Abducted On Vacation
by Julie Howard
(FPS-148)


INTRODUCTION ABDUCTED ON VACATION is the story of four people-two 
couples-who leave the raucous night life of Los Angeles for a quiet, 
mellowing vacation on a beach in Big Sur. Carla and Paul, Mae and Chet. The 
first is a sophisticated beauty, engaged to the second, a Hollywood talent 
agent whose hard-driving energy and lofty ambitions with work and women 
often get him into trouble with the first. Third is leggy Mae, a blonde with 
a body that won't quit. Once, not long ago, she was Paul's lover. 
Occupation: Model for nude sex magazines. Hobby: Sex ... and her own style 
of game playing. Fourth is Chet, an independently wealthy man, deeply in 
love with Mae, but frustration over her recurrent amours drives him to find 
solace in the bottle. 

The foursome weave a web of self-inflicted impossible jealousies, 
spitefulness and vengefulness that can only lead to disaster. 

The disaster comes in the form of two war veterans, who, deformed and maimed 
by a hand grenade tossed by Viet Cong women posing as prostitutes, leaves 
them bitter outcasts of society. 

Together the six create a story of intrigue, violence and bleeding emotions 
that will entertain anyone with a thirst for the macabre, and a taste for 
lust in its darkest forms. 


PROLOGUE 

Ocean fog moved sinuously as it hugged the jagged mountain tops and 
smothered the Pacific coastline in a protective blanket. The scene was 
placid and serene with the crash of rising tide splattering white caps 
against the rock boulders, brining the air with saltiness and a damp chill 
that cut through to the bone. 

A female camper lay snugly in the goosedown flaps of her sleeping bag, fresh 
from Los Angeles, a devotee of the idea that the ocean is a healing place. 
There exists, too, the element of adventure within her. Alone she has come 
to face the elements and to forget-a broken relationship. Here at the ocean 
she can think, ponder on the meaning of it. Sleeping now, dreams flitter 
through the subconscious. In the pine grove skirting the sandy beach, rested 
her backpack, a pair of hiking boots neatly ready for the morning. 

A twig snapped behind her. Footsteps sinking silently into the humus earth. 
She sleeps on, undisturbed. Somewhere in the night a knife is drawn from its 
sheath. Footsteps, frenzied and rushed ... down on all fours, creeping from 
tree to tree like a guerilla warrior waiting in ambush for its prey. 

A scream rents the air ... a knife jabbed into the soft flesh of a female 
neck. Terrified eyes open to stare into the scarred features. Another scream 
of horror and fear. Fighting, kicking, screaming, tearing loose of the four 
hands pinning her to the ground. Tom from the warm cocoon of her sleeping 
bag, heels dragging over the tide-wetted sands for the rock outcropping 
where waves splash in chilling fingers washing far up on shore. The panting, 
adrenalin-powered body is dumped in the sand near a cave. More screams, 
muffled by a briny hand clamped over fear-quivering lips, while more hands, 
hungry, murderous hands tear at her clothing, ripping modesty from her 
shivering body. Knife to the throat while men step out of their clothes. 

Short man, sniveling with lustful rage, drops to his knees, pinning his 
victim to the sand. Nakedly, he straddles her breasts, quivering and 
goosebumped. He kneads them in his hands, flesh oozing between his fingers. 
He mauls the nipples, bites them between his teeth. Chews them until she 
nearly faints in agony. 

Then she sees it ... the ugly stump dangling between his legs. 

"Noooo!" 

A hand whacks across her cheeks, stunning her. Her nostrils flare with the 
musky, unwashed scent of him. She feels the rubbery tube drub at her lips, 
rubbing over her soft lips with a disgust that fills her with dread stronger 
than death. Rearing up on his haunches he forces it between her teeth. She 
spits, sputters, refuses to let him have his way with her. 

Angered, outraged, he jabs his dirty finger in her mouth, trying to pry open 
her lips. Strong jaws clamp shut, biting his finger. Another whack across 
the cheek. Legs kick and thrash. Second man holds her ankles in his steely 
grip, while rapist and the raped struggle for dominance. 

Clamping shut her teeth, she refused to accommodate him. Fingers pinch her 
nostrils until she is forced to open her mouth for air. It slips in, that 
musky tasting tube of flesh, violating her mouth. 

"Noooo-!" 

No one hears her cries in the deserted, damp cave. The threat of death 
hovers over her, the dark shadow. Stronger is the fear of defilement. 

Nausea chokes her, and in a final struggle, she bites hard on the stubby 
flap of flesh. 

"AAAAEEEE ... " Softens in the foggy air as the knife plunges into her 
chest, slicing through her breasts. The mouth opens in a dying moan of agony 
and death. The rubbery tube slips from between her lips. 

Somewhere in the Pacific ocean a bleeding, naked female body floats with the 
flotsam, to beach somewhere between the rocks. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Deep brown eyes, wide set and feathered by spidery lashes, squinted through 
rose-tinted sunglasses perched on a high cheek-boned face. Carla tucked 
auburn waist-length hair behind her shell-like ear, and shivered. "Look! 
There's our turn-off. It's got to lead to the beach!" Her voice strained 
above the heated growl of Paul's MG convertible. 

The California five o'clock sun hung like a fireball on the western slope of 
a jagged Big Sur mountain framing the backdrop of Pieffer Park. If they 
wanted to find a camping spot on the beach, decisions must be fast in the 
making. 

That came easily to Paul, a self-starting music promoter from Venice, 
California. The MG fairly spun on its rear wheels in a tight left-hand turn 
following the hand signal of his fianc'e's red polished fingertip. Out of 
the corner of his eye, an ever-alert blue one caught the braless jiggle of 
Carla's breasts hugged tight in a red and white striped jersey that hugged 
her milky mounds caressingly ... as his hands were aching to! 

Slowing long enough to shift from second to first gear, he glowered at a "No 
Trespassing" sign hung by a two-penny nail to a dusty pine tree at the fork 
of the road dividing public property from private. Such signs offered little 
deterrence to city campers who'd come for a noiseless night under the stars 
and an open vista unto the vast Pacific, rugged and mean as a Sumo wrestler 
here in untamed Big Sur. 

Dust billowed like dragon breath as Paul played the steering wheel like a 
child driving bumper cars over the eroded pot holes leading from Highway One 
to a veritable cow trail winding hopefully toward the beach. Paul squinted 
over the car hood, suddenly aware of a lack of tire tracks. "Doesn't look 
like anybody's been on this road for a while! Maybe we're in luck!" 

Overhead wisps of fog charged off the ocean, dissipating in the mid-August 
air, leaving the distant mountains to glow orange in the last few hours of 
sunlight. The air became tangibly moist ... balmy, like the chilled lining 
of a damp rain coat. 

Two miles westward, judged by the meter, the rugged road opened onto the 
gray Pacific. Through low hanging tree boughs, they could see choppy, 
high-tide waters washing up on the yellow-lighted beach in warm streaks of 
summer sun. Four eyes scoured the shoreline for campers. Nothing moved on 
the beach save for entangled seaweed and kelp, washing up on the beach like 
a woman's hair. The solemnity was eerie, too definitive to be comfortable 
for those accustomed to the raucous Los Angeles night life that ages men 
like Paul well beyond his years-if he's not careful. 

Carla shivered and swung around to rummage under the backpacks and camping 
gear for a heavy knit sweater. She shot Paul a quick, disconcerting glance 
as he braked thirty yards from the beach and clung to the leather-covered 
steering wheel, searching the beach mesmerically with the unspoken sensation 
that despite its purity, this was no virgin beach. Now why would I think 
that? 

"What's the matter?" Carla caught a flicker of in-decisiveness behind his 
amber-colored sunglasses. 

"Nothing ... I was just wondering why Chet didn't beat us here." He made 
small talk, pushing aside the disquieting premonitions. 

"I could tell you why!" She cast her fiance a knowing look. He shrugged 
acknowledgingly. "You don't think we'll get in trouble for camping here, do 
you?" 

"Naw. But I wish I knew who owned this property." Paul hung his sun-glasses 
on the mirror where they dangled, shooting prisms of light in the 
leather-interior convertible. 

"I'm freezing!" Carla shivered, anxious to peel out of her shorts and into 
warmer and more modest attire. "Let's get settled before they get here." She 
rolled her eyes heavenward, a gesture which Paul chose to neglect. 

Paul hopped over the car door and took off for the windswept forest of 
storm-bent pine offering a windbreak from the roaring ocean. He searched for 
a dry patch of even ground to set up camp for the weekend. No one heard the 
whine of his zipper as, with back to the car, he urinated into the marshy 
spring-fed ground trickling toward the Pacific. His eyes roamed over the 
pine-needled ground, surprisingly clear of litter which mars most California 
beaches. Maybe the owner was one of those fanatics, he surmised, his mind 
ticking away at breakneck speed reluctant to shed city pressures for the 
slower pace of nature's subtleties. Poor old bastard probably comes out here 
every night with a plastic bag to clean up the beach. 

"Hey, Paul!" Carla cupped her delicate hands to her mouth. "Come here!" 
Through the low-hanging boughs Paul caught the slender figure of his fianc'e 
gesturing wildly. He yanked up his zipper and dug the heels of his lizard 
cowboy boots into the damp sand, reminding himself to change into his old 
tennies before he ruined his city stompers. 

Ocean breezes tossed Carla's auburn hair about her shoulders wildly, 
curtaining her lovely aristocratic face. She pointed to a leaning pine tree 
supporting a back pack with attached sleeping bag. Beside it sat a Coleman 
cooler. "Looks like we have company, sure you want to stay here?" 

Paul scoured the beach with his eyes. With intent deliberation, he reached 
down ran his fingers over the backpack. "It's damp, almost molded, like it's 
been here awhile." 

"Don't be silly! Who would run off and leave their backpack and God knows 
how much a cooler like that costs. Sixty dollars maybe!" She watched concern 
furrow his brow and, noting this, he hastily lightened his attitude. 

"You're right. I don't mind sharing the beach if you don't." He swung his 
arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest and kissed her 
forehead. "I wish we would be alone all weekend, you and me." He breathed 
deeply, pulling balmy air into his city-polluted lungs. "God, it feels great 
being off Hollywood and Vine!" Holding her at arms length, he tucked an 
obdurate strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes fastening on the gold 
earring sprinkled with sunlight. "It wasn't my idea that Mae and Chet come 
along." He jerked his head and shrugged his shoulders innocently. "You know 
what happens when you have a couple drinks and start making plans you can't 
back out of." 

Carla turned her face from him. He waited for the shy smile of acceptance 
that he had grown to love. None came. Clearly, she was troubled ... about 
more than sharing the beach with unseen strangers!" 

"Hey, what's the matter?" he questioned, knowing very well the cause of her 
discontent. "You're not- having it, are you?" Paul sighed with self-pity. 
Nothing worse than going camping with a woman at that time of the month. 
Carla could get awfully out of sorts ... downright bitchy and he needed her 
vibrance and acceptance this weekend, with his outrageously sexy ex-girl 
friend strutting her bikini-clad body on the beach. 

And Mae would do just that with biting deliberation. He needed Carla to be 
competitive this weekend, strut her stuff too, instead of withering in the 
shadows. He didn't want Mae to beat Carla at her own game and, unless Carla 
opened her myopic eyes, that was inevitable. 

Carla pulled loose of his clutch. "No that's not the problem ... " And 
emotionless expression was plastered painfully on her face. 

"It's Mae, isn't it? You hate the idea of spending the weekend with Chet and 
Mae, don't you?" More than a suggestion, it was an accusation and Paul was 
smart enough to realize that. He tried to camouflage the caustic sting in 
his voice, but it was too late. 

Narcissistically, Carla studied a chip in her red nail polish blemishing her 
thumb. "It seems a little weird, don't you agree?" Now she lifted her 
chiseled features, aristocratic and arrogant enough to be snobbishly 
alluring, a characteristic which had caught Paul's eye that night in the 
club. "Mae being an old client or yours, not to mention near-wife!" Her 
normally sweet voice was sour with borderline bitterness. "Not to mention 
the fact that she's treated me like dirt since you dumped her and started 
dating me!" 

This again ... Paul raked fingers through his dark curly hair and turned a 
disgruntled profile to his fianc'e, choosing instead the white-capped waves 
crashing over boulders as his point of reference. His teeth ground together, 
rippling the strong line of his square jaw. 

Feminine jealousy, dangerous and predatory as a mountain lion. Black 
vibrations, ill meaning and dangerously well targeted. This was going to be 
one unjoyous weekend, if she kept this up. Christ, he'd rather be sitting at 
his littered desk with a telephone receiver cradled on each shoulder, 
fingers punching at his calculator, struggling to make a buck ... than step 
between two feisty human cats. 

He spun around, the cowboy heels of his lizard boots digging into the damp 
sand. "That was last year, honey ... this is now. N-O-W." He spelled it out 
for her, shaking her gently by the shoulders. "Come on ..." he grabbed her 
cold hand, squeezing it in his warm one. "Let's set up camp ... some place 
off by ourselves. I want you all to myself, understand?" 

They unloaded the back seat and, parking the car safely under a grove of 
trees to avoid chipping the paint in case of blowing sand, Paul returned 
with a wine bottle tucked under his arm. He settled good-naturedly on the 
space blanket covered with zipped together sleeping bags splayed open and 
opened the bottle. 

"Sorry I don't have a crystal goblet for my sweet," he apologized. "If you 
don't mind sharing germs ..." He handed her the bottle in a gesture as 
polite as Paul himself. 

That toothy, well meaning grin on his handsome, tanned face, so self-assured 
and well meaning cut through the ice, tearing a warm smile of familiarity 
from Carla. The wind whispered through her hair tumbling about the bulky 
white Shetland wool sweater gave her a childish grace that no sour mood 
could curdle. 

The anxiety of coming face to face with the woman who had been in her place 
the year before faded in the deepening orange sunlight as the sun hung 
precariously on the horizon. The lingering dread of spending a weekend 
struggling to keep pace with Mae's high-strung energy and near nymphomaniac 
cravings, thickened in her veins. Mae and Carla had been acquaintances; 
indeed, the blonde-haired striving movie star and entertainer had introduced 
the two at a Hollywood party. 

I'm being a child, Carla rebuked herself moodily as she lifted her lips to 
the bottle of California burgundy and upended it thirstily. I can't let 
myself fall into a bad mood because Chet 's only going to let her win! And 
with a prize like Paul Baxford, it was a race worth running! 

Still her heart beat a bit faster at her mind's eye image of Mae-her 
waist-length blonde shimmering hair and snappy blue eyes. And a body that 
wouldn't quit! She'd carefully fashioned herself after the 'Charlie's 
Angels' look. Leggy, slender hipped, generously buxom ... that was Mae and 
she wouldn't let you stop looking at her. Now for a weekend of feigned 
smiles and phony endearments. Not that she harbored any ill feelings against 
Chet. Oh, he was innocent enough. He had his hands full, keeping up with 
Mae. And to be realistic about it, Paul didn't have to pursue the idea of 
them going camping for a weekend. Lord knows, he'd used the excuse of having 
to work seven days a shot before. 

Not that Paul and Chet were close friends, either; though Paul had Voiced a 
concern for the ne'er-do-well acquaintance who turned to alcohol to the 
extreme of late. The 'of late' being the start of his relationship with the 
illustrious would-be movie star. 

Or was Paul's enthusiasm based on a deeper, more selfish concern-like 
cleansing his soul of the blonde-haired extrovert? wondered Carla, feeling 
the suspicions prick at her insides. Coincidental with the time Carla had 
met Paul, was Mae's sudden attraction for Chet, with his inherited Malibu 
Beach-front property and motorcycles and vans. A man who need not work has 
plenty of time for a woman, and Carla guessed that might be the case. Oh, 
this was a silly game of Hollywood Squares! she thought with bitter 
amusement. All the ifs and what thens were mind-boggling. 

