DBB-108 The Tormented Virgin
By Harvey Rodd


INTRODUCTION

Many literary critics have pointed out that there have been no "real novels" coming from the recently ended war in Vietnam. Part of the reason for this, they say, lies in the fact that this was an alien war in an alien land, fought under alien philosophies and rules and using alien instruments as the most effective weapons.

We at Brighton Books had felt somewhat the same, and had given up all hope of ever finding an acceptable book about the war and what it did to those coming in contact with it. We were pleasantly surprised when a former combat correspondent brought us the manuscript of Soldiers' Girl. At first, we thought its explicit scenes of sexual candor might be too much for our readers, but then we realized just how important they were to the overall thread of the story - for it is impossible to tell a war story without telling about the men and women who fight it.

The novel not only is a book about war in an alien land, but also about the various little wars here in the United States. In all respects, it is an extremely important social document providing an invaluable commentary on our times. It undoubtedly will anger many people - some clergymen, some law enforcement officials, the military - and those who will object to its explicit language and graphic scenes of debauchery. And yet... no one can question the veracity of this book, for even the most naive must admit these things have and do happen.

The book opens in a small Southern town being visited by a tent preacher who uses innocent young girls and women as fodder for his own dark cravings. Rosemary, the girl in the story, falls under his evil spell, and events move too rapidly for her young and inexperienced mind and body to realize what is happening. Before the evening is over, she has been raped by members of the football team, and is jailed as a "paid whore." Here, in a little cell without doors, she is completely at the mercy of the town's only law enforcement officer - a brutal bully by the name of Tate, with a twisted mind and twisted desires.

Rosemary's dramatic rescue from jail by her Green Beret uncle, Matt, sets the stage for her first realization of what a woman's body really needs. She goes to live with Matt on an Army post, lies about her age, and becomes a Red Cross girl. It is Matt who introduces her into the lovemaking mysteries of the Orient. Later, against his wishes, she follows him to the war front in Vietnam. It is here that the real tragedy of war strikes home.

Rosemary is caught up in the vicious intrigue on the part of non-combat American military personnel and the Vietnamese warlords. In a scene of degradation too vivid to recount here, Rosemary and another American girl find themselves at a lonely border outpost where they come face to face with the most brutal, animalistic aspects of an alien philosophy.

This is a powerful novel. We think you will not be able to forget it once you have read it. Because it shows the best side of man as well as the worst, we feel it must be printed.

- The Publishers


CHAPTER ONE

Preacher Pritchart's words of hellfire and damnation seemed to pierce Rosemary's soul to its core.

Fall was in the air, even in the near-tropical delta land around Cronk's Corner, Mississippi. Camp meeting made the early autumn, Rosemary thought. The sawdust and canvas smell of a full tent and the bays of holy thunder from the preacher's rostrum drove away the devils that lurked all around her adolescent heart like the flaming sword that turned sinning Adam and Eve from Eden.

She began to feel the Presence as, trancelike, she fell into the long, shuffling line of the righteous, "going forward" to be saved by the Reverend Andrew Pritchart.

The women ahead of her danced forward with tiny steps and transfigured faces that had lost, in the magic of revival and rebirth, the lines of worry and work which had worn them, like the too-many washings of their cotton dresses, into early old age.

Men and women raised their hands, shivering with the Spirit, rolling their eyes and speaking in the secret tongues let loose when it filled them.

She came forward and at last was seized by her shoulders in the plump, sweaty paws of the reverend, who glared wild-eyed into her eyes and demanded, "Do you FEEL the POWER? Do you FEEL THE POWER of JEE-SUS?" She moaned, swaying on the abyss of fainting. She DID feel the power! She felt it flooding over her, making her strong in the Lord. She began to talk and strange, never-heard words poured from her lips. She babbled ecstatically as Preacher Pritchart continued to stare into her eyes. "FEEL the POWER! FEEL THE POWER! FEEL THE POWER! A-aa-MEN!"

Pritchart let go of her and she collapsed to the sawdust floor of the tent, thrilling to the waves of goodness that rolled over and through her body. She was saved, REALLY saved! All the snickering of the other girls at school who seemed to know so much about boys had been worth this moment. She had been saved forever, while they now blushed and turned pale when the reverend told of the hellfire that waited those who committed sins of the flesh. This was the reward for her hard-earned virtue, her purity, her carefully, sometimes desperately defended virginity!

She rolled and gabbled in tongues, filled with righteousness and trying to rise and proclaim it to the thirstily awaiting congregation. She felt the reverend's short, fat arm curl around her waist and bear her up, and she shook the long golden tresses of hair from her face, snapping her blue eyes wide, looking at the people and trying to tell them what Heaven was like.

Pritchart hugged her tightly and turned to the audience shouting, "She is SAVED! Oh GAWD! She is SAVED!"

She felt dizzy, floating in a dream as the congregation burst into, "Oh What a Fellowship!... Leanin' on the Everlasting Arm," and she was carried in triumph to a side exit.

The music died away to a faint, heavenly singing as the minister carried her outside into the hot, humid night, holding her lean, lithe girl's frame tightly by the waist.

The evening air made her feel even more languid as the rich, earthy, fecund odor, of delta bottom country assaulted her nostrils, sensuous with its promise of fertility.

"Do you feel the power, my child?" the preacher asked in a soft whisper, "really feel it? Here now, feel the POWER!" he hissed urgently, guiding her limp hand down to the bulge of his crotch and against the thick stump of his cock, straining under the fly of his black broadcloth pants.

She cupped his coarse member absentmindedly, still drifting in her dream of salvation. She was dazed by the sudden change from the thick, Okie odors of sawdust, new jeans, sweat, canvas, and sourmash whiskey, breath that had filled the gospel tent like hot air swelling the bag of a balloon.

She wondered what secrets of salvation would be whispered to her, now that she had become one of the Elect!

"That's it, that's it, my child... " the reverend chanted softly as he led her into the crowded dirt parking lot.

His practiced eye scanned the cars and trucks until he found what he wanted, a camper truck with the back door slightly ajar. "Always the place that the Lord appoints," he thought, "always one open."

He led Rosemary to it. "In here, my dear. Inside. We must talk now."

"Yes, yes reverend, we must!"

He pushed her firmly from behind as she stumbled up the steps and inside. It was hot, cramped and pitch black.

"Jesus said man does not live by bread alone," Pritchart breathed urgently, sincerely. "Love one another. You must learn and understand the mysteries of the Elect... " His voice droned reassuringly, gently, out of the darkness and Rosemary listened intently, eagerly. He talked on, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders, speaking more softly all the time and drawing her nearer, nearer, as though to whisper profound secrets into her shell-pink ear.

She felt his arms draw protectively around her as his voice won her trust, her confidence, and she felt a slight tickly sensation as his nimble fingers began undoing the row of buttons which marched down the back of her gingham dress.

She felt a cool chill as the faded cotton cloth parted and realized with a shock that Pritchart was unhooking her brassiere. She moved to draw back but Pritchart, gently, firmly, said, "Trust me, my child. Understand. You must stand naked before the Lord's truth unashamed, as Eve stood before Adam. Don't be afraid. You will not sin."

His fingers deftly flicked the hook out of its eye and her taut, firm, full breasts sprang free of the elastic harness. Rosemary fought back the sense of foreboding stealing over her as Pritchart ran both hands down the sides of her body, electrifying her with a tingling that ran up and down her spine.

His hands drew the unbuttoned top of the dress down from her shoulders until the cloth spilled into Rosemary's lap. Then he took the straps of her brassiere and slid them down her long, pale arms, letting those big, rosy-tipped breasts hang free. He looked at that generous expanse of tender girl's flesh. The incredibly full round globes swayed and jiggled in the moonlight, the nipples looking like rich, black, ripened cherries set in blue-veined marble.

Slowly and lovingly he drew the dress down to her hips, and she obediently shifted to allow him to draw it down her bare legs and toss it aside in the dark. The white nylon panties were next, and he slid them down the pillars of her slender legs, savoring the downy feel of the soft skin, revealing their exquisitely turned, classic form by touch and sight as Pritchart's eyes became more accustomed to the dark.

He paused, savoring the sight of her moonlit nudity. A true connoisseur, he knew he had found a rare beauty this time! His throbbing cock telegraphed its urgent message: "Go on! GO ON!" But he held it in tight control, knowing, from the experience of a decade of revival preaching, that he mustn't hurry things!

Rosemary shivered in the sudden chill, wondering what lesson would follow. Pritchart began loosening his own coat, shucking it down off his shoulders. His hands went to the black string tie, undoing it quickly, then down the pearl buttons of his white ruffled shirt. The strap undershirt came next, and he kicked his loafers off. Rosemary watched in wonder as the black pants slid from his portly trunk, down his short, stumpy legs. The little plump naked man stood before her, looking grayish in the moonlight, and so short! He had towered like a giant in the revival tent, hurling thunderbolts of damnation at his flock!

One thing that wasn't short was the great cock that rose ramrod straight from the black patch of hair in his crotch. Rosemary looked at it in fear. Do all men have those? she thought. It's as big as a stallion's!

The great, fat, wormy prick held her eyes riveted. "Now you see!" Pritchart hissed triumphantly. She tried to comprehend as he leaned forward, aiming the huge, snakelike erection right at her, and touched her lush body with his hands. She suddenly wanted to scream for help but her mouth was smothered by his lips and a thick, porous tongue shot out of the dark and into the recesses of her mouth.

His fingers probed the moist patch of pubic hair for her clitoris, spreading the pink lips of her pussy until thumb and forefinger gripped the little pearl of delight.

Rosemary felt a hot wave of lust rise and break over her body. She squirmed with yearning - yearning for what? she wondered.

She thought vaguely that she had been misled. This was no private conference between one who had been saved and a minister of God! But how could sin be so good? It was so different from the fumbling, grabbing, pawing advances made by the boys from high school at dances and football games that she could not relate them to the warnings she had received against fornication.

His bulky body pressed down on her, forcing her back onto the tiny camper cot. His throbbing cock began to squeeze and press its way between her smooth, soft thighs into her tight, virgin passage. "He's going to do it to me!" she realized. "This can't be right!"

She moaned in protest and tried to push him away, feebly resisting the lusty pleasure she felt, writhing away from the big, dry rod which probed the secret cavern of flesh where no man had penetrated before.

"No, no, nooo... " she groaned as Pritchart pressed deeper and deeper into her pussy, gripping her tight around the hips and forcing her further under him. Her hands pressed back against his shoulders, and she tried to put the lazy, expectant bitch-heat which seized her away from her mind.

Pritchart dropped his cock and thrust his thumb into the entryway of her cunt while the middle finger sought and found the tight, puckered flower of her anus, driving past the resisting opening and sinking to the first knuckle.

He held her like a bowling ball, clenching his fingers tightly to bridge the flesh separating thumb and finger. Rosemary's head flopped and her mouth flew open in a soundless scream. Nothing, nothing in the world could equal the pain of these two digits digging into the private tenderness of both sphincter and vaginal passage!

The finger which dug into her asshole undermined Rosemary's last thought of resistance, be this act good or evil! She couldn't bear the exquisite torture a second longer!

"Oh please don't! Please don't, noooo... "

"What you want me to do instead, child?"

"Anything! Anything you want me to do! But please, please, I can't stand it!"

"Then relax, honey. I won't hurt you! Just take it easy, an' you'll be all right... " Pritchart eased the thumb out of her bear trap of a sphincter, but kept his "fuck you!" finger inserted in her rapidly moistening pussy, wriggling in against the sensitive silky skin, initiating a slow grinding of Rosemary's hips.

It's too late! she thought. We've gone too far now! The hands which had halfheartedly held back the little minister's urgent body slid over his back and around his neck, and her thighs spread accommodatingly to ease his way.

His hard, stubby cock began to grind in inch by inch, pushing against the fragile wall of her hymen. Rosemary shrank back from the pain.

A cherry! Pritchart thought excitedly. An honest-to-God virgin! Spurred by his unbelievable luck, Pritchart began to batter harder and harder against the resisting gate of Rosemary's chastity. His hips rose and thrust against her and she clawed at his back and buttocks, pushing him to overcome the barrier.

"Do it to me, oh please, DO it to me!" she begged, gritting her teeth against the hurt, feeling the healing moisture of her vagina welling up to lubricate the way through.

Rosemary shuddered and threw her head to one side as she felt an uncomfortable electric contact against the sensitive, ragged edges of her moist pussy. She held her breath for what seemed to be an eternity, lying frozen like some frightened forest creature in utter subjugation beneath him, waiting for the final, awesome thrust which would destroy her with tearing pain and mercifully end this rite of human sacrifice which she was being forced to perform.

She remembered the teachings which associated pain with Godliness, and wondered if this ordeal might be the ultimate test of the Elect.

But the patient, cruel grin which had stolen over Pritchard's face was steadily replaced by the contorted expression of raw lust. The cock which had been sending its urgent message of need signalled that its need was greater than any brain could dictate to! The helpless, spread- eagled girl beneath him NEEDED that final thrust which would rip through the hymeneal tissue, destroying a long overage encumbrance, if the lush maturity of this young girl's body was any indication of what she had been like at puberty!

His stimulated balls demanded that he fuck her, NOW! The titillated tip of his cock, barely splitting the lips of her snatch, had to thrust through, NOW! He had to shove his shaft through this tight cunt before he exploded! The muscles of his ass contracted, causing his spine to flex involuntarily and triggering the jerk of his hips that would send the red-hot ingot of steaming meat home, deep into the passage where no man had penetrated before.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhggghhhh!"

The strangled cry was forced from deep inside Rosemary, deep from some subliminal, animal level which she had never dreamed that her pious young body had sheltered. The realization that she could scream like that, or feel as she did with this strange, huge, intruding THING inside her, shocked her.

The cry was driven from her chest by the blast in her loins, triggered as a broad, red-hot poker of flesh skewered like a spinning bullet into the smooth, virginal flesh of her cunt, and on into the wet cavern beyond. The white-hot jet of molten metal inside her plunged endlessly and without mercy deep into the expanding channel as Rosemary groaned and twisted in anguish at this determined, depraved attack on her genitals. Through the flailing consciousness of her tortured brain, she felt as if her entire body had descended into a bubbling pot of seething hot oil, and the stoutly resisting wall, symbol of her virginity, reeled under the incessant battering of the heavy, wedge-shaped ram wielded by Preacher Pritchart!

Just as the pain seemed unbearable, Pritchart drove through the membrane, shattering her maidenhead with an irretrievable "pop" and agony entwined with masochistic pleasure swept over her in waves.

The flaccid symbol of her virginity had been ripped away savagely, but all she could think of was the shock and pain as her body went limp from the giving and tearing of her flesh. Pritchart's thick, destructive cock tore into her cunt like a burning freight train, pushing and bayoneting the moist flesh of the vaginal walls in front of it without thought of injury, ripping apart the tight seam that had protected her womb for so long.

The surging waves of agitated cuntal flesh went before the driving pressure of the rock-hard drill until Pritchart's pelvis smacked solidly against the split loins and his balls bounced like wrecking weights against the upturned cheeks of her tightly clenched ass.

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

Pritchart was still for a moment, and Rosemary hung in a strange balance between the brushes of orgasmic pleasure and the very real pain which permeated her freshly sundered tissues. He stared down into her pained, wide eyes until the pupils rolled back into place. He could feel the stiffness in the body beneath him and knew it walked that teetering tightrope between agony and ecstasy, and so it clung to one posture as though any movement might restore the splitting pain.

Rosemary felt her soft wall passages expanding more and more apart in stuttering jerks to accept the bulk of the invading cock. She could smell Pritchart's breath, its astringent, mouthwash odor barely hiding the vile urgent beast- pantings huffing from the bottom of his lungs like the emanations of Satan's steam engine.

She felt a sharp throb inside her as Pritchart cruelly flexed his buried cock. Miraculously, the cuntal walls, already stretched beyond her endurance, adjusted to accommodate more.

She was astonished that she had survived this onslaught and even more so that she could find some element of pleasure in it. Her virginity had been lost in much the same manner as the women before her who were violated by Huns, Vikings, Vandals, Christians, Moslems, Turks, Nazis, Japanese. It doesn't matter, she thought. Only survival matters! And besides, I'm in the hands of the Lord!

Pritchart's cock felt as if it were being squeezed by some incredibly strong fist enclosed in a velvet glove. It actually pained him. Quickly then, he began sliding his prick in and out with little short jabbing motions, and r I was pleased to hear the girl's squeals of pain soon turn to something else - a low hum which bordered on surprised pleasure.

He rode high on her, deliberately bringing his scraping cock in contact with her clitoris. In his mind he could see the little bud of delight, like a brown living almond, bending first one way then the other as his prick's veins and ridges brushed against it. "Hallelujah!" he whispered to her, and was rewarded with the first trembling tentative movement upward of her pelvis as her pussy sought to meet his impaling cock. Strange things were happening down there in the little girl's snatch, he thought, strange wonderful things. She had begun rippling her muscles against the huge throbbing head of his prick. It was a glorious sensation. He remembered a whore he had "saved" once in St. Louis who had been able to do the same thing, and if he hadn't popped the cherry on this one just moments before he would have been sure she had been working the waterfront houses of prostitution.

The feeling of her snatch nibbling against his manhood was simply too much for the preacher. He began buffeting her frail body, spearing into her with a fury unmatched by any damnations or lamentations offered from the pulpit. He felt his power all concentrating down there on that cudgel of God between his legs, and he prayed for strength to give her salvation, because he knew he was about to cum.

Rosemary's pain had long since fled. Now there was only the wonderful metronome beating into the heart of her femaledom. She could feel other things - inexperienced before - down there between her legs. She could feel every ridge and every little muscle on his cock, could feel the head and the coronal ridge pressing delightfully into the warm moist inner folds of her cunt. She rose to meet each downward stroke, and soon realized that she was doing this automatically, without volition. Each punching movement of her eagerly jerking pelvis brought new and greater sensations to her. And then, abruptly, she felt her spirit slipping away from her. It was almost like being "saved" again, only this was stronger. As her mind fled before the intolerable onslaught of pure sensation, she began babbling again in tongues, then her body began convulsing, seeking to devour that spear of God.

Pritchart's eyes had long since rolled up in his head; he had fought to maintain control until the girl came. When he felt her suddenly go wild as a bucking bronco beneath him, he simply let go... and the overtaxed testicles and prostate began their life-giving discharge.

"Oh, God, God, God," Pritchart groaned in her ear as his cock began ejaculating great gobs of pent-up semen into the ecstatically shrieking girl. He squealed with joy and exaltation, feeling her wildly twitching cunt begin wringing his cock like a washrag. His hips pounded into her with the driving intensity of pistons as he sought to get every bit of the glory into her and out of her.

Then he collapsed on top of her with a great, shuddering sob of gratitude to the Lord for His kindness in sending the girl. Already, its deed done, his prick began deflating within her womb.

Rosemary lay there thinking, So this is it! I've finally done it! She began to cry quietly, not from remorse, but from the fact that she was no longer the child she had been a quarter of an hour ago, because a new chapter had opened in her life. She had found sex, and it was good!

"What you cryin' about?" Pritchart asked.

"It was wonderful," she answered. "It hurt, but it was wonderful. I'll always remember this, even after we're married, Reverend Pritchart... I mean, Andrew... "

"What you talkin' about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look, honey, you are a nice girl, but I got to get back to those people. Got the Lord's work to do, and you got to go home."

"But you, you're the first... "

"Sheeit. There's a first time for everything, honey. You just forget about it." The reverend was already pulling up his pants and zipping the fly.

"You, you can't just rape me and walk away! You can't just treat me like some tramp!"

"Rape?" the reverend chuckled. "Honey, you sure have some funny ways of sayin' things!"

"Well. I'm only sixteen. You got to marry me, or I'll call the sheriff and he'll put you in jail!"

"Honey, I hate to hear a sweet thing like you talk like a bitch." He cupped one hand behind her head, rubbed it gently, and almost as gently, rapped her expertly on the tip of her jaw with an astonishingly hard fist.


