing, perhaps, for Sherrie Williams' tortured soul? 

Ralph cleared his throat in disbelief. "I don't believe what I'm seeing. 
That can't be Sherrie Williams!" 

Beside him, John pressed his freckled nose to the cool glass. "Jesus, I 
never dreamed she had such big tits . . . I bet Davis that was a padded bra 
made her look all pointy and hard, stickin' halfway up to her chin. . . . " 

Ralph shut him up with a sharp elbow in the grip's ribs. "You idiot! We're 
supposed to be professionals, not dum jerk-offs!" Here George shuddered and 
pinched harder at his balls. "One of our reporters is in there being raped 
by three black men, and you're talking about padded bras!" continued Ralph. 

"Raped?" John's voice was low and meaningful. "Don't look like rape to me!" 

George, elevating himself on his mini-cam, surreptitiously slunk a hungry 
hand to cup the blood engorged bulge of his genitals, weighing them like a 
cantaloupe. He cocked his head in a casual attempt. "That's what I've been 
trying to figure out. I gotta agree with John . . . " Jesus, I wish these 
bastards would leave so I could jerk-off. . . my balls weigh a ton! 

The threesome watched bug-eyed as Sherrie Williams, the blonde haired angel 
of the newsroom, hungrily swabbed her pink tongue over the glistening black 
pole of Carter's slithering cock. Sandwiched in between Shaker's black hulk 
from atop and Jarvis' pudgy girth from behind, they hammered their ebony 
stone-hard penises into her pussy and anus with synchronized jabs that made 
Ralph's hemorrhoids hurt. 

"I never knew a woman could handle three men at once," snickered John. "I 
never saw nothing like that in Playboy!" 

Ralph scratched his head and heaved a meaningful sigh. "We're in one hell of 
a predicament. Potters is going to dump our careers if we don't get footage. 
Plug in the cords, John! Let's get rolling." 

George's voice went tight. "We can't film this! Maybe we oughta call back 
Potters." 

"Be realistic . . . I said plug in the cords, you idiot!" growled Ralph at 
the grip who stood with his nose pressed intently to the glass pane, his 
blue eyes two pools of amazement, his jaw slack. 

"Just a second, I wanna see if she takes all of his cock . . . " he whistled 
into the night. "God, Niggers are hung, aren't they?" 

"I said plug in the cords! I'm not telling you again!" 

With a sigh, the blonde haired grip went to work uncoiling the cords, 
leaving the two senior cameramen to discuss the situation. 

"You think we oughta call the cops?" Ralph struggled toward realism, but his 
mind was between his legs in sympathy with the bloated girth of his 
entrapped cock. His breath came in slow, hissing spurts, his heart beating a 
tattoo in his chest. Indecision was seldom his game, but tonight he was 
stuck. 

Beside him, George feigned professionalism. "If we call the cops," he 
whispered jerkily, "we'll be giving them the credit for the bust." The itch 
between his legs felt like army ants were nibbling at his cum-infested 
balls. Two inching fingers went to work, pressing, jabbing, trying to 
release pressure. "You . . . know . . . how Potters . . . hates cops!" 

Silence fell, sluiced by the scuffing of feet in the alley and John 
whistling to himself in the night as he went about his work. 

"You . . . you think she likes it?" Ralph squinted through the window just 
as Sherrie's tiny palm delicately cradled the sac of Carter's testicles. 
"God, three . . . ? " he choked. 

"Don't look like she's protesting, does it?" interjected George, buying 
time. 

Ralph pooched out his lips and studied the alabaster nudity in all its 
luscious, richly swelling, nibblable spendor-sandwiched in between a black 
stud fucking her asshole, a second black man ramming his cock up her cunt, 
and a third force-feeding her cock down her willing, elegant throat! 

"Wonder how she ended up in there," queried Ralph. "You don't suppose . . . 
? " He turned to George. 

"She deliberately slept with them niggers to get a story?" George finished 
for him. 

"Hmmmmm . . . never thought of that." It was a lie. 

"I always thought she was so pure and innocent.. . kinda cold. . . almost 
untouchable," continued George, bending his knees to ease the pressure in 
his groin. Nearly losing his balance, he grabbed at the window sill to 
steady himself. 