"Wonder what happened to them?" she quipped, catching his noncommittal 
expression out of the corner of her wary eye as she handed him the wine 
bottle. 

"Like you say, they probably stopped in Big Sur for a quick one. I hear 
Chefs been hitting the bottle pretty heavy lately. It's his new drug." 

"And yours?" she quipped. 

"Need you ask?" Resting the wine bottle in a pine-needle bed, he playfully 
grabbed Carla's Levi pant leg and tugged her in his direction until she 
tumbled on the goosedown bed into his lap. "You ask too many questions ... 
get your tight little buns over here!" 

"Oh, you ..." tutted Carla, knowing what was coming next. One thing about 
Paul: he was predictable when it came to sex. Once he got that glimmer in 
his blue eyes, that was it. Only one thing could extinguish it. 

His masculine arms were around her, warming her from the ocean breezes 
growing more nippy with growing darkness. Flapping the sleeping bag over 
them, he kicked off his cowboy boots, set them protectively against the 
backpack, and, beside her in a kneeling position, he peeled down the tight, 
faded Levi's clinging to his muscular frame. In a second, back to the ocean, 
he was naked from the waist down. "You're gorgeous, you know that ..." he 
murmured, slowly lowering his hands to feet off her heavy wool sweater. 

"I'm freezing!" she complained, feeling her nipples harden from the 
soft-fingered touch she'd learned to associate with love. With them it was 
love, passionate love ... not senseless lust that propelled women like Mae 
to carouse in singles bars and discos, finding new toys for a night's 
pleasure. He worked at the zipper of her Levi's then, stripping them down to 
her knees and lifting each foot in turn to unlace her tennis shoes until her 
wool socks and skimpy T-shirt were her only protection against the cold. 

She shivered ... that old jealousy again. "I don't want you to compare me to 
her," she let burst unchecked. "You know what I mean? I couldn't stand to 
have you-" 

"Come on, let's not start on that, Carla! I love you, you know that!" He 
eased her down in the sleeping bag, while the low-hanging pine boughs 
dipped' like green fingers overhead and the ocean's breezes sang a 
passionate song for them. His warm hands roamed over her firm breasts, 
tweaking her nipples under the skimpy protection of her T-shirt. 

He had never stopped marveling at her beauty, high cheeked, almost arrogant 
in a touch-me-not sort of way. Shy, too, in the way she submitted to him, as 
though she was a virgin every time, as if he was the only man on God's green 
earth who could arouse her to where passion overwhelmed reluctance. And he 
was the only man! Of that he could bet a million dollars. He looked down at 
her now, smiling, while his hands kneaded the soft, tempting nakedness of 
her breasts. 

A gush of emotion warmed Carla. Oh, she needed him to want her ... needed 
his love as a reassurance that she was the only woman for him. Not Mae, not 
any of the slender, bosomy models and would-be-actresses who clung to his 
arm the second he let the word 'talent agent' spill from his lips. Oh, how 
some of those cheap women would fall over him ... promising him any carnal 
pleasure for the promise of listening to a pro-tape. How cheap some women 
made love! 

"Paul ... love me ... love me!" she pleaded, desperately. Insecurity stoked 
need. To feel him deep inside of her would integrate mind and body ... and 
with anticipation of Mae's sashaying bikini-clad body for the next 
forty-eight hours, Lord only knew she needed it! 

Paul's eyes lowered to the curls of auburn fleece peeking out around the 
tight legband of her black bikini panties. His cock leaped for joy, blood 
fed and pointing skyward. He arched his groin, moving his hardened shaft up 
and down over the bowl of her soft belly, dipping into the jewel of her 
navel teasingly. He was on his knees, she sitting up. He groaned, feeling 
the heat of sexual fire raging like an inferno inside his lust-bloated penis 
and sperm-heavy balls. 

Leaning back, his cock sprang up, leaping toward her breasts. For a moment, 
with the wind brushing his hair, he shut his eyes and let remembrance of 
Mae's tantalizing lips play in his passion-filled brain. God, how that woman 
had loved to suck cock! She had a technique that would make Xaviera 
Hollander seem like Pollyanna! He groaned from deep in his chest and slid up 
on the sleeping bag, angling his mushroom-tipped cock so that his brushed 
against Carla's dimpled chin. 

His hand snaked along the down of the sleeping bag while his mind clung 
tightly, possessively to the lusty images of Mae's blood-red Marilyn Monroe 
lips ovalled around the head of his cock. Jesus, he had to admit, he hadn't 
had a gonad-crunching experience to match Mae's fervent suckings for a long 
while. Too long. God, help me, but I'm going to try ... 

"Kiss me ... honey, kiss me there!" His hardened prick was a dribble away 
from her ruby lips. She need only to bend her head a few degrees and her 
mouth would be closed over the throbbing tip of his sensitive cock-head. 

Carla shuddered, and not from the cold. "No ... no ... not that, honey! You 
know I don't like ... oh, please, let's not fight about that now!" She 
turned her face to the side, her features contorted in a worried look of 
revulsion as if to kiss him, to suck his penis in the velvety moistness of 
her mouth, was a foul, bitter thing to do. "Please ... just put it inside 
me," she whispered pleadingly. She moved forward, her arms encircling his 
head and pulling him downwards, full length along the warming pad of the 
sleeping bag. "I know you want me to ... but after we're married ... then 
I'll learn to." 

Learn to? his mind raged. She should want to ... to please him, if not 
herself. 

As always, the female won the war of do-nots and as always the urgent and 
gut-wrenching desire to feel his lover's delicate, soft, warm mouth close 
around his prick died like the fading sun. The image of her mewling and 
crooning as he spurted his white-hot sperm into her delicate throat vanished 
like fog on a summer's day. This was the one flaw in their otherwise-perfect 
relationship. 

He held her tight, feeling her warm body undulate against his body, her 
softness grinding into his hardness as she rubbed her belly against his 
pelvis until her refusal was accepted and disappointment momentarily buried. 

"Oh, honey ..." she read the grief on his face, the tight-lipped expression 
of doubt, a doubt of his fianc'e's sensuality. She had to eradicate that! 
"Don't be mad a me, honey. I need you inside of me so bad. You and me and 
the ocean," she whispered seductively, tearing his mind from his unholy 
desire. 

"Yes ..." he heard himself acquiesce, shouting above his disbelieving 
libido, too many times quelled by need to keep the relationship moving on a 
smooth track. He drew her close to him, moved one hand down to cup the 
smooth curves of her buttocks tightly clad in black panties. 

Carla glued her sweet-tasting, wine-scented mouth to his, darting her pink 
tongue in and out and along his even, white teeth, and then brazenly moved 
her hand down to grasp his throbbing penis in her hot fist. The sudden 
contact made him shiver, and he pressed his lips harder against hers to show 
his appreciation. The full length of her satiny, wind-chilled body ground 
and pushed, and then she spread her legs and thighs wide and hooking her 
thumbs in the elastic of her bikini panties, peeled them down. The moisture 
of her desire was evident. Paul's eyes descended to the pouting pussy mound 
where the crotch band of her skimpy bikinis was glued to the swollen, ragged 
lips of her cunt. A tiny wet spot attested to her passion. His penis beat 
like a separate heart. 

Worming out of her panties, the cool ocean breezes played over the hot lips 
of her womb, wafting the auburn curls, long and silken like prairie wind 
over ripened wheat. "Give it to me, Paul!" 

What man wouldn't? He lunged, his hips thrusting heavily as he drove into 
her like a pearl diver into aqua waters. He felt her fevered, pulsating cunt 
greedily clasp and milk him. She wanted all of him today, and Paul was ready 
to give it! Whatever it was that sparked this sudden wantonness, he wasn't 
questioning it; deep in his consciousness, the idea percolated that maybe it 
had something to do with Mae. He couldn't understand this insecurity over 
Mae, and didn't try now, not with her pussy pushed forward until the head of 
his cock was pressed hard against her spongy cervix, her motions squeezing 
into a muscle-spasming tempo. 

Carla held him tight, feeling the muscles ripple in his back as she slid her 
legs around his back and pulled him tight to her, locking her slender ankles 
around him possessively. Paul grunted, and fucked into his fianc'e with 
maniacal fury. Oh, God ... he gnashed his teeth. He wasn't going to last 
long at this pace! Sometimes they would make love for hours, but not today. 
The ocean's vast energy must have something to do with it, he mused. 

"Oh, Paul! Paul! You feel so good inside of me!" His voracious girl friend 
whimpered, kissing his neck and shoulders. "Yes ... that feels so good!" She 
babbled mindlessly ... which told Paul she was ready to cum. That was her 
sure-fire signal to let her have it! 

And let her have it he did! His balls smacked against her buttocks 
punishingly, keeping rhythm with the ocean's roar as wave after high-tide 
wave slapped against the boulders. Her knees drew up as she raised herself 
higher off the sleeping bag until her buttocks were waving in the air and 
her moistly opened cunt bucked wildly back against his ramming penis. 

"Ohhhh ... ohhh gooood dddd ddddl," she moaned out as if being strangled. 
"I'm ... I ... I'm going to-" With a deep-throated groan, Carla erupted 
beneath her lover's hard-pounding prick. 

Paul threw back his head as if someone were holding a knife to his throat 
and groaned into the wind, the whispering pines absorbing his lusty cries. 
His cum churned through his swollen testicles and up his penile shaft, 
bursting through the unseeing eye to flood her hungrily milking cunt. Spurt 
after scalding spurt shot through that hole and into hers until at last he 
collapsed, a sigh of contentment mingling with her mewlings of satiation. 

Sanity returned, and Paul edged his body off his girl friend and rolled 
over. Panting with contentment, she lay on her back, staring up at the 
striated feathery clouds in the sky that looked pregnant and tropical from 
the orange splash of the setting sun. God, if only she and Paul had the 
weekend alone ... 

Her head popped upward. Amidst a billow of dust, a burgundy van with desert 
scenes painted on the sides zoomed toward the beach, the tape deck screaming 
out a Rolling Stones tune. 

They scrambled for their clothes. Carla yanked up her Levi's just as the 
inebriated twosome hopped out of their van. 

"Here we go ..." moaned Carla to the wind. "Forty-eight hours of her!" 

 CHAPTER TWO 

The ocean roared like blood singing in a jealous lover's ears. A safe 
distance between the crisp pine-needled forest floor and the frothing tide, 
a fire crackled under a hard, moonlight sky. Flickering tongues of fire 
lapped at dried branches, spitting sappily. Four figures sat on the 
makeshift bench of driftwood. The coals glowed red around the 
aluminum-foil-wrapped hamburgers. It was to be a simple meal. 

"This is fan-tas-tic!" gushed Mae, the firelight playing goldenly over the 
shimmering ponytail hanging sensually over one shoulder, the end curl 
strategically dipping about the puffiness of her right nipple immodestly 
poking through the thin T-shirt she wore. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously 
from face to face, resting on Paul's tanned features. "Don't you think so, 
Paul? It was so kind of you to invite us along ..." Her voice dripped like 
honey, felt like imaginary fingers playing over the softness of Paul's 
testicles. 

Stop thinking like that! he rebuked himself silently, taking a swig from the 
communal wine bottle and wiping a burgundy dribble from his cleft chin. 
Around the phallic glass he eyed her staring at him with her baby blue 
pleading eyes. Jesus, Mae could talk with her eyes ... she didn't need a 
mouth. Well, except for sucking ... the sweet little bitch! Paul's cheeks 
flushed, and it wasn't from the fire that Chet, down on his knees, poked at 
with a charred stick. Surreptitiously his eyes roamed from her baby-faced 
features, far softer but less sophisticated than Carla's, down to the 
fullness of her swollen breasts pressed tightly against a promotion T-shirt 
he'd given her a year ago. She wore it for a reason ... she won't let me go! 
Down to her nipped-in Scarlet O'Hara waist to slender hips and thighs. A 
model's body without challenge! Paul's throat went tight, guilt choking him. 

Sensing her ex-lover's curious stare, Mae shot him a made-to-order 
cheesecake grin and arched her back, pressing the hardened nubs of her 
nipples so tight to the cotton jersey, he was shocked they didn't burn holes 
in it! She wore a pair of cut-off Levi's; dear God, he'd seen more modest 
bikinis. 

"Did Chet tell you Playboy called me for an interview?" she giggled, batting 
spidery eyelashes. A hand flew to her chest, fingers spread. "Really, can 
you see Mae in a Playboy centerfold? It's too much!" 

Paul offered a tittering laugh, bordering on nervousness. Beside him Carla 
sat taciturn and cold, hunkering down in her bulky sweater like a baby 
swathed in blankets. It would help if she opened her mouth and involved 
herself in the conversation, he thought somewhat bitterly, instead of 
leaving him to carry the ball. If Mae made a play for him, Carla had only 
herself to blame. Then of course it would help if Chet would lay off the 
bottle of Southern Comfort he hoarded beside the driftwood log. 

"Might be just the break you need, Mae. Maybe you've got talents we don't 
know about!" he added innocently. Beside him he could sense Carla stiffen. 
Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he'd seen her upper lip curl. 

"If anybody knows about my talents, it's you, Paul ..." she purred, her 
golden thighs shimmering in the firelight. "You are a talent agent, after 
all ..." 

"I'm a promoter, not a talent agent," he reminded her firmly, more for 
Carla's sake than his own. "You have to have tal-" The words stuck in his 
throat like bad meat as the willowy blonde slowly spread her sleek thighs to 
warm her legs. 

Paul squinted, grew nervous, as his eyes fastened on the impossibly tiny 
crotchband of her cut-off Levi's! Dear God, he could see the blonde pussy 
curls entangled around that flimsy strip of denim! He'd seen more modestly 
dressed Playboy centerfolds. He gnashed his teeth. Why was she tormenting 
him? Didn't she realize he and Carla were engaged to be married? The feel of 
a snake crawling up his spine made him stiffen. Christ, forgive him, but he 
wanted to climb off that log and inch hands and knees to force his way 
between those luscious thighs and feast on the sweetness of her juicy 
sensuality. One year ago, he would have ... did, in fact, many times. A 
fluttering in his chest reminded him of days when Mae would sneak into his 
office and kneel on her haunches; her raspberry polished fingertips would 
haul down his pants and up would spring his prick. He'd sit at his desk 
making business calls, while Mae sucked his cock. Wasn't good for the pocket 
book, but damn what it did for his libido! 

That was then and this was N-O-W, just as he'd spelled it out for Carla in 
an effort to waylay her fears. 

Who was afraid ... he or Carla? 

A fleeting turn of his head caught a cold, accusing brown eye curtaining 
with softly blowing auburn hair. With emotional survival his driving force, 
he turned to peck his fianc'e on the cheek, his warm lips branding her cold 
flesh. Abruptly he fell to his knees before the fire and jabbed at the 
smoldering flames, hoping to God nobody had seen the growing bulge in his 
pants. 

"Wanna hit a Comfort?" It was Chet talking thick tongued and obviously 
inebriated 

Gratefully, Paul accepted the half-empty, preciously proffered bottle. 
Carla's eyes shifted from the fire to the orange-splashed features of Chet 
Duran. A good looking, roughneck type, she surmised. Premature age lines 
were etched about his soft dark eyes. Such a pity, she thought, what a waste 
of humanity. In his pre-Mae days he been a prime competitor for Paul, 
another hard-hitting promoter out to make his million on the abundant 
Hollywood talent. Now he'd lost it to the bottle. She wondered if he 
realized that. 

Rubbing her hands together to warm them with the friction of her own skin, 
Carla watched her boyfriend unwrap a corner of the foil to check the 
hamburgers. He was clumsy, unstable ... unusual for the sure-foot, nimble 
fingered entrepreneur. And she knew why! 

Carla shivered on the log, feeling like the beauty pageant loser as the 
tiaraed queen sat on her driftwood throne, directing the show with 
calculated if not exaggerated gestures which to mature men would appear 
laughable. Certainly Paul had sensed her aloofness, and had Mae been able to 
drag her blue eyes off Paul long enough she would have seen the flinty 
stop-this-nonsense look in her chocolate eyes. How women could be so 
deliberately cruel to each other was heartbreakingly astonishing! 