CHAPTER TWO

Rosemary awoke from her unconsciousness after what had seemed like hours. She could dimly hear the revival continuing in the tent, singing and praying and preaching; she snorted despite the pain in her jaw at the hypocrisy of it.

She began groping in the darkness of the camper for her clothes. They were gone! She pressed her face against the tiny window of the camper door and found her dress, underclothes and shoes lying outside on the ground. She was trapped!

She began sobbing again. There was no way to get out! She couldn't stay here - the owner of the truck would be back when the revival ended. She wished she had a watch and could tell what time it was. She couldn't even holler for help.

She decided to take a chance and get her clothes back. Rosemary opened the door a crack and peeked out. Nobody was in sight. She eased one shapely leg through, opening the door just wide enough to' squeeze through.

The night air was cold on her nude body, and even the faint light from the cracks of the tent seemed to glare at her like the sealed beam of a spotlight. She was a mass of nerves, and every faint whisper of a rustling leaf sounded like the footsteps of an approaching stranger. She reached down, hurriedly scooped up her Clothes and shoes, then ran, lightfooted on the balls of her feet, back to the sanctuary of the camper.

She fumbled with the latch, opened it, and tossed her bundle inside. She stepped in after and began feeling through the tangle of cloth for her undergarments. She froze as the interior of the truck blazed with light, and she turned, horror-struck, to see three faces gaping at her in awestruck wonder as the yellow overhead bulb played on the delectable planes of her naked body.

She recognized with a shock that it was Charlie Mason and two other boys. All three were on the high school football team, in fact Charlie was the captain.

"Oh Charlie! Charlie, it was awful," she began sobbing. "He took me here and raped me and... " Her voice trailed off as the same expression of cunning eagerness spread over the three faces.

"We-ell, if it ain't little miss high-an'-mighty... Jim, you watch the door. Zeke, you an' me got work to do, oh lordy... " She saw Jim clamber through the door. The door shut, and she was again blinded by darkness as the light snapped off.

She could feel them closing in the darkness. "Ch-Charlie! Don't you dare! You go 'way!"

"Tellin' me to git out of my old man's truck, huh? Shut up, you stuck-up little bitch, or I'll kick shit outta you."

She felt fear growing near the edge of panic. "No... don't. Please... " She could hear Charlie unzipping the pants of his Sunday-go-to- meeting suit, then the rustle of the blue fabric as they slid down his heavy, hairy, football player's legs.

"We're gonna fuck shit outta you, cunt," he breathed resentfully. "Zeke, you hold her down if she gives us any trouble."

Charlie quickly, but clumsily, began unbuttoning his coat, then his shirt, fumbling with his tie. She was afraid of the rough, inexperienced strength of these adolescent boy-men. She knew instinctively that they would not be as gentle as Pritchart was, even under the best of circumstances.

"Please," she said. Rosemary wanted to cry out, get help, but that would bring unwanted attention to her state, and she feared the accusing look in the eyes of her gaunt, righteous, Godfearing father more than anything these three boys might do to her.

"I'll do what you want. I'll do it. Just don't hurt me, please," she pleaded.

"Now you're thinking right."

Charlie stepped toward her, naked, his cock stiffened into an unbearably painful lance. Then he reached out in the darkness and found Rosemary's soft, smooth body.

Charlie grabbed her with rough, impatient hands, running his calloused palms over the succulent smoothness of her skin, feeling the taut nipples of her young breasts, the smooth, barely detectable mound of her stomach, the full, smooth roundness of her delectable buttocks.

He panted with excitement. Rosemary had refused his advances after Davis High won the state championship, denying him, he felt, the rightful fruits of victory which he, as the team captain who led them to triumph, deserved. Rosemary had a reputation as a standoffish girl, saturated with religion, who wouldn't even swap spit in the back seat of a car.

Now her whole young, sweet body was his, here and now. He wanted to have her for all the times he had looked at her at school with lust, all the times he had sauntered over to her confidently and been refused the time of day. His obsession had grown, despite the efforts of other, more willing girls, to satiate it.

He pushed her back down on the cot, still warm from her initiation into sex with Pritchart. She fell back willingly, suddenly excited by the feel of Charlie's young, muscular body hot with the rutting instincts of a young bull. Why not? she thought. Charlie fell on top of her, and she guided his eager manhood in with her hands, feeling the thick, throbbing veins of his cock standing out like whipcords.

The blunt, pulsating warhead of the hungry cock touched the pleading lips of her pussy with the electric shock of a hot wire touched to a dynamo's terminal. The ragged lips, still oozing the beadlets of bloodshed from her recently ravaged cherry, tapped against the tip in a tremulously expectant rhythm.

She wanted this hard, rippling specimen of green manhood, eager to feel the heavy root shoot deep into the equally untried earth of her womb. Her hips thrust up against his belly, pushing once against the cock. It lost place and nearly fell out! Her willing fingers guided it back to the entrance, holding the trembling manhood firmly between her thumb and little finger as the other fingers caressed the swinging bag which held his tender testicles.

The prick felt hot in her hand and it nuzzled against the lips of her cunt again, seeking the shelter her enfolding walls of flesh could provide. She no longer feared the huge, pendant rod as she had before. She knew that her cunt could take it and more! Her astonishment at the durability of womanhood, and the sturdy will which allowed women to overcome unbearable pain to be rewarded by unspeakable ecstasy, was gone now. Instead, memories of her girlhood flashed through her tumescent brain: of how her mother would remark, when her work seemed backbreaking, unbearable, "I can handle it. I've put up with a lot worse than this!" The secret knowledge of endurance was the difference between men and women - and women and girls!

Charlie's loins contracted as he pushed roughly forward, his thick legs scrabbling for impetus, the wiry hairs of his thighs and calves grating against the softer, smoother skin of Rosemary's spread, enfolding limbs. Her pussy resisted the eager thrusts. It had contracted in the coolness of the night air during her desperate expedition to retrieve her clothes. Now it needed coaxing, teasing, to open again.

Charlie withheld it. Used to the compliant girls who would yield to his every whim, it never occurred to him to scout, with his fingers, the territory that the main body of force, represented by his penis, would invade.

Rosemary reached under the thrusting cock and gripped a cuntal lip in each hand, forcing it to spread wider, as the great wedge-shaped prong stabbed and stabbed at her with the rapidity of a stinging wasp. The tender, newly bruised walls of her snatch rubbed against each other like the walls of an empty, growling stomach, waiting for the first, hot, tender morsel that would fill it.

At last her busy fingers did their work. The pussy lips opened like the blooming of a rosebud, exuding a hot, female lust-odor and beckoning the seeking prick head in.

Charlie drove in hard and fast, pulling at her pubic hairs as his member sought the sheltering recesses of her cunt. She marvelled at his eagerness, his lack of foreplay. It didn't matter now. She was primed and ready, and she ground her hips hard up against him as he drove his impatient shaft up and down furiously, jerking and snorting like a young goat.

"Gentle, be gentle, Charlie... " she moaned, as her vaginal walls began to respond despite his roughness. "You feel so good, soooo goooood, inside of me!"

Charlie didn't answer. His breath came in rasping pants. She felt the now familiar sensation of coming, "Don't stop Charlie! Oh God! Please don't stop."

Suddenly Charlie shuddered with release as he came, spilling his boy's seed deep into her womb. Rosemary felt a pang of disappointment at her own unfulfillment.

"Don't hog it all, Charlie, there's people waitin'."

"Right, Zeke." Charlie, sated, abruptly drew his penis out of Rosemary's sheath.

"Next!" Zeke joked as he finished pulling off his shirt and made a mock dive on top of Rosemary. He drove his rod in up to the hilt in one smooth sweep, sliding between the well-lubricated walls of her pussy. Rosemary delighted in the sensation of this fresh, dry, hard cock inside her, ready to take up where Charlie had left off. She and Zeke writhed with pleasure, driving flesh against flesh until their bellies, wet with sweat, made a sucking, smacking sound and their bellybuttons kissed and parted with greater and greater speed.

Now her cunt came alive! The walls rubbed against the slithering, driving rod with a life of their own. Rosemary gave herself up to this deep, penetrating thrust, her back arching her pelvis high off the cot, while Zeke's loins crashed against her with the force of a blacksmith's hammer pounding an anvil. His loose, crazily swinging sack of balls swung against her, battering the tender flesh just below her cunt like twin blackjacks beating a tattoo on her as though it were a drum roll announcing a high dive from a hundred feet by a daredevil plunger into a pool of boiling oil.

She wanted it! She wanted more and more of that wonderful, driving piston rod to gouge unmercifully into her tender flesh and strike the nerves that would trigger the pounding pleasure that Charlie had failed to do.

Her legs spread wider, her cunt became a black, sucking vacuum eager to be filled, a tunnel swallowing up all the pain and ecstasy the adolescent young athlete could deliver. She folded her calves across his back, gripping him in a vice of lust, her long nails digging like spikes into his tender ass, punishing the tightly muscled flesh for what it was doing to her.

"Ohhh AAHHHHH ZEKE! Fuck me harder, HARDER, ZEKE! OHHHH!"

Rosemary came in hot, all-enveloping waves, as Zeke pushed her on and on to greater heights of ecstasy. Then he too shuddered and gave up his store of hot semen. The white fluid rolled down between Rosemary's legs and formed a warm, moist puddle beneath her.

Zeke, too, withdrew his cock, grinning in the dark with satisfaction.

He dressed quickly, pulling on his jeans and flannel shirt, sliding into sockless tennis shoes, then opened the door.

"Come ahead, Jim. There's plenty of that left."

Hulking, pimply-faced Jim clumped up the ladder and into the truck, pulling clothes off as he came. Rosemary knew him too, and was grateful that she was unable to see his acne- scarred face in the dark.

"Somethin' I always wanted to try," he muttered. "Ever do it dog-fashion, Charlie?"

"No. Never heard of it."

"Watch."

He pulled Rosemary up against him, copping a feel of her smooth, upright breasts, then placed both hands on her side and spun her around roughly.

"Bend over, like," he ordered harshly, and then began to jam his huge, eager cock down under her ass and up again into her still-wet pussy.

Rosemary staggered to keep her balance under the big lineman's 250 pounds of fat and muscle. This must be how a mare feels with a stallion rutting on her, she thought, as his heavy bulk bore down on her.

Rosemary was tired, but she enjoyed this, too. Jim cupped her breasts from behind, kneading the soft flesh and teasing her now almost raw nipples with attention, as the two marched and staggered around in the dark, cramped camper like some ungainly four-legged animal.

She guided his hands down so that they pressed against the tender flesh just inside her thighs. The pressure on her tummy squeezed the walls of her vagina tighter against the cock as her ass bumped up against his pelvis. She bent her back lower, lower, as Jim's legs and hips jerked in unison to the grinding motion of hers. Jim's back was almost straight, straining with his legs to press the cock deeper, deeper inside. He wanted to split this bitch right up the middle! His powerful frame almost lifted Rosemary bodily off the floor of the camper, which shook with their labor as though an earthquake were rolling underneath.

Rosemary felt the heavy lust of a cow in heat, mounted by a massive bull stud. Her body writhed helplessly under big Jim's powerful hands, which now gripped the inside of her thighs and pulled her legs apart until the joints began to protest with the knifelike pain. She whimpered as his huge cock rammed and rammed into her with no more mercy than a locomotive would show to an ant walking on the railroad track.

The foreskin rippled inside, covering and uncovering the massive spearhead with each thrust, tickling Rosemary's painfully tender cuntal wails. The unhealed ring of tissue which had been so recently ruptured felt like a circle of fire in her, while the salty semen aggravated the inflamed passage with the tingling pain of a lash flick at each powerful thrust.

Rosemary spread her legs more and more to accommodate the insatiable cock. She forgot her lesson of female endurance, moaning and whimpering.

"Aaargh! Ooooowwww! AAAAHHH nomore. please... "

"Can't take it huh, bitch? Big Jim too much for you, huh?"

"Gentle. Oh, please, be gentle, Jim!" she managed to squeal as his pounding, unmerciful horn thrust deeply, woundingly into her. Jim was beyond placating now. Every nerve instinct demanded that he thrust home until the hunger of his gonads was sated, until the hot lance sputtered forth its store of venom.

Rosemary felt herself go faint. Jim's huge arms squeezed her tightly, cutting off her breath, just as her work was hardest! She could feel his maniacal strength crushing her abdomen until she thought she might snap like a twig with its force. Her will spurred the weary muscles of her cunt into greater efforts, coaxing the great, throbbing member to spill its come in her and release her from the bearlike hug strangling her waist.

Jim was jerking into her with all his body, all his strength now. He bent low at the knees and let the massive leg muscles push his body up, ramming the cock in with the force of a piledriver.

Rosemary's sides heaved and sweated like the flanks of a race horse coming into the home stretch. Her full, pendant breasts, hanging below her, swung free, wildly, crazily, slapping against her ribs, her chin, like twin huge udders. The tender flesh ached with the pain of all this unaccustomed jouncing, and she hugged them to her to protect them from the wild bobbing caused by her jerking spine.

Jim's balls were pressed firmly against the pink cushions of Rosemary's ass, and the pressure caused them to ache as though each pumping thrust were a kick in the nuts. The exquisite pain both suffered spurred them to greater and greater efforts to relieve it, to have done with this frenzied contest of wills, to satisfy the deep hunger that drove them destructively on.

Jim's buttocks contracted hard, squeezing at the base of his prick as though to force out the hot pool of jism that eagerly awaited its escape. His back bent and bent, until he stood bent backwards, eyes staring upward, unseeing, face stretched into a grimacing mask of effort, legs straining on tiptoe, lifting and pushing into Rosemary's cunt.

Rosemary felt her vaginal muscles squeezing hard against big Jim's cock, stroking it as though they had a life of their own. Jim had penetrated deeper than she had thought humanly possible, and she looked down to see if the head of his penis might not be bulging out through her skin over the bellybutton.

She felt a wild, animal abandon come over as some deep, ancestral instinct took over. She wondered if, far in the past, men and women had mated like this when the women were pursued and captured. She shrieked with pleasure, and Jim gave forth a great, male, triumphant bull-bellow, as his straining organ seemed to explode with fertile seed, engulfing her in its warm tide.

"Shee-it. I never seen anything like it," exclaimed Charlie in admiration. "I got to try that!" He was again undoing the pants zipper after so laboriously dressing in the dark.

The door banged. Zeke's voice whispered with urgent alarm. "Somebody heard us! Sheriff's comin'."

Rosemary thought it was a joke, but Jim, already half dressed, threw his shirt over his back and followed Charlie out the door and hit the ground running.

Through the open door she could see a flashlight beam weaving its way across the parking lot toward her. She lunged for the door, but the beam flashed up and caught her in all of her glistening white nakedness, with the light winking off the wet stream of semen running down her legs.


CHAPTER THREE

A crowd from the revival tent followed close behind Sheriff Tate as he played his flashlight over Rosemary's white body; they muttered expectantly as she sought to shield her womanhood with her trembling hands.

The tone of their murmuring voices conveyed the righteous hunger of a lynch mob, and she felt that if she chucked a side of beef at them, it would be ripped to shreds and devoured in seconds.

"ABOMINATION!" With a shock she recognized the roaring voice of Preacher Pritchart. "Here in the very temple of JEE-SUS! The Great Whore of Babylon flaunts her sinnin', putrid body before the eyes of the Godly. And does this child of Satan, this Devil's daughter, repent? Does she grovel and beg the good Jesus for forgiveness?

"NO! She traipses her shame before us, CRIMSON HUSSY! SINNER! SINNER! SINNER!"

The crowd took up the chant: "Sinner! SIN- ner! SINNER!" and a rock suddenly hurtled from its midst, bouncing with a hard thud off the truck. Rosemary felt a pang of fear that the good people of Cronk's Corner might take her and hang her to a tree and torch her with gasoline, or simply stone her then and there, Bible style.

Sheriff Tate suddenly spun around, flashing his light into the crowd's faces. The light reflected in their eyes like so many raccoons caught in a hunter's spot beam. She recognized her own father's pale, mad, fanatic eyes despite the expression of rage, shame and killer's lust that distorted it beyond an expression of disapproval she had never seen before, and she thought she had seen them all.

Another face flashed in the blinding, merciless light, showing the thin, spectacled, sensitive face of Jamie Tull, the earnest young boy in her Sunday school classes, who even in high school dogged her tracks with puppylike devotion, who sat calf-eyed with hopeless love as he and she spoke earnestly and believingly of the tenets of their fundamentalist Baptist creed during their lunch hours. He averted his eyes with a sick, ruined, totally disillusioned expression.

Even he, she thought, had sat in judgment of her at this moment.

"'Nough of that!" the sheriff's voice roared with assured authority. "Next man, woman, or chile picks up a rock's gonna eat it 'fore he goes home tonight!"

He scolded them gently but firmly away. "You people go on home now. Show's over, you seen enough. The law'll take care of this girl now."

Aside to the preacher, he said softly, "Reverend, you better watch that kinda thing. Gonna get you in bad trouble someday, doin' a thing like that."

Pritchart glared back at him, then smoothed the imaginary ruffled feathers of his black broadcloth coat, turned, and followed his congregation.

Tate looked at Rosemary with a leer, then stooped and picked up her crumpled cotton dress and tossed it to her.

"Git dressed," he ordered abruptly.

She grabbed the dress and disappeared into the camper again, and began hastily pulling the dress on over her sweat-dampened body. She heard a high, whining, complaining voice outside.

"When you gonna git that cunt outta my truck, Sheriff? Goddamnit, I ain't running no goddamn whorehouse!"

"Hold yer goddamn water, Isaac Mason. Seems like that was yer boy I saw runnin' out pullin' his pants up. Law in this county says he could chop weeds on the chain gang for a couple years, doin' what I think he was doin' to that little piece of jailbait. In your truck, too. That's contributin'. .He let his voice trail off and grinned at the expression of alarm which stole over Isaac's face.

Rosemary finished buttoning the dress, cracked the camper door, and peeked out nervously. "Don't stand there all night, girl. You're coming with me." The sheriff beckoned peremptorily and she followed him docilely.

The crowd, which had been filtering back to the gospel tent in a frustrated, murmuring herd, turned to stare at the lithe, young girl as she minced toward the car with the sheriff. Her dress, plastered against her wet skin, accentuated every delicious curve swinging loosely beneath the fabric, unrestrained by the panties and bra which lay forsaken in the dirt parking lot.

The clinging cotton was better than nudity, suggestively molding itself to the gently sagging young breasts jouncing juicily against the gingham, each nipple clearly pushing its proud, up-tilted point outward. The wet cloth clung sensuously to the ripe roundness of her buttocks and tucked itself into the mysterious cleavages of her cunt and ass, making her walk as though her strong hips were grinding and kneading the cock of every hot, swinging dick in the crowd.

A man groaned aloud, and some of the young girls giggled. An old woman's voice hissed, "Ssslut!" and the sheriff whirled to glare them down. But Pritchart beat him to the punch.

"Lust not after the daughter of the heathen! Brothers and sisters, the wages of sin are death!" he ranted.

What a way to go, Sheriff Tate thought.

He opened the front door for Rosemary, then walked around to the driver's seat, got in, started the powerful V-8 engine, and roared out of the parking lot, drowning a parting chorus of catcalls, yells and raving exhortations in a scream of burning rubber and a shower of gravel.

Rosemary sat silent and nervous in the patrol car as it raced down the narrow paved road, experiencing the fright and helplessness of her first arrest. How her world had changed in only a few short hours. She had been thrilled by her first, wild experience of sex, and it was nothing like the half-solemn, half-degrading picture which had been sketchily painted for her by her parents, school, and church. She wondered if she really would have traded that experience for the safe, dull routine of being the sweet, pious Southern girl that had come to the revival meeting that night. She was warmed and comforted, in spite of her distress, by the rebellious, outlaw feelings unleashed within her, but she knew that she had better start thinking of how to get out of the mess she was in. She could never go home to face that harsh, gaunt judgment in the eyes of her neighbors, especially in the dried-up, overworked, disillusioned women.

She began composing a speech to make to the sheriff: "They made me do it. I wasn't the only one. There was the preacher and Jim and Zeke and . .