"Fooled us, huh?" snickered Ralph, curling his lip in bitterness. 

"Always had the feeling she thought everybody was stupid-except for her.. . 
. " added George, pinching his balls between thumb and forefinger. "Kinda 
aloof, you know?" 

"Yup, I know." Ralph sucked in his breath sharply. "Funny you should say 
that. I got a confession to make.. . . " 

"Yeah . . . " George turned to Ralph. God, I'm gonna cu m in my pants if I 
keep watching her eat that nigger. Wonder if Ralph's horny too? Jesus, does 
he know I'm jerking-off? He gulped, his stomach knotting. 

"I asked her out one time." He shook his head and snorted sardonically. 

"Yeah . . . ? She fuck you like she's fuckin' those black guys? A nervous 
laugh escaped George's dry lips. 

Ralph's face turned to glower. "She turned me down . . . guess she didn't 
think I was hot stuff." 

"Goes to show you about women. . . . " 

Ralph shrugged. "Guess you're right. Blondes and black meat go together like 
salt and pepper.. . . " 

"Hey, snickered George nervously. 'That's clever--. . . " Jesus, just a 
little more and my cock's gonna squirt! Wonder how long it'll take my pants 
to dry? 

"Maybe if I'd been black she woulda fucked me like she's eating that crow," 
quipped Ralph bitterly. "Who would think Sherrie Williams was into butt 
fucking?" he snorted, shaking his head. 

"Yeah, she sure is eating him . . . look at her tits jiggle . . . makes me 
wanna . . . . " He stopped his confession just in time and gulped dryly. 

Ralph turned to him. "Makes you wanna what?" Ralph's face went tight, his 
voice husky. 

"Jump in there and nibble her pussy a little.. . just a little, " shrugged 
George stupidly, lost in a private world of vice. 

Beside him he sensed Ralph growing tense. His lips moved in mutterings of 
damnation. 

"If I had my way, I'd grab that black bastard off her ass and hump the bitch 
from behind . . . I'd ram my cock so far up her asshole she'd never shit 
again!" spat Ralph. 

Fortunately for George his fellow cameraman was ensconced in his own 
bitterness, because just then he felt it burn in his gut. It spurted a 
geyser of steaming hot cum that soaked his Levis through to the waist. His 
knees started to buckle and to keep himself from humping the wall, he clung 
white-knuckled to the window sill. From a hazy point of consciousness, he 
heard Ralph mumble:, "Hoity toity bitch, too good for anybody . . . damned 
cunt, bitch, whore, cocksucker!" 

John's silvery enthusiasm came as if from heaven or some point beyond earth, 
as George tried to slow his heartbeat. 

"Hey, Ralph, I got everything set up. I was thinking maybe we could cross 
the street and take some footage of the storefront. . . Ralph, hey, man, 
what's the matter?" His forehead furrowed with concern. "They got guns . . . 
? Ralph?" 

Ralph snarled at his grip: "Get the camera rolling!" 

John scratched his head. "I'm not sure we got enough cord. . . . " 

"We're filming right through that window!" 

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

Instinct was her dictator and the crying demon within her, her God. 
Sherrie's small white hands reached out to cradle the black sacs of Carter's 
bloated balls and knead them between her nimble fingers. 

"Oh, babeeeee!" Carter ran his long black fingers through the silken strands 
of Sherrie's golden hair. 

That wicked force again . . . ! Softly she opened the cracked line of her 
lips and slipped tern easily over the spongy capped head of Carter's 
maledom, bathing the salty flesh with her kittenish, warm tongue. She 
flattened the tip of her pink tongue against the seeping eye of his penis; 
she felt the pressure of his hands closing over her ears, and heard him 
groan in appreciation of her gentle manipulations. 

"Suck . . . suck ittt!" he growled. 

Compliantly, Sherrie's head began bobbing up and down as she worked her soft 
mouth over the long, meaty pole of the black man's cock. On the underside of 
his penis, she felt the veins pulse with blood. His taste was strong, 
masterful! 