Carla's eyes shot back to Chet, a softening wane of empathy smoothing the 
rough edges of insecurity. No wonder the man never spoke, except to offer 
his alcohol. Mae did the talking for everybody. She was the writer, the 
director, the actress for a one-man sex circus ... and Paul the great judge 
of talent, was eating it up! Chet had the answer, thought Carla, watching 
him tip the near-empty Southern Comfort bottle to his lips and drag a 
cigarette from the crinkled pack in his shirt pocket, incognizant of his 
girl friend who was spreading her legs a foot from Paul's face! Carla sucked 
in her breath then, catching the first naughty glimpse of Mae's proferred 
pubis. No wonder Paul had fallen to his knees and feigned concern over the 
hamburgers! 

Forty more hours of agony, thought Carla in hot-blooded dejection and 
flushing anger. 

The evening passed tensely. They ate their overcooked hamburgers in near 
silence, punctuated by Mae's abundant, chimey laughter as she and Paul 
filled the silence with one-line jokes. Chefs hiccoughs served a background 
music while Carla glowered from the sidelines. The time for bed came at last 
when Chet slumped drunkenly on the sand. That, judged Carla, was the first 
time Paul used his brain all night! 

"Let's hit the sack, Carla ..." They headed for the wind-chilled down 
sleeping bags awaiting them under the pine trees. Brooding moodily, Carla 
kicked off her tennis shoes and slipped into the icy, damp sleeping bag, 
anxious to yank the zipper up to her throat and forget about the x-rated 
soap opera. 

"No hug, no kiss? What's this?" demanded Paul. It was obvious he'd had his 
share of the Southern Comfort. He fell to the ground on his knees next to 
Carla. She turned a cold back to him. "Hey ... snap out of it!" he goaded, 
knowing he was in for it if Carla had seen him peeking between Mae's golden 
thighs. The suave, gentlemanly demeanor hardened now as one arm on either 
side of his girl friend's head, he grated down at her, attempting to roll 
her over onto her back and discuss the matter. 

"Let me sleep, Paul." 

"Not until you've told me why you're withdrawing into your tight, little 
shell." His voice was cold as the ocean breezes. 

Carla shot upright, her auburn hair flaming in the moonlight. A venomous 
stare narrowed her wide brown eyes. "If you don't have the brains to figure 
it out you're more ignorant than I thought! You get down on your knees and 
toy around with the fire with your eyes fastened on another woman's 
genitals-and you ask me why I'm uptight! Huh!" Her upper lip curled with 
disgust for his behavior and her own jealousy. "Why don't you go sleep with 
your Hollywood Barbie doll and leave me in peace!" 

"Oh, for Chrissakes, Carla," groaned Paul. "Give me a little credit, will 
you? Don't you know I love you?" He kneaded his way into the flaps of the 
cold sleeping bag and after a moment's struggle with the stuck zipper, he 
rolled over onto his side and stared towards the burgundy van parked a 
hundred feet away. Behind him, Carla's sobs whispered in accompaniment to 
the ocean's frothy roar and nippy night breezes. 

Utterly disgruntled, the promoter rolled over onto his back and cogitated on 
the veracity of his fianc'e's accusations. Maybe she was right, maybe he was 
stupid for pursuing the idea of a camping trip together; but his reasoning 
had been fraternal and well intended. He'd hoped a weekend on the beach 
might help Chet dry out and open up his head to the possibility of going 
into business together. First Chet had to come to grips with his weakness 
that was slowly eating away at his brain. As for Carla's charge that he 
still wanted to sleep with the Hollywood Barbie doll, well ... he was 
innocent, wasn't he? If something happens spontaneously, free of 
deliberation, it was innocent and allowable, he decided. 

Damn, I had too much to drink. Southern Comfort and California burgundy were 
bad bed partners and he rolled over onto his side to snatch a bottle of 
Calistoga from the nearby cooler. His hand froze, fingers wrapped around the 
icy bottle. 

Behind him, he saw a flicker of light, as if someone were lighting a match. 
A cold shiver snaked down his spine. Twigs snapping. It's probably the 
hikers coming back to retrieve their backpack, he decided, flopping back 
into the sleeping bag. Yet ...I'm acting like a cowardly boy scout camped in 
my mother's backyard. 

Still he couldn't rid himself of paranoia. With little effort, he forced 
himself to concentrate on distraction. Hollywood Barbie doll ... that's kind 
of funny, actually, he chuckled to himself. Mae ... He visualized her 
all-American baby face on a poster, her rich swells and curves draped in a 
skimpy bikini showing the nubs of her swollen nipples ... her dripping wet 
like the Cheryl Tiegs poster. Hell, Mae's body's a helluva lot sender than 
that one ever thought of being ... maybe I was a fool for not promoting her. 
Every man in America's mouth would water for wanting to crawl between her 
legs. 

Carla's biting remark fled back to mind. "WHY DON'T YOU GO SLEEP WITH MAE?" 
Would he if the chance came? That was a question an honest man cannot answer 
... at least not with his fianc'e sleeping next to him. 

With a sigh of fatigue, he rolled over onto his other side, wishing he could 
cuddle up to Carla's warm body instead of hugging his own cold, bony knees. 
Abruptly, his head shot up. The metallic thud of a car hood slamming clanked 
above the ocean's heady roar. 

Probably Chet climbing out of his van to take a leak, he decided and fell 
asleep. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

High tide was in, thick morning fog blanketing the horizon creating a 
monochromatic picture. Paul stirred restlessly in his sleeping bag. Slowly 
his eyes pried open. The morning air was succulently moist and balmy, almost 
warm. Damn ... he had to urinate. Nothing like rousing yourself out of a 
warm sleeping bag, dig your feet into cold, wet sand and relieve yourself. 
Cautiously, he unzipped the sleeping bag, folded back the flap and stood up. 

He stretched his arms high over his head and arched . his back, then yawned. 
Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he headed for the grove of 
underground springs fifty yards from the burgundy van which, in the morning 
hours was misted with dew. It looked cold but strangely inviting. 

A metallic whine of the zipper and his cold fist dipped into his open fly to 
probe for the limp warm tube of his penis, semi-flaccid from a full bladder 
and morning erection. He yanked it out unceremoniously, feeling it jump to 
life in the morning air. An arc of spray puddled the ground. Satisfied, and 
still shivering, Paul reached down to tuck the flaccid worm back into the 
warm cave of his pants, when he heard a low, sexy wolf whistle from behind. 

Savagely, he glanced over his shoulder, startled. Defenses melted when he 
saw Mae standing there, draped in a goosedown coverlet the color of 
Caribbean skies. Her baby soft blonde hair hung in sexy snarls over her 
shoulders. Her rumpled appearance, he decided, feeling his cock lurch, was 
definitely intoxicating. 

"You haven't shrunk with age," she teased, her blue eyes dancing. 

Paul couldn't help but grin. "What are you doing up this time of morning?" 
His voice lowered to a whisper as he approached her, remembering that Carla 
was a whisper away. A jealous woman has a way of hearing everything. 

"Chet is drunker than a skunk. Lord, how he snores!" she complained, the 
dimples in her cheeks depending as she tutted. "Besides, I love to walk on 
the beach at sunrise. It's the most beautiful time of day." 

Paul studied her faraway expression as she turned her face to the ocean, and 
walked toward the water. The reversible tan and blue goosedown coverlet 
draped around her body ... God, was she really naked under that thing? ... 
was the perfect compliment to her perfection. The blue matched her eyes, the 
tan the ripened wheat tan of her slender legs now scissoring nakedly toward 
the water. Blonde hair was tossed recklessly in the breezes. He watched her 
throw back her head, close her eyes and breathe deeply for a long, silent 
moment. 

Something about this Mae, this beach-walking nature girl, was totally 
different from the sexpot, baby-talking girl she'd shown herself to be. 
Maybe there was more to her than fluff. For her sake, he hoped so. He felt a 
definite tightening in his pants and realized the morning semi-erection was 
a full-tilt hard-on. He followed the muse-like figure to a boulder 
out-cropping where the waves crashed in cold rhythm. She settled on the 
rock, blanket tucked about her, hugging her knees; he stood at her side. 

Slowly she turned her face to him. "Carla hates me, doesn't she?" she stated 
rather than asked. "She's very cold to me." The tone of her voice tied a 
knot in Paul's stomach. 

"It's not that she doesn't like you, Mae ... you haven't done anything to 
hurt her. You're a beautiful woman and you intimidate other women by your 
looks. It's an old recipe ... I've seen it plenty of times." He reached down 
studiously and plucked a bird-pecked sand dollar from its briny grave. 
"She's jealous of you ..." 

There it was out. 

Mae's head shot around. She surveyed his expression for a long moment. 
"Jealous of me?" she tittered. "But she's got you ... how can she be jealous 
of me?" 

Gently he stroked the dew-entangled blonde hair from her forehead. "That's 
women ... I work with them and I love them, but I still don't understand 
them." His hand dropped from her face after brushing her cheek with his 
fingers. 

Mae shook her head incredulously. "I don't understand why she would be 
jealous of me. What am I? Just a low-paid nude model for sexist magazines. 
What's there to be jealous of?" 

Paul's eyes descended lustfully to the swan-like neck and further down to 
the swell of her breasts feebly camouflaged by the coverlet tucked around 
her. The heavy fabric gaped at the neck, showing off the luscious tanned 
mounds of her breasts. She caught the smirk in his eyes. 

"It's only genetic. My mother had big breasts, too. No big deal." 

"I'd love to meet your mother," he blurted unchecked. 

Mae grinned her baby-faced smile that never failed to make his penis lurch. 
A nostalgic feeling of sadness settled over him unexpectedly. No amount of 
love for Carla could erase the erotic sensations this woman provoked within 
his male body. And her vibrance, if only Carla shared some of that 
bright-eyed, hip-swinging jubilation she wouldn't be moping around like a 
lost puppy. Still, there was no denying it, Carla was his woman. 

Dependable, level headed, moral, just the right amount of mother with a 
smattering of the child, made her the female for him. They fit together 
naturally, their personalities melded. Her rationale balanced his hyper 
craziness. It was right and fit ... but this was N-O-W and here ... and 
available. 

Paul's cock leaped in the cotton trap of his pants. He cast a searching 
glance over his shoulder, selfishly guarding the moment reserved for the two 
of them and the Pacific. 

"How's everything with Chet?" He skillfully changed the subject. 

Mae shrugged. "The usual ... he gets plastered every night ... and we fight 
about his drinking. I guess I might be too much for him." 

"You're a hell of a lot of woman, Mae. Aren't too many men have the 
machinery to keep up with you." 

"You did." She turned her baby blue eyes to him and let them linger over his 
face beguilingly. 

"And Chet?" 

"When he's sober he's a great lover ... one of the best. When he's drunk I 
might as well forget it. It's frustrating for a woman like me who's used to 
a lot of attention. You know how I like sex." 

"Yes, I know how you like sex." 

She winked up at him. "How 'bout it? Want to share my blanket with me?" 

How could he say no to that? He stiffened, trying to fight temptation, but 
the devil won in the end. He jerked his head toward the southern end of the 
beach. "Like to take a sunrise walk on the beach? We can pretend to act out 
"From Here to Eternity". 

"You're crazy!" she shivered, laughing. "It's too cold!" 

Like two colts, they ran toward the end of the beach toward a cove protected 
from the winds. The blanket flapped like butterfly wings around Mae's naked 
body. Out of breath, lungs burning, they reached the dry sandy spot and 
collapsed in giggles. 

Slowly, keeping her blue eyes peeled on his dark ones, she unwrapped the 
blanket from her naked body, shivering with goosebumps. "Want to share my 
blanket?" 

"How could I refuse?" 

They snuggled in the goosedown wrapper. Her naked golden thigh was like fire 
next to his denimed leg, and he wanted more than anything to crawl on top of 
her luscious flesh and make love to her like they used to-wildly, savagely, 
like a couple of untamed animals. Dear Lord, how good it would feel to knead 
the swollen mounds of her gorgeous breasts. And she had gorgeous breasts, 
the most gorgeous he'd ever seen. Firm and melonous with puffy pink nipples 
the color of doeskin. 

She stared into his eyes, reading his thoughts. "It's been too long, Paul 
... far too long. Carla is a lucky girl. But I need you." 

She slipped her raspberry polished fingertips in between the buttons of his 
shirt and teasingly brushed over the hairs of his chest. Below his belt, 
inside his pants, he could feel his cock stiffen like concrete hardening, up 
so hard through his jockey shorts that he honestly felt it might tear 
through. 

Mae's snappy eyes didn't fail to notice it, and she waited not an instant to 
take advantage of his male weakness. He was following her script perfectly. 
"I see Paulie misses his Mae," she murmured, taking her cue expertly, her 
hand settling on his wildly pulsating hardness with the jolting electricity 
of a blast of summer lightning. It felt like a million tiny pin-pricks all 
jabbing into him at once. Painful, yet deliriously so. He soon forgot about 
the cold and he forgot about Carla. The here and N-O-W mattered and that was 
all. 

Without another word, Mae pulled his zipper down slightly past the woolly 
patch of pubic hair on his belly, yanking it anxiously as it stalled near 
the end of the metal slide. His breath froze in his lungs as her fingers 
made maddening contact with the hardened shaft of his cock, and he was 
powerless to move, to speak. He did manage two cursory glances: one in the 
direction of the boulder behind which slept his fianc'e; the other toward 
the burgundy van where he hoped to God Chet didn't emerge. 

Finally, he regained a fraction of his composure. "Are you sure we should be 
doing this? I swore you off for Carla, you know. I don't like feeling like a 
guilty creep ... if they ..." 

Impishly, she pressed a raspberry fingertip to his lips, silencing him. 
"Shhhh ... this is for us." 

A chill rippled through him. Paul could barely believe it! He felt like an 
actor in some corny movie. Woman and man meet on beach make love ... huh, it 
was laughable! Both of them cheating ... CHEATING ... CHEATING ... CHEATING 
... 

He fought down the impulse to blame himself. Still, somehow it didn't seem 
quite proper. 

"If you're sure ..." He dipped his hand inside the cocoon of her blanket and 
noticed with a thrill that she was naked beneath. His hands slipped over her 
satiny flesh, luxuriating in the sleekness of her curves. Down to the warm 
curve of her buttocks slipped that hand. They were every bit as finely 
sculpted and firm as he remembered them and her lush young body was 
incredibly, sensuously, warm against him as if she were literally burning 
inside. She met his soft lips tenderly as her fingers closed tenderly around 
the thickly swollen hardness of his penis. Her lips gave in like a soft 
cushion, her tongue darted between his even white teeth. She crawled onto 
him, pushing him back onto the ground, at the same time easing the blanket 
beneath him for their bed. She crushed the length of her supple body against 
his and squirmed furiously against him before pulling away, mashing the 
globes of her warm, swollen breasts against his heaving chest. 

She slid over far enough to unwrap the blanket from her naked body, then sat 
back on her knees, the wind blowing her blonde hair from her angelic face, 
goosebumps polka-dotting her tanned breasts and softly bowled belly. God, it 
was a sight to make a man cry! thought Paul, totally enraptured. Beautiful 
body with the incipience of intelligence. No, not as bright and perceptive 
as Carla, more simple and girlish; this morning she had opened herself to 
him more than in the total three months they'd dated. Maybe someday her 
brain would catch up with her body, he thought. Right now, he didn't give a 
good goddamn about her brain. 

He noticed with a thrill that her lusciously smooth curves had filled out 
womanishly, richer and fuller, and her breasts were heavier, still 
exceptionally high and firm, her doeskin nipples deliriously erect in the 
cold morning air. The muscles in her thighs rippled pantherishly and the 
ridge of her hip bones showed ever so slightly into two tiny peaks. "Perfect 
hand holds," he said to himself, one at each side of the sparsely tufted 
patch of blonde angel-hair pussy curls beneath her flat belly. He thought 
about that warm beckoning crevice concealed up there between her ivory 
smooth legs and how fantastically wonderful it would feel to slip his 
lust-thickened cock into the hot liquid depths-warm and clinging like honey. 