Her thoughts were cut off by the sheriff's chuckles. She glanced at him as he sat hitched up behind the wheel of the big patrol cruiser, Stetson hat tilted low over his eyes, guiding the vehicle with knowing hands down the country road at dizzying speed, the dashboard lights shining yellow in his face, a shotgun mounted in a bracket beside him - its short, thick, stubby snout thrusting upward like some huge Negro phallus.

"Heehee, think you'd been caught with a passle a Nigras, way Preacher Pritchart was carryin' on. Hey, he really get some a that, too, missy?"

"What, what do you mean, Sheriff?"

"Come on, girl. My mama didn't raise any stupid children. Known Pritchart for years, 'way back. He was in an all-fired hurry to put the finger right on you like he was God's right hand man. What he do, huh?"

"He, he made me do it. That man took me out of the tent and made believe he was goin' to save me, and he made me do it in the camper. Then the other boys..."

"Who were they, girl?"

"Charlie Mason and Zeke Tyson and Jim Faulk. They came after the preacher knocked me out and... "

"How come I didn't hear no fightin'? Only thing I heard was a noise like three toms and a she-cat in there on a hot night, heeheehee... "

"I was scared, and I didn't know what he was going to do until it was too late, and he knocked me out, and then the boys came, and... "

"Aw, shee-it. Never saw one of you young things yet wasn't drunk or knocked out 'fore they was knocked up."

"I, I wanna thank you, Sheriff. I was afraid they'd kill me, tear me to pieces."

"Funny you said that. I was just thinkin' the same thing. About bein' grateful, I mean. Lot of what the judge says is goin' to happen to you depends on what I tell him. Hate to see a purty young thing like you goin' to waste in the county camp, but if the judge says you got the incorrigibles... " He. eased the car around a tight turn and up a little-used dirt road, bouncing it over deep potholes and ruts until the paved road disappeared behind a tall stand of' weeds.

Rosemary knew instinctively what was coming, and she didn't know if her exhausted, satiated body could take any more rough handling. She began to wheedle in a little-girl tone, "Oh, Sheriff, please, after you been so nice, please don't...

"What you say, girl? You sayin' I ain't good enough after all I done for you, but the rest of the country is?"

"No, oh no, I mean, yes! I am grateful, Sheriff Tate. I AM grateful... " The car stopped, and Tate killed the lights. The air was hot and moist, pungent with the smell of piney-woods back country. He got out of the car, taking the keys with him, and sauntered a little distance from it. He turned, thumbs hooked in his broad, leather, western- style gunbelt. He flexed his arms and began unbuttoning the double-breasted cavalry shirt with its silver five-pointed star.

"You gonna' sit in that car all night? Git over here."

Rosemary opened the car door and stepped gingerly out in her bare feet, walking over the moist grass toward Tate.

"C'mon, girl," he said softly. She tiptoed over to him. Then his huge fist came roaring out of nowhere and crashed against the side of her head with the force of a piledriver. She crumpled to the ground as her head seemed to explode with fire, too dazed with pain to utter a whimper.

"That's just a lesson. No hard feelin's. You just got to learn manners around me, y'hear?"

The sheriff finished unbuttoning his shirt, enjoying the stiff, hard maleness that swelled his hairy chest as the cool air hit it. "Don't just sit there all night, girl. My pants need undoin'."

He drew his revolver, a huge, long-barreled .357 magnum, and tapped the great silver shield of the gunbelt buckle. Her untrained hands went to work on it, pushing against the stubborn metal and leather. She looked up to ask Tate how it worked, and almost fainted when she stared directly into the black maw of the gun. She thought she could dissolve and fall, screaming forever, tumbling and crashing down into that endless metal tunnel. The copper heads of the magnum cartridges winked at her mockingly from the eyes of the cylinder. He's crazy, she thought. Mad! She slitted her eyes against the terrifying sight, expecting at any moment the shattering thunderbolt that could issue from it and splatter her brains clear across the road.

"Heeheehee!" The sheriff was convulsed with laughter at his little joke. "Little gun like this, I can hit a runnin' buck nigger at a hundred yards, even on a night like this, sweet child, so don't you get any ideas about tryin' to outrun this old man."

Her hands trembled as they went to work, and she could feel the cold muzzle of the huge revolver caressing her throat and neck lightly, sending shivers of terror through her. She unbuckled the heavy belt with its necklace of cartridges, and slowly lowered it to the ground.

Then she went to work on the pants. They were fly-button types, and to her the buttons were all wrong, the pants too tight. She couldn't suppress a feeling of anticipation at the touch of his hot, rigid club of potency that radiated its heat to her fingertips.

The big, heavy cock, coupled with the cold metal of the revolver barrel, excited a strange mixture of fear and anticipation, a feeling of vital, symbolic things related to the sexual nature of herself and every woman - that fear and lust had held hands together down the path of history from the dawn of time, when the same male lust that impelled the hunt sent men chasing after the females of their kind to seek mates and relieve the burning pressures of their own pent-up seed.

Rosemary shivered between the brink of panic and the brink of total submission, and found that there was little difference between them. She continued to struggle and fumble with the big Levi's fly buttons, and finally undid them all.

She noted with surprise while freeing Tate's straining cock that he wore no underwear. During the last three buttons, she felt her hand brushing directly against the throbbing, fleshy ramlike muscle. For the first time she found herself looking at it closely, looking at it the way she had not studied those four other penises which already knew her ultimate secret. In the moonlight, she could see the rod of the cock was made of a coarser skin that partially covered its great, flaring head, and the head itself was made of the most incredibly soft, smooth skin that Rosemary had ever touched.

She wondered at the ability of such a delicate tissue to take the incredible battering that was necessary to break down the stubborn wall of her maidenhead, her "cherry" as she had heard it called. The gun, too, she thought, was a breaker of cherries, a shatterer through the integrity of the skin which drew forth sights and thoughts never before known to the owner of the violated body.

She spread the folds of his trousers apart and the great meaty tube swung free, only half erect, but getting harder and bigger by the second.

"I like my peter to get a little lovin' too, honey." Tate cupped her head with one huge hand and drew her face toward him, forcing her mouth toward the great knob of his cock. She saw its aperture spread open like a deep, black, round, toothless mouth as it rose to full extension. Tate's fingers gripped the back of her head harder, drawing her eyes back to slits with pain, until her mouth ground against the tip of his coarse battering ram.

"Lick it!" the sheriff's voice commanded harshly. Rosemary's mouth opened and her tongue gingerly touched the salty tip of his cock. "Got to do better than that. Open yer mouth and take it all the way in."

Rosemary squinted her eyes closed and made a sobbing noise. Suddenly she heard a metallic click! She had forgotten about the pistol that Tate held to her head. The reminder of that volcanic maw which had stared her in the eyes sent an icy, overwhelming flash of fear through her brain. Compared to that, the sight of the sheriff's cock, staring at her in the same way, seemed more tame.

Eyes still closed, she opened her lips and slowly, gingerly, slid them around the hot crown of Tate's huge phallus. The sensation was strange, but not as horrifying as she had supposed. In fact, she thought, it was pleasant - this long, warm, smooth muscle seemed to fit her tongue and palate perfectly.

She felt Tate draw it slightly back, then slide it in again, tickling her tonsils. Her cheeks contracted and her tongue pressed the cock's underbelly to the roof of her mouth, feeling the ridge that ran the length of it up to its head.

Again it slid out, scraping gently against her teeth, then in again. Tate began to breathe hoarsely as he pushed and pulled his big, heavy cudgel in and out, and Rosemary felt it grow and lengthen until she thought her face would split or she would choke on the hunk of live, throbbing meat. The thrusting, grinding point of it tickled her throat until she gagged, and still Tate kept on, looking down at the golden head of hair pressed against his belly, the stump of his manhood firmly sheathed in the long, white, lovely throat that strained to contain it.

Abruptly he drew it forth, just as she seemed on the verge of fainting. He pushed her back down from her knees to come to rest on the tall grass behind her, and he followed, letting the weight of his body press her down hard against the ground.

She spread her lush thighs and reached to tuck his penis into the moist lips of her cunt, but he stopped her.

"No. We gonna do something different."

He hunched down and guided the warhead of his cock to the tender, tight, quivering anus, pressing against the sphincter and pushing until the gate of it reluctantly began to give way.

"What, what you doin'?" she gasped.

"What's the matter, sugar? You never heard of dirt-trackin' before? Think I was gonna use that runny cunt of yours after all it's been through tonight?"

She shivered at the icy, wet touch of his prong in this new secret spot. The resisting walls of the sphincter spread away painfully before the massive onslaught of Tate's prick. The relentless rod would retreat slightly, then bore on ahead into her. Her ass became used to this new intrusion as the sheriff pressed unhurriedly on. It's like taking a crap in reverse, she thought, then, to her own horrified surprise, began to enjoy the sensation of Tate's cock. Her legs spread wider and wider, and she began pushing in rhythm, pressing her firm belly up against Tate's paunchy stomach, slowly at first, then faster.

Rosemary had never felt such a strange, satisfying sensation. Her face drew tight in ecstasy, concentrating with all her being on this new way of fucking. She could feel her sphincter contracting and massaging around the cock, pressing it and fondling it. Tate was a frenzied study of control, thrashing wildly against her teenage body, but still holding back the torrent of sperm which must come erupting at any second.

She waited and waited for this explosion, but felt the hint of her own orgasm coming on, and strove frantically to urge Tate on, digging her nails into the cheeks of her own buttocks, jamming and grinding her hips upward at him as the weird new form of climax began to build from the base of her spine and radiate in an irresistible burning flood of pleasure. She shuddered and blacked out as the dark wave broke over her consciousness.

"OoohhhAAAAAH!" she screamed with satisfaction that the others had only prepared her to appreciate. She wanted the pleasure to go on and on forever. She felt that she could sustain this orgasm until it consumed her body with its fever.

So she felt cheated when Tate abruptly withdrew his cock. He knelt over her, grasped her shoulders and drew her up sitting. "Now finish it!" he hissed. "Lick it again!"

She tried to recoil from the shit-smeared rod, but his burly arms forced her head closer and closer. She could smell her own feces as her face drew near, and she gritted her teeth when the massive member loomed before her eyes and was pressed to her lips.

"Open wide, honey," Tate panted. "You wanna walk away from here, you better open wide NOW!"

She took the tube in her mouth, fearing the sheriff might go berserk at the loss of his pending orgasm.

The shit-taste was almost more than she could bear, overpowering the more pleasant, rank, salty taste of their crotches. Tate's testicles, swinging loosely in his scrotum, beat rhythmically against her chin until her throat, seemingly stuffed and gagging with filth, was washed clean by the rich, creamy, grass-tasting sperm which welled up deep within Tate and spurted into Rosemary's mouth with the force of a water-cannon firing into a Berlin mob.

She swallowed and swallowed, relieved at the new, fresh taste of yellowish jism. Tate gasped and grunted as he unleashed the pent-up seed into her face. The huge, rigid pole of flesh began to relax inside Rosemary's mouth, until it hung limply, held in the soft grip of her lips.

Tate took it out again. Rosemary felt dizzy r I Soldiers Girl and ill, and wanted to retch at the fecal aftertaste of the experience, but she knew instinctively that the sight of her, naked, helpless, and sick could trigger sadistic violence in the sheriff, violence that could be fatal to her.

Tate sat back between her legs. She noticed with a start that he still held the big, blue- steel revolver in his hand, dangling lazily by the trigger guard from his forefinger.

"We ain't done yet, heeheehee," he chortled. Rosemary wondered with amazement and fear what else he could possibly do to her.

Tate whirled the pistol around the forefinger expertly, grinning at her in the moonlight. "0l' Henry here, thass what I call my gun, ol' Henry, he's got a special little trick for little girls that act uppity. Just lay back and relax, girl... " He took the pistol by the grip, sliding his trigger finger into place with a loving, smooth, unhurried motion. He waved the muzzle of it lazily, rocking the hammer back and easing it forward, rocking it back and easing it forward... until Rosemary thought she'd scream with the suspense or welcome its roaring blast as a relief from this tense waiting.

Her Uncle Matt, who was a sergeant in the Green Berets, had owned a gun like that. She remembered on one of his infrequent visits to their dirt farm how he had taken it out and did some target practice with her father. The bullets could rip a six-inch hole in a sack of manure at a hundred yards, and shattered tin cans into shrapnel.

Tate leaned forward, pushing the long barrel of the pistol ahead of him and lowered its sights until the muzzle tickled the fluffy pubic hairs around her cunt. She watched in horror as he cocked the hammer back again and began to slide the cold steel tube into her. Her vaginal muscles felt the rasping edge of the sight scrape over the roof of her pussy as the icy, spring-steel tenseness of the unyielding metal slid in toward her womb. Tate wiggled the barrel slightly, grinning, with one thumb resting on the hammer. He pulled the trigger, easing the hammer forward, then pulled back with his thumb until it clicked back into cocking position. The foresight kept rasping at her, and she thought she would faint with fear. Her fluids welled up from within her and flooded around the hard steel of the revolver barrel as it tickled and prodded her obscenely, a death instrument posing as the fountain of life. She knew its ejaculation would signal her abrupt end.

"Feels good, don't it? 0l' Henry, he's got more staying power than most, heeheehee," the sheriff giggled, enjoying the perfect whiteness of Rosemary's face, the wide, deep wells of her eyeballs, wall-eyed with panic and dread.

Rosemary wanted to scream, to beg, to abase herself, to make Tate pull the trigger and end her misery, or have the horrible iron and steel engine taken away. Her instinct for survival got the upper hand. She smiled desperately, humoring Tate as he slid the gun in up to the cylinder. She hoped he had enough control of it to keep it from going off accidentally, and if he really meant to kill her, she wished he'd get it over with. In any case, she realized, I'll never know!

The presence of the thick metal rod, now warmed by her body, was having an effect despite the desperate fear which overshadowed all else. It was almost like being fucked again. Rosemary felt her hips rising automatically, coaxingly, against the pressure of it. Tate's eyes widened in surprise, and he grinningly thrust deeper with the .357 magnum as Rosemary began to undulate against it.

Rosemary gave herself up to the obscene passion, burying the thought of the instant death that could spurt forth at any second. Tate slid the gun barrel part way out, then thrust in again, giggling to himself at the thought of the cleaning job he would have to do on it later tonight. He nervously took his finger out of the trigger guard, seeing that Rosemary had begun thrashing wildly up and down, scrunching against the grass and gripping his whole hand with her thighs to force the gun deeper into her.

She had lost all of her fear, had ceased knowing that it was a gun sending such shocks of pleasure through her young body, ceased caring about anything but her desire. Thoughts of the many men who had used her body for their own satisfaction that night were gone. All she knew was the swelling of her belly, growing, growing, until she felt that it could encompass every prick in the world and still not be satisfied. The steel penis rubbed and scraped at the sides of her vagina, and she willed it to grow larger, not knowing in her passion that it could not.

She moaned and writhed, pressing her thighs still tighter against Tate's hand and digging her feet into the dirt. Tate noted with surprise that her hands were gripping her own breasts, her fingernails digging into the smooth mounds and leaving little red marks. She caressed her stomach with one hand as the other continued its rough treatment of her tits, then slid it down to her clenched legs and began to fondle her clitoris above the gun barrel. She was babbling uncontrollably now, muttering "please" and words of endearment to Tate, to the gun, to herself.

Her climax was swift and sure in coming, and Tate watched with growing fear as her face melted into the grinning expression of uncontrollable bitch heat, willing the orgasm with all her being, relishing the pain and pleasure given by the hard steel shaft inside her, capped by that iron front sight which rose like a great fin up inside and scratched and scraped her with unbearable sensations of rasping ecstasy.

Suddenly she came, and her wild thrashing sent a bolt of fear through Tate. Her belly drove hard against the cold steel, saturating Tate's hand clenched around the gun handle with her vaginal fluid, then out until the hard iron sight tickled the bud of her clitoris, then deep in again for a last shuddering convulsion of fulfilled sexual accomplishment. She shrilled her joy with the wild abandon of a rutting alley cat... "YeeeAAAHHH ohohohAAAAHHHH!"

Rosemary collapsed, panting, wrung out, as though a great hand had gripped her body, shaken it until every bone rattled loose, and thrown her back down on the ground again. Tate, stunned at the performance, quietly drew the pistol from its holster of flesh, wiped it absentmindedly with his shirt, and set the gun on top of it.

"Git dressed," he said hoarsely.

Rosemary glared at him, eyes smoldering from the deep, secret knowledge she had gained from fucking death. Then she began silently gathering her clothes. She had no fear now, or numbness either. She was more alive than she ever remembered, and felt, in some vague way, that she had defeated Tate. She had faced the ultimate terror he had to offer and found herself more capable of receiving it than he had been of administering it.

With a flash she realized that he had been trying to "break her in," to make her learn once and for all who was boss, who had the power, the way her father had broken in a new redbone hound by whipping him until the dog cringed at the sound of his step and would slink up, licking and fawning in fanatical fear and affection. Well, she wasn't any coon dog, and she wasn't broken. By the set of his shoulders, she knew that the big, beefy, confident Sheriff Tate, who had taken her here to force his will on her, could be broken. He was no longer the omnipotent power he had appeared to be. She smiled in secret glee.


CHAPTER FOUR

So here she was, waiting for the judge. The last week hadn't been as terrible as that night, not by a long shot. Miss Perkins, the sheriff's old, deaf housekeeper, showed up every two days or so to clean up the "ladies' cell," a plain guest room in the wing of the ten-cell county jail furnished with cheap curtains, flowered, stained wallpaper, a wash stand with a cold tap, an army cot and a toilet in one corner.

The plain, spare room was a luxury suite compared to the dark holes that were the men's cells in the brick jailhouse, and she was given new sheets each week, something the prisoners in the other cells did not enjoy. The sheriff did. He never dry-fucked her in the asshole after that first night - he kept a big jar of Vaseline in the drawer of his desk and brought it around for that. Sometimes he would alternate, stabbing first into her vagina, then into her anus, a technique she had learned to enjoy after a while.

And he didn't repeat that horrible act of fecal fellatio either.

Tate was more wary in her presence, less confident, than he had been with any of the women who had occupied this cell before. He watched for the look in Rosemary's eyes that could betray contempt, or any emotion other than respectful, fearful submission. Rosemary guarded her knowledge of his vulnerability carefully. She wanted to survive this ordeal, to get out of the monotonous round of days alive, to be free with her new knowledge of sex and the fallibility of men, to make her own way.

Once Tate had brought old Jake the janitor around, suddenly flinging the door of her room open while she was taking a "whore's bath" with sponges in the sink. Jack had stood bugeyed, his gray, frizzy hairs almost springing off the top of his wrinkled black head, then dropped his eyes and muttered incoherently in a distressed whine.

"Ever git any a that when you was a young buck nigger, Jake?" Tate asked tauntingly, leering and nudging the trembling old man with his elbow.

Jake shook his head violently, keeping his eyes riveted to the floor after the first shock of surprise at the sight of the naked white woman.

"Don't like that white meat, nigger? Too pale an' sickly, huh, Jake?"

Jake kept staring at the floor, the overpowering sight of Rosemary glistening in her naked, pale beauty burned on the back of his retinas as indelibly as a photograph. A long-suppressed curiosity was rekindled in his brain, and again he felt the fires of resentment begin to smolder and bum inside the way they had when he was young and had had his blackness, his inferiority, ground and beaten into him until each of those coals had long since, he thought, turned to dead, gray ash.

The taunting voice of the sheriff came back to him, snatching him into the reality of the present.

"Come on now, Jake, you ain't been spoiled so bad by all that good dark pussy that you can't look at one measly little white girl. Take a look, Jake. Take a GOOOOOD look, boy. It's all right," Tate said in a soothing, insinuating voice.

Jake shuddered, studying the floor intently as though it might open beneath his feet and swallow him, solving this embarrassing, dangerous situation once and for all. His instinct told him that it would be fatal to raise his eyes.

"Like some of that, Jake? Ain't every nigger seen a white girl in her birthday suit, much less have one. You want it, Jake? One time before you die, you want to be able to say you had white meat?"