Every sinew and muscle in Sherrie Williams' body was preened toward 
accepting the three cocks-three black cocks struggling to dominate her. The 
four had become one well machinated being, working in unison in a cacophany 
of lustful slurping, squelching sounds. They bored into her helpless body 
with teeth-shattering intensity, grinding, twisting, boring, gouging. 

With a snarl, Sherrie grabbed the black tube of Carter's penis and choked it 
in her fist, delighting in the powerful surge of blood that bloated it 
another inch in girth. Slowly her lips fell from it and her tongue made 
crazy, laving patterns over the spongy head, dipping into the briny slit, 
licking the pre-cum with rapacious hunger. Grunts gurgled from her throat. 

The taste of male cum became her nectar. For Sherrie the cock in her mouth, 
the cock in her anus and the cock in her pussy were the soul center of 
existence. 

A wicked desire to dominate this white woman filled 

Carter with instant sadism. Brutally, he thrust his glistening penis back 
into the depths of her working throat. She wanted to swallow all of him, 
wanted to suck it down her throat as she had Shaker's. Grunting with desire, 
she reached behind his black buttocks and clasped her white hands to the 
sinewy flesh, pulling him possessively toward her, screwing her throat until 
she couldn't breathe. 

"Ahhh, ummmm . . . ! she purred in her battered throat. 

The room exploded into an echo chamber of grunts and groans and for the 
second time that night, Sherrie felt the bulge of a man's cock slithering 
down her gullet, bulging in her throat like a hunk of meat. 

"Ahhhhh!" Carter threw back his head and sucked in his breath, reveling in 
the sensation of having his ten inch cock swallowed alive! 

The white captive's mouth hollowed, accentuating the high, aristocratic 
slant of her cheek bones bathed in amber light. She sucked noisily, nursing 
on the cock as if it were a baby's feast. Wider.. . wider.. . deeper . . . 
until- 

"Whow!" whistled John, gawking through the window. "She's got his balls in 
her mouth too!" 

Ralph couldn't look any more. He'd seen more than he'd wanted to. Muttering 
damning epitaphs under his breath, he positioned the camera's eye directly 
in line with Sherrie William' pristine ass-now being raped by a black man's 
penis. 

"Potters' is going to love this. He wants tits and ass news, he'll get tits 
and ass news!" ' And tits and ass it was, with a bit of mouth action thrown 
in, too. 

The three black men experiencing the ecstasy of Sherrie Williams' nakedly 
defiled body gasped and clawed and shrieked with amazement at the power 
housed inside the lithe frame of Sherrie Williams' body. Their triple cocks 
slaved to fulfill all of her needs. 

If there'd been one orifice left unattended. Ralph would have been more than 
happy to take his turn at defiling the aristocratic nymph who'd snobbishly 
declined his offer for a night at the movies. "The bitch," he snorted to 
himself, grinning smugly as he started the camera rolling. "The cunt's into 
black meat . . . ain't two ways about it!" 

"Huh?" 

John could only stand and scratch his head. Television was getting more 
exciting than he'd thought, but somehow taping a woman in the throes of 
orgasm with three men slaving over her body, didn't seem ethical. 

George agreed. "You count me out of this. She could sue us for this," he 
tried to reason. Ralph would hear none of it. 

Carter's breath hissed deep and burned in his lungs. He worked his buttocks 
frantically together in frenzied lust as he slitheringly aimed his juicy, 
snakelike cock between her violated and glutted mouth. 

"Yeahhhhh . . . white bitch.. . ! " he hissed, drubbing his swollen penis 
into her mouth and mashing her nose against his hairy groin while he held 
her head in steely hands. 

"Suck itttt! White whore!" Throwing back his head, he bellowed delight as 
gut wrenching electrical charge sparked in the pit of his groin and a geyser 
of white liquid lust gushed along the veiny surface of his cock to erupt in 
a hosing gush from the slit! It spurted so hard that Sherrie bolted 
backwards, impaling her deeper on Jarvis' busily working cock burrowing into 
her tender anus from behind. 

"Ahhh . . . sheeet!" he gushed, tearing at Sherrie's ears as if trying to 
screw them off. He rode her gorgeous, battered face and lips with the last 
ounce of macho energy left him! Thick, hot, salty globules of cum dribbled 
down her throat into her gullet, filling her tummy in a warm puddle of 
sperm. At last she could breathe through her nostrils, her hot breath 
steaming over her rapists' groin with a babyish, tantalizing warmth. 