He stripped off his clothes without hesitation and groped for her hungrily, 
gasping out loud at the surging touch of their two superheated bodies in the 
cold ocean breezes. Her hands searched down over his nakedly excited body, 
exploring all the muscular hollows, probing, caressing ... fondly 
re-acquainting herself with every inch of his sinewy, muscular maleness. His 
erect, pulsing penis snapped up between her cozy thighs as they ground 
together, and he let it rest there, beating, brushing lightly and teasingly 
against the juicy pussy lips nestled up between her silken thighs. 

Paul ran his warm palms along the curve of her bare spine, tracing the 
ridges of her backbone as she let the coverlet drape around her naked body. 
He followed it to where the flesh suddenly dipped and dimpled then flowered 
into the firm twin mounds of her buttocks. She had certainly managed to keep 
her body in great shape; her skin rippled with an animal strength trembling 
just beneath the surface. He wondered if her luscious thighs could still 
grip him and ride him as they used to. He shivered, knowing they would. 

Casually, he stole another glimpse in the direction of the sleeping bag 
where Carla lay. CHEATING ... The searing reality flashed in his brain. But 
he was powerless against his woman. 

Mae caught the surreptitiously stolen concern and erased it. "She can't see 
us from here." 

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured. 

Of course she'd probably fucked armies of men since he'd dated her; in fact, 
she fucked armies of men when he dated her. He was well attuned to her near 
nymphomaniac proclivities. 

She kissed him again, her tongue probing hungrily over his and into his 
sweet mouth, her naked hips writhing passionately against his. Her 
fingernails dug into his shoulders, leaving tiny tracks of crimson as 
evidence of her growing lust for him. He gripped the fleshy mounds of her 
buttocks, pulling them towards him, rubbing his long, aching cock 
agonizingly between her closed thighs. 

"Oh, I have to have you Paul ... I need you ... I need you inside of me sooo 
bad!" she pouted. 

Flesh fussed upon flesh, they locked in a surge of passion. Her fingers 
slipped along his bare muscular belly and guided his throbbing penis towards 
the wetly quivering lips of her cunt. She was already wet, and moaning into 
his face, her eyes clenched shut in a mask of pleasure-pain, her hips 
groping and grinding ravenously as steam billowed from their nostrils 
stentoriously. 

He thrust into her frantically, with a blind rush and the most passionate 
grip of her pussy was as he remembered it, surprisingly tight and clasping 
like a heated velvet glove clutching at his painfully throbbing cock as he 
rammed it into her wet tightness. 

His penis slipped up into her, a little painfully at first. Paul prided 
himself on the size of his cock, and to be able to tunnel to the end of 
Mae's cunt, was a compliment indeed. It hurt along the hard length from her 
milking cuntal muscles. Salaciously, it began pistoning in and out, easier 
now as her cuntal sheath adjusted, accepting all of him. 

Mae let out a muffled gasp, choking for a lungful of air, and he thrust 
right up into her savagely so that their loins bruised and ground together 
wetly, lubricated with the warm flowing wetness that oozed around his 
frantically pumping cock and eased its entry like a river of warm melted 
butter. 

She strained back under him, arching her loins up at his, lifting them both 
off the sandy ground with little strain. Moaning, she squirmed and writhed 
under him, her buttock cheeks grinding into the ground. She bit his lips, 
nibbled at his neck, kissed his eyes and snaked her tongue into the cavern 
of his mouth, turned away gasping for air, then came back for more, again 
and again. 

"Your finger, honey," she gasped hoarsely, her voice rising and falling with 
his cock pounding far up into her belly. 

"What?" His breath billowed white with labor in the cold morning air. 

"Stick it ... awww ... s-stick it up my ass while you f-fuck me!" she moaned 
needfully. The words caught him by surprise-this was something he'd never 
done with a woman before. For a moment, though still screwing into her 
frantically, he was jealous of the man who'd taught her this lusty trick, of 
another man with his finger stuck up her ass, up his girl's ass. The change 
in his thinking was so subtle that he failed to sense it himself, but he was 
hooked again, caught in her net ... hooked. 

He reached under her, between her soft buttery ass cheeks as he stroked 
steadily into her moistly sucking cuntal hole. He spread her buttocks apart, 
felt, her passion-moistened pubic curls, found her tightly puckered ring and 
apprehensively thrust his finger in. It eased in a little at first, entering 
with a soft popping sound, then all the way in to the last joint as she gave 
another deep soulful moan and screwed her buttocks back against his 
pleasure-giving finger. He moved his finger around in the velvety channel of 
her rectum and heard her choke painfully as his fingernail gouged the 
delicate flesh. She grunted then and squirmed down onto it again, offering 
her forbidden anal passage for his exploration. 

Paul's loins wound tightly like a coiled spring, and his penis felt as big 
as a tree limb, as if it were growing out of control and would keep growing 
until he lunged one last time and thrust right though her belly to pulverize 
her insides. It expanded, bloated and contracted like a pump, and throbbed 
painfully with every swell. 

She held him prisoner in her strong thighs, clamping them around his hips, 
loosening them, clenching them tightly in a practiced rhythm he adored. 

He could hear her cursing under her breath, something else he had never 
heard her do, and her face was suddenly deeply flushed, the veins in her 
neck sticking out like telephone cords as her sharp nails raked across his 
back and shoulders painfully. 

She murmured something hoarsely, and he didn't hear her at first. "I'm 
al-almost there ... I'm about to cum!" she gasped again, then repeated the 
last word of her litany over and over until her words fused together in one 
passionate chant. She pulled back her thighs, presenting his with a 
wide-open playground of wet, pink flesh. Her legs slid up and over his 
shoulders. She ground her genitals up against his with bruising force, her 
lewdly grinding buttocks arched high off the ground to meet his deeply 
furrowing thrusts into her very womb. Her eyes were open now, but glazed as 
if she were drugged, and her mouth hung open limply. She emitted an animal 
cry and impaled herself suicidally onto his desire-hardened penis and held 
herself there, lifting him boldly off the bed while her sweat-soaked loins 
worked feverishly up and down on his deliriously spearing cock. 

"OH GAWD ... I'M CUMMMMING!" she grunted, the breath exploded from her lungs 
in a puff of frozen air and she collapsed under him, falling back against 
the ground as his full weight crashed down onto her nakedness. She was limp 
as an unstarched shirt, and lay there quivering, her breasts heaving as she 
struggled to fill her lungs with air. 

Paul's forehead furrowed with concern. "Christ, he might really have hurt 
her, but after a couple of moments, his cock still inside her and as rigid 
and eager as ever, she began to revive. 

She looked at him with that baby-faced angelic smile, her eyes then closed 
and she clutched him tight against her as he burrowed a little deeper into 
her wetly twitching cunt. 

"Warm me up ... brrr ... I'm getting cold," she begged, throwing a corner of 
the blanket over her back. She rubbed her goosebumps until they disappeared. 

"Anything for you, honey ... anything." 

She gasped again as he snapped his loins like a handle of a great bullwhip 
and shuddered his long hard penis to the hilt once more in her ravaged 
pussy, ramming it tightly and viciously between her swollen cuntal lips. 

"Don't cum inside me ... I quit taking pills." 

"You? Quit birth control?" He couldn't stifle his laugh. 

"So what the hell am I supposed to do?" His balls were a seething cauldron 
of white-hot cum and they threatened to explode any second into her belly in 
a torrent of relief. 

Mae was a woman attuned to men's desires. "Don't worry, honey. Turn over on 
your back and I'll fix you good." 

He had no reason to doubt her. This one had a helluva track record. He 
rolled over onto his back compliantly, feeling the sand under his weight and 
squirmed in between Mae's naked body and the ground. He slipped out of her 
moist cuntal grip with an audible pop that he was sure echoed throughout the 
whole beach. His penis rose straight up toward the sky as he lay on his back 
and felt unsure exactly what she had in store for him. This one was full of 
surprises, and with the tricks she'd shown him this morning, he knew it must 
be good. 

She leaned over him, her blonde hair curtaining her shoulders, tickling his 
bare chest. Tenderly she stroked the stiffened organ, first with one and 
hand and then with both, pumping gingerly and letting the wet, gleaming 
length slide between her fingers. She brought her lips down to it eagerly, 
breathlessly and warmly fastened them around the throbbing, blood-filled 
head with a moan of ecstasy. When the jarring awareness of her intentions 
registered, a bolt of adrenalin shot through his body. He felt his whole 
body tense in anticipation. She held his cock in one hand and began to suck 
on it, steadily, hungrily, rhythmically, up and down with a swirling 
movement of her tongue at the apex of each loving stroke. 

His loins tensed as he looked down at the sight of the action, wondering 
when the last time was he'd felt like this. Certainly not with Carla. Carla 
would never suck his cock ... until after marriage. 

She sucked harder, sometimes giving him a tiny teasing nibble, or scraping 
the thick fleshy stalk with her teeth. His cock was white where her teeth 
had been and blood purple on the lustfully pulsing tip. 

Mae released her grip on his cock and placed both hands under his buttocks, 
lifting them up as she slid her ovalled lips up and down on his meaty stalk. 
It disappeared completely down her warmly sucking throat, and he wondered 
why it didn't choke her; she knew what she was doing all right. Had he 
thought about it, he would have done the same for her. 

Her rough tongue with its coarse swiping lick, was making the head of his 
penis quiver and vibrate as if it were coming alive. He stiffened his hips, 
crossing his legs, clamping his muscular thighs tight together as if maybe 
he would squeeze the flood of scalding hot cum back into his pounding 
testicles. He could feel the movement stirring in his balls, as if he had to 
urinate, but couldn't. He watched her angelic face work over his loins, her 
lips stretched, clinging to his long, swollen cock, sucking it ravenously. 

Paul reached over to spread his discarded shirt over her naked back, knowing 
she must be damned near freezing to death lying on top, naked, with the 
ocean winds blowing over her back. One touch of the damp cotton soaked with 
morning fog told him there was no warmth there and he tossed it aside. Mae 
raised her head and smiled around his throbbing cock as if to thank him for 
the kind thought. 

That smile of gratitude did something indescribable to him and he pushed his 
loins right up at her face, arching his body from waist to curled under 
toes, and her nibbling lips gulped in every inch of his burgeoning manhood. 
His own throat and mouth were bone dry; he didn't know how much longer he 
could hold out. He thought of his painfully hardened cock exploding in her 
mouth, emptying down her throat in a seething flood of cum, and he tried to 
hold back. 

Maybe he shouldn't let it get like that ... maybe she had planned to stop 
just before he came. Strained noises made their way from his lungs, and he 
rammed his hips as high as they would go, cramming every inch of his wildly 
pulsating cock down her clamping throat, but she showed no intentions of 
stopping. A few seconds more ... just a few. NOW! 

His hips writhed uncontrollably and his vision blurred as the delicious 
agony grew more unbelievable. His eyes opened on a fantasy vision of her 
lovely young lips pursed around his aching cock, sucking hungrily, his whole 
body straining to hold back the inevitable. A gasp broke finally from his 
parched throat. 

"Aaaaggghhh!" His hands grabbed her head near the ears, and he shoved her 
hungrily sucking mouth down hard onto his maniacally jerking cock. His 
breath tore from his lungs and he shuddered as his cum-filled balls emptied 
their precious fluid in a stinging jet of white sticky sperm, racing along 
the swollen length of his shaft at a great, unstoppable speed. She sucked 
on, greedily as every, every drop emptying down her gullet, and she licked 
the moist threads from the madly throbbing head of his cock. 

Finally, his tender, sore penis deflated like a pricked balloon in the 
hollows of her flooded throat; but she kept right on nibbling on it, sucking 
clean every last drop of his life-giving sperm. He gave a heaving sigh and 
flopped back onto the sand, exhausted and completely spent. For a long while 
he lay motionless, her head flat against his belly, her tongue still lashing 
out at the smooth flaccid head of his spent organ. Then she slithered like a 
snake up along his naked body, rubbing her tender sensitive nipples along 
his bare skin until her lips found his. 

They kissed lovingly for a long time ... until the sky turned blue, and he 
could taste the strange tanginess of his own cum flavoring her lips and 
mouth. 

Slowly, she arose and pulled her blanket around her naked body, while Paul 
lay shivering. An electric current seemed to pass between the two, sparkling 
smiles and giggling hugs before the two of them parted, taking separate 
trails back to unsuspecting partners ... or so they prayed. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Carla's self-pitying glower was worse than a temper tantrum. Her dark 
chocolate eyes studied the bottom of her coffee cup with the intensity of a 
psychic reading a crystal ball. Paul had tried to explain to her that he'd 
only awoken to relieve himself and, invigorated by the crisp morning fog, 
had gone for a walk along the beach at sunrise. He was entitled to a bit of 
solitude, wasn't he? he'd defended. 

"An hour and a half ... ?" she'd returned coldly, backing her charges with, 
"Why didn't you wake me up and we could have gone together?" 

"I thought you wanted to sleep, that's why. Besides, I just wanted to be 
alone. I'm with people twenty-four hours a day in LA ... give me a break!" 

A break she gave him: stony silence. Every glance in her direction proved 
his suspicions; reproach in her dark brooding eyes spelled dejection and 
misery. He knew he should gather her up in her arms and alleviate her fears, 
but something within him stopped those efforts. To do so would admit guilt, 
the same guilt that gnawed at him deep within his soul, making him edgy and 
nervous. Now, as Carla was kicking into her shoes, sitting on the sleeping 
bag, his eyes lifted to the burgundy van and knew without a sliver of a 
doubt ' that his voluptuous ex-girl friend had won this first battle. Carla, 
the dejected, sulking loser; Mae, the victoriously vibrant winner. That old 
magic spell had been cast over him. Even now as he pulled on his wool 
sweater, he felt the stirring in his groin just thinking of her. 

He built a fire in the pit and boiled water for morning coffee. Chet would 
need the caffeine; he needed the distraction. Deliberately Paul ignored 
Mae's blue eyed sparkle as they sat on the driftwood bench. She cupped I the 
steaming coffee cup in her hands, staring at him avidly through the rising 
steam as if injecting in his brain more thoughts of this morning's episode. 
Lusty thoughts of passion. Yet Paul knew he couldn't repeat the performance. 
That would give validity to Carla's fears and, after all, he did love Carla. 
He desired Mae, God forgive him, but he loved Carla. 

"Lovely morning," he nodded in Chefs direction who sat slumped 
hunch-shouldered on the log. His eyes were red road maps of lingering 
inebriation. He spoke little, and looked far beyond his years. 

That reticence added to Paul's discomfort, stoking paranoic fantasies. That 
he'd spent the morning screwing Mae half to death and getting his balls 
vacuumed behind a rock, naked in the sand, was forming in everyone's mind, 
he figured, blowing into his cup of instant coffee. Chet must have become 
suspicious when Mae disappeared for the equal amount of time. Hell, 
everybody knew but nobody was owning up to it. 

Except of course for silent Carla who sat cross-legged on the ground, 
cuddling her warm cup in her hands. Snake-cold eyes caught his and snapped 
back a silent threat like the venomous hiss of a reptile. 

Defensively, he stared back at the fires smoldering flames across from which 
sat Mae looking fresh as a spring daisy on next to no sleep. Her skin-tight 
Levi's molded her body in Hellenistic perfection. A purple knit sweater 
added a sparkle to her blue eyes. Next to her Chet sat sipping coffee, 
looking disgusted with himself. 

The sky was clearing of fog and the high tide had abated. "What's up for 
today, Carla. Any plans?" The inquiry was business-like and direct, a fact 
which she noted with deepening aggravation. 