Jake stared at the floor, then squeezed his eyes shut tight until the tears came. Rosemary felt a wrench, looking at the bowed, wretched figure next to the bullying Tate. She resolved not to be affected by this, to steel herself to take it. She stood leaning on the washbasin in feigned unconcern, staring at Tate, who grinned back uncertainly.

Jake managed to mumble, "Nosuh. Never had it. Never want it."

"Too good for it, huh, Jake? Your nigger cock too goddam precious for white pussy, that what you tryin' to tell me?"

"Oh, no, sheriff. No... "

"Good enough, huh, Jake? Good enough for white girls? You fuck the governor's daughter an' she pays you?"

"No, noo . . Jake's mind was working fast, banking those resentful, revolutionary flames of hate, willing the insistent swelling of his cock to subside, to give no sign of wanting this white girl who stood nude and helpless just feet away.

"Good Book say it ain't right. We got the mark of Cain, can't touch the daughters of God's own, suh?" He felt a faint twinge of regret at giving in, accepting another humiliating, undeserved defeat.

It was quite a speech for Jake, the sheriff thought, and a tribute to his survival instincts. For a moment he thought of granting the promise he had made to the old Negro. It would be something to watch, and it might break down that last hidden reserve this girl kept from him. But he knew that if anyone ever found out he would be sought out by the men who feared him now, white men who would take him out, tie him to a tree with barbed wire, cut off his nuts and stuff them in his mouth before dousing him with gasoline and gathering 'round the fire as he danced himself to death.

Even he didn't have that kind of power in this county. "You one good nigger, Jake, not like some of these bucks. You all right." He grinned at Rosemary and led the trembling old janitor out of the cell.

Rosemary watched the door close behind them, wondering at the abject submission of Jake. She had felt, lurking beneath the humble, defeated exterior he presented to the sheriff, a restrained but wild desire to take her body under his. She was curious about black men. She had heard hair-raising, whispered legends of their sexual prowess, but none of the girls at school, even the most brazen, had ever admitted to sampling the forbidden pleasures that excited their imagination. She could believe the legends, looking at the big black youths in town, strutting their stuff on Saturdays, imagining now how their black bodies would look stripped of the faded overalls or shabby suits they wore to hide that splendid African skin. But she couldn't imagine that Jake could be capable of the exotic skills attributed to Negro males.

She wondered how, and why, the magnificent, male spirit of these young men, these "bucks" as the redneck farmers of Cronk's Corner called them, could be ground down into the travesty of humankind that Jake had become. She thought of the look on Tate's face when his sick joke with the gun had been turned against him, when she had managed to ignore the thought of a bullet ripping up the length of her body to blow out the top of her head and give herself up to wild, reckless pleasure.

She realized with a start that Tate was afraid - afraid of Negroes, afraid of women, afraid of the people he held power over. So was her father, so were the boys on the football team. All of them feared, because all of them held power and all of them abused it, did unforgivable things with it and feared the revenge they had coming to them. She saw that they had to be guaranteed absolute submission, that every spark of rebellion had to be ground out, that women were just another kind of nigger to these men. She wanted out, to go far from this place that raised fear-ridden, dangerous men.


* * *

Days passed, grinding on monotonously, broken by the sheriff's frequent visits to her cell, the less frequent visits by Mrs. Perkins, and the sounds the prisoners down the hall made when Tate took his jar of vaseline to that end of the jail.

She welcomed his rough attentions, despite her contempt. In the lazy heat of the afternoon, Tate would come into her cell, latch the bolt, and lock it from the inside with a key he wore around his neck on a thick piece of wire.

He would begin stripping off his clothes and boots, folding them carefully and stacking them on the straight, high-backed chair in an unhurried, preoccupied fashion, smoking a cigarette as he undid the shirt, slid off his high Western riding boots, then undid the pants and skimmed them off.

He would stand there while she studied the hairy nakedness of his body, finishing his cigarette. Today she looked at the roll of fat over his stomach, the roundness of his shoulders and chest and arms, his face and neck and the whiteness of his chest and legs, and the part of his forehead that the hat covered. The black, wiry hairs formed a pelt on his arms and chest, clear from his neck to the thicker patch of pubic hair that nested his cock and balls.

The legs were skinny in proportion to the rest of his frame and also matted with hair.

He reached over and pulled the gray jail smock Rosemary wore off and away from her body. She wore nothing underneath. She lay back on the brown, scratchy army blanket of the cot, and he stood teasing himself as he studied her body. Rosemary's normally pale skin had faded to an ivory white, laced with blue veins like excellent marble, the kind quarried for gravestones in Alabama. His eyes ran appreciatively from the hollows of her collarbones down to the full, ripe, heavy breasts, crowned by the small, pink girl's nipples, then to the cleavage between them, dark and inviting to a man's hand. The planes of her body fell down to the smooth tambourine of skin that stretched tautly between the cage of her ribs. The ribs themselves pressed firmly against her delicate skin, a framework for resting those incredible, perfect breasts upon.

From there his view took in the round, firm mound of her belly, rising like the surface of a violin and curving around and into her deep-set navel, on into the downy, reddish patch of hair that hid her pussy in its thicket which contrasted so startlingly with the light, corn-tasseled, blond locks surrounding her oval face. Her face was beautiful, but the sheriff didn't give it the study it deserved. A straight, firm nose separated wide, blue sensitive eyes topped by the golden-brown brows. The mouth was wide and rose-petal red, her bowed lips surrounded two rows of excellent, straight, small teeth. The chin curved to a firm rounded point, stretching the skin beneath it to a surface of smooth, firm flesh.

The legs were Tate's favorite feature. Her thighs were long, full and firm, with none of the telltale wrinkling when she sat that told of future flabbiness. The calves curved along an unbroken trajectory to delicately turned, slender ankles, and the whole masterpiece of woman lay there before him like a Nordic recreation of "The Naked Maja."

"Ain't often I got a nice little piece like you in this here jail," Tate mused. "Got to git while the gittin's good."

He pulled her to him, massaging her body familiarly. The warm, young firmness of her excited him quickly, filling his cock with the blood-pressure of erotic need until it rose, flaring its head out of that nest of black hair like a cobra from the snake charmer's basket, the hood of the foreskin falling back from its tip.

Rosemary curled up tightly against him, pressing from knee to neck, running her hands gently up and down his hairy back, snuggling her warm lap against the intrusive, throbbing penis that sought its nest.

She rubbed against his hairy chest, pressing her breasts against him until they spread wide, then rubbed up and down, teasing her nipples against his chest hairs. Tate buried his head between their abundant soft flesh, rubbing, nuzzling and rooting on her chest, scraping her flesh with the harsh sandpaperlike stubble of his shaven beard. He took one nipple in his mouth, biting slightly and licking with his tongue until it budded and flowered with passion. She drew her arms down between them, cupping his hot, eager prick with her fingers and tucking it into her vagina.

The head of his prick nestled between the moist cuntal lips and began to press gently, teasingly, on them. She opened her legs, wrapping them up and around the sheriffs waist, until her feet crossed over his back. The prick slid in deeper, then out again, then deeper again as Rosemary's spring of libidinous juices welled up and oozed around the driving battering ram. Tate moved faster, carefully accelerating the rhythm of his pace, and Rosemary moved with it. At times like this Tate's body seemed to be nothing more than a toy, totally divorced from his personality and their surroundings. Rosemary relished the careful, practiced skill he used on her, bringing her along with him, driving her to the peak of coming and then, only then, giving in and letting his own jism flow deep in her.

Now he had sunk his rod in up to the hilt, and rather than slide it in and out, kept it locked inside her while he moved his hips in time to hers, pressing in and pressing down on her.

Her muscles contracted around his cock, squeezing and caressing it like the skillful, warm fingers of a milkmaid coaxing the udder of a cow. Rosemary closed her eyes, thinking only of the deliberate, pleasurable undulating of her cunt with the great snake of Sheriff Tate's member buried inside the pulsating cavern of her pussy, and willed the muscles to tighten, squeeze, relax, as Tate gritted his teeth in an agony of pleasure and his loins thrust again and again.

Their two bodies pounded frantically, locked, giving no quarter, spurring them on. Rosemary felt the sensation of coming and climax sweep over her, take her body, shake it, and release it only to begin a cycle over again, so that she willed Tate to hold himself in, to keep fucking her with all he had, never once loosening her vaginal grip until finally, unable to bear it a second longer, his balls, battering against the crack of her ass like a medieval mace repeatedly swung against a shield, spontaneously began pumping for what seemed like hours. Tate shuddered and collapsed on top of her, the steel muscles under the fat suddenly relaxing into a great, puttylike, helpless mass.

Tate lay on top of her, awed at the forces that had been unleashed inside the young girl's body.

"You screw like a swamp rabbit with her tail on fire, girl," he finally managed to gasp, exhausted, into her ear. Embarrassed by his own feeling of tired fulfillment, Tate got up, lit a cigarette, and began putting on his clothes. He dressed and sauntered out, slapping himself on the belly with a satisfied, proprietary air.

Rosemary lay back, watching the door close on her. The long day, with its hours of boredom, loomed ahead. She felt itchy, dissatisfied. The more she learned about sex, the more she enjoyed it, and the less she was satisfied. This last time had been about the best she remembered with anyone in her limited acquaintance in bed, yet she felt disappointed that Tate had quit when he did. She felt on the verge of a new kind of sexual revelation, something she had never felt before, and then he had shot his wad and rolled off.

She looked around the room. She had already counted the flowers on the wallpaper: there were 561 of them, including the ones that showed as halves at the corners and joinings. She could start on the notches of the ornamental molding around the ceiling, but she was tired of that sort of useless thing.

Rosemary considered masturbating, but there was something about that that was very unsatisfying, and she knew that she needed a man to push her beyond the superficial orgasm that playing with herself would bring. She wanted to be forced beyond that plateau she had reached, to see what the limits of her sexual nature were.

Most of all she wanted OUT! Her folks had not come to see her, she had no idea when she would be tried, and no lawyer had come, either. She could understand that. Doctors and lawyers were people only the rich could afford, whose mysterious doings and sayings were at best impossible of understanding by poor white trash like herself, and usually harmful to boot.

She thought vaguely of escaping, but the thought of Tate tracking her through the piney woods with a pack of baying hounds and a double-twelve was terrible to think about. She entertained the idea of cozening up to Jake, the janitor, but dismissed the thought. He was too broken, as the sheriffs taunting display that time in the cell had shown, to even consider helping her.

To pass the time she considered seducing him just for the fun of it, but the solid door prevented her from issuing any come-hither looks. She knew the door had a tiny spy-hole, and she would occasionally assume erotic poses after stripping off her revealing smock and hope that whoever was watching would come in and pay a visit.

Night began to fall at last, and when Tate returned he was in a foul mood. She could hear him coming in with a gang of men, all of them muttering curses, his the loudest of all, punctuating them with a loud "whack" sound and an occasional grunt of pain.

The mob poured through the jailhouse door and into the hall. The sheriff's voice, belligerent with white lightning, rage, and some sort of hurt, roared: "Goddam buck nigger! Thaink you can git away with hittin' me like that? LISTEN to me, BOY! I say BOY! Don't you EVER hit a white man AGAIN, BOY!"

"Just musta hit you when you wasn't lookin', Sher," another man's voice said. "Oughtta burn a bad nigger like that. Bad blood, an' he prob'ly spread it over half the county already. Don't need no bad blood niggers around here."

"You boys go on home. I can take care of the nigger. We got work to do here, an' I can handle it. Maybe you can come around later tonight for the finish."

The men nodded and began shuffling off, murmuring convivially as the cell door in the hall opened and then shut again with a resounding clang!

As the last car drove off outside, her door opened, and Tate stood swaying in front of her, his eye a wide, swollen bruise, his lips split and dried blood showing under his nose. It came to her in a flash that he had been bested by the black prisoner just brought in, and had needed the mob to help him out of it.

Tate, without a word, reached out one hand, holding a set of handcuffs. He clipped one manacle around her wrist, and holding the other in his hand, dragged her out with him in the hall.

"Gonna show you a lesson, bitch. Gonna show you no nigger ever gits away with messin' around Sheriff Frank Tate, nossir."

He handcuffed her to one of the cast-iron steam heaters in the hall, directly across from the new prisoner's cell.

Tate then took a short, thick lash which looked like a flexible cane covered in rawhide from a hook on the wall. He flicked its tiny, tasseled end expertly against one of Rosemary's heaving breasts, sending a sharp, ominous sting knifing across her body.

Tate grinned. "Ain't never seen a Penang Lawyer before, girl?" He drew that long-barreled .357 revolver, looped the cane around his wrist while he unlocked the cell door, and stepped in, holding the prisoner at gunpoint with one hand, while he flicked the lash with the other.

The prisoner stared at him, wide-eyed, alert, clearly recognizing Tate's intent. If he resisted the whipping he was going to get, the sheriff would shoot him out of hand - "self defense." If he could endure the maddening blows of the cane, then he might survive to witness Tate's smug, chortling satisfaction.

"Gonna teach your black ass a lesson, nigger," Tate mumbled as he moved into striking range. The lash flicked out and stung the prisoner's bulging, naked bicep.

Rosemary knew he had drawn blood, but it was invisible, except as a brighter glint on the prisoner's glistening black body. The lash whipped again, and the sheriff grinned with glee to see the man's face wince. "You might as well start yellin', nigger! You gonna anyway before I git through!"

The men circled, Tate holding the lash like a buggywhip, flicking the tasseled end, holding the revolver with a steady grip. The prisoner continued to circle, keeping his stony silence despite the repeated, torturing blows. Tate flicked and flicked, seeking that scream of agony or the fatal rush that would mean the man had either broken or charged to his death. Tate needed that victory, became obsessed with it, and moved in more recklessly, flicking and flicking. He drew back the cane for one mighty whack that would draw a scream from the strongest man, cocking back the hammer of his revolver as a precaution. As he leveled to swing at the prisoner, the black man dodged to one side and Tate whirled to shoot. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened! He felt a grip on the pistol, and saw that the big, dark prisoner had stuck the webbing of thumb and forefinger on one hand into the gap between the hammer and the firing pin, jamming the revolver. A quick, snatching move of that hand and the pistol disappeared, only to reappear immediately as a bludgeon which bashed the side of Tate's head, sending him to the floor.

He looked up to see the powerful ebony figure of the man looking down, a sneer of contempt curling his lips, and the magnum revolver aimed at Tate's head.

"Ofay, how you like to git gut-shot?" The question was asked in a pleasant, matter-of-fact voice.

"Wh-what?"

"Gut-shot. You know; like this." The man's boot crashed against Tate's stomach. The sheriff screamed and began vomiting.

The black man walked over to Rosemary and eyed her coolly, with a mocking expression on his face. Then he reached down, took Tate's ring of keys, and began opening all the cell doors. He came back to Tate's cell and kicked the door shut.

Rosemary was shocked at the turn of events. The man kept the pistol and, without saying anything, waved the prisoners out the alley door, then unlocked Rosemary's cuffs.

Old Jake came into the hall, looking distressed. "What you gonna do for me?" he whined. "Now he gonna blame me! What you gonna do?"

The black man shrugged, looked at Rosemary, slipped an arm around her waist, and kissed her lips.

Rosemary, startled by the gesture, drew back for a second, then let him. Tate, livid in his cell, screamed. "You got to stop that! STOP 'EM, JAKE! You goddam mushmouthed nigger, STOP 'EM!" Jake looked at Tate fearfully, then the realization dawned on him that Tate was locked up.

"You go on. Git out. You too, missy."

Jake went into the sheriffs office, took a big can of kerosene from the corner, and began sloshing it on the floor, into Tate's cell, and then back into the office again to the big tank that fed the furnace and stove.

"Now, Jake. You don't wanna do that, Jake. Jake, they gonna hang you, Jake. You quit that RIGHT NOW, JAKE. PLEASE! Pleeeeeese. noooooo... "

"Sheee-it, Sheriff. Can't help it some crazy buck niggers broke in here. Took us by surprise. We fought like wildcats. You an' me. But they too much for us. Let all the pris'ners out and burned down the jailhouse. You know the kind. Crazy uppity northern niggers from New York. Black Panthers, yeah."

The old man smiled a small, secret smile to himself as he walked through the hall, spilling his kerosene as he went.

He motioned Rosemary and her rescuer out. The three stood at the doorway, Tate's faint moaning dying away in the hall to a hopeless, whimpering cry: "Maw! Maaamaaa!" which became a shriek as old Jake, grinning his first grin in years, stepped back and threw a match into the doorway and the little bluish flame marched up the little river of kerosene he had poured, into the big lake of kerosene in the hall, and burst into flame with a loud "HUFF!" Tate's terrified screams were shut off as the back door closed, leaving him in the inferno.

"Good thinkin' brother," the young Negro said.

"Don't you call me no brother, white man. You wallup me a good one on the jaw an' tie me up befo' you leave."

Rosemary gasped, and looked at the big colored man who had saved her. By the yellow of the flames, a feature, a set of the mouth looked familiar, the eyes - blue eyes! She started with surprise.

"UNCLE MATT!"


CHAPTER FIVE

Fort Bragg, North Carolina, was a strangely quiet place. Rosemary had always thought of Army posts as rip-roaring towns like the cavalry forts in Western movies, full of drunken soldiers and honky-tonks. But inside the fort, beyond sight of the John F. Kennedy Special Welfare School, the Airborne School and the Infantry School, the post was a gentle, Norman Rockwell picture of neat brick houses, carefully kept lawns and an imposing set of big brick buildings that served as headquarters area.

Her Uncle Matt had a one-story brick house in the enlisted area for noncommissioned officers, right near "sergeant major's row," despite his bachelor status. He knew the officer in charge of post housing and had, by pulling the strings gathered in fifteen years of military service, managed to appropriate this little cottage rather than live in the bachelor enlisted quarters.

The Special Forces men usually got what they wanted on this post in any case, no questions asked. Uncle Matt had been everywhere there was to go in the Army, and his home was a museum of exotic souvenirs - Montagnard crossbows from the Vietnam highlands, a tiny stone erotic statue taken from Angkor Wat in Cambodia, a Laotian tapestry, spears and a shield from the Congo, and hats, clothes, artifacts and weapons from a dozen other Asian, African, South American and Middle Eastern countries, as well as a whole wall of citations accompanying medals, albums of photographs of his old units and a jar in which a number of strange looking objects floated in a clear tan liquid - "ears," her uncle had commented laconically when she asked what they were. Shocked, Rosemary inquired no further.

He had directed her to the post's Red Cross, where Rosemary enrolled in the volunteer training course. She was introduced as "Marie," Uncle Matt's niece, gave her home address as St. Louis, Mo., and her age as twenty-one.

"That's just in case they bothered to keep a record of you down in Cronk's Corner," Matt said. "Probably all that stuff was burned up with the jail, but we don't need to take chances." Uncle Matt's only comment about the dramatic jailbreak he had staged single-handed was that Rosemary's mother had called and "asked me to do something." He must have known about the charges, Rosemary thought, but he never asked.

It was just like her mother to have to call, she meditated. Her father had probably disowned her then and there outside the camp meeting, and wouldn't lift a finger to help her.

The course had ended and she had been given an assignment in one of the post's service clubs, serving coffee and doughnuts to lonely soldiers, organizing pool and Ping-Pong tournaments, and in other ways babysitting these children in grown men's uniforms. The boys liked her. Some even thought they were in love with her. Rosemary filled out the severe, pale blue Red Cross uniform with a set of curves that the designer had never imagined inside of it, and she stood out like a thoroughbred in a mule train among the usual run of drab, old-maidenish husband hunters who worked at the clubs.

But Rosemary didn't care for the style of these young men with their complaints about Army life, their loneliness, their hangdog, slovenly looks. After her experiences they seemed like babies, likeable, but not very exciting.

One man who did excite her was Uncle Matt. The coolness with which he had handled her jailbreak, his exciting past, his capable, confident bearing, convinced her that here, at last, was a real man, unafraid, self-sufficient.

But he treated her always with aloof, almost indifferent affection, and on Saturday night he would jump into his red sports car and head for Fayetteville, until early Monday morning. Weekdays he was usually up at the special warfare school teaching unarmed combat.