He battered her bruised face until his leathery balls had dribbled out their 
cup of rich, white hot liquid lust. Sherrie swallowed busily, trying to keep 
from drowning in the steaming juice. It dribbled down her chin in thick 
rivulets; it dribbled toward her ears, filling the shell-like orifices with 
sticky, black man's cum. When she had eaten her fill, she reluctantly let 
his flaccid penis slip wetly from her lips. 

Ralph panned in on the single pearl-like dot of black man's sperm dangling 
from Sherrie Williams' dimpled chin. He let the camera feast its eye on that 
debauchery until it had its fill. 

"Ah, shit . . . " Carter threw his leg back over Shaker's bald head and sank 
out of the camera's eye. 

Shaker snorted up at him: "I been sniffin' that black ass long 'nough," he 
chastised. With a grunt, he pressed his lean black frame hard against 
Sherrie's naked body, flattening her soft breasts against his brawny, 
muscled chest. "Now she be feelin' Shaker's cock!" 

With the guard of chastity gone, Sherrie felt no fear. Shaker's vile 
obscenities and promises of death goaded her on to greater heights of 
ecstasy. She became a red hot nymphomaniac, crazed with lust and the need 
for total relief. Incoherent taunts mumbled from her bruised lips. 

"Fuck meee!" she pleaded. "You black bastards." 

And they did-they bored and hammered and thrust and sawed into her twin 
orifices with their twin black penises until the breath wheezed from her 
lungs. Her cunt and ass felt like one giant hole as with a wetly slurping 
sound they slaved over her. 

Bill Potters checked his digital watch for the tenth time in as many 
minutes. "Damn sons of bitches. I'll fire the whole damned news department 
if they don't get me some footage!" he growled to no one in particular. 

The eleven PM newscast was twenty-two minutes away. He'd counted on the 
Shaker Jones story for sensational titillation. The capture of the white 
shark story had been played into the ground by every news station in the 
city-not good for ratings. 

He needed something zesty, gutsy. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. 
Losing wasn't his game. 

At the assignment desk he beeped Ralph. "Film, I need film! What the hell do 
you think I sent you there for? I got three reporters on the spot and not a 
fuckin' inch of film!" 

Ralph answered between clenched teeth. "Don't worry, Potters, you'll get 
your film!" beside him, George and John exchanged worried glances. 

"What about Williams? Any sign of her?" 

"Yup . . . " answered Ralph calmly. 

A softer Potters this time. "Is she okay?" 

Doing just fine." 

"Get some action shots, something titillating . . . play up the whore crap . 
. . the public loves it," added Potters. "This is going to be one hell of a 
newscast.. . neither of the other channels has anything on it.. . . " 

Ralph ceased listening. A crooked grin of vengeance curled his upper lip. 
Again the camera rolled. 

Three hot, sweating, laboring bodies seemed to melt into one lustful 
monster! Sherrie rode Shaker's cock, jabbing him spur-like in his 
panther-like ribs to drive his hard, hammering cock deeper into the crying 
hole of her cunt. 

"Ahhhhh!" she hissed and grunted through clenched, rattling teeth, feeling 
Jarvis' penis bore into her anus, bringing no pain, but wicked, ripe and 
fulfilling sensations. The sticky flow of her love juices had dribbled down 
the naked patch of her genitals. The twisting movements of Jarvis' 
sodomizing cock had forced the musky smelling sweetness of lubrication into 
the violated orifice of her naked rectum, and the only sensation she 
experienced was an intense rush of uncontrollable, frantic need to skewer 
her naked bottom back onto the black meat of Jarvis' thick erection! 
Friction . . . there had to be more friction! 

Sherrie's consciousness had melted into the narrow line of insanity. A 
frantic, damnable need to orgasm was all that remained of Sherrie Williams. 
She had become a cock-crazed slut, spurring on her rapists until she'd raped 
them of every last spoonful of their liquid lust. It was not a confession 
she wished to make.. . nor did she have to. 