"What's there to do on a beach?" She shrugged her lovely shoulders and shot 
him a bored look. "I'll probably just grease up and try for a tan." 

"Don't you feel like taking a walk ..."He jerked his head in the direction 
of this morning's excesses. 

Carla caught the subtle innuendo and stiffened. "No thanks ... I'm content 
right here." 

Paul squinted steamy-eyed at his fianc'e. "If that's the way you want it, 
fine!" He was tiring of playing negotiator, agent, diplomat to two women. 
Shit, he should have come here alone with Chet, the way they had originally 
planned, instead of letting himself get enmeshed in everyone's insecurities. 

Mae, who'd gathered up the coffee cups preparing to wash them in the van, 
caught threads of the conversation. A smirk creased her lips. She shot, Chet 
who'd collapsed back in bed, an angry glance and decided that nobody was 
going to ruin this weekend for her. If Carla wasn't secure in knowing she 
was going to marry Paul, nothing could make her secure. Anyway, she thought 
selfishly, it's only one day in a life. Out of the corner of her eye, she 
caught Chet staring at her and knew from the flinty-eyed glance, that he'd 
caught wind of her infidelities. Well, damn it, she thought turning the 
water on in the small aluminum built-in sink, if he weren't drunk all the 
time, their relationship would be spontaneous enough to suit her. 

Through the convex window she spied Paul and flapped a teasing hand in his 
direction. Instantly the sullen look faded from his face, replaced by 
curiosity. She turned off the water decisively and tore out of the van. 
Skipping towards him, her full breasts bounced joyously. Grabbing him by the 
arm, he offered no resistance as she flung her arms around his neck. 

"What a bunch of dead heads, huh? Nobody wants to play ..." 

He unpeeled her arms from around his neck. "Don't say nobody ... that's not 
true ... let's say some." He jerked his head toward Carla who'd turned her 
back on him, absorbing herself in a magazine. 

"Just give me a minute to peel out of these clothes and into my suit. See ya 
in five!" Her blonde hair, shimmering in the morning sunlight, flapped about 
her shoulders and back as she skipped back to the van, emerging moments 
later in a terry cloth swim jacket under which Lord only knew what she 
wore-if anything, surmised Paul who'd changed into cut-offs and T-shirt. A 
towel was draped over his shoulder. 

Far down the beach in the same direction where they'd spent the morning in 
each other's goose-bumped arms, they stopped to sit on a boulder and stare 
out over the Pacific. Fog dissipated, leaving blue striated streaks to widen 
in promise of a gorgeous California day. 

"Somebody told me about this beach. Her father knows the guy who owns the 
land ... I don't know how." Mae's shoulders shivered. "Doesn't it seem odd 
that we're the only people camped here? It's nice to be alone ..." and here 
she grabbed his arm and rubbed her cheek against his upper arm. 

Paul gave fleeting consideration to her statement, nodded his head in answer 
and let his eyes rivet on the fullness of her breasts cupped in a skimpy red 
bikini top visible through the open flap of her terry robe. For a moment, he 
remembered the slam of the car hood and envisioned the flicker of match 
light in the bushes the night before. Were they alone? "I'm not sure we are 
alone. Carla and I found somebody's backpack and cooler last night and later 
I saw a match light and heard somebody slam a car hood." 

Mae's blonde head shot around. "Strange ... I thought I saw a man outside 
the van last night. I was stripping off my clothes, ready to climb into bed. 
I thought I saw a man's face ..." She shrugged her shoulders dismissingly. 
"My imagination again." As was her habit, she made light of the situation. 

"Let's head around the cove. Maybe we can find a cave to explore ... better 
than the streets of LA!" 

"Race ya!" she challenged and they took off like two deer, splashing through 
the low-tide waters, skipping over slippery rocks strewn with barnacles, 
mindlessly tromping sea anemones. Around the cove they came onto a wide 
sandy beach, untouched, it seemed. 

"What'd I tell ya? There's a cave!" Grabbing her hand, they took off, bare 
toes digging into the sand. 

The temperature dropped ten degrees as they started into the damp cave hewn 
by years of slapping salt water; over the years, the formation of the beach 
had changed, leaving the cave's mouth dry inside and out. A natural rock 
awning was left for the protection of lovers. 

They collapsed down on the warm sand, laughing, breathless. Her lithe arms 
slunk around his neck, pulling him close to her, mashing her breasts against 
his muscular chest. "Do you still think of me once in a while?" she teased, 
nibbling at his earlobe with her even white teeth. She knew that always 
drove him crazy. "Hmmmm ... ?" 

The answer came slowly. "Sure ... once in a while ..." he returned, nestling 
his nose in her fine blonde hair curtaining her shoulders. 

"Just once in a while?" she wrinkled up her nose in disappointment. 

"Hey! I'm a busy man! I'm engaged to be married. A guy can't dwell on 
memories forever ... they don't fill your stomach or get your rocks off, now 
do they?" 

He didn't want her probing for his emotions. Should Carla or Chet come 
looking for them, he didn't want his private life exposed. He cringed at the 
thought of someone overhearing their conversation. 

Mae's voice was knife-blade cold when she pulled her arms free of him and 
stared into his eyes. "You really love Carla, don't you? I've never had a 
guy give me up for another girl, you know." A tinge of bitterness clouded 
her sunny disposition. 

Paul drew in a deep breath, feeling trapped, an emotion he didn't relish. 
Then, for the sake of her faltering ego, a weakness he was beginning to 
discover, he added: "You were too much woman for me, that's all." It wasn't 
true, but he couldn't handle another depressed woman on his hands this 
weekend. The music business was full of them, he needn't bring them along on 
his free time. The medicine worked. The smile returned to her rosebud lips, 
the sparkle to her blue eyes, and her hand descended to clamp his strong 
thigh. 

"Ahhhh shit ..." moaned Chet, blinking against the noon sun peeking through 
the van window. Sweaty and dirty, with a throbbing head to crown it all. 
Growling, he rolled over and struggled up to sitting position. With the 
balls of his fists, he rubbed his eyes and staggered out of bed, wincing and 
scouring the campsite for signs of life. Damned deserted for a Big Sur beach 
he thought bracing his hands against the van's door before hopping out. 

"Mae! Mae! MAE! Where the hell are you?" he bellowed through cupped hands. 
Dejectedly he stomped towards the fire pit, deserted and empty. 

They took off," he heard someone call out behind him. 

Pivoting on his heel, he squinted against the sun to the pine trees under 
which Carla lay on the sleeping bag. She'd shed this morning's heavy clothes 
in favor of a pink polka-dot bikini that showed the luscious mounds of her 
breasts and the soft bowl of her belly. Chet blinked. Christ, he'd never 
noticed what a great body she had. Not as mature and full or tall as Mae, 
but damned close to perfection. He wiped his mouth with the back of his 
hand. 

"Took off for where?" he grumbled, his burly dark hair a mop of sweat-soaked 
curls. His reddened eyes lingered on the soft curves of her hips, centering 
on the jewel of her belly button. He licked his lips. "Mind if I join you? 
... since we've been deserted." 

Carla's eyes lifted above the rim of the Cosmopolitan Magazine she had 
purchased enroute from Los Angeles. Funny, she had never noticed how curly 
his eyelashes were. When he was rested, he was very good looking-very. She 
sat up, leaning against the tree trunk and backpack. And the dimples high on 
his cheeks, softening the rugged, biker look that dominated his features. 
The air of recklessness auraed his smile. 

He settled down on the sleeping bag, unzipped and flapped open wide as a 
blanket. "Christ, I could go for a beer to wet my throat." 

As if expecting to see a vending machine out there in the middle of nowhere, 
his dark eyes scoured the pine grove. Abruptly, he rose to his feet and left 
Car la to peruse the horoscope section of her magazine. "Taurus ... expect 
changes in relationships this month. Don't worry, Taurus, you're the sexpot 
of the skies. Perhaps you're not the impulsive type ... Venus adversely 
aspected. Jealousies could erupt this month, but remember that all things 
pass." 

"Great!" snorted Carla, throwing down the magazine. That's all she needed 
was more affirmation of emotional upsets. She crossed her arms over her 
chest, glowering out at the ocean, when she heard a deep laugh and pop 
behind her. 

"Would you believe it? Just found a beer in the middle of nowhere!" Chet 
threw back his head and took a grateful gulp from a pop-top Miller beer can. 

"Where'd you find that?" 

"Over there!" He pointed to the abandoned backpack with Coleman cooler under 
a tree. "You want some watermelon ... bologna sandwich?" he tittered. "That 
cooler's full of food." 

A worried look creased Carla's brow. "That's odd. I heard someone slam a car 
door last night and I was positive it was the campers coming back to get 
their things. Wonder who that was?" 

"Don't ask me, hon ... that Southern Comfort did me in. Somebody could have 
shot a bullet through my window and I wouldn't have heard a thing." 

"Hmmm ... well, it's their loss." 

"Where'd they go?" 

"You tell me, she's your girl friend ..." 

"And he's your fiance," quipped Chet a bit defensively. 

Carla laughed bitterly. "Maybe ... maybe not ..." She retrieved the 
discarded magazine and feigned interest in the lingerie ads. 

"Hey, don't get jealous over Mae. Paul knows a good thing when he's got it 
... that's what I admire about the guy. He's no fool ... not like me," he 
added in a soft aside. An unfiltered cigarette dangled from his lips; he 
left it unlit and spoke around it. "Good to see you and Paul gettin' 
together. Nothin' wrong with marriage if ya got the right gal." 

Carla contemplated those words for a moment, her eyes fixed on the white-cap 
waves slapping against the boulders. A light breeze tossed her auburn waves 
about her shoulders delicately, like the warm breath of a lover. Maybe it 
was cruelty that made her say it: 

"When are you and Mae going to get married?" 

Chet threw back his burly head and laughed bitterly. "Married to Mae? Are 
you insane? She can't be satisfied with one man, no matter how much he loves 
her. I can't stop her. She's a natural flirt." 

A gush of sympathy rippled through Carla. Two peas in a pod-she and Chet. 
Two wronged lovers sitting drowning in self-pity while their lovers 
frolicked off into the sunrise, stealing kisses and Lord knew what else 
behind rocks. In the end, her reticence and defeatist attitude had only hurt 
herself. 

"I wish she'd flirt with somebody besides Paul! I've had about enough of 
this!" She flipped a strand of auburn hair over her creamy shoulder 
glistening with baby oil and raised her eyes to catch the set expression on 
Chefs profile. Save for the crows feet etched around his eyes, he had a 
perfect Roman profile. Hurt and lack of self-respect was evident in the 
curve of his lip. In that instance, Carla was filled with dislike for Paul 
for cheating on his friend, just as Mae was cheating on her. 

What a mess, she thought, hugging her knees. If there was a bus back to Los 
Angeles, she'd hop it right now and let them all play out their pathetic 
games. 

Chet had struck a match to the cigarette dangling between his lips, when 
Carla's ears honed to the sound of twigs snapping through the thicket of 
low-hanging pine boughs. The noontime sun caught the glimmer of something 
shiny, metallic. Her breath caught in her chest; she shot a wide-eyed glance 
in Chefs direction. 

"Did you hear that?" 

Chet, ears buzzing from a horrendous hangover, threw back his head and 
laughed. "You're imagination's going berserk, lady. Settle down and take it 
easy." He shoved the beer can under her nose. "Here, this'll calm you right 
down." 

They lay in the sand, their naked bodies protected from the grainy sand by a 
spread-out beach towel. Together they stared up into the blue sky, watching 
the fog disappear like breath on a dewy morn. The mouth of the cave was 
hidden and dark as a lover's womb. Mae's head was filled with lusty promises 
and Paul's, filled with Carla, reticent and pouting. Glimpsing the sullen 
look in his dark eyes, she broke the spell. She pumped his swelling organ in 
the warmth of her fist. Her fingers couldn't quite close around it. 

"You look so serious, Paul. How come?" She gave him a tight squeeze, forcing 
a pearl of pre-cum from the oozing tip of his cock. His response was not 
satisfactory, and to get her way, she bent over him, her blonde hair softly 
brushing his chest, and kissed the tip with her swirling tongue, tasting, 
licking, savoring. She lifted her head, tossed her blonde mane of honey hair 
behind an ear and studied him with laughing, mocking eyes. "Does Carla suck 
you?" 

"Huh?" His forehead furrowed, hearing such filthy words spew from such a 
beautiful woman. Something didn't add up there. He shook his head. 

"Is she good in bed?" 

He nodded this time, a twinge of guilt seeping into his lust-filled 
thoughts. 

"Then why won't she give you head?" 

"You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" It was more a statement than a 
question. He wished she would stop interrogating him and putting Carla on 
the spot in her kangaroo court of sexual do's and don'ts. 

"Maybe I should start giving lessons in giving head. God, I love to eat 
cock! I love to suck it, I love the taste and when my lover cums, I like to 
hold it in my mouth for a long time and swallow it drop by drop." 

"Mae, you don't have to be so descriptive ..." This morning she had been an 
angel, sensitive and almost compassionate, shedding her characteristic 
narcissistic cloak that made Mae a difficult person to be around-especially 
if you were a woman or an attached male. But Mae was a game player all the 
way, always would be, and he and Carla, he was beginning to suspect, were 
her pawns. 

"Should I eat your cock now?" she gave it a possessive squeeze. She ran a 
hot tongue over her rosebud lips. "Can I taste it?" Those baby blue eyes 
boring into his deep ones again. What could he say? 

He leaned back on the sand, arranged the towel under his head, and lay back, 
a willing victim to her wiles. 

Winking, she lowered her blonde head, opened her mouth and slowly drew the 
full length of his bulging, veiny cock into her mouth, twisting drew the 
full length of his bulging, veiny cock into her mouth, twisting her tongue 
around it and sucking steadily, pulling at it with her lips, making it grow. 

She noted the sudden glint of dissident in his eye. "Are you tired of this? 
Maybe we would try something else." 

Paul's mind was glued on Carla. Somehow this morning's enraptured magic had 
dissipated with the afternoon sunshine. The moodiness had brightened into a 
lucid image of right and wrong. Yet here he was on a beach, safely tucked 
away from prying eyes in a cave ... with a gorgeous hunk of a female, 
crawling over his body, her fingers marching over his flesh like army ants. 

Mae took his hands in hers and guided them to the sleek crease of her 
buttocks. She slipped easily out of her bikini bottoms and unpeeled the tiny 
bikini top covering her breasts. 

"Wanna try something different, honey?" 

Paul blinked. "You mean you want to ... naw ... come on ... that's for 
faggots!" 

"Oh, don't be so square!" she tutted, beginning to suckle his bulging penis 
again, wetting it from tip to base in long, licking strokes. "How long have 
you lived in LA, anyway?" she mocked. 

Maneuvering on her sleek belly, her trembling buttocks high in the air, she 
spread her legs wide and rose to a half-kneeling position. 

God help me, but I can't resist this woman! Later he would suffer the guilt; 
right now he wanted to feel her velvety cunt on his lips. Rolling her over, 
he knelt between her legs. His tongue flicked out and he began to lick the 
satiny flesh of her thighs, tasting salty from frolicking in the ocean's 
waves. He swiveled his head from one to the other as he moved slowly toward 
the bush of honey pubic curls. The ragged pink line of her slit showed 
through it, pulsing, swelling and opening around his tongue as the tip made 
the first luscious lick. Mae squeezed her slender thighs together tight for 
a languid moment against his face, then slowly parted the coral hole. He 
could smell the hot, musky heat of her body as she opened her legs wide in 
invitation. 

The flat of his warm, velvety tongue swept between the ragged, tasty lips 
and brought a rising gasp of appreciation from her throat. Her hand shot 
behind her head and she tilted herself up so she could watch. His warm mouth 
glued to the ragged lips and he sucked hard, letting his tongue curl deep 
into her moistening cuntal hole and then twitched as her cuntal muscles 
closed around it like a sea anemone. He worked it around and then out, 
searching, licking for the tip of her clitoris and teasing it, then nipping 
lightly, expertly with his teeth, grabbing the oily nub and giving it a 
babyish nip. She squealed with delight. 