Still, she could see the signs that he was interested. She began shopping for more womanly clothes, experiencing for the first time the thrill of trying, buying and wearing bright, smart miniskirted dresses that would have shocked rural Cronk's Corner, sheer undergarments and stockings! Rosemary never ceased to marvel at the subtle supporting material that sheathed her legs in glistening nylon, accentuating their long, smooth, perfectly curved beauty. Her yellow hair fell in a golden cascade down below her neck and framed the sides of her face, shimmering and bouncing as she walked.

Rosemary's progress from the post PX to her uncle's house caused jaws to drop and gape all along the way, as woman-starved troops dropped whatever they were doing to gawk. She could feel those dozens of pairs of eyes boring into her, taking in the subtle jouncing of her breasts, the involuntary grinding motion of her hips and the play of softly turned muscle from the slight bulge of a calf pushing her off from one step to the next, to the loose, easy swing of her shoulders. She didn't need to be told she was worth looking at!

Her campaign with Uncle Matt was taking effect. Sometimes she would curl up on the living room couch, wearing the silk flowered cheongsam he had given her, showing a tempting expanse of leg through the slit skirt while her big Western breasts tugged at the fine, delicate fabric of her Asian-sized bodice.

She could see the coals glint behind the care fully cool facade in her uncle's eyes! Surprisingly enough, he seemed to have qualms about seducing his own niece.

Rosemary thought about the problem and dismissed it as ridiculous. If men she didn't even care about could forcibly sample the sweet delights of her teenage body, why couldn't this man who had been so good to her, done so much for her, who had saved her from the degradation of Sheriff Tate's weird, constant mauling and manhandling, and the ignorant, narrow world of her childhood? She decided that, for once, she had to break the ice!

She formed her plan of attack carefully. On Friday when he came home, Matt found the cottage filled with the smells of a steak dinner in progress. Candles were lit at the table and his gold Thai flatware had been set with the excellent china dishes he had brought home from Japan.

A green salad lay ready-tossed in its teak bowl and his niece greeted him in a low-cut, full-length gown that clung to every delicious line of her full, ripe, firm young figure. He was astonished when she pushed him firmly toward the bathroom and ordered him. to shower and dress for dinner.

He emerged from the tingling shower to find % a silken lounge robe and Thai slippers laid out on his bed. "Is it Father's Day or something?" he mused.

He shook his head and grinned, deciding to humor his crazy niece. The shower had made him forget that long, tiresome day of dealing with "the kids" on the judo mat - a bunch of young officer candidates taking their compulsory Ranger training. He was exasperated at them. They weren't volunteers, they weren't interested, and they definitely were not soldiers!

He and the other instructors had staged their usual bull-shit performance - lots of screaming, spectacular but harmless throws and kicks, accentuated by the extra touch of expertly nicking one another with their fingernails to draw blood with painless cuts and make it look real. The future second johns had eaten it up, and they came onto the mat scared out of their wits! Trying to close in and teach them some holds had been like trying to 'lasso smoke after that!

I am getting too old for that stuff, he thought, though the lean, hard body he had scrubbed showed a lot of hard wear left in it yet!

Uncle Matt found the table richly laden with food: steaks thick as a boot heel and tender as a virgin's cheek were flanked by an honor guard of roast potatoes piping hot in their jackets and peas crowned with mushrooms and small onions - a feast! He sat opposite his niece, eating with unrestrained gusto, and becoming more and more uncomfortably aware of the promising swell of her breasts and the enticing shadow of her cleavage showing above the neckline of her gown. She watched him through the meal with a demure smile, her smoky blue eyes framed by that incredible cascade of golden hair, and fed herself with delicate little birdlike bites.

He was thankful he was wearing the robe. By the time coffee was served his cock stood at full attention, straight and hard as a company guidon pole, and he shifted uncomfortably to adjust it. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth - hah! Matt thought, looking at the delectable, virginal seductress who sat across the table, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Rosemary didn't miss the subtle movement or the faint flush on her uncle's cheek when she caught his eyes looking at her radiant beauty shimmering before him in the candlelight.

She rose and went out to the kitchen, returning with a brandy snifter and a bottle of cognac. She placed the wide, bowl-like glass before her uncle, leaning over him to give him an inviting eyeful of creamy white mammary skin, smiling softly, her expression the very picture of filial devotion, as one soft bare arm brushed his neck and a strand of her bright hair raked his cheek as she poured.

Master Sergeant Matthew Williams, Green Beret, deadly fighter, survival expert, who had tried women of every size, shape, color, religion and nationality, almost fell on her like a ravenous wolf on a chunk of steak when the sensuous cloud of perfume from her wafted over him and gave the lie to all this daughterlike modesty. What the hell was Rosemary up to?

Her intentions better be serious, he thought, cause mine are going to be if she doesn't cut this shit out!

Rosemary moved to her seat with a loose, easy, wanton glide. The envious comments he had heard at the NCO Club and silenced with a stony stare came back to him. She's one hell of a good-looking woman, he decided. Half the post is probably jacking off tonight just from watching her walk down the street today!

She settled into her chair, snuggling down with a tantalizing, kittenish wriggle, and sat sipping sherry and looking at him over the rim of the glass with those wide blue eyes which flashed half-mocking, half-challenging lights at him.

Christ, she's only a kid! he thought wildly to himself. Maybe she's been tumbled once or twice, but I'm old enough to be her goddamn father! Old enough to know better, anyway...

His lips set in a tight grimace, as though he held an ace-high flush betting against three kings showing. Goddamnit! She can't know what she's doing! She can't!

Rosemary squirmed suggestively in her chair. "You look so tired, Uncle Matt. So tense. Was it hard work today?"

The sultry, velvet tone of her voice triggered electric shocks up and down his spine. "If you weren't my niece, you'd find out how tired I am," he muttered under his breath, in spite of himself.

Rosemary slid to her feet and swayed over around the table to stand behind Matt's chair. Her soft, cool hands began massaging the back of his neck, rubbing, soothing and enticing him. Her hands said it all, without words. She wanted him! Rosemary could feel the tense, male urgency that tightened the cords of muscle on Matt's neck. She knew he was struggling to hold this aloof, avuncular pose, but she was damned if he was going to go to town to find relief from the wild, uncontainable lust that the sight of her seductive, graceful body had let loose! Uncle Matt was going nowhere tonight, not now!

The touch of his firm, leathery, tough-muscled skin excited her beyond all reason. She wanted him to rise and rip off her gown and take her with all the forceful rutting strength of a brahma bull! His sinewy, lean body loomed in her mind with the deadly sexual grace of a prowling panther. It was dangerous to meddle with this man! As lover or prey, he was no one to trifle with, and she certainly wasn't trifling now!

Uncle Matt could feel the messages telegraphed by her hands. She worked around his neck, then gradually began to slide them further, inch by inch, in wider and wider circular massaging sweeps to his shoulders, his collarbones, then to the wire-hairs of his chest, then down his back! Her arms pulled the collar of the loose robe away, parting the folds, and slid around him like two luscious warm snakes. She clasped his body and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, kissing his neck softly.

Matt couldn't stand it! He endured her caresses and soft kisses for a few minutes, trying to make himself believe that they were only the affectionate gestures of a grateful, loving niece. But he knew this was a lie, that she meant every motion, every touch, to drive him into a frenzy of sexual demand! Hell, she even set the stage for it! he realized. This is a setup if there ever was one!

His qualms, his control, slipped away as he considered the higher morality of giving her the love she needed. At least he wouldn't hurt her, could care for her, and he sure could satisfy her!

He turned in his chair, seized Rosemary by the waist, and with an effortless, long-practiced twist of his body and an indrawing pull of the arm, swept her into his lap.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" Matt demanded hoarsely, but Rosemary covered his mouth with her moist, warm lips and ran her slender tongue in past his teeth, darting it in with the flashing speed of heat lightning until it met and tussled with his own.

She moaned with the demanding, faint cry of a female animal, yowling like an alley cat, reaching into the folds of his robe and running her eager, hungry hands over his body. She stroked and scratched at him greedily, eager for his response.

Matt ran his hands up over the smooth hips that rested in his lap, caught the zipper of the gown that sheathed her tall, willowy body and drew it down all the way to the small of her back. His hands reached inside, parting the soft, silky material to touch the softer, silkier texture of her white skin. His hands cupped the full, ripe melons of her buttocks, grasping and squeezing the delectable cheeks, his nostrils filled with the exotic vapor of her perfume. He realized, without surprise, that she was wearing nothing underneath!

Her breasts, soft but firm despite the lack of a brassiere, ground against his chest and demanded attention. He drew the gown down over her shoulders expertly, baring the shapely torso as though it were a sculptor's model. Her lips and tongue flicked over his face and neck like hot cinders from a campfire. His mouth found her ears, and his tongue explored the sensitive openings with erotic expertise. The two began to pet and nuzzle and touch and lick with increasing tempo, punctuated by Rosemary's soft, insistent, demanding cries of pleasure.

He rose from the chair in one motion, lifting her with him and catching her deftly in the balancing cradle of his arms. Matt carried her hot, pliant body to the bedroom as Rosemary moaned softly in eager whines and her loose gown trailed to the floor, falling in a gossamer cloud.

Matt sat down on the bed and pulled her up on him. Rosemary lay over his chest, her breath coming in quick, feverish pants as she kissed and licked him, covering his face with hers as her hair tumbled down and drew a curtain over them.

He reached down and touched the red-gold triangle of hair between her legs, and Rosemary tugged his robe away impatiently, anxious to have those hard, wiry arms encircle her, the ramrod of man-meat thrust between her legs! Eager to feel the hot, pulsing jet of jism squirting into her cunt!

She cupped his prick in her hand, running it up and down the smooth expanse of cock, admiring its wonderful spearhead of skin which must be the softest, most beautiful skin in the world! She was entranced by the loveliness of Matt's member, that lean, streamlined shaft of muscle that could give a woman so much pleasure! She saw that his foreskin had been removed and the smooth, delta-shaped head reared proud and free at the striking edge of the warm, meaty shaft. She liked that, so clean, so ready! Her hands stroked and glided over it like the hands of a chorus girl over her first mink coat.

Matt's hands were busy too, exploring the softness of her inner thighs, and tracing and retracing the line where her cuntal lips were pursed together, pushing them gently apart, until his forefinger slid in between the moist, smooth walls of her passage and sought the hard, round pearl of her clitoris.

"Ooooooh, Uncle Matt! Oh, how good that feels! Aaaaah!"

Rosemary spread her legs and let his expert fingers explore the potential of this sensitive nexus of her being. Thumb and forefinger gripped the pearl gently, and as gently twisted and rubbed it with sweet, maddeningly pleasurable kneadings.

The touching went on and Rosemary writhed with eagerness for the expert screwing she was going to get!

Then Matt surprised her. He arched his body up, drew in his legs, and crossed them over each other with the heels resting firmly on his thighs. Rosemary looked at this odd posture and wondered that he hadn't broken his ankles! But Matt's limber body seemed capable of anything. He looked relaxed, natural, and ready!

She wiggled up to her knees facing him. Matt grinned and drew her to him by her waist. She followed eagerly, curiously, struck with mirth at the sight of him sitting cross-legged like a buddha with his tall rod rising from the lotus seat like a saguaro cactus.

He lifted her up and pulled her body against his, burying his face between her breasts, and Rosemary folded her legs around his back under his arms. Lowering her gently, slowly, inch by inch, he perched her pussy on the point of his penis and eased her down until her moist, hungry vagina completely covered the erect horn of his cock.

Rosemary's lips drew back in a snarl of lust, the fingernails of her hands digging into Matt's shoulders as the hard rod slid past her labial lips and penetrated deep, deep inside her. The sweet dry hunk of meat drove up and in and her legs locked tighter around his back, squeezing him with the strength of a woman gone mad.

"Kshiraniraka," Matt whispered, "the embrace of milk and water." She was pinioned on a pillar of pleasure, locked in unbreakable copulative union. Matt's prick rested in her like a root, impaling her to the very gate of her uterus.

She delighted in the face-to-face intimacy of the position which left their hands free to touch and explore their bodies. Matt's lotus seat held her comfortably, securely, as his hands ran riot over the abundance of breast and belly she presented to him, and she rubbed up and down against his back with her thighs. His hard hands waged a subtle campaign over her body, probing the skin with the nails, pinching her ribs and back, cupping those pendant, plentiful breasts and gently tweaking the rosebud nipples until they bloomed and flowered with passion.

Then the hands travelled to the sensitive spots just below her shoulder blades, pressing in with the nails and sending signals of pleasure racing through her nervous system, then to her neck, stroking her pulsing jugular until her head fell back and her eyes turned blank, hot and unseeing with lust. Matt kissed the pulsing vein in her neck, nibbling her throat, biting and exploring with the tongue in a pantomime of predatory, carnal feasting.

Rosemary wanted to move, to begin the churning, frenzied grinding of cunt against cock that would trigger the long-delayed orgasm. "Please, Uncle Matt! You know what I want! Give it to me now, now!" she demanded in a whispered, petulant whine.

"No, don't move. Think about what you're doing," he instructed firmly. "Close your eyes and see into the yoni, your vagina. Feel the lingam and press against it with your yoni and nothing else!"

Rosemary concentrated, thinking of how the great, hard, tumescent rod stabbed her deep and high, but waited unmoving, promising, demanding her efforts, her disciplined control, to be worthy of it!

She WILLED her cuntal walls to contract around it, to caress it, to love it with all the conscious attention that her hands could give a man's body. She BECAME her yoni, her pussy, her huge, dripping, lusty, carnal cunt!

She found that the spasms became more automatic, writhing against the lingam-root with a life of their own, pressing, rubbing, coaxing the jism forth like a milkmaid's hand drawing milk from an udder.

She began to squirm up and down on it, but Matt's hands restrained her. "Don't. Let your yoni do it all. It will be worth it!"

She was ecstatically, exquisitely tortured by the demanding discipline of Kama! She found herself building and building to the climax in an ascending scale of frenzied, undulating tissues, flexing against the cruelly demanding penis.

"Oooh, ooh, please, pleasepleaseplease, Uncle Matt! I've got to have it! I've GOT TO HAVE IT!!"

"You do have it. You have it all. Don't force it; be patient. Don't think, just BE!" His calm, reassuring, detached voice eased her urgent haste, chastising her for her childish demand for immediate gratification, her greedy lust.

She relaxed, resting on the rod, and felt it probe deeper into her than ever. The great, unmoving prong was an instrument for her to play, a stiff, hard, unyielding foil to her insatiable demand. The two sat, locked in the embrace of total Kama love, and to an observer would have seemed cold, unmoving, uncaring, except for the grimace of pleasure and unfulfilled need which tightened Rosemary's face into a mask of lust.

Matt could feel the frenzied pulsing of her pussy around his cock. Long practice kept his own ejaculation reflex well under control, and he smiled to himself at the thought of what torturous, agonizing pleasure Rosemary was experiencing! She had never gone this far, he realized. She had only known the quick, hurried, driving, impatient, ego-oriented Western style of intercourse - a forced thrusting of hips against hips - which gave immediate, unsatisfying gratification. He would teach her what her young, wonderful body was capable of!

Rosemary knew that orgasm was close, only the slightest nudge away! She wanted Matt to give her the tiny thrust which would trigger it. "Owww," she whined in a plaintive, eager, frustrated tone.

"Soon, soon darling," he whispered, but remained unmoving as a rock.

Rosemary was becoming furious with the torturing suspense of waiting. Did Uncle Matt hate her? Was she just a child after all ?

Suddenly the agitated squirming of her honeypot settled into a slower, steady, rhythmic pounding, timed exactly to her heartbeat! She felt a brush of orgasm, a hint, then another, and another! The beat continued, her muscles contracted around the lingam and began to throb with a steady hard, pulsing thrill. "Unh, unh, unh, AAAH!" She collapsed hysterically, clinging to Matt's neck as though it were a piece of flotsam floating in the great tide which seized her in its grip with a titanic rush of orgiastic pleasure! It squeezed her body to its limits, rocketing her past every plateau of sexual pleasure she had experienced before, and still there seemed to be no end to how far it would take her.

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming! I'M CUMMING I'M CUMMING!" she screamed. "Don't stop, oh please, don't stop, Uncle Matt! Give it to me! EEEEAAAH!" She was a screaming, squealing, frenzied nymph, squirming and twisting on the still quiescent rod, forcing out every last ounce of pleasure her body could wring from it, her legs pumping against his sides and her spine rippling and pounding up and down on the merciless meat of Matt's cock.

She felt faint, lost in a sea of red orgasmic waves which buffeted her until her muscles began to quiver with exhaustion. The roaring tide of pleasure which had swept away her consciousness subsided by degrees until her vision cleared and she looked into the humorously glinting eyes of her uncle. "Was it good, Uncle Matt?" she asked in a subdued whisper, "as good as mine? Was it?"

"We aren't finished, dear... " She couldn't believe it! Uncle Matt hadn't cum yet!

Rosemary found that the rippling, pulsing sensation in her abdomen did not die entirely away. Her cuntal walls settled back to that rhythmic, steady pounding which had heralded the start of her first orgasm. It continued to throb around the impaling shaft of Matt's prong, steady as the ticking of a watch, then began to build again.

"This time let your mind go blank," Matt instructed. "Don't think of anything, don't ask for anything, don't demand anything of your body. Let your body have its own way."

She let her mind wander into clouds of abstract thought, as though she had fallen into a trance. Her body began to undulate slowly to the pulsing pace set by her throbbing yoni, and the muscles rippled under the thin sheathing of her female wall of fat that rounded her curves with subtly voluptuous padding. She found herself begin to live as though her pussy were the command post of her body, and discovered that rather than looking at the world from the point in her head just behind her eyes as she'd done all her life, she existed deep inside herself along the spinal column that controlled the march of rippling, writhing, undulating body. Her arms and hands moved in mysterious, sinuous journeys over Matt, touching, feeling, but bypassing her brain entirely so that she felt directly THROUGH her arms and fingertips to touch the textures of softness, hardness, bristling hair and warm flesh that her nerves were transmitting, as though her whole body were a gigantic hand fondling a good-sized cock!

When the next hint of orgasm brushed inside her, the shock of pleasure spread in a rolling wave up out of the cunt like ripples in a pond to the extremes of her head, legs, feet, arms. The wave broke and rolled back again. Her brain was disconnected from her body, an unused, unnecessary appliance, and she lived in a deep red womb of pleasure as the orgasm went on and on and on! She knew she was dead, because her brain had stepped outside of her body and was coldly watching her and Matt, locked in the lotus embrace and sitting on a cloud of milk and water. Her body had taken on a separate existence and felt as though Matt's cock had grown and grown inside her until it Squeezed everything out of her. It had become alive now, rippling its muscles with the sinuous gliding motion of a cobra sliding through leaves, up and up into Rosemary's body while her orgasm paced each throbbing wave of pleasure.

She could FEEL the first bead of semen as it oozed from the tip of Matt's penis and touched the entrance of her womb. Then a pushing wave ran slowly up the fleshy shaft of the lingam and erupted through that great, wonderful, delta-shaped head, spewing in a stream of white cum inside her. The cock paused for a long moment, then began another pushing, rippling wave, and the next ocean of hot, fertile seed flowed into her body. The two of them undulated from head to toe in rhythm with their coming, and Rosemary could feel how each heartbeat, each constriction of muscle, had given over its will to their mutual pleasure so that each cell felt as though it were fucking the other in a mutual undulating dance of ejaculation.

Rosemary knew it would never stop! She would break through a barrier, like a fish erupting through the surface of a pond, and fall into an eternity of climactic orgasm!

She surrendered herself into blackness, shutting out the vision of her brain looking at the two of them, and became a shining, writhing amoeba, folded and joined to another amoeba until the two merged into a single red, warm, fluid, jellylike creature, transfixed with wave after wave of the unending climax!

"OooooohAAAAAAH!" She screamed in. ecstasy. "I'm burning up, I'm on fire! Oh, Matt, I'm going to burn up!" she babbled urgently. The ejaculation had gone on and on, and she thought that it would tear her body apart before it ever stopped!