Ralph's mini-cam was making it for her. 

"And now with the eleven o'clock edition of "Two Is There" news . . . Rick 
Marshall." Potters watched the television screen perched to the right of his 
desk and held his breath through the twinkly music announcing it and watched 
the city skyline pan and zoom in flashy patterns that was the newscast logo. 
The evening's anchorman flashed on the screen then. 

"Good evening, this is Rick Marshall with the eleven o'clock edition of 
Channel 2's evening news. An amazing story tonight," he announced gravely. 
"Sherrie Williams, one year of "Two Is There" investigative team, is 
reported missing on assignment in the Tenderloin. Chief investigator for the 
channel's daring probe into the kingpin operator of the Tenderloin's child 
porno ring, Sherrie has reportedly been seen in the area of Eddie and Taylor 
Streets. Live on the scene is Ralph Jasperson, Channel 2's cameraman with 
live footage. . . . " 

"Fuckkkk fuck meeeeel" Rick Marshall's placid face instantly faded and the 
lust-contorted, demon-possessed features of Sherrie Williams' beaten face 
flashed across the television screen of 270,000 viewers. It was the face and 
wail of an injured demented woman, crying from the pit of her dark soul, 
pleading for release from the demonic spell controlling her senses. Her 
breath hissed from her burning lungs, and the rippling lines of her white 
nakedness writhing and grinding into the naked flesh of two naked black men, 
sweated together in a holocaust of lust. 

Bill Potters, stared in disbelief at the frantically humping form of Sherrie 
Williams as she reared up, arched her back, and spread her legs to the sides 
in order to lever her weight on the arches of her feet. Not a thought 
crossed his mind; he felt as if he'd been shot and didn't know it. Neither 
pleasure nor disapproval mirrored in his stony face. He merely stared at his 
star news reporter's naked body. 

Sherrie levered herself up and slammed the weight down onto Shaker's cock, 
knocking the wind from his chest-then milking his penis on an up and down 
back motion that met in mid-thrust the bloated length of Jarvis' awesome 
cock ramming tightly up her ass. To every viewer's eye, the bouncing, 
violent rhythm had sparked insanity into the hearts of the men getting their 
fill of Sherrie's naked body. 

The news director was too stunned to take control. Fifteen seconds of 
footage rolled by (thirty seconds had been allotted for). He felt neither 
arousal nor disapproval; indeed, the strange tingling sensation in the pit 
of his gut fingered the fine line of fear. The telephones would be ringing 
off the hooks with irate viewers, but irate viewers was better than no 
viewers. The old ratings game again. . . . 

The world watched it happen! Sherrie felt a tremendous pulsing surge of 
sexual electricity race over the quivering bud of her own clitoris, then 
charge swiftly through the bowl of her cock-filled tummy to explode in a 
fiery burst of orgasmic power as every muscle in her was preened with the 
screaming heat of her tor-turously awakened maiden climax. The cry of her 
release was violent: 

"Fxck meeee!Deeper! Oh, God, I'll die.. .I.. .I.. . I'm CUMMMING!" 

The force of orgasmic charge was beyond atomic as it shot through the 
rippling, clinging, sizzling walls of Sherrie Williams' quivering pussy. She 
threw back her head and howled like a werewolf at a full moon. Her delicate 
hands shot to Shaker's slinky black chest and raked red trails along the 
sweating flesh. 

Shaker's terrifying features contorted into a cruel, forceful grin of pure 
sadistic pleasure; his white teeth flashed through the slit of his curled 
upper lip. He drooled as he felt her naked cuntal flesh possessively grip 
his black meat-as if her belly muscles were trying to eat his penis in 
nibbling bites. 

Sherrie felt him bloat within her, as if his cock were attached to a bicycle 
pump. It burst as the sperm flooded from the tip in a showing spray of 
sticky, potent cum. 

It's all in me . . . I got it all. . . flashed incoherently in Sherrie's 
blank mind. 

The camera jerked, lost focus and centered again on Sherrie's ball-bearing 
hips grinding against the wiry patch of Shaker's loins. She scraped her 
swollen clitoris against his pubic curls for the delicious friction against 
the bud that so desperately needed to blossom into orgasm. It exploded, 
sending her love juices to trickle from her battered womb in a cry of 
relief. Tightening her belly muscles, she milked her cuntal muscles with a 
force she didn't know she had. 