"God, you eat pussy ..." she mumbled, tossing her head wildly, thrusting her 
pelvis up to his demanding mouth. "Nobody ever ate me out like you do ... 
not even another woman ..." 

He let that comment pass. What was she telling him? That she'd turned 
bisexual? "Hmmm ..." 

He lifted his head from her steaming genitals and stared at her. "Oh, don't 
get so serious, Paul. They make us models do some pretty crazy things for 
those magazines. You wouldn't believe the things I've learned!" she stated. 

He let that pass too. Dimly the words registered in his mind as he continued 
to lick and suck, driving her wild with his thrusting tongue, exulting in 
her silken thighs clenched around his flushed face smeared with her tasty 
juices. "Mmmmm ..." 

"Ahhhhhh!" she hissed. 

Her raspberry-red fingertips clawed at his head, pulling him tight against 
the wet forest between her golden thighs and she started to buck, back 
arched, screaming, cumming hard, gushing over his face, clamping him tight 
with her strong legs, holding him captive until the final spasm ebbed. Then, 
while she was still trying to catch her breath, he rolled her over onto her 
belly, over onto the thick clump of wadded up discarded clothes beneath them 
and spread her legs wide. 

If she wanted to play whore, he would play the game! He dipped a finger into 
the secretions of her milking vaginal hole and spread it around the small, 
tightly puckered button of her anus, feeling her tremble in anticipation as, 
with his thumbs, he spread the smoothly curved half-moons of her buttocks 
wide. She raised her tail high in back, wriggling, taking her weight on her 
knees and elbows digging into the sand as the throbbing head of his steely 
cock touched the sensitive, cringing hole of her anus. He grasped her 
trembling hips in his big hands and held her tight as he pressed forward, 
clenching his teeth with the effort. 

"Ugggghhhh!" she gasped softly, accepting the pain, as the blood-engorged 
knob bored past the fleshy outer lips of her tightly clenched anal 
sphincter. But she gritted her teeth bravely and jerked back toward him, 
offering herself, and the head popped all the way up inside the warm, 
rubbery opening. 

"Ummmmmm ... go in slow ... honey ... very slow ..." 

Gritting his teeth, beads of sweat pearling on his forehead, Paul held back 
the urge to ram the entire length of his cock into her with one powerful 
lunge. She rotated her hips and pressed slowly. A fraction of an inch at a 
time, his heavily pulsating cock sank deeper into the hot, moist tunnel of 
her ass. Her face contorted with a mixture of pain and pleasure, her eyes 
looking directly out on to the ocean, watching waves slap against the 
boulders, the frothy, briny water trickling up to wet the sand and recede 
again. 

Mae's lips were drawn back tight against her even white teeth, and her 
breath was slow and deep as, with each manipulation of her body, she 
absorbed more of his meaty prick. Each slow stroke measured only a fraction 
of an inch, but his progress was determinable, and her taut, nakedly curved 
buttocks swayed from side to side and up and down in perfect rhythm, helping 
him, urging him on, leading him. Finally he was entirely inside of her, his 
hairy balls mashed tight against the softly curling hair of her pussy below. 
She sighted softly, relaxing, and sank down onto the ground. Her anal 
sphincter tightened hungrily around the base of his penis and she started to 
work her rectal muscles, clenching her buttocks back tighter against his 
naked penis. She squeezed him, she sucked him with muscles she didn't know 
she had! 

She made a soft, humming sound. He couldn't see that her body was moving, 
but Paul felt as if a hundred tiny fingers were milking his prick, running 
its full length, squeezing him. 

"God, you've got a beautiful ass!" he gasped. 

She turned her face to the side so that he could see the lusty effect he was 
having on her. "I love to cum with you fucking me hard up inside my ass like 
this. I go crazy with you fucking into me fast ... I get so damned wild!" He 
got the hint and started boring into her with faster strokes. "No ... not 
yet ... just lie there and let me do the moving ... ummm ... Paul ... you 
should fuck Carla in the ass like this." She laughed mockingly then, knowing 
that would never happen. 

Paul reassured that suspicion. "Forget it ..." he whispered in her ear. "She 
doesn't like oral sex either." 

"That's nobody's fault but your own ..." 

"Wh-what?" 

"You should have fucked her the first night to set the pattern." 

"How did you know that?" 

"Hollywood's a small place sometimes. Word gets around ... nobody could 
believe it when you gave me up for her," she added a bit bitterly. 

"Women ... asses and mouths ..." 

"Don't make fun of my ass, sweetheart," she said, giving it a twitch that 
sent waves of sensation along his cock. "You'll never be faithful to Carla 
and you know it. You find another one like me who loves to suck you off and 
feel your prick up her ass, and you'd be leaving poor Carla in the dust. 
Come on," she urged, "move it a little." 

She ground her ass against his deeply embedded cock and he drew back and 
fucked hard up into her rectal hole, bringing a soft little grunt of mixed 
pain and pleasure from her rosebud lips. She raised slightly up onto her 
dimpled knees and writhed as he drove deep into her upturned asshole again. 

"Aaaagghhh ... Gawd! Work it around a little up there ... deep, hard ... 
HARD ... oh, yeah, baby, like that ... like that!" she mewled, hissing 
through clenched teeth. 

Beneath him she began to heave and pant, thrusting her openly clenching anal 
mouth upward, moving it in tiny circular motions with each growing stroke of 
his long, unbending rod of steely flesh that made one body of them. Her 
face, and then her entire, lusciously curved body flushed with her exertions 
and pain and her breathing was fast and ragged. With each withdrawal, the 
clutching anus drew back like a fish's mouth, and she gasped as the heavily 
fucking cock plunged deep into her again, churning in the hot, wet depths of 
her back passage. 

She raised herself higher, on hands and knees and met each punishing stroke 
with a backward thrusting that took all of his huge length. His balls 
slapped wetly down against the opening thrashing lips of her cunt as he 
drove viciously into her to the hilt, then withdrew with just a fraction of 
his meaty girth in the briny air. Only the bulging head remained up inside 
the warm, spongy walls of her rectum. His hands held her thrashing hips, 
leaving cruel red welts, and, with each massive stroke, she cried out, her 
screams of joy mingling with the ocean's roar. Her blonde hair flailed wild 
as the wind with the tossing of her head, and her mouth was drawn in a wide 
grimace of passion as a series of orgasms each stronger than the last, 
wracked her eagerly working young body. 

"God, you can fuck!" she cried, clenching her buttocks, holding him tight as 
the spasm of churning cum gave way to the words: "My ass ... fuck my ass ... 
fuck ... fuck ... fuck!" 

She was gyrating so wildly he could hardly hold her still and finally, as he 
felt the cum amass in his testicles, he threw his full weight into her, 
crushing her to the sand, grasping her hard by the shoulders as he skewered 
into her with a vengeance. Insanely, violently, the great load of semen 
gushed into her hotly thrashing hole and they cried out together in a wild, 
cataclysmic climax. 

For a long while he lay on her naked back, feeling her heavy breathing, 
until his penis became soft and limp up inside her semen-drenched rectal 
channel. 

"I should have married you ..." she gasped. 

Paul knew better. He didn't want a whore for a wife ... he wanted a lady, 
maybe even someone who thought ass fucking was perverted. "Why, because I 
throw you a hunk of meat?" His guts knotted when he thought of her earlier 
comments about making love with other women. A cold shiver snaked up and 
down his spine. Sure, Mae was a good lover, but she'd never be a good wife. 
He thought of Chet ... poor Chet ... living in a bottle to escape the 
horrendous jealousy and insecurities he must feel watching his girl friend 
trying to make everything that had a cock. 

Paul raised up on his elbows and let his eyes roam over the floor of the 
cave. The barnacles polka-dotting the cave wall, the sea anemones the ... 

His head shot up and he pulled himself loose from Mae's quivering body. His 
feet dug into the loose sand; he bent over. It was cold and sharp. Now in 
the sunlight he could make out its form decisively. It was a knife, a sharp 
machete, the kind used by the military. Deeper inside the cave he found a 
woman's hiking boot. 

He kept these discoveries to himself. Yet an emotion he could not gauge 
rippled through him. The car hood slamming, the match light, now this. 

"Let's get dressed and out of here." 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

A few more beers stolen from the abandoned Coleman cooler helped revive 
Chefs solemn mood and brightened his depressive state animating him greatly. 
Sitting beside him on the spread-open sleeping bag, Carla praised the skies 
for the sudden burst of sunny disposition that pulled Chefs thoughts from 
the wells of despair to something approaching happiness. 

"Why don't we go for a walk and pull ourselves out of this rotten mood?" he 
nudged her with his elbow. "They're off romping in the waves and here we sit 
like a couple of miserable jackasses." 

Chet hardly appeared to be the hiking type, in Carla's estimation, but his 
reasoning was straightaway. If the cheaters could forget about fidelity and 
honesty, then why should the cheated sit on a stump? she reasoned. 

She lifted her eyes to Chefs face. Hurt and childish innocence made strange 
companions. He needed attention and self-assurance as badly as she did. 
Something about the blind leading the blind flashed through her mind as she 
made sandwiches for the hike, leaving Chet to search around his van for a 
bottle of wine though he couldn't remember whether or not he'd drunk it. 

Now he charged jubilantly from the van brandishing the bottle of wine, and 
met Carla at the mouth of a pine-needled trail that wound under the 
low-hanging grove, bent and prematurely aged from the ocean's fury, up the 
slope to the cliffs. 

Dressed in a pair of cut-offs and loose-hanging shirt, she felt a quiver of 
excitement course through her leggy body. Hurt and spite are strange 
bedfellows, but Carla didn't care. A fresh smile creased her lips. Just let 
them come back and try to find us ... just let them! They deserve to feel as 
rotten as Chet and I do! 

Being alone with Chet and his bottle of wine was hardly the makings of a 
romantic afternoon for Carla, but it was better than sitting miserable and 
blue, tortured by jealous thoughts. Chet, too, seemed in a fresher mood as 
they headed off through the trees. She had tied her auburn hair back in a 
ponytail that swished with each ginger step. The air became warmer the 
farther they climbed from the ocean. 

They didn't talk much as they walked, following the trail of manzanita and 
scrub pine, carefully avoiding the dangerous red poison oak now at its 
threatening potent peak in August. 

"Let's stop at the top of this knoll and have lunch. Maybe we can find a 
place to catch some sun." To the right and left of them stubborn manzanita 
branches scraped her bare legs, cross-hatched with tiny twig scratches. The 
reward lay ahead ... the vast Pacific ocean was spread out for them like a 
corny calendar, the beaches and coves making jigsaw patterns of the shore. 
It was enough to make one want to cry. 

At the top of the cliff the winds had swept clear a sandy knoll, warm and 
soft and inviting. Succulent ground cover had won the battle of manzanita 
versus sand and here they collapsed on the ground. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Chet said with a grin, and for the first time, Carla 
noticed the dimple in his chin. His eyes were clear, his smile bright. 

She grinned back, feeling clumsy in his presence. For the sake of 
distraction, her dark eyes swept over the beach below, trying to catch sight 
of movement ... that movement being Paul and Mae! 

"Forget about them," he said, reading her thoughts and taking off his shirt 
for her to sit upon. Then he lay the plastic bag with two ham and cheese 
sandwiches on the sand and, propping the wine bottle between his legs, used 
the cork screw of his Swiss Army knife to open the bottle. They washed down 
their sandwiches with warm red wine. Conversation was sketchy, the sun warm, 
the wine relaxing. 

"That was a nice lunch, Chet. Thanks for the wine ... it really helps take 
the edge off." She smiled up at him, sensing a soulful sensitivity about 
this man that made her wonder how often, if ever, Mae did anything to 
heighten his manly ego. Despite his neglect of appearance, he was a sweet 
man, mindful of the needs of others. Perhaps too much so. 

Since Paul was giving Mae what she deserved, why not turn the tables? she 
decided. With every sip of wine, his conversation became more chipper, 
taking her mind away from jealousy. "Nothin' like sitting on a mountain top 
to make you forget your problems," he said philosophically. "I heard you and 
Mae were friends at one time. Then he dumped her for you ..." 

Carla took a long swill of the wine. She wrinkled her nose against the 
freckling sun. "To be honest, I've always been rather jealous of Mae. I 
mean, my God ... look at her body for starters!" Her open admission took 
Carla by surprise. The wine was working on her senses, a fact clear as the 
sun shining overhead. "Why Paul dumped her for me is something I'll never 
understand." 

"Hey, don't be modest. Paul knows a good thing when he's got it. Paul needs 
a woman like you ... sex-pots come a dime a dozen," he looked straight ahead 
over the Pacific. "I guess I'm just cheap ... I'm easy. A lady gives me a 
little bit of attention and I go crazy for more." His voice assumed a 
strange, beware tone. "Like you ... like now ..." 

Swiftly, he pulled her into his arms in an unsuspecting movement. His lips 
bruised hard down on hers in a tight, grinding kiss, forcing his tongue 
between her tightly clenched teeth. The movement was unceremonious, 
ungentle. 

Caught off guard, Carla froze under the hot sun. His mouth was pressing hard 
against her teeth. Insulted by his burlishness, she pulled her mouth free of 
him and pushed him away from her, bracing her hands against his chest. 

"Hey, come on ... a little kiss is nothing ... compared to what Paul and Mae 
are probably doing!" 

"That shouldn't matter," she averred defensively. "We don't have to act 
cheap just because they are." 

Chet snickered. "Carla, let me tell you something about Paul. I've known the 
guy longer than you. Paul likes a woman who can make her own decisions ... 
the best thing you could do is to give him some of his own medicine. Sure, 
he'd be pissed off at first, but it would make him look at his own 
silliness." 

Carla sniffled. The word silly seemed hardly applicable to the act Paul was 
committing! 

"Come on, let's have a little kiss." 

"No ... please, Chet, I didn't mean to mislead you I-" He plastered his lips 
to hers, forcing her backwards onto the warm sand. His hands were tender on 
her breasts, kneading them, stroking the swan-like length of her neck. 

"Mmmmmfff ..." She wriggled beneath him, trying to squirm out from under his 
weight. But he had her pinned with his body and his superior strength. 
"Mmmfff ... nnnnoooo ... Chet!" Fighting was useless, futile, she realized, 
relaxing back into the warm sand, feeling the wine's affects on her dulled 
senses. And, after a moment of struggle, she realized it felt good having 
strong arms around her. Dimly, she dwelt on Chefs wisdom. One good deed 
deserves another, she thought bitterly, and that was to be the last of 
rational thought for Carla. After all, one man's body wasn't much different 
from the other, save for their emotions and Paul certainly was giving her no 
emotional input! 

The once bruising kiss transformed to a warm, exciting mingling of lips and 
tongues. The confused young woman felt her resistance melting like June 
snow. A little surge of longing swept through her and she pressed her 
love-starved body against his strong one. It could have been Paul, for her 
response was the same. 

Chet's hand dropped and began to lightly caress the smooth, bare expanse of 
her firm, scratched thigh, sending little shivers of arousal tingling 
through her pinned down body. Her head began to swim and rational senses 
were blown to the wind. 

His softly caressing mouth sent wave after wave of unsuspected pleasure, and 
his hand pulled at the flap of her blouse, working at the clasp of her lacy 
brassiere. Still, she did not resist, even as the soft blowing wind rose 
goosebumps on her naked flesh. She felt the protective garment fall away and 
knew that her swollen breasts were free to his touch. Instantly, her nipples 
hardened into little joy-buds, crinkling in the air; Chet's hand closed in 
on first one, then the other, caressing and tweaking the hard knobs with 
practiced caresses. 

"Paul and Mae are together right now ... doing the same thing we're doing," 
he whispered coercively into her ear. It didn't register in Carla's misaimed 
mind that maybe Chet enjoyed the idea of Mae cheating on him, giving him 
free reign to play with whatever woman caught his eye. His hand dropped to 
the fastening on her shorts. His other hand held her firmly at the small of 
the back, and he pressed his masculinity close to her. 