The two whipped their bodies into a frenzy like two runaway dynamos, juggernauts pounding against each other with such force that the parts had begun to melt and run into a single heap of molten slag!

Just as she reached that barrier beyond which she would be catapulted into nirvana or madness, the wave began to subside and her vision cleared, her muscles sagged with exhaustion. She collapsed into a catlike relaxation as though every bone in her body had been removed, leaving only soft tissue. As Rosemary became aware of her surroundings, she saw that she and her uncle were lying on their backs, feet to head and still joined! She lay unwilling to move a single muscle, so fulfilled and exhausted that focusing her eyes was an effort. She could not tell where the flesh of her body left off and her uncle's began.

She thought idly that they must have been fucking for over half an hour at least. Then her eyes shifted to the small clock resting on the headboard shelf of the bed. It was three in the morning!


CHAPTER SIX

That weekend began her real education about sex. Rosemary was astonished at the ways her body could respond under her uncle's expert manipulation. The morning after that first astounding introduction to Matt's body, he had wakened, winked at her gently and again assumed the lotus seat. She stretched lazy and luxuriant, a satisfied, cozy kitten, as she watched him tuck his legs into position and sit back, ramrod straight.

"I'm going to teach you about your body," Matt said. "It's time you learned that there's more to being alive than just drawing breath, and more to sex than just sticking it in and pulling it out."

He told her to assume the same posture he was sitting in.

"I can't, Uncle Matt! I've never done that before!"

"Hell, I'm forty-five years old, and if I can do it, you can learn. If you don't start now, you'll grow up stiff and sloppy. If you do learn, you'll make eyeballs pop out of a young stud's head when you're past sixty. Come on now, it's easy."

She sat naked on the bed opposite him, tugging at one foot until the protesting muscles in her calf and ankle allowed her to twist the foot up onto one thigh. The next leg was even harder, but she managed it, and sat shakily as her legs cramped painfully. "Straighten your back. No slouching!" She stiffened her spine obediently. "Now, watch and do what I do."

She looked on as her uncle stretched his arms out to his sides, holding them straight with the fingers curled into a fist and the thumbs sticking straight up. He began to chant in a strange language, drew in a deep breath, held it, chanted again as he exhaled, held, chanted, inhaled, and repeated the cycle.

"Come on now, Om mane padme hum . .

Rosemary joined in self-consciously at first, then found herself relaxing and enjoying ceremony. Her legs felt cramped; then the sensation died away to numbness. Her mind wandered, and then Uncle Matt snapped her back to awareness.

Breathing exercises were next, then the simpler positions of yoga, flexing the arms, hands and legs into seemingly simple twists and turns that proved to be hard work, demanding effort and concentration. Rosemary's limber young body managed to follow Uncle Matt's lead.

"Now we're going for a drive," Matt said after they had paused for lunch.

"Where to?"

"A friend of mine has an estate about two hours' drive from here. We're going to need some privacy and a few of the things he has there. He's gone right now, but he left me the keys."

She began to look for a small suitcase to pack in. "You won't need anything you can't put in here," he said, tossing her a small flight bag. "Stockings, underwear, stuff like that."

She tossed the articles in, along with some filmy negligees she had acquired, enjoying the idea of travelling so lightly. Matt closed up the house, and the two got into his sports car.

Matt roared out of the base and headed north. Rosemary admired his smooth, sure control of the powerful car. When they passed the Virginia state line, Matt guffawed out loud at his violation of the Mann Act, while Rosemary wondered how many miles a "two-hour" drive was while the countryside flew past them in a blur of speed.

He turned off the main highway, followed a narrower paved road, then turned off onto a seldom-used dirt lane. Rosemary recalled that night Sheriff Tate had taken her up a dirt road, and the other wild night of her escape. Uncle Matt had told her that he came to town, disguised himself in blackface, and started an argument with Tate at the general store in Cronk's Corner so he could get arrested and inside the jail.

"I thought I'd have to be there a couple days, but I didn't think Tate would make it so easy," he recalled. Rosemary remembered the desperate gamble he had taken, snatching the pistol away from the sheriff. Easy! she thought.

The car came to a big iron gate, and Matt turned on his headlights, blinked them several times in a strange pattern, and the gate slid open. "Electric eye," he commented.

The house which came into view beyond a line of trees took Rosemary's breath away. "Southern mansion" would have been an understatement - she had lived in the South all her life and seen nothing like it. The architecture was traditionally Georgian, but on a scale so lavish that she knew the house couldn't be the antebellum estate that it was supposed to resemble.

"It's new," Matt said. "Fellow built it himself. Reason he lets me use it is I helped him out once when he was working in Laos with the AID program.

"The same way you helped me out, Uncle Matt?" Rosemary purred.

"Something like that. Harder work, though."

"Oh."

The big main door swung open, and a tall Negro butler appeared. He looked down in lofty dignity, then nodded his head respectfully. "Mister Williams. Welcome, sir."

"Johnston, my niece, Miss Rosemary Field."

"Miss Rosemary. Our pleasure."

Rosemary was awed by the formality of it all. She stammered a greeting, then slunk into the great house on Uncle Matt's arm. Matt strode across the parquet floor as though he owned the place. Johnston disappeared to have refreshments prepared, and returned bearing a martini and a glass of sherry on a silver tray. Matt took the martini and nodded to Rosemary. "Johnston does not approve of giving a man's drink to a lady, and I agree. But one of these won't hurt you."

"It's lovely, Uncle Matt. But why are we here?"

"We're going swimming. Drink up and come on!"

Puzzled, she finished the sweet, tawny liquid, and Matt downed the martini with an appreciative smacking of the lips. He munched on the olive, rose, and led her out and down one of the seemingly endless halls of the place to the door of what Rosemary thought to be a ballroom.

It opened to a magnificent Olympic-sized indoor pool, lined with tile and painted, Rosemary thought, with pictures. The pictures had a distinctly Oriental look, and the pink, confusing profusion of them puzzled her until she looked more closely. Uncle Matt flipped on the bright, golden overhead lights, and Rosemary saw with amazement that the "paintings" were actually mosaics, erotic mosaics picturing the most incredible, improbable ways of making love that she had ever imagined.

"There's us last night," Uncle Matt said, pointing to two figures locked in the double embrace, the embrace of "milk-and-water."

The room was warm, and she noticed that the sides of the pool were lined in a soft cushioned material like carpet, but which gripped the soles of her feet firmly. Matt closed the door and clicked the bolt shut. "The mosaics show the sixty-four positions of Kama," he said. "We may not learn them all this weekend, but it won't be for lack of trying!"

"Do we need the pool?"

"It's easier for a beginner." Matt had already begun removing his sport shirt, while Rosemary kicked off her shoes, slid down her stockings and began casting her clothes off with wild abandon, wondering just what Uncle Matt could have in mind now!

Matt had finished stripping and was into the pool with a long, flat racer's dive.

He rolled over on his back to watch Rosemary. She was pulling the pins out of her hair to let it fall in a shimmering avalanche against her body. Matt looked, enraptured by the naked figure of her, arms upturned, expression remote as she concentrated on the job at hand. The upstretched arms drew her breasts together and pressed them like twin rosebuds growing from the same stem. She stood unconcernedly relaxed, one leg bent, one hip thrust to the side, and began brushing the wealth of golden hair down. Matt, floating on his back in the water, looked down to see his cock breaking the surface like a periscope. He began trying to think away the erection, but for once it was too much for him. God, I'm just like a kid! he thought.

Rosemary finished her provocative combing, turned toward the pool and came into the water with a running dive. She swam in easy, powerful strokes, the smooth planes of her body cutting the water like the streamlined gracefulness of a seal.

"Oooh!" Rosemary giggled. "A sea serpent!"

"Want me to make him die?"

"I know a good way to smother him to death!"

"Let's swim over to the shallow end." Rosemary followed Uncle Matt's smooth, steady crawl, then waded with him until they stood in three feet of water. She enjoyed the lukewarm heat of the pool which lulled her into a boneless state of relaxation.

Matt came up to her and took her by the waist. Rosemary pressed against him, feeling the big rod lying between their bellies, and began to coo and nibble on Matt's hairy chest.

Rosemary slipped her arms around Matt's waist, pulling her body tighter against his. Matt insinuated one foot under hers. "Go ahead, step on it," he said. She stood on the proffered foot, and he reached down, caught her other leg and twined it until it was wrapped securely around his thigh, while Rosemary caught an arm around his shoulder to keep her balance. She found her mouth only inches away from Uncle Matt's in the "tree climbing" position and naturally pulled her arms and legs tighter. Their lips met, nibbled, and parted to touch and rub tongues.

Matt leaned back and let himself slide into the water, drawing Rosemary down. Her legs slipped from the climbing embrace and were caught between Matt's own. They kissed, giving each other their breath under water, twined together with arms and thighs, then broke surface again for a gasping breath.

Rosemary seized Matt for another kiss under the water in that silent, weightless world just below the surface. She wished that she were a fish and could do this for hours at a time!

Matt continued to show her new ways of hugging and kissing, sinuous, intimate pressings and rubbings of thighs and breasts and faces.

Rosemary felt her body coming alive in the water as Matt swarmed over her, touching, kissing and licking from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head.

Under the water her hair floated shimmering and weightless, a halo, a shroud that alternately concealed and revealed her delectable nakedness.

They took a series of deep prana breaths and, lungs filled to capacity, dove below the surface, ranging into the fifteen-foot deep end to admire each other as they tumbled slowly, weightlessly in the clear water. Rosemary felt Matt's hand catch her expertly between the legs and bring her to the surface.

"About time!" she said, laughing. The two swam to the shallow end, petting and caressing as the water grew warmer and warmer from the pool heater.

Rosemary's body was a languid, yielding wonder of flesh as Matt slid his expertly trained cock into her pussy. She drew it in with the new knowledge he had given her last night by contracting her vaginal walls around it and hugging it with all the conscious awareness she had, hugging Matt's body with her arms.

He pushed his supple ram in gently as they stood in the shallowest part of the pool.

"Ooooh," she sighed, "how can anything feel so good!" Then he drew her down with him to lie with her in the warm water, side by side, Matt kicked one leg down between hers without drawing his cock out, then learned back away from her. She gasped in surprise to see that they were joined like two pairs of scissors trying to snip each other up the middle!

"How did you do that?" she managed to gasp.

"Shhh, shhh, look up," Matt said, indicating a figure on the ceiling mural of two persons joined like them, floating in a pond and joined by their sexual organs as though they were two jets in a midair refueling maneuver.

She felt the lingam inside her twist slightly with the motion of their drifting, and gripped it tighter with her yoni muscles.

She could feel Matt's thighs gripping and releasing her stomach and buttocks, tickling her in an especially exciting way. She imitated his movements, then, struck by an inspiration, caught one of his feet in her arms and placed the big toe in her mouth to suck on it.

Matt did likewise, and the two reveled in licking and nibbling the sensitive soles of each other's feet, sending shocks of pleasure down their legs while the extreme points of cock and pussy ground together.

Rosemary felt the orgasmic wave begin in her, and her new awareness encouraged it the way the motion of a pendulum is encouraged, by working with the momentum of its swing. She forced nothing but encouraged everything, letting the naturally rippling muscles play up and down the length of Uncle Matt's cock as though it were a flute and her cuntal walls so many fingers.

Matt could feel this expertise. "God, I wish I had two years to really teach you something!" he said excitedly.

Rosemary could feel her vaginal grip drawing Uncle Matt's cock in deeper, deeper, like a suction cup. She suddenly saw that they were floating free in the water, using their arms automatically to keep their heads above the surface, but that their buttocks were no longer touching bottom! She felt a moment of vertigo, thinking they would sink any second, but she returned to concentrating on reeling in Matt's penis and staring at those erotic mosaic figures on the ceiling.

They floated free, spinning slowly on the axis of their jointed sexual organs like a double leaf in a stream. Rosemary continued her erotic muscle play, savoring the sweetness of a man's cock between her legs to the fullest. She came and came again, her belly throbbing with pleasure.

"Oh, ohohohgodohgod!" she moaned, rocking on the tiny waves generated by their subtle but cataclysmic climax. Her vaginal muscles rippled along the sides of the great tube within her, until that slow, measured, pulsing orgasm her Uncle Matt had mastered over years of dedicated practice began to throb in her, pushing its tide of seed before it and pumping it into her body as they drifted in a warm, watery world of lassitude.

They swam at a leisurely pace to the side of the pool, and climbed out to lie on the soft lining of the deck and baste themselves under the sunlamps overhead.

Rosemary felt as though her body were filled with a warm, creamy laziness. Matt leaned over her, nuzzling first one breast, then another. "Oh, thank you, Uncle Matt," she crooned. He kissed the still rigid nipples, then buried his face deep between her breasts and continued kissing her body, working his lips and teasing teeth and tongue down to her belly. He ran the tip of her tongue into Rosemary's navel, and then down, down toward the rich reddish patch of pubic hair that sheltered her pussy in its thicket.

Matt nibbled around the edges of this oasis, then plunged his face down between her legs! The teasing tongue darted inside, tickling her clitoris.

"Uunhh! Oh! Aaaahh," Rosemary sighed. "Yes, oh yess, yeesssss!" She spread her legs, gasping and crying with pleasure, and Matt's face moved in closer, nose and lips buried in her rich honeybucket. She spread her legs wider, wider! Looking up, she saw the figure of a woman with her thighs flattened against her belly and calves pressed flat down on the thighs. She moved her legs in imitation, hugging them in place with her arms while Matt ate at her cunt, savoring the juices of her fountain of love.

Rosemary enjoyed the tongue deep in her, exploring and tickling, driving her into a state of frenzied need. Then her pussy felt as though it were ballooning out! Matt had gently puffed a deep breath of air inside her, and she felt the warm expansion clear up to her navel. The air escaped with a comical farting sound between her vaginal lips and Matt's cheeks. She laughed richly with pleasure and amusement, and could almost feel Matt grinning inside her!

One of his hands began gently pressing her belly just above her slit opening in a rhythm that alternated with the puffs of air into her passageway. She came again, feeling a fast, sharp, throbbing flash of pleasure which quickly faded. She pressed her shoulders down on the pool deck, arching her spine upward and thrusting her hips against Matt's face. Her feet were planted firmly on each side and her legs pumped her hips up and down as Matt's clever tongue reamed and licked her hole. The pleasure-flash hit her again with more force, and she came again, and again! Rosemary flapped and thrashed on the deck like a freshly landed trout and laughed! She heard Uncle Matt's roaring chuckles in response as he left her cunt and pressed his mouth to hers, sharing the juices that had been welling up in her pussy, smearing the thick, rich broth on her face as he drove his hard prick into her moist, defenseless vagina. They fucked and kissed between gales of laughter, roaring with lust and the comical fun of it!

Uncle Matt pulled her up from her back against him, and they knelt, still joined. He pulled his prong out, spun her around and thrust in, dog-fashion, kneading the muscles around her groin with his fingers as he jerked his hips in imitation of a rutting hound.

"Arf! Arf!" he barked.

"Bow-wow!" Rosemary shrieked. The two staggered and lurched, crawled on all fours and mooed, barked, brayed and bellowed in all the imitations of animals.

"Oh Uncle Matt! Uncle Matt! Fuck me forever, Uncle Matt! FUCK ME FOREVER!" Their laughing gasps echoed through the huge empty hall that housed the pool.


CHAPTER SEVEN

Rosemary lay exhausted in the passenger seat of the car as they sped south, back to Fort Bragg, the Army and the Red Cross. Matt's agility and ability had opened a whole new world of sex to her. She realized now that sex wasn't something that "came naturally," but something that could demand a lifetime of study.

"I wish we could go to India," Uncle Matt had said. "They could teach us something there! I'm just an amateur at this stuff, soldiering's my real job, but everybody has to have a hobby!"

"Aren't you afraid it'll wear you out?" she asked in mock concern.

"Nothing healthier than sex. It's the best exercise there is! This stuff about keeling over from a heart attack because of screwing is a lie. Getting fat and lazy is what kills you."

Matt seemed refreshed, alive, and more vibrant than ever. Rosemary enjoyed the blast of wind roaring over the windshield into the open cockpit of the car. "Just like riding in a Huey with the side doors open!" Matt said.

The highway flowed under them, a smooth fast current of asphalt, the broken center line flicking under the hood as the car sped on.

They arrived at Fort Bragg after dark, the sentry at the gate waved them through, and they found themselves at the little brick cottage - home again!

Matt opened the door, let Rosemary through, and the two of them sorted the mail. One letter came from Cronk's Corner, from her mother. Her scrawling penmanship spun a tale of concern. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of Rosemary since the Black Panthers had staged their massive raid on the jail. A few of the prisoners had been caught and questioned, and all said that Rosemary had been carried off by a big buck nigger who had beaten Sheriff Tate to death and thrown him in one of the cells. A manhunt was on for her, but she said the police had no fingerprints or recent photographs, and they assumed she was dead.

The rest was a description of Tate's funeral - closed casket! - and of her and paw's ills and troubles. Rosemary felt relieved that she had escaped that world of her home town.

"We ought to be thinking about what to do with you," Matt said. "Stay here long enough, and somebody's going to wonder. Maybe someone in the Army who comes from Cronk's Corner will recognize you.

"I'm going across the pond in two weeks, Vietnam, and you'll have to move out of town, unless you want to find an overseas volunteer job, say Germany or somewhere. Japan is good, and I could come see you there if you like."

"You're going? Why didn't you tell me!"

"Didn't think of it. I'm always in and out of here. I just move my stuff to the quartermaster warehouse and then move back into one of these houses when I get back. I got this place pretty well homesteaded."

Rosemary wondered what she would do without her wonderful uncle around. She didn't want to have to spend all her time wet-nursing privates at the service club, and the thought of travelling overseas appealed to her. She had lied about her age - the post Red Cross thought she was twenty-one - and since she never had a social security card or driver's license, she knew the only records of her on file were those that the Army had.

Next day she put her name in as a volunteer for overseas duty. "Where would you like to go?" Mr. Lee, the Red Cross director asked.

"Vietnam!" she said. "I'm tired of hanging around this post, and I want to help our boys over there." (And Uncle Matt! she added to herself.) "It'll take some time. Can you be ready to go in, say, two months?"

"Does it have to be that long?"

"Fastest we can move you, dear. But we need girls there especially."

She had begun preparations for leaving. Uncle Matt rented her an apartment in Fayetteville and she told him she expected to go to Germany in about two months.

"Well, you'll like it. Don't miss a chance to see Europe while you're there, and write me a letter sometime."

The two of them spent a wild, wonderful two weeks together. Then one morning Rosemary came to the house to find her uncle gone. He left a note saying that he had moved to his unit at the special warfare school and would stay with them until they flew out. A postscript added, "I may have already left by the time you read this. In any case, I never liked those last good-bye scenes."

Rosemary wept. She still had a month and a half to go before she went overseas, and already she missed those nights when she and Matt would bring each other's bodies alive with the rich universe of sex they had discovered.

She considered filling in the void with an affair, perhaps with one of the young soldiers she had become acquainted with at the service club. But they were such children! And they were convinced that they knew it all. She decided to wait, with the patience that Uncle Matt had taught her. What good was hamburger when you had become accustomed to filet mignon?


CHAPTER EIGHT

Vietnam was HOT! Ever since her arrival at Tan Son Nhut Air Base, Rosemary had been unable to get used to the constant, sultry, moist heat that bore down on everyone. Her Red Cross uniform was not designed for this kind of tropical wear, and the cloth was plastered to her body from the minute she stepped down from the plane. She moved in a heat-delirium of confusion all the way to the Red Cross detachment of the Third Logistics Command in Central Corps, Vietnam.

The bustling traffic of airplanes, trucks, jeeps and bicycles was mind-boggling. The only familiar thing she saw was the leering stares from each and every male who saw her walk by.

Rosemary had avoided the hectic, bustling confusion of Fort Bragg's training and work areas - the maneuvers, the vast motor pools, the drop zones - but here it was unavoidable. It was the real thing, and she felt like a luxurious toy lost in the midst of all this masculine enterprise.