Bill Potters tore at his hair. His teeth ground together so hard, dusty 
enamel smoked in his mouth. He fell into a catatonic trance eyeing the 
television screen as Jarvis' penis was the center of focus now.. . a black 
man's penis sawing into the tender asshole of his news reporter! 

INSTANTLY, he grabbed the security hotline and dialed the emergency number 
to the police department. Wearily, he sank down into his chair and covered 
his face with his hands. 

Sherrie arched her back, jamming her buttocks and instinctively relaxing her 
sphincter muscle to accept all of Jarvis' hard driving, jack hammering cock. 
Her eyes rolled wildly in her head and a soulful scream tore from her cock 
battered throat as she felt the sizzling sensation of Shaker's cum sloshing 
in the heat of her tortured belly and bathing her back with heated snorts of 
lust. Jarvis' body stiffened from the splashing force of rivers of sperm 
bubbling seethingly up into her naked rectum and squirting violently up into 
the ravaged hole of her bowels! 

Cunt and ass filled with black male cum. Every pore of her body felt sated, 
satisfied and battered. The threesome collapsed in a sigh of lust onto the 
sex moistened coverlet beneath their panting bodies. 

Outside the window, the camera rolled on, resting caressingly on the three 
bodies like the laying on of hands. It stayed focused there, staring at the 
guilt ridden evidence of lust until the camera's eye lifted to four loaded 
.38 pistols hovering potently over the naked bodies. 

"Get your black asses up off that bed!" growled a policeman, motioning with 
his pistol and grabbing Shaker by the shoulder. "We got you by the balls 
this time!" 

Channel 2's viewers saw the live action from start to finish. It couldn't 
have been more sensational. 

The camera focused on Rick Marshall, the evening's anchorman. "Th-thank you, 
channel 2 cameramen for your live coverage of the story." He gulped dryly 
and mumbled through the remaining three minutes of the evening's newscast. 

A holocaust of sirens screamed down Eddie Street. The police ambulance 
pulled to a halt outside the crashed down door of the Peep Show Palace and 
pried apart the cum-stained bodies. 

Shaker put up a fight. In one last dash for freedom, he crashed through the 
smudged window that had witnessed his demise, and landed atop the mini-cam 
equipment. Glass splattered in the air and rained over the alleyway. A 
waiting police officer pulled a gun and shot one warning over Shaker's black 
right shoulder. 

Plastered against the alley side wall of the palace, John stared bug-eyed 
and amazed. Slowly, a hand scratched his confusion-ridden head. 

"Get this stuff in the van," grumbled Ralph, pulling at the cord feet away 
from where the policeman, in a tight scuffle with Shaker, snapped handcuffs 
around his thick wrists. "We gotta get back to the station." 

"I think I'd like a shot of something hard and straight. ' George, who'd 
been standing in the shadows, came forth. The cum wetted spot on his Levis 
had nearly dried in the cool, foggy air. He yanked his leather jacket to 
cover it. "I don't think I want to see Bill Potters face for a while." 

Ralph straightened as he looped the mini-cam cord over his arm. "He's been 
screamin' tits and ass and ratings for nine months . . . now he got it. Next 
he'll be wanting blood and guts." 

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

"I demand a full report of what happened last night." Bill Potters sat 
stiffly behind his desk and ran his eyes over the three cameramen assigned 
the duty of covering Sherrie Williams 'story. At his elbow lay the Nielsen 
Ratings, a morning sheet highlighting the ratings for the three local 
stations. Channel 2's evening news and following rundowns were circled in 
red. 

Channel 2's evening news had done an incredible 25 in a 30 share. It was a 
landmark. 

Ralph cleared his throat. "I have to take full responsibility for what aired 
last night, Mr. Potters," he said flatly. Neither apology nor regret 
quivered in his voice. 

"We were only following orders," George added quickly, with a quick glance 
in Ralph's profile. "It was part my fault too." 

John stared down at his hands, a reticent puppet in a show too big for his 
narrow experience. 