Carla was beginning to realize that just maybe she'd misunderstood Chet; he 
could be soft and gentle, persuasive and subtle at the same time. That, she 
thought bitterly, was far more than she could say about Paul! 

"They left us alone ... they don't care what we do." 

Carla's head started to spin from the hot sun, the wine and the tempting 
hands teasing over her body. Paul and Mae were together, it was true. Just 
what they were doing together was another matter. In the wine-sodden depths 
of her mind, she realized that Chet was working at the zipper of her shorts, 
sliding them down over her suntanned thighs and long tapered legs ... then 
she was naked except for her flimsy panties! 

"No, please, Chet ... this has gone far enough," she whimpered up into his 
handsome face. She was lying and they both knew it. The look in his flinty 
eyes told her that. 

His hands, his words were mesmerizing. It was so easy to lie there and let 
him have his way with her. And he did ... 

Slowly, almost ceremoniously, he peeled down the white lace of her bikini 
panties, baring the soft bowl of her tanned belly jeweled with a deep navel. 
He drew in his breath sharply as the auburn triangle of her pubic fleece 
peeked around the tight elastic leg bands; her pouting pussy mound was snug 
and warm inside the crotchband soaked with her juices. Carefully, he eased 
them down over her curving hips. Lower still until he peeled them down over 
her slender ankles. She lay naked beneath him. 

"God, you've got a great body!" he hissed, staring down at the luscious 
flesh, so innocent, stretched out hesitantly for his taking. Her body was in 
perfect proportion, perfect harmony, from the rich swell of her nippled 
breasts, milky arid firm, to the curve of her hips. 

"Jesus, I wish Mae had a little bit of your innocence," he mumbled somewhat 
sadly. 

Could this be the same clumsy, drunken Chet? His sensuality was consuming, 
very consuming. Carla swallowed dryly, suddenly frightened by his closeness. 
She knew she was stark naked, out in the open, with almost a complete 
stranger. What if Paul should come panting up the trail ... with Mae hot on 
his heels? What if other hikers happened by and found them lying there. She 
knew she should put a stop to this, but somehow, she couldn't make the first 
move. 

The vulnerability of her position, she decided, wasn't so unpleasant after 
all. With that rationalization, she put Chet in the responsible position. 
Whatever happened would be his doing. She was as innocent in this situation 
as she'd been in the torrid triangle of Carla, Mae and Paul ... the same 
pawn. 

She shivered, feeling Chefs hands on her dully throbbing breasts, cupping 
them firmly, fondling the passion-stiffened nipples. Now his warm hands 
dropped to caress the warm satiny flesh of her rounded hips, stopping at the 
sleek firmness of her trembling upper thighs. She drew in her breath sharply 
when she felt him wedge one hand between her tightly clamped legs, and then 
she moaned as his fingers moved upward to make searing contact with the 
sensitive inner flesh of her thighs. The first wisps of her softly curling 
pubic hair grazed invitingly against the back of his hand, and a groan of 
desire bubbled from her rosebud lips as he began to caress her quivering 
buttocks. 

With, a languid moan, her naked thighs spread in silent invitation, and Chet 
immediately moved his roaming hand closer toward the glistening pink lips of 
her wetly pulsating cunt. He stared down at the moistened pussy split, and 
saw the cuntal lips nestled protectively around the fragile pink flesh. 
Abruptly, his mouth watered as gently he parted the fleshy outer folds to 
unveil the fluted, ragged lips of her cuntal orifice. The red tip of her 
pulsating clitoris pounded with expectation. 

Carla's brain swam with feverish indecision. She knew this was wrong, knew 
she would regret it later ... knew she was acting out of spite-yet none of 
that seemed to matter now. 

Chet was leaning over her now. "Don't be so uptight, Carla ... relax." He 
smacked his lips and wiped a pearl of burgundy wine from his lip. "Lay back 
and let me pleasure you." 

"NO! NOT THAT!" 

She struggled up on her elbows, struggling to sit up. Her consciousness 
screamed objections to what he was saying, while her brain went wild with 
protest. "Let me up ... stop that, Chet!" she sobbed desperately. Her 
panicked lunges to get to her feet were futile against his brutish strength 
and he eased her back down onto the sand. His voice was soft and persuasive, 
as persuasive as his tender hands coursing over her nakedly squirming body. 

"Lay back and relax. I want to kiss your pussy ... I'll make you cum that 
way." 

She lay back, her brain rioting, hardly aware that Chet was once more 
bending over her, between her nakedly outstretched legs. Then he drew aside 
her wetly throbbing cuntal lips, baring the delicate heart of her sensitive 
little womb. He lowered his head decisively until he could inhale the musky 
scent of her intoxicating female perfume. Then, without warning, his wetly 
eager tongue flicked out and licked the ragged lips of her quivering, moist 
pussy lips! 

"AAAGGGHHH!" Carla's back arched. It was more pleasure than she could stand. 
She ground her nakedly rounded buttocks into the sand in a last attempt to 
elude the searing contact with his tongue between her pulsating pussy lips, 
dipping the tip into her cunt's honeyed recesses, tasting the succulent 
sweetness of her cunt. 

"Noooo ... don't!" She sobbed again, flailing her hips wildly as Chet 
slavered at her wetly throbbing cuntal slit. She groaned, her pussy on fire 
from the first contact of tongue on vagina. Electrical pleasure shot up the 
channel of her womb, making her cuntal walls weep for joy. Groaning and 
grinding her hips, eyelids fluttering over glazed passion-filled eyes 
staring blindly up into the afternoon sky, she grabbed his head in both 
hands and ground his face into the heart of her womb. The tormenting wet 
licking was more than she could stand. She could hear him slurp at her 
juices, felt his tongue scrape against her clitoris. 

The pleasure was too great. It plummeted in a wave of repulsion. What's the 
matter with me? I can't let him kiss me down there! I won't even let Paul do 
that! 

How could she debase and humiliate herself by lying naked under God's nose 
and let a near stranger lick and suck her vagina! Spite reared its head, 
then, smoothing the ragged edges of guilt. It was Paul's fault ... his fault 
for acting like an utter bastard toward her. 

They began to work on her then ... those little wisps of forbidden pleasure 
swirling around inside the depths of her hotly throbbing pussy. She drew a 
deep breath, exhaling it slowly, allowing herself the freedom of mind to 
enjoy the lascivious licking by this man crouched between her nakedly spread 
thighs. She tried to fight the pleasure, but she couldn't stop herself from 
groaning out in passion when he took the rigid little bud of her clitoris 
between his front teeth and taunted it with his tongue. 

"Oh GAWWWWD ... !" she gasped, arching her back up off the sand and forcing 
her aroused, dripping pussy up against his face, mashing her genitals 
juicily, slicking his cheeks with evidence of her heated pleasure! Oh, God, 
and what his five o'clock shadow was doing to her clitoris! It was on fire! 

Her writhing body was a raging forest fire by now. Who cared about Paul? Who 
cared about Mae? Why should he get all the pleasure? He'd starved her for 
love, for appreciation, and why shouldn't she take it when it was being 
offered to her? 

"Mmmm ... Ohhhh ..." she mewled, her swollen breasts sheened with the heat 
of her desire, her body rippling with shudders of electrical arousal 
spasming through it. On either side of his head, her thighs trembled. 

And Chet was loving it! He mashed his face deeper into the steamy morass of 
her juicy pussy, inhaling and licking the warmly perfumed flesh rimming his 
nose. He began to jab his tongue at the wetly contracting hole of her cunt, 
feeling the sucking, greedy movements working to pull it into the dark, 
mysterious hole of her cunt. Her cuntal muscles milked his tongue. 

Abruptly, he stiffened his wet, lashing tongue and rammed it as deep as it 
would go up between her legs. 

That was too much for Carla. "OH GAWWWDDD ..." She was on fire now. She 
couldn't take much more of this bittersweet pleasure. Her quivering cuntal 
walls clung voraciously to his daring tongue, and her thighs trembled, her 
back arched, her breasts, swollen and needful, pressing upwards as if 
expecting a hungry mouth to suckle them as her vagina was being sucked. 
Every nerve ending in her body was poised and tensed for the bittersweet 
agony of orgasm. 

And then she was there, soaring through the Pacific skies as if she'd been 
lifted up bodily and was floating on soft fleecy clouds, gently undulating, 
drifting towards heaven. Her body stiffened, suspended in space as passion 
exploded, starting at the tip of her clitoris pounding between her thighs, 
reverberated like silent thunder up the juicy channel of her pussy to the 
spongy tip of her cervix. A flash of ecstasy sprinkled before her eyes. 

Almost there, climbing higher ... higher ... and then- 

Despite the rockets firing in her body, despite the passion rumbling within 
her, she distinctly felt eyes on her. Someone was watching her shame, 
witnessing her sins. But orgasm was too strong and her suspicion fled as she 
came, screaming out her passion. 

"I'm ... I'm cummmming!" she chanted as her grinding hips battered 
mindlessly against Chefs cum-slickened face. Her inner cuntal walls milked 
greedily on the thrusting tongue, and her hands dropped to his head, forcing 
his face deeper into the steamy morass of her cunt. Never, even with Paul, 
had she experienced such wildly exciting joy, and as he voraciously 
tongue-fucked her hotly convulsing pussy, she was frantic with lust. God, 
she could go insane from the electrical sensations shooting through her 
young body. 

It was wild and exquisite, and her excited body agreed. Oh, to be kissed and 
licked between her thighs was heaven's gift to women! And it mattered not 
that Paul was not the man giving her that joy-Paul the man who would soon be 
her husband. 

The tremors rattled through her satiated body and Carla lay back, too 
exhausted to care. 

At least for the moment- 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Chet worked at the zipper of his Levi's. Beside him lay Car la stretched out 
on the sand. Her long, tapered thighs deepened to the color of ripe wheat. 
God, what a body, and his for the taking! Chet swilled from the nearly 
emptied wine bottle, held it up to the sun to measure the remaining dregs 
and with a reckless shrug of the shoulders and muttered, "What the hell ... 
?" upended the bottle selfishly. Wobbling up to his knees, he hooked his 
thumbs in his pants and started hauling them down over his hips and knees 
when the crunching footsteps on shale dirt hit his ears. 

Between the manzanita bushes he caught a glimpse of dark-haired man. Their 
eyes met for a short moment, before the man ran off through the shrubbery, 
leaving Chet to stare dumbfoundedly. An uneasiness bordering on queasiness 
knotted in Chefs stomach; the glint in the stranger's eye was something 
close to murderous. 

Why would anyone want to spy on them? For a scary minute, when first he 
noticed movement, he feared Paul might have discovered him in his fianc'e's 
arms. Or maybe the backpackers had returned to find their six pack of beer 
missing. Dizzily, he considered all this and glanced lustfully down at 
Carla's stretched out nudity. With a goddess like that ready and waiting, it 
didn't matter if the whole world was watching! 

"Who was that?" Carla shot upwards, her auburn hair shimmering red in the 
sunlight. 

"I didn't hear nobody," stammered Chet, working the wad of denim down over 
his ankles. "Just you and me here." 

"No ... I heard somebody. I want to go back to the camp, Chet ... now!" She 
scrambled for her clothes. Out of the corner of one chocolate eye, she 
caught sight of his naked loins, erect and ready to give her a pleasure she 
didn't want. On hands and knees, she grabbed for her discarded clothing and 
slipped into it. Chet grabbed her by the arm. 

"Take it easy." But it was no use restraining her. "Besides, I haven't had a 
chance to-" 

She shot him a venomous look and grabbed for her shirt. "Get it from Mae!" 
she snapped, hating herself for once more being made a pawn in this crazy 
chess game. Anger rushed in where desire had five minutes before. "I'd give 
anything to be back in LA, if you want to know the truth." 

"But ..." 

"And forget what happened between us, Chet, because nothing happened. It was 
all a mistake, I never should have let you touch me ... it was wrong!" Up on 
dimpled knees, she punched one fist through each sleeve and buttoned up her 
shirt. A slender foot jabbed into her shoes and with auburn hair flying in 
the breeze, she was off. Behind her Chet disgruntledly yanked up his zipper 
and grumbled to his feet. 

From the sand pile he plucked up skimpy bikini panties and brandished them 
in the air. "You forgot your panties, hey you!" 

Too late. Carla was off down the path, tears streaming down her flushed 
cheeks. Somebody had been spying on them. Someone had seen her lying naked 
before God, with Chet mashing his face into her genitals, slobbering up her 
love juices. The idea was too much to accept ... too damning for her soul. 

And that person's eyes were leveled on her now. A figure crouched in the 
manzanita bushes, hungry eyes devouring the rich swells and curves of 
Carla's mod-elish body. Carla's tennis shoes dug into the shale earth a 
leg's stretch away from the man who'd witnessed her lust. Had she known, her 
pace would have quickened. But now Paul filled her mind. The danger lay 
within herself, or so she thought ... 

It was a glowering, suspicious foursome who huddled about the fire that 
night exchanging heated glances and speaking in monosyllables. Dinner was 
simple: hot dogs. The air was biting and damp, chilling as a wet towel 
draped about a goosebumped body. 

Even Mae's bubbly mood had deflated, a fact which stoked Carla's suspicions. 
Through the fire flames she watched the blonde-haired, angel-faced lovely 
chase the weiner around on her plate picking at it with a plastic fork 
heartlessly. Beside her, Carla sensed Paul scrutinizing his ex-girl friend's 
every movement, every gesture, every non-communicative glance. Wasn't it 
strange, thought Carla, that after spending all afternoon with Paul, she 
should feel sorry for herself? 

Paul regarded Mae with a fresh curiosity now. Through the fire flames he 
squinted at her, trying to read her thoughts. Half-girl, half-woman, jealous 
and insecure. After this afternoon in the cave he'd come to realize that 
foggy morning walks on the beach are not the proper place to make rational 
decisions. Early morning hours are vulnerable hours, and he was sucked into 
Mae's sex games like a fool. He felt curiously like an object now ... a sex 
object like the woman herself. As he studied the baby-blue eyes he wondered 
how anyone that beautiful could have so many loose screws. Asking him to 
make anal love to her, hinting of bisexual romps ... just what kind of woman 
was she, anyhow? Men were toys to her. 

Warily, his eyes fled to Carla sitting beside him, half-heartedly choking 
down a dry hot dog, eyes fixed on the fire that played over the cascading 
wealth of her shimmering auburn hair. Features set placidly, an aura of 
decisiveness to the set of her jaw. Had he lost her? The thought stuck in 
his throat like bad meat. This lack of communication made him terribly 
uneasy. If those two women would talk to each other and forget this 
nonsense, everybody would be better off. Hell, Chet might even put down the 
bottle and get himself back into shape. Situations like this demanded a 
catalyst, but what and how was the question. Something had to spark the 
light of conversation and understanding, or they might as well all go home. 

Still, Carla seemed changed somehow. Less uptight and more self-confident as 
if something definite was brewing in her lovely brain. He only hoped it was 
not revenge or thoughts of breaking off their engagement. Somehow, he'd 
manage to get her alone tonight and try to talk sense to her. 

He turned to Carla. "Want to take a ride into Big Sur with me to pick up a 
bottle of wine ... maybe a couple of six packs?" 

Chet who had been sitting taciturn and unresponsive, lit up. He dipped into 
his pocket and hauled out a crumpled wad of money. "Get me a bottle of J.D. 
while you're there ... and a pack of Camels. Hell, I'm almost out." 

Mae tutted and rolled her eyes at the stars on this clear, dark night. The 
moon was a thumbnail sliver in the navy-blue sky. "You've still got a bottle 
of Southern Comfort in the van, Chet. You don't have to get drunk every 
night!" 

The public rebuke was well aimed. Everyone had noticed Chet making repeated 
trips to the van and a glance into his eyes cemented the suspicion that he 
was well on his way to inebriation. 