She thanked her stars for travelling light, as Uncle Matt had advised. A suitcase and a flight bag! The other girls on the plane with her had brought the maximum allowable luggage, and she was grateful that she wasn't lugging three or four suitcases around, in a land with no redcaps!

As it was, she had dragged her small suitcase and flight bag around for so long that they seemed like millstones around her neck, going through customs checks and roadblock searches, riding on the backs of trucks, jeeps, buses, Lambretta scooters, and even an armored personnel carrier at one time.

Now that she was at Third Log headquarters she found the flight bag handy. Red Cross girls were few and far between, and they were flown by helicopter from firebase to firebase, where they would stand and serve chow at roughed-out field mess halls, referee games, organize sing-alongs and help with letter writing, or man the division-level USOs.

Her routine had become a circuit of such visits, and the long hours of work kept her from boredom. But at each firebase she would strain her eyes to see if Uncle Matt might be there. She, began to think of her trip to Vietnam as another foolish adventure in her life. It was so much bigger than she had thought! There were so many men and places that she was sure she could be here for years before ever running across her uncle.

The men were not the same boys she had seen before. They didn't complain, they just looked sullen and resentful. They stared at her with rape in their eyes and death, too, as though her presence was an affront to them. One time she had gone to a field hospital to "cheer up the wounded" - freshly arrived casualties brought in from the field by helicopter and waiting for transfer to a rear area.

She had found one man lying in a bunk staring at his shattered leg. She started to say hello but the man turned and stared at her with pale blue eyes. "Bitch, either put out or move out." A medic had taken her by the arm and led her away.

She mulled over the incident on the helicopter ride back, and decided, That man was right! It was torture to send her and the other girls here where sex-starved men could see but not touch them. Some of the girls made a good racket out of being "round eyes" in a foreign land, going over to the Officers Club and "entertaining" the majors and colonels who drank there in the evening - for a price!

Jane, one of her roommates at the Red Cross barracks, had invited her along. "You can make a fortune here!" she had said. "And if I had half going for me that you got, I could retire in a month!"

Tonight she decided to go along and see for herself. She wondered why none of the girls tried to drum up any business at the firebases, and Jane reminded her. "The grunts don't make enough money and they don't have any nice places to go. Besides, they usually haven't had a bath in a month, and God knows what they've been fucking - besides each other!"

Jane claimed she turned fifty dollars a trick and two hundred for an all-nighter - "same as a high-class Las Vegas girl!"

The officers' club WAS nice, Rosemary discovered. The building was air-conditioned - AIR-CONDITIONED! - and iced drinks were served. At Jane's urging, Rosemary had worn the one cocktail dress she had brought along on the trip: a powder-blue, low-cut, miniskirted fluff of a thing that felt alien and much too light and insubstantial after weeks of wearing her uniform dress. The club patrons all wore dress-up khakis - regular jungle fatigues were outlawed inside the club - and a rock band played on a raised dais surrounded by a South Seas decor of vines, tiki gods and kerosene torches.

Except for the uniforms and the military decorations on some of the walls, it could almost have been a stateside nightclub. Rosemary was a knockout! The dress accented her voluptuous bosom, and the men had never seen her at the club before. Within minutes she and Jane were surrounded by men with glittering gold and silver leaves, eagles, and even one with a star, on their shoulders. Rosemary looked them over. Behind the facade of badges and decorations on their chests, she saw the spindly arms and legs, the sagging paunches, the weak eyes peering through gray-rimmed Army-issue spectacles.

They lacked the leathery, dirt-and-suntan look of the GIs she had seen in the field. Instead they looked vaguely yellow and gray. The abundance of crewcuts disguised the fact that a great many of the men were quite bald.

Instead of the staring, death's-eye resentment she had seen in the enlisted soldiers, these men looked at her as though she were a recently acquired, exquisite piece of furniture for the club - their rightful property. Their smugness, contrasted with the desperation of the men outside the air-conditioned walls, made Rosemary's blood boil.

One beefy colonel came over and draped a thick, hot, sweaty arm over her shoulder. "Buy you a drink, blondie?" he said. "Din't see you in this club before. Where yuh been keepin' yerself?"

She wondered if he used that come-on back in "the world," as everyone here called the states. She nodded and asked for a whiskey sour.

"Aww, you don't want none of that. You wanna martini. Waitress! Hey dink! Martinis all around here."

He leaned closer. "Dumb slopes can hardly unnerstand English. You got to kick 'em in the butt to get their attention."

The Vietnamese girl who waited on tables re turned with a tray of drinks. The beefy colonel reached into a pocket and pulled out a greasy wad of piasters, counting them out like so many pennies from a country store cash register. The waitress counted them with her eyes. "You no got, co'nel. You give five hunneh pee mo'."

"Five hundred! What you talkin' about?"

"You buy seven mahtini. You pay."

"FUCK OFF! I bought three. Me an' the two ladies here. What you tryin' to pull?"

"No three! You got seven. You look... " She began to count, pointing her finger from each martini to each person at the table.

"No, you look, bitch. I ain't buyin' drinks for the whole club. Just us three."

The other officers at the table started to laugh and nudge each other. The waitress began counting again.

"SHUT UP!" the colonel roared.

The waitress looked at him, blank-faced. "What I do here?" she pointed at the four extra martinis.

"Here, I'll show you what you do," he replied. The colonel took one and poured it over her hair, then another, then flung the remaining two at her as she tried to run away. Her silk aodai was dripping with gin and vermouth, and as she scurried away she slipped on one of the spilled olives and fell. The men at the table laughed uproariously.

"Do you always treat them like that?" Rosemary asked.

"Like what? They like working here. It's better'n chopping rice or pushin' a plow, ain't it?" The colonel looked genuinely puzzled by her question.

Rosemary pushed her chair back and stood up to leave. The colonel pushed her back down with one hand. "Hey, drink up. I din't pay my money just to have good liquor go to waste."

Rosemary rose again, lips tight and angry. The colonel planted his paw on her chest, his hand still damp from some of the martini which had slopped from his glass. "Sit down, doughnut dolly. No reason to start actin' high an' mighty around here."

Rosemary stepped back from her chair and the colonel followed, his face turning red with anger. "Maybe a little slappin' around is what she needs, huh, boys?" The men chuckled.

He must be the club comedian or something, she thought furiously. The paw he was pushing her with still rested on her chest, and he began pinching her breast roughly. The men roared.

Rosemary smiled sweetly, stepped back quickly, bent down slightly on one leg, brought the other leg up in a high kick, and then lashed out, toe forward, into the colonel's solar plexus, a trick Uncle Matt had taught her. She had both feet on the floor before the perspiring, angry officer knew he had been hit. His red face paled to white and his eyes bulged out as he fought for breath, then doubled up and began to heave, and heave, and heave! Rosemary turned and flounced out of the room, leaving a gaggle of slack-jawed officers staring after her and the colonel wallowing on the floor in his own vomit.

The hot night air hit her like a fist, and she considered going back inside, then decided to hell with it! And marched on out. She was walking quickly, furiously, along the bulldozed dirt road leading away from the club, wishing she had finished the job by stomping that fat bastard right in the nuts! She walked on away from the lights of the headquarters compound into the darker reaches of the base perimeter.

When she finally calmed down, she realized she was lost. It was dark, and this strange part of the base was a maze of canvas-roofed huts and sandbagged bunkers. She wandered toward the huts, feeling her way carefully to avoid tripping on the tent pegs and drainage ditches that surrounded each canvas structure. She heard voices and finally saw a faint red light shining through the narrow slot window of a bunker.

Rosemary stepped up to the slot. "Is anybody home?"

"Lady, there ain't nobody home around here except gooks."

The voice came from above her head. "Wh-where are you?"

"Right in front of your face."

She peered into the dark and could barely see a face showing over the roofs edge. "I'm lost! Can you help me find my way back?"

"Shit, I wish I could find my own way back. Come on inside. You're just in time for the party!"

Rosemary heard the figure rustle down from the sandbags and stand next to her.

"Come on inside," he said.

"I don't know... " She hesitated, then decided that the bunker couldn't be any worse than the Officers Club!

"Okay."

The man led her around the blast wall that shielded the bunker door and drew back the poncho covering the entrance. Inside she saw three other men sitting against the walls. A red votive candle glowed through its stained glass cup in the middle of the group on the floor, and they were passing a cigarette from hand to hand.

They looked up in unison. "Man, this stuff must be really spacy," said one. "I gotta be dreamin'!"

Rosemary looked down at herself in the red light, seeing the gold, dreamy tint of her twin, rose-crowned peaks pushing against the cocktail dress. The men admired the delicious decolletage she presented.

"Holy shit! Where'd you find her, Fred?"

"Man, I was outside looking up at the stars, and then one of them got bigger and bigger, and she came down out of the sky, you know? On a white cloud."

"Wow. Wow, that's heavy!'" The four looked at her with wide eyes. One of them moved to spread a camouflage poncho liner on the dirt floor. "Here! Have a seat! Come on, Benny, where's your upbringin'? Give the lady a-drag!"

Rosemary had noticed the rich, sweet, burning-leaf smell inside the cramped bunker as soon as she stepped in. She felt an atmosphere of cozy comradeship among the men in this cellarlike room. They were happy! Their faces glowed with the happy contentment of boys on a Saturday morning. Marijuana! she thought. The r thin, hard-papered cigarette was thrust into her hands. She hesitated. She had never tried it before, though she had heard a lot of stories about it. Uncle Matt had spoken of its use in an offhand sort of way as a "useful tool." but had never elaborated... She touched the cigarette to her lips. The tip was damp from the other mouths that had used it. She sucked lightly at it and found the smoke tasted harsh, burning. She tried another puff. That was better! The smoke had a subtle, earthy-sweet taste to it. She took another, longer drag and inhaled.

"Try and hold it in as long as you can," the one called Fred suggested. "It'll be better that way."

She took another light drag and passed it to Fred, who took it and sucked it in little short snorts, working his throat to pull the smoke deep into his lungs. "Good ol' Cambodia Red!"

The cigarette made more journeys around the room, each man gobbling up the fumes as the air became thicker with the pungent, burning, spicy smell.

Rosemary imitated the way the men smoked as cigarette after cigarette passed into her hands. She lounged on her side on the poncho liner in her sexy dress, resting on one elbow and trying to keep her hemline from riding up over her hips!

One of the men flipped on a transistor radio, and the room filled with rock music from Armed Forces Radio. The music seemed to flow from the tinny speaker with the force of an electrified symphony orchestra hooked up to Hoover Dam!

Rosemary felt perfectly normal, but the music seemed to fill the room with a visible pattern of multicolored sound waves emanating from the red candlelight that pulsed in time to the beat.

She stood up and began to dance sinuously to the sounds, eyes closed, rapt in the rhythm of her young, swaying body. Fred and Benny and the other men joined in, gyrating their bodies in an onanistic dance around her. One seized her around the waist, and they danced together, jiggling their bodies together to the heavy rock beat. Their bare feet, slapping against the dirt floor, raised small puffs of dust. One of the men threw his shirt off, another his hat. Rosemary felt more and more confined by the tightness of her dress and, still gyrating, unhooked the top. Her breasts pushed the cloth away with jiggling, jouncing motions and one strap looped down her shoulder. She began an improvised r stripper's routine to the rock sounds. The GIs stomped and whistled as she skidded the zipper down and turned to show them the hourglass curves running from shoulder to hips between the parted folds of fabric. She bent her knees, wriggling her luscious bottom at them as she reached and unhooked the bra strap that ran across her back.

"Right on!" one of the men shouted. She turned and grinned at him, tossing her golden hair over her face and letting the front of her dress slip inch by inch to reveal more and more breast. The men watched entranced as the rosebud nipples appeared over the neckline like twin rising suns! The lovely twin globes swung free of the dress, swaying heavily as Rosemary danced on, bobbing and jouncing with juicy promise. She wiggled the dress down her legs and stood naked from the waistline of her pantyhose up, her big breasts veiled by that cascade of long yellow hair.

Her eyes were shut tight and she grinned widely, moving her lewd hips faster and faster as her fingers peeled the pantyhose down. She shifted to one leg and drew the stocking material off the other, then swiftly skinned the remaining leg and flicked the nylon undergarment in the air where it slowly floated to the round like a piece of drifting gossamer.

By now the men had caught on. They tore off their clothes and piled the jungle-green garments in a heap as she stared at them through the strands of her disheveled hair with smoky, challenging eyes in the red firelight.

The men were fascinated by the red patch of cunt hair oscillating invitingly at them. Rosemary went up to Fred and rubbed up against his naked chest, kissing him on the mouth. She was astonished at the sensitive tingling of her skin. Everything felt, tasted, WAS, so much more alive! Her mouth nibbled his lean young body, her face rubbed against his chest, and she sank to her knees kissing, nuzzling and licking his belly, before coming to the great cock which stood expectantly erect.

She touched it lightly, teasingly, with the tip of her tongue, looking up at his astonished face and batting her eyelashes.

Fred grinned, pushing his penis against her mouth. "Help yourself, honey ! There's plenty more where that came from!"

"MMMmmmmm," Rosemary mumbled as she wrapped her lips around the spearhead and sank over the throbbing pillar of meat with her mouth.

Another GI came from behind, pantomiming a prowling cat, and slid his arms around her waist. He mounted her dog-fashion, and Rosemary, still sucking on one salty tube, tucked the other into the entrance of her pussy.

"You're a little dry, baby," her new partner said. "Let me wet it a little." He jumped off and lay on his back, pressing his face up between her legs, letting his tongue dart up against the patch of fine red hair. He licked at the line of her crack, parting the pink lips. Rosemary, excited by the hot touch of the tongue, sucked hard on Fred's cock as Fred knelt and cupped her pendant breasts in his hands.

Another GI jumped on her back with his prick gleaming under a coat of Vaseline, and began pressing it against the tight opening of her sphincter. The oily cream eased his way in as the asshole gave way and revealed its secret hoard. Her whole body was being invaded! She could feel tongue and pricks thrusting at her fore and aft like battering rams. Fred's hips began grinding against her face, the other man sank hilt-deep into her ass, and the tongue was driving her pussy into the frenzied pulsing throb of sexual exertion.

"AAAAAHHH!" Fred yelled as his penis pumped its load of long-saved jism into Rosemary's mouth. She rolled the yummy, sticky liquid around her palate, savoring the taste and swallowing it.

Fred sagged against the sandbags, still spurting semen that arched wildly in the red candlelight. The man underneath her slid his body further up until his face pushed between the two hanging breasts and began to slide his cock into the moist, dripping pussy.

Rosemary's vaginal muscles rippled and drew the young, eager, throbbing member into her warm wet well. The three of them writhed in a mound on the floor while the last soldier offered Rosemary's mouth his fresh, dry prick. She took it, savoring it with the sensually aware state of consciousness she had attained smoking the grass. Wet, smacking sounds came from her ass, her cunt, her mouth! Her pussy, gripping one hard hunk of meat, began to grind and pulse with the first hints of orgasm, and she let it come, forcing it along! God, this is fan! she thought. "Mmmmyumyumyummy!" she mumbled over the delicious prick in her mouth, crooning as it spurted a gush of come into her throat at the same instant the man on the bottom spurted his jism into her cunt! She squirmed with delight as the wet semen ran down the upthrust cock between her legs, and she smacked her lips over her new mouthful of semen, savoring the slightly different taste of it. She looked at the powerful member she had held between her teeth for a moment. It was black! She continued to lick at it as the warm cock pumped more and more of its seed into her mouth, her cheeks, under her tongue!

She teased the great horn from tip to base, savoring the texture of the wiry pubic hairs that nestled it. Then the fourth soldier came in her ass! Rosemary was rippling and throbbing in the wild, sacred ecstasy of pot-orgasm! She opened her mouth and screamed! "Give it to me! AAAAAHH, GIVE IT TO ME!" The hot seed poured into the rectal passage, and her body writhed with the forbidden dark pleasures of sodomy. The radio's music thundered, and the men did a tribal dance of victory around her prone body which collapsed naked on the poncho liner, red gold in the red light of the candle flame, while their spent seed trickled from mouth, ass and cunt.

One man carefully retrieved her clothes, brushed them off, and hung them on a nail in an overhead beam, out of harm's way.

Rosemary felt heavy-lidded, fulfilled. She wanted to sleep. The other men crawled up and rubbed against her, surrounding her with a communal pile of warm, naked flesh. They, too, were drowsy, ready to crash from the marijuana. The candle flame flickered, the radio played, they slept.


CHAPTER NINE

Rosemary was shaken awake just as the first hint of dawn was breaking through the narrow slit of the bunker. She found her nude body covered with poncho liners, those incredibly light, warm quilts used for sleeping bags. "Baby, you better get dressed and get out of here before everybody starts waking up. Hurry!"

It was Fred, looking young and vulnerable in the early light, sleep still crusting his eyes. "We saved your clothes, but they got a little dirty. Here."

He handed her a neatly folded pile of women's clothes - her own. She hurriedly pulled on the pantyhose and hooked on the bra.

"Hey, man, she's gonna look awful damn silly walkin' through the comp'ny area in that dress. Give her these."

The black soldier held out a clean, pressed "tiger suit," the black and green striped, lightweight "pajamas" worn by long-range reconnaissance patrol members. "Used to be a lurp," the black man said.

Rosemary nodded at the practicality of the idea. The shirt was large - thank goodness! Her breasts pushed the thin, comfortable fabric out tautly. The pants were too slim-hipped for her, but she managed to wiggle into them. She retrieved her shoes, slipped them on, stood up and mock-modeled for the four grinning men.

"Sexy, damn' sexy!"

"Looks better on her than it did on you, Collins!" one man joked.

They stood around, flushing a little, as Rosemary, touched by their kind thoughtfulness, kissed each of them in turn. One of the men put her dress in a little red cloth bag and handed it to her. Blinking back tears, Rosemary slipped out the bunker door.

"You come back real soon, y'hear?" Bennie called after her. She turned and waved, then walked out into the morning light.

Rosemary strode along, feeling sleepy and relaxed, but vibrant! She had no hangover, no sick feeling, the way the girls in the detachment looked in the morning when they came creeping back from their nights at the Officers Club!

She strode along, feeling very martial in her tiger suit, getting some incredulous, puzzled and admiring glances from the few early risers, men bound for KP or back from bunker guard duty. She swung her red sack jauntily and wished she had a stick to tie it on, like a hobo!

The wild, friendly orgy in the bunker had been a treat after the drought of sex she had endured since leaving Uncle Matt. She felt strong, refreshed, capable of anything, fancying herself a guerrilla fighter in her camouflage suit, thinking of the pictures of similarly attired girls who cradled sub-machineguns as they tortured Germans or Japs on the covers of "he-man" magazines in the general store back in Cronk's Corner. She loosened the shirt by unbuttoning the top two buttons. Letting the curve of her breasts show below her throat. That was more like it!

When she got back to the Red Cross compound, Smith, the director, looked at her and shook his head. "Where the hell did you find that getup? he asked sarcastically.

She sniffed and looked down her nose with a superior smile, and went into the small barracks she shared with the other girls.

"Honey, where the hell you been?" Jane asked, wide-eyed. "You damn near broke up the whole club with your act. Colonel Jewell had to be carried out of the place after you left, and you bet your sweet pussy he's gonna want a rematch ! "

"He'll get it in the nuts the next time he messes with me," she retorted, striking a dramatic pose in her tiger suit.

Joyce, the Negro girl, piped in, "Right on, sister ! Hey, maybe you better go over to the blood bank an' get your eyes drained! You been smokin' boo last night!"

Rosemary was startled. She looked in the mirror and saw that her eyes were shot through with vivid red veins. She hurriedly stripped off the tiger suit and jumped into the makeshift shower at the end of the barracks, pulling the rope to let the cold, refreshing water pour over her. She shampooed her hair and soaped herself thoroughly, then pulled at the rope again to rinse off, carefully balancing on the slippery duckboards. She came out, brushed her teeth, gargled, and looked at her eyes closely, then put some drops of Murine in them.