"Have you seen the ratings?" Potters pooched out his lips and thrust a sheet 
with its red circles under the cameramen's noses. "Take a look at that!" 

Ralph's eyes flew open. He swallowed tightly. Was he being crowned with 
diamonds or thorns? One could never read Potters' intent. Beside him, George 
whistled. 

Potters leaned back like a fat cat stretching out before a fireplace. He 
licked the cream of success. "I've been barking about flat news around this 
station for months . . . somebody finally caught on. I want to thank you two 
. . . " His eyes fled over John, eliminating him automatically. 

"Let me tell you boys a secret. Bad ratings are better than no ratings at 
all. People love to see the dirt," and here he pointed to his eye. "They 
love to hear the dirt." This time his ear. 

Ralph and George's eyes in unison fell to Potters lap, fully expecting him 
to point to his cock. The man had a reputation for the vulgar. 

"And Sherrie Williams, what about the person who made the news?" put in John 
unexpectedly, straightening. His cheeks pinkened with outrage. "What about 
her career?" Now his lip curled with disdain, and a red cloud of anger 
Levitated him off his chair. He set the palms of his hands firmly on 
Potters' desk and glared the man in the eye. 

"What about Sherrie Williams, you chump? I hope she sues the pants off you, 
you selfish bastard!" he bellowed, turning heads in the news room beyond. 
"You don't care how you use people. . . ! " 

Potters' bloated ego deflated from the grip's needled prick into that very 
tender part of his psyche. Guilt had chastised him from the inception, but 
this morning's ratings had yanked him out of that fouled state of mind. Now 
this smart-ass little grip had to bring him back to face himself! 

Potters levered off his chair and stationed his nose six inches apart from 
John's. "You little prick, get the hell out of my office and don't ever let 
me see your chicken-shit face in this newsroom again!" 

Seventeen hours of sleep had pulled Sherrie Williams loose from a drugged 
stupor that left her hovering somewhere between reality and shredded 
nightmares. The aristocratic features, bruised in black and blue splotches, 
added a puffiness to her high cheek boned features. Elegance had given way 
to a vulgarity claimed only by the beaten victims. Golden hair had dulled to 
platinum and thick strands clung to her forehead, glued by black rapist cum. 

It wasn't a pretty virgin Bill Potters visited in the hospital later that 
day. 

He watched her twitch in her sleep. The news director stuck a finger in his 
collar and gulped. "M-Miss Williams?" He never lost his dictatorial touch 
that had won him the reputation of being Channel 2's Ayatollah of the 
newsroom. 

Two swollen eyes struggled to open, but the light was bright and her pupils 
still sensitive to light. She twitched, moved, and winced. 

Abruptly, the door closed behind Potters and a stem-faced, buxom nurse 
slipped in. She set a tray laden with syringes and needles upon the 
patient's portable table. Slowly her eyes lifted to glower at Mr. Potters. 

"You're the news director, I suppose," the woman snapped tersely. 

Potters squared his chin and nodded. To him, viewers were numbers, ratings; 
never faces or personalities. Yet it struck him with pride that she could 
identify him. A smug grin creased his face. 

Eyes raked over his small frame unappreciatively. Delicately, then, the 
nurse tore open an alcohol pad and dabbed at the news reporter's lithe arm. 
Next she prepared a needle. 

"I'm giving her an antigen to fight any hepatitis she might have contracted 
from those filthy beasts." With the gentility unseemingly characteristic of 
Nurse Commings, she pricked the patient's arm and quickly covered the needle 
prick with a band aid. "I suppose you send all your female reporters out 
into the streets to get punched up with heroin, Mr. Potters!" Now she 
glowered at him openly. "I don't approve of your style of news reportage, 
Mr. Potters . . . showing rape on television. Frankly, it makes me sick!" 

Potters gulped and felt blood rush to his cheeks. 

Tutting, Nurse Commings smiled pathetically down at Sherrie's semi-conscious 
body. "They could have killed her-and for what? They ought to put you behind 
bars instead of those dirty raping beasts!" she spat. "Now you have a good 
rest, honey," she whispered down at Sherrie and, picking up her tray, 
created a cold wind as she brushed past Potters and out the door. 

"Wh-what's . . . ? " Sherrie had stirred to consciousness. Dully, she 
blinked about her. The white walls, the clean smell, the blurred vision of a 
man who looked vaguely familiar. The sedatives had subdued memory. 

Potters leaned over the bed rail and lay a warm, pulsing hand on his news 
reporter's lithe arm. "You did a good job, kid . . . . " 

"Huh?" 

"We blew the top off the ratings." Had Sherrie the strength to study the 
practiced enthusiasm behind the voice, she might have chiseled through 
Potters' false Levity. 

And Potters wasn't feeling too good about himself. Nagging doubts from the 
inception had proven justifiable. Sending a female into the crime infested 
jungle of the Tenderloin was a stupid move, even though it nudged Channel 
2's ratings above Channel 9's. His stomach burned with self-denigration. 
Clearing his voice, he straightened. 

"Sherrie, I have a surprise for you.. . . " 

Sherrie blinked open one blue eye, and quickly squinted the purpled eyelid 
shut. When had they turned on the lights in here? Barely perceptibly, her 
nose began to twitch. And the smell, an antiseptic smell. In comparison her 
sweat-soaked body smelled musky with sex, almost sour. Hair that once hung 
loose and silken about her apple cheeks, clung foully to her forehead in 
thick medusa strands. One delicate hand stretched its fingers over the cool 
sheet. Where were the hot male bodies? Why had they left her? 

"Sherrie.. . ? " Potters leaned closer. Knife stabs of self-loathing pricked 
at his conscience. "I-I talked to New York today. You're going network, 
Sherrie, imagine that!" He forced jubilation. 

"Network. . . " Sherrie's swollen lips mouthed the word. What part of a 
man's body was that.. . ? "Cock . . . " Her jaw dropped to mumble out the 
word. "I want more . . . cock." 

Potters choked and righted himself. He smoothed his palm over her forehead. 
"Tell me about it, Sherrie. Tell me what they did to you." 

A sob bubbled from the blonde news reporter's lips and she sniffled 
girlishly. 

Potters' mouth went dry, his fingers clutched white knuckles to the hospital 
bed rail. 

Dirty, fucking scum of the earth! Raping the delicate flower in places no 
woman should ever be touched. His cheeks reddened with outrage. 

"Do you think you could identify those crows in court, Sherrie?" He lay his 
hand on her forehead. 

Sherrie blinked. "Yes, I think so.. . . " 

Potters straightened and drew in a deep breath. "They got 'em all behind 
bars anyway. They'll get life in San Quentin for this! I'll make damned sure 
of that!" 

Silence fell as Potters stared at the wall. "You broke the story. The 
credit's all yours." His heart sank to his knees as he anticipated the hurt 
that would curdle her blood when Sherrie realized she'd been seen live on 
the evening news, stuffed with black cock! Good thing he'd finagled the 
network promotion for her. Sometimes in-laws come in handy. 

"Did you hear me? Your career is just starting, Sherrie. You'll be the next 
Barbara Walters. How does that strike you?" 

Sherrie blinked and struggled to focus on Potters' face hovering above her. 
"Network? Oh, Mr. Potters . . . how can I thank you?" Her voice was but a 
whisper. 

And staring down into that angel face, Potters experienced a sense of loss. 
To not see those puffy nipples harden beneath pink angora when tension 
sizzled in the newsroom would leave a void; but he'd used her, just as John 
accused him of, and he must think first of Sherrie Williams' career. 

"How can you thank me? " he smiled back. "I can only answer that by saying 
I'm damned jealous of what those black bastards got from you." 

Abruptly he sucked in his breath, for stiff little finger soldiers were 
crawling in tiny steps down the metallic strip of his zipper to explore the 
bloated girth of his cock. Nimble fingertips plucked at the zipper tab and 
gently drew it down with the delicate gesture of unpeeling a banana. 

"It's gonna be hard losing you, Miss Williams," hissed Potters as her warm 
digits dug into the fly of his jockey shorts to stroke the warm tube of his 
bloated penis. 

"It's already hard," she whispered, falling into a deep trance where the 
world smelled of ripe ambition and musky males. 


THE END