Then she dressed in a clean, pale-blue Red Cross dress and white wool socks for her low-cut "sensible shoes," and sat with an olive-green towel wrapped in her hair while the girls joked and talked about their experiences last night.

It's just like living in a whorehouse, she thought. Only I guess I'm not as icky as some!

Joyce brought her a cup of steaming coffee and measured her with shrewd eyes. "Shee-it. I bet you could tell us a story'd make the rest of these bitches look like they spent the night playin' with theirselves," she said. "Rest up honey. You an' me are goin' out today!"

"Where to?"

"Up to the green beanies. That special forces camp in Huoc Due. 'Way up in the mountains. Looks like they need some special kind of morale boostin' up there!" she giggled.


CHAPTER TEN

Huoc Due lay below them in a lovely green natural bowl of a valley surrounded by jagged mountains. The air blasting through the open sides of the helicopter was delightfully cool at this altitude. At the head of the valley stood a cluster of buildings surrounded by a zigzag network of trenches and bunkers, the fortified Special Forces camp. Near it an airstrip had been bulldozed and a Montagnard village of huts standing on stilts marched up a low hill. A chopper pad had been marked out and a three-quarter-ton truck was parked next to it by two tiny waiting figures.

The helicopter nosed into the landing zone, and the two girls got out, ducking low to avoid the rotors whirling overhead. They shielded their faces from the rotor wash which blew a hurricane of tiny pebbles and sand grains around them. The rotors whined to a halt as the girls walked away from the UH-1 toward the waiting men. They were tall, wearing faded jungle fatigues and rakish green berets. Rosemary looked at them, and her eyes bugged out with surprise. Uncle Matt!

Matt looked at her with startled surprise. "Oh, no! What the hell are you doing in this goddam country?"

"Oh, I just wanted to see what it was like. I never thought for a minute I'd see you here!" she lied. She noticed that Matt looked disturbed at her appearance. She wondered if he had another woman up here, a Montagnard girl. He knew she wouldn't be jealous!

Matt introduced the man standing next to him as Sergeant Cross, the other advisor at the tiny Montagnard encampment.

"Well, you might as well throw your stuff in the jeep," Matt said, "and come on up to the house."

They drove through the entrance of the camp, a high gate flanked by two squat sub-machine gun nests and a maze of barbed wire. Tiny, tough-looking little men swarmed everywhere, wearing tiger suits and carrying an assortment of American, Chinese, French and Russian weapons.

The two Special Forces men shared a big, spacious bungalow. A wood-burning water heater provided hot showers, and a field generator powered a walk-in icebox and freezer. The girls were served cold beer and shown private quarters in a bamboo-partitioned section of the house.

"This is really somethin'," Joyce commented when they had settled in. "These green beanies know how to live all right!"

The camp had been established for many years and become a famous stopping-place for helicopter pilots flying missions in the mountains. How it was being phased over to the Vietnamese Special Forces, and the Americans were "caretaking" until the takeover was complete.

Matt avoided Rosemary, and once, when she caught him alone, he pushed her away from him as she tried to hug. He said furiously, "You had no damn business coming here! If you had to come see me you could have gone to Japan and I would've seen you on my R & R! Now... " His voice trailed off and he walked away, his face a mask of angry guilt.

Joyce and Rosemary puzzled over the reason they had been sent here. "Hell, if they want us to ball these green beanies, why don't they get busy an' take care of business?" Joyce asked petulantly.

Rosemary agreed there was something fishy about the whole trip. "There aren't any other Americans here," she said. "We shouldn't even be here!"

"Well, it's a nice place. They got hot water an' cool weather, which is what we don't have back at the base! We might as well enjoy it, honey, 'cause there's a catch in it somewhere!"

Joyce announced the catch after dinner that night. She and Matt had had a brief conference on the veranda, and Joyce came to break the news.

"Honey, your uncle's got some big-shit Vietnamese general comin' to visit, an' he wants to change his luck, know what I mean? So he asked your uncle to get him some round-eye pussy, meanin' you an' me, to entertain him. It's worth five hundred dollars American to us each."

"Why didn't he tell me?" Rosemary demanded.

"He didn't think you'd be the one sent up here. He thought you was 'way over in Germany, remember?"

Rosemary flushed, then got up. "I'm going Lo talk to him!"

She found Matt in his room, drunk. She had never seen him like this. Suddenly he looked all of his forty-five years and more. "Oh, Uncle Matt! What have you done?"

"Leave me alone."

"Not now. Why didn't you tell me? You know I'd do anything for you!"

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes!"

"This is my last chance, Rosemary! If I can make this goddam gook general happy, he'll write me up in his reports, maybe give me a medal. Then I can get promoted. Rosemary, if I make sergeant major, I won't have to do any more of this horseshit-and-sixgun crap! I can get out of the field, out of this bloody business, and maybe live to collect my retirement pay! I'm getting short. I'm too old for this! Please... " She listened to his speech, incredulous. His face was tired, frightened, old, OLD! Her invincible Uncle Matt was just another man, running scared, broken like all the rest and looking for a place to lie down!

"I'll do it, Uncle," she said coldly. "I understand we're getting paid for this. I want my share. No hard feelings - a straight business deal, okay?"

The pleased, relieved expression on her uncle's face sickened Rosemary. "Oh, Rosey, I knew I could count on you!" He stood and edged up to her. "Remember the times when we'd... " His voice trailed off as he slipped his arms around her. She pushed him away, glaring at him with angry blue eyes, and stomped out of the room. Okay, she thought furiously. Bring on your good generals. Oh Matt, you poor, sorry bastard!


CHAPTER ELEVEN

Next morning General Trung Huy arrived in a flight of three helicopters. The clattering machines touched down at the airstrip, and a group of bodyguards surrounded him as he dismounted, then took up positions around him after he boarded the truck. The vehicle moved up the road bearing its bristling mound of men, and the Montagnard troops stared hard-eyed at the lowlanders driving into their camp, while the Vietnamese glared back at these hill people they looked upon as savages.

Matt prayed that everybody was in a good mood. He'd have a hell of a time explaining an ambush of this general in his own camp! He remembered when one of his CIDG platoons had come back from a long-range patrol with the heads of three Vietnamese Army officers and a lot of other trophies to boot. He had luckily managed to get rid of all that stuff before the first Vietnamese began arriving to take over.

The general dismounted from the truck, bodyguards swarming around him, and the strange procession entered the bungalow. "General very much hurry. You got girls here now?" his aide asked Matt.

"Yes," Matt replied. He led the group to the room he had specially prepared for the occasion. God, what a lot of trouble to go through just to get a different kind of pussy, he thought. Matt wondered at the profusion of sunlamps the general had demanded, and he had sweated blood getting them. Cross, the medic, had shaved all the body hair off both girls - another specification of the general. The little man entered, a short, perspiring, fat version of his American counterparts in Saigon. He wore an elaborate dress uniform, a size too large for him, festooned with, medals, and his lip sported the pencil-thin moustache of the current "president" of Vietnam. He flicked the ash from his cigarette holder and waved in a squad-sized detachment of men who came in carrying heavy boxes of equipment.

Joyce and Rosemary were a stunning picture, stretched out on a divan covered with flowered silk material, twin statues done in ebony and ivory. The little men jabbered in Vietnamese and began setting up more lights, tripods and cameras. Cameras! So, they were going to film this!

"What the hell's going on?" Matt whispered harshly.

"General want pick-shaw. General tell 'Melican that, he have white girl, black girl, in Paris. They say bullshit. Now they see."

The general began stripping his fancy uniform off, handing his coat, tie, shirt and the rest to a group of aides who took each item and carefully folded it. Another aide tugged at his high riding boots, and yet another fetched him a cold bottle of San Miguel beer.

"They can't do that" Matt whispered angrily to Cross.

"Take it easy," Cross whispered back. "There's nothing you can do now unless you want to get us all killed."

"That goddam dink will sell the films, just to turn an extra buck!"

"Forget it Matt, or we're gonna be in beau-coup trouble. This was your idea, remember?" The general stepped up to the girls in his pudgy nakedness, turned and faced the camera.

"Now, begin!" his aide said with satisfaction. He began barking orders to the camera crew.

Rosemary and Joyce looked at each other. "Hell, honey, every prick ever made's just the same old one-eye. We might as well enjoy it." Matt watched the rotund little figure step out on the woven mat in front of the couch with his improbable little erection sticking up and out like the inflating tube for a basketball. The general turned and mugged the camera, then pointed to Rosemary and pointed again at his cock, making a wet, smacking sound with his lips.

"You suck dick!" the aide ordered shrilly. Rosemary shuddered, then stepped lightly across the mat, knelt, and touched her mouth to it. She looked down the narrow shaft of the light brown cock, noting the sparse, straggly black hairs at its base. This is silly, she thought. It looks like an asparagus stalk!

She felt the general's little, sweaty hand push her head down on it, and she dutifully opened her mouth and took the stalk in. The general turned and grinned at the camera and the machine ground away.

Matt stared in horror at the performance. He doesn't even care, he thought. He just wants a picture of himself getting a blowjob from a white girl!

Then Rosemary felt the hand push her head away, and Joyce was beckoned to take her place. Joyce looked at the little instrument with an ironic expression and then took up where Rosemary had left off. Then the general wanted a shot of him screwing Joyce, then him screwing Rosemary, first on top, then dog-fashion, then a threesome shot of Joyce sucking his dick and Rosemary with her face buried in his ass. All this time the general's little penis kept flopping over and the girls would have to tease it into a photogenic erection again.

Matt was raging. There was nothing he could do! If he started trouble, every single white face would be killed. The general would want no witnesses to a murder, and would leave none. He felt sick at the waste of these two beautiful girls' bodies, while the two lovelies struggled to get some sort of orgasm from the tubby little general.

The girls were finally told to lie down side by side. The general stood over them with his limp penis, then turned and, grinning at the camera, started to piss on both of them. Rosemary felt the warm, salty water cascade down on her in a foul-smelling stream over her belly, her breasts, her face! The Vietnamese laughed at her grimacing and spluttering. She turned and looked at Matt, pleading with her eyes: "Do something!"

Matt made a motion toward the general and was stopped by four bodyguards, who stuck the muzzles of their sub-machineguns in his face. He slumped, turned, and went outside. Cross followed closely, and the two men winced at the gales of laughter emanating from the bungalow. He wondered what Matt was going to do.

He soon found out. Matt went into the Montagnard barracks and came back with a Browning automatic rifle.

"Wait a minute, Matt. Now, you stop. Goddamit, stop right now or I'll shoot you myself!"

Matt turned, cold-eyed, looked at Cross for a moment, and saw that Cross meant every word of it. Matt pulled the trigger.

A bodyguard at the door picked off Matt just as Cross toppled over, riddled with bullets.

Back in the bungalow, the cameras ground on. The general beckoned to his staff members and waved them toward the two girls. They eagerly began stripping off their clothes, and Rosemary and Joyce found themselves surrounded by the grinning little men who babbled excitedly over them. Rosemary was frightened. What had that shooting been about?

She felt small, brown hands pinch and fondle her big breasts, amazement and laughter struggling for control of the Vietnamese men. Two of them caught hold of Joyce, and one began to mount her, babbling, "Fucky! fucky! fucky!" She was pinioned by two other men, who made masturbating motions with their hands, indicating that she was to jack them off.

Another squatted over Joyce's head and began pushing his prick in her mouth.

Rosemary had her quota on her. The little men lined up one by one and inserted their small penises in her, coming quickly. She tried to work up some sexual enjoyment, but her cunt was so quickly slopping with semen that she could barely get any sensation of friction from the men who clambered over her. The little men with their pencil-pickers were maddening! She was penetrated again and again before the vestiges of orgasm began to work up in her. Her mouth was repeatedly filled with the little cocks, some of them incredibly foul-smelling, some with the chancre sores of gonorrhea! Her body writhed and twisted to escape the constant, maddening, exquisitely degrading torture. She closed her eyes as some of the men imitated the general by urinating on her when they had finished, and she began to cry softly.

The men kept coming on and on, so that she didn't even notice when the camera crew had packed up and gone clattering off with the general in his helicopters. She noticed that the uniforms began to change, and the faces. She had come and come and come, and now there was nothing left in her but numbness, and still they came on! Little hard-faced men in tiger suits - how many were there in the general's party? Her fingers were stiffened and sore from jacking off customers. Her cunt was a writhing lump of pain, her mouth a gagging bowl of spent semen. She could no longer swallow, and the yellowish come trickled and gushed down her cheek.

The room was filled with a thick, yeasty odor of semen, piss and shit. And still they Came! She began to scream!

"AAAAAAHHH NONONOnononooooo... Please, no more oh please, please, NO MORE! NO MORE...!"

The girls' screams triggered more gales of laughter and more babbled comments. The line of men diminished a bit, then swelled again as the news spread through camp.

The fucking and fucking and fucking continued for hours! The noon heat raised an unbearable stench and turned the room into an oven. Some of the women from the village had come to watch, laughing with black-toothed mouths, pointing at the two big women who lay helpless and tormented beneath the swarm of little brown men.

Rosemary had lost all feeling in her cunt, a pool of semen had formed and spread between her legs, and she had to turn her head aside to vomit as the rank fluid filled her stomach. They were pinned helplessly as some of the women came up and crapped on their bellies and faces, dribbling yellow shit from their dysentery-wasted bodies. Dogs from the village were brought in and their testicles teased into long, wet, slimy red erections. One was placed over Rosemary's head and the red tube stuck in her mouth. Her jaws were numb, but willing hands grabbed her chin and clamped them shut, while others bobbed her head in a mockery of fellatio.

Another dog rutted on her cunt, wagging its tightly curled tail. Rosemary could feel its furry body jerking between her sore, tender thighs. It was the last feeling she remembered before losing consciousness. On into the night, the Montagnards raped and defecated on the two prone female figures.


CHAPTER TWELVE

Rosemary woke and blinked her eyes. Was she dreaming? Her body was swathed in clean, white sheets, and the unmistakable odor of a hospital wafted against her nostrils.

"Doctor, she's awake!"

The nurse attending her was joined by a man in a white surgeon's smock.

"Where am I?" Rosemary asked weakly. "What happened?"

"You're in a hospital. You're safe. Don't worry," the doctor said.

"A hospital? Where?"

"California."

"California? But Uncle Matt... the general... "

"The general?"

"Yes, just before I passed out... "

"How do you feel?"

"Fine. Like I just woke up. But so tired... "

"Then rest, relax. Don't worry."

"And those little men, and the cameras... "

"Don't you remember the battle? You were at Huoc Due Special Forces Camp when it was overrun. You and a few Montagnards were the only survivors."

"What about Joyce? And Uncle Matt... "

"Don't worry. You'll be all right."

Rosemary slept.

As the days passed, she became more aware of her surroundings. When the doctors decided she could bear the news, without relapsing into a coma, they told her of her Uncle Matt's and Joyce's death. "You were at Huoc Due when it was overrun. You were found buried under debris in one of the buildings. It has been two months since you lost consciousness. You're safe now, and healthy. We're going to put you on a physical therapy program to get you on your feet again."

Rosemary's recovery was rapid, but she found her mind would slip away from details of the time before she had sunk into that long coma. She learned she had been found in the bungalow under a pile of bodies when the camp was attacked while all the guards were "distracted."

The medical evacuation men who had searched the camp two days later found her by the moaning they heard from beneath the dead.

Rosemary also learned that she was in a veterans' hospital and reminded the ward chief that she was still a Red Cross worker, and asked for an assignment.

She was given a job in the amputee ward, helping patients. Her skin, which had grown pale and puffy in the hospital during her coma, bloomed out again, firm and young as ever, and her visits to the amputees made them forget their missing arms and legs, the splints, bandages and traction braces which held them prisoners in the ward - at least for a moment.

One day she came into the ward to find a new patient - a double amputee who had lost both legs. His face looked familiar, reminded her of someone she had known... she wondered how she had ever had the arrogance to look down on all these young men when they were well and whole. Suffering had taught her the value of happiness, of generosity.

She looked at the new man again... something about the face... it brought a flash of memory back, of a flickering red candle and a wild night of abandon with the smell of Vietnam's earth and the burning spice of marijuana... "Fred!" she whispered.

The man opened his eyes and looked at her, uncomprehendingly. Then they lighted in astonishment. "You're the girl!" he said weakly. "The girl in the blue dress! I dream about you still! You can't be real, you aren't!"

He sat up and looked down at the stumps where his legs had been. "All I can do is dream. I'm nothing but a hunk of meat now... I'll probably spend the rest of my life in this damn hospital like a vegetable. Helpless. I'm sorry."

"Fred, Fred! My name is Rosemary. And I remember you, and Benny, and Collins, and the others... Fred, I still dream about you, too!"

"Well, it won't do any good. I'm the only one left. They all got killed in a truck convoy we were on. Just a couple of months ago... " Rosemary bent and kissed him on the lips. The flicker of an idea burned in her head. She said goodbye and finished her visits to the other patients.

That night she returned. It was far past mid night when she stole into Fred's cubicle where he lay sleeping fitfully. "Fred," she whispered. He woke wide-eyed.

"Does it hurt you to move?"

"No, I can move... "

"Then move over! Let me come visit. Can you move by yourself?"

"This is crazy! No! Nooo... " She slid into the bed, wearing only a plain cotton hospital smock. Her arms circled him gently, hugging his warm body to her. She kissed his neck, his cheek, his lips, darting her tongue in between his teeth.

"No, no, I'm not even a man any more! No legs... don't waste yourself!"

"Oh Fred, don't give up," she whispered. Her hands ran over his back, stroking the skin. His mouth touched her breast as she quickly drew the smock over her head and tucked it under the blankets. Her hand travelled down to his genitals and encountered the stiff, hard rod she had known so well that night, long ago!

"So," she said, "you're more of a man than you think!"

His mouth eagerly sought her breast, her tummy, the rich nest of hair between her legs. His hands cupped the luscious breasts, kneading the tender flesh while his thumbs teased the rigid, upturned nipples. His mouth pressed against her cunt, stimulating the flow of her libidinous juices.

She loved him in return all over his body until he was in a frenzy of desire.

"I want you, Fred! I want you to fuck me! I know you can do it! You're more of a man than anyone I know, with or without your legs! Be with me, Fred! Take me!" She pulled him up over her, guiding the erect nozzle of his penis into her eagerly waiting passage. His spine whipped up and down, driving the rod into her.

"Oh yes, Fred, yes! Oh that's so good, soooo gooooood... " Fred's mutilated body thrashed wildly like a trout on a line, stabbing into Rosemary's womb with its projecting cock. Her cuntal walls tightened around it, her hands pressed the hard cheeks of his buttocks firmly down between her hot thighs, and she cradled his body to keep it from slipping off her pulsing belly. The two jounced against each other, eager to join their bodies in an overwhelming climax!

"Oh, don't stop! Don't stop! Give it to me, Fred! Oh darling, you're so strong! Fuck me harder, Fred! Harder! Oh, oh, ooooh AAAAAH!" she moaned, trying to keep her voice under control, not to wake the other ward patients.

She wanted to scream with delight as Fred thrust deeper and deeper, and thrust again! He pierced Rosemary far into the tight passageway of her pussy. Her vaginal muscles contracted, wrapping themselves close around the intruding cod, spurring it and urging it to greater efforts.

Fred forgot the stumps, forgot the hospital. This was real! He was back in the bunker that night again, pot-high and sexy! His arms grappled Rosemary's back and pulled him forward into her. his spine doing the work that the legs had done of propelling him into a woman. This wonderful, beautiful girl had seen him once and loved him. He knew he could never be jealous of that night in Vietnam - not when her love extended to people he would have gladly died for!

And Rosemary thought: Here is a man I can care for, someone who will love me and need me! We can make it, we can!

The two bodies, hot with their newly rediscovered love, merged and shuddered into each other, Fred's hot, pulsing stream of seed spurting into Rosemary's warm, moist, receiving womb.

"Oh God, make me pregnant!" she prayed. "Fred, make me pregnant!". And then the tears Soldiers' Girl scalded her eyes as she knew, with a woman's intuition, that things would be better for her son... she would see to that.


The End