"Hey, I thought we finished that bottle off last night. You mean you been 
holding out on us?" Paul tried to make light of the heavy situation. Then to 
Carla: "Choke down the rest of that hot dog and let's get going ... stores 
close early down here." 

Aloof, ensconced in her own world, Carla followed him to the car and slipped 
in. It started on the fifth try. 

"Huh ... wonder what's wrong with it this time. Hell, I just sank three 
hundred dollars into it last week! Wait until I get my hands on that 
mechanic ... I'll make him eat his goddamned clutch!" He struggled with the 
starter. It sparked and they took off down the rutted road, gingerly 
avoiding pot holes until they reached Highway One. When he accelerated, the 
car sputtered and lurched forward like a lion. 

In the cold night, her voice was icy as a sharp knife. Carla clamped her 
arms over her breast, hugging herself against cold air and colder emotions 
about to freeze in her veins. "Did you and your Barbie doll have a nice time 
at the beach today, Paul?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" he spat back. "Just because I went for a 
walk on the beach doesn't make me a criminal. Hell ... you were no fun, 
turning your back on me." He let out a deep sigh, disgruntled with himself. 
Leaning his elbow on the car door, he raked fingers through his burly brown 
hair. It was with an expression of sincere regret that he studied her 
features, softened by the car's dashboard lights. "Let's bury the hatchet, 
Carla. I'm not in love with Mae, if that's what you think. I was attracted 
to her sexually at one time, but the woman's not for me." 

"You sure didn't act that way," she tutted. "Forty-five minutes to go to the 
bathroom? You really think I'm a fool!" 

"Okay, okay," he acquiesced. "So Mae and I went for a walk on the beach this 
morning ... so what? I apologize." 

She turned a bitter face to him. "Oh, so now we're making apologies. Before 
everything was innocent, but now you're sorry! That doesn't add up, Paul!" 

He pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and reaching over the 
gear shift, hugged her shoulders, pulling her tight to his chest. He buried 
his face in her soft hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear. 

"Please, don't bore me ..." she groaned, pushing him away from her. "There's 
nothing to discuss." 

"There's everything to discuss!" He stared at her for a long moment, 
catching the shimmer of headlights in the rear-view mirror. An old pickup 
truck whizzed by, honking. "You love me, Carla ... we can't let a weekend 
break us up." 

The words escaped her lips before she weighed the consequences. "I don't 
know why you think you have the monopoly on apologies ... you might find it 
amusing that this afternoon Chet and I made love. What do you think of 
that?" 

Paul's jaw fell," his eyes bulged. His right hand smacked across her face 
with a resounding whack that left a painful welt on her cheek. 

"You creep!" She jumped to her feet and leaped over the low car door. The 
car's headlights blanched her trembling frame, her face pale, drawn. "You 
think you can mess around with Mae, but when I start feeling a little loose, 
you go crazy! You and your damned double standards! You can both go to 
hell!" Her voice cleaved the night air, her hands drawn into fists. Crying 
hysterically, she ran down the road into the night. 

"Carla! Get back here!" In the confusion, he hadn't noticed the engine had 
died. "Shit!" he grumbled, pounding the steering wheel when the engine 
stubbornly refused to turn over. On the sixth try, it started. He made a 
tight U-turn in hot pursuit. Lurching, the car advanced a few yards, then 
died. He stomped on the accelerator. Nothing. First gear, more gas. It was 
no use. 

He squinted into the dark night. No sign of Carla. Clenching his fists, he 
hammered at the steering wheel and let fly every swear word he had ever 
heard ... including a few in Spanish. Leaping over the car door, he rolled 
the MG onto the shoulder in case a vehicle should come swerving around the 
bend. 

Traffic on the country road was sparse and most drivers, fearful of picking 
up strangers, unsympathetic. Two cars passed him by and one motorcycle with 
a blonde haired girl clutching her lover around the waist, hair flying in 
the breeze, golden thighs clamped to the bike. Jesus, she looks like Mae! 
Nope, he had to quit thinking that way. Carla. He cupped his hands and 
called out to her. He squinted into the forest, trying to catch sight of her 
willowy figure, but the moon was but a sliver in the cold, dark sky. 

A Highway Patrol car ground to a halt. "Got a problem, mister?" The 
uniformed policeman pushed back the bill of his cap and regarded the young 
man suspiciously. 

"My car broke down. Where can I get a tow truck?" 

"Get in and I'll drive you to the store. They've got a garage. Maybe Joe can 
help ya out. Kinda late though." 

The sky was hard and cold and clear as the black and white patrol car rolled 
into Joe's Grocery parking lot, just off the main stretch. Next to it sat a 
gas tank and a small station above which the flying red horse made strange 
contrast to the dilapidated building. A closed sign hung by a string 
dangling from the rubber gas hose. 

"Don't look too promising," said the patrol man, opening the car door and 
heading for the coffee shop section where he spent his nights drinking hot 
coffee and watching the slender string of traffic on the highway.' 

Paul headed for the cooler and drew out a six pack of beer. That and a 
bottle of wine sat on the counter top now. He was ready for something with a 
punch ... besides Carla's insults. 

An old man with wire-rimmed glasses was pouring the patrolman a cup of hot 
coffee. He turned to regard his new customer. 

"Anywhere I can get a tow truck?" he asked, then jerked his head toward the 
row of hard liquor bottle in back of the counter. "Better give me a fifth of 
Southern Comfort too." 

"Tow truck? Not at this hour. What's your problem?" The older man wiped the 
dust from the bottle with the sleeve of his shirt. His fingers played over 
the cash register keys. 

"My car's broken down about three miles out of town. I need to haul it to a 
garage before somebody crashes into it." The man leaned his age-spotted 
hands on the counter top and studied his young customer. "You stayin' in a 
hotel?" 

"No ... we're camping down the road." He lowered his voice and evaded the 
subject, knowing full well he was trespassing on private land. All he needed 
was a ticket to make his weekend a total disaster. 

"Where 'bouts?" The old man was insistent. 

"Down off Johnson Road a bit. But we're pulling up camp tonight," he added 
hastily in a voice low enough to evade the policeman's ears. He glanced over 
the old man's shoulder to see the patrolman heavily ensconced in the green 
sports sheet section of the newspaper. 

Joe stared long and hard at the young man. "How many people you camping 
with?" 

"Just me and my wife and another couple." 

It sounded strange to hear him call his wife. After tonight they were total 
strangers, it seemed. "Why do you ask?" 

"We people down here in Big Sur like to keep to ourselves ... we don't 
gossip much, but we've been hearin' stories about campers down on Johnson 
Road getting harassed. Don't know if there's any truth to it ... but I 
wouldn't stay there if I was you. Cops been looking around those parts for a 
coupla campers that never showed up again. Think they mighta got washed out 
by a wave. Can't be too careful, though." 

The tinny sound squawked on the patrolman's beeper. He grumbled, folded up 
the green sheet, rattled a few coins on the counter top, mumbled a "Thank 
you," to Joe and the screen door banged shut behind him. 

A look of startled concern creased Paul's brow. The knife, the woman's 
hiking boot ... the slam of his car hood ... and Carla out there in the 
woods alone melded into one horrifying sensation constricting his throat. 

"You see any other campers out there?" 

Paul shook his head. "I found an abandoned backpack and a cooler full of 
food. Aside from that-" His face went tight. "I better get back there right 
away. Anybody here can give me a ride?" 

The old man shook his head. "Too late for that ..." 

Paul's jaw fell slack; he swallowed tightly and picked up the grocery bag, 
hearing only half of what the man was telling him. Dear God, don't let Chet 
be drunk, he thought miserably. Mae out there alone. No, he didn't have to 
worry about her; she had the van to lock herself up in. But Carla ... his 
wife to be ... the woman he'd slapped across the face in a fit of 
unjustified jealousy. Carla headed for the campsite with no flashlight, no 
weapon, tromping through the woods, insane with anger and hurt. 

His hand clamped on the old man's arm. "I gotta get a ride back there. 
Christ, I have to! Lend me your car, please ... I'll give you mine!" 

The old man shook his head again. "Sorry, kid. I don't drive no more ... I 
live in the back of the store." 

Paul tore through the screen door, his heart pounding, blood singing in his 
ears. 

"Hey, mister ... where's my money! Hey, you can't leave without paying!" 

Sitting on the driftwood log, staring into the flames slowly dying now, Mae 
felt a loneliness a woman of her pulchritude seldom felt. She shivered, 
shoulders hunched against the biting night cold. Her blue eyes rose to stare 
up at the thumbnail moon where slivers of clouds blanketed its skimpy light. 
A splattering of stars sprinkled over head. Sniffling, she wiped her nose 
with the back of her hand and searched for the Big Dipper, her thoughts lost 
in emotional storm of regret. Paul in love with another woman, Chet lying 
drunk on the sand like some Bowery bum. 

Chet groaned, eyelids flickering from the warmth of the fire. He grabbed for 
the nearly emptied Southern Comfort bottle that found its way from the van 
only when the others had left. 

"Do you always have to get drunk, Chet," she tutted disapprovingly. "Why do 
you do that? Why can't you be happy just to be with me?" Bitterness sparked 
in her veins, a bitterness normally camouflaged by her syrupy attitude 
towards the opposite sex. "Other men like to be with me." 

Chet snickered drunkenly. In his inebriated state his handsome face 
aged-like now. Mae glared down at him. He was no longer the fun-loving, 
happy-go-lucky rich boy she met six months ago: he was a worthless bum. 
Frustrated, she leaped up from the log and screamed down at him. "Just for 
your information, Chet, I made love to Paul twice today! How do you like 
that? But you don't care. You don't even make love to me anymore. You make 
love to your fucking bottle!" 

Chet glared back at her through drunken, venomous eyes. "Got news for ya, 
honey ... little Carla and I sucked each other off today. Yeah, Chet can get 
it up ... but not for you!" 

"You bastard!" she yelped, tears stinging her blue eyes. "Go ahead, get 
drunk! Who needs you? I'm going to bed!" 

Fifty yards away, crouched in the bushes, two men listened to her rage, and 
four eyes followed the leggy blonde storming back to the burgundy van. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

The tree bark scratched her flushed cheeks, the cold night air bit at the 
tender nape of her neck as a forest breeze tossed her auburn hair recklessly 
over her shoulders. Carla clung to the pine tree as if it were the warm arms 
of a compassionate lover. Hysterically, she sobbed, struggling to catch her 
breath. Finally, when the sniffles subsided, leaving open her senses to the 
deplorable state of her situation she glanced wild eyed through the dark 
silhouetted trees. Panic set in. 

Running, stumbling over the soft forest floor, she heard the nearby purr of 
a car's engine. Wildly she squinted through the trees, and shot a withering 
glance at the moon. The thumbnail sliver hung stoically and unaiding in the 
brittle sky. The forest was damp and dark, cave-like and terrifyingly eerie. 
The thought raced through her mind that something predatory could be out 
there watching her every movement, listening to her helpless cries ... just 
as the stranger had witnessed her lust with Chet today on the mountain top! 
That thought shivered through her lithe body as her legs, charged with 
adrenalin, scissored towards the splash of car headlights washing over the 
tree trunks. 

"Wait ... help! Stop ... please!" Panting, she tore down a shallow ravine, 
and tripped over an exposed tree trunk. The earth was moist and cold under 
her cheek. Wearily, she pulled herself up onto her knees and crying, brushed 
her sweater clean of pine needles and dead leaves and made her way to the 
highway. 

Two cars whizzed uncompassionately past the woman waving her arms. Another 
drunk, they thought, passing her by. Hardly a night for a stroll with the 
sky hard and dark. That was precisely what the driver of the third vehicle 
contended. 

Through tear-wetted eyes, Carla caught the blurry image of an elderly man 
with a fluffy white beard pull onto the shoulder and open the door of his 
beat-up pickup truck. "Ain't no night for a gal to be walkin' by herself," 
he cajoled. "Hop in ... I done my share a hitchhikin', too," he assured. 

Carla would have refused the offer had it not been for the orange tabby 
tiger cat perched on his owner's shoulder. A more comfortable and harmless 
two-some she couldn't refuse. She was miles from the beach, cold and 
depressed. At the Johnson Road turn off she asked to be let off. 
Reluctantly, he did so, and rattled off his rusted truck. 

The shocking adjustment to the darkness made her wish she had accepted his 
offer to drive her to the campgrounds. Miserable and self-pitying, she 
started to take bitter delight in the knowledge that if anything unpleasant 
happened to her it was Paul's fault. No self-respecting, sane human would 
let a woman walk alone in the woods with no flashlight, no weapon, leaving 
her to the elements. 

And where was Paul? Why wasn't he looking for her? Selfish bastard, she 
thought bitterly. His precious beer and Mae are more important than me! To 
think I was going to marry a selfish creep like him! How could I be so 
stupid? Those negative thoughts were hardly convincing, though, as she 
raised a balled up fist to her trembling lips and bit down hard in attempt 
to stem the tears flooding her eyes and making a watery blur of the stark 
tree silhouettes closing in on her threateningly. The idea of letting Mae 
see her in this tremulous state was equally devastating. Well, if Mae wanted 
to play her games, let her ... this one was dropping out of the running! 

Mae stormed to the van, her heavy breasts rising and falling from anger 
snorting from her deer-like nostrils. So Chet and Carla-pooh spent the 
afternoon sucking each other's genitals! How cute ... how disgustingly cute. 
She threw herself through the opened door and collapsed on the lower of the 
two single-bed mattresses built into the deluxe camper van. Anger, a rage so 
hot her cheeks flushed in the bitter air suffused her lissome body. She felt 
as if she might burst out of her skin! "Damn!" She punched the bed with a 
balled up fist and swore until her breath failed her. 

She'd been so certain, so confident that Paul still loved her. And she'd 
tried being the mellow, magnanimous ex-girl friend, feeding him little 
tidbits of goodies toward Carla. Oh, he'd gone for it hook, line and sinker 
... gobbled up her honeyed phrases like a bear licking honey ... and then 
poof. The second she wanted him to get a little kinky with sex, he freezes 
up worse than his cutsie fianc'e! 

"Men-fuckers!" she spat, wishing there were somebody there to listen to her, 
somebody to take frustrations out on ... somebody to fuck and get her mind 
off these stupid creatures. "Shit!" 

And Chet, the stupid bum, curled up on the sand like some Central Park bum, 
hugging his bottle. She pressed her perky nose to the window, the 
stentoriously flaring nostrils steaming the window. That's just fine with 
me! Wait till Paul comes back ... just wait. I'll fuck him right in front of 
everybody and then see what they do! 

A portable heater sat on the carpeted floor. With an angry twist, she turned 
the knob, delighting in the warmth. Hell, he could sleep out on the sand for 
all she cared. She was going to bed! 

Stretching her arms over her head, she pulled free of the bulky wool sweater 
covering her naked, melonous breasts. Tiny goosebumps polka-dotted her 
luscious flesh, a tingle of salacious expectation shivering through her body 
at the feel of being naked from the waist up. Standing up, she pulled at the 
metal tab of her Levi's zipper and hauled the denim down over her hips, 
stepped out of them, and kicked them free of her ankles. 

Naked and loving the feel of being unrestricted, a shiver of naughtiness 
crept into her brain. Tossing honey blonde hair over her naked shoulder, she 
squatted down next to the refrigerator and dipped a delicate hand beneath; 
her fingers touched the gold glass and she hauled it out. With a 
retributional snicker, she twisted open the cap of the Jack Daniels bottle, 
broke the seal and tossed back her head. The liquor burned like a fire 
eater's show time lunch, but she endured and spitefully tipped the bottle 
again. She swished her head from side to side loving the feel of her soft 
hair brushing over her back. 

Then with curl-lipped deliberation, she stretched out nakedly atop the 
goosedown coverlet and with the heater warming her as an absent lover 
couldn't, she stretched languidly, taking long deep swills of the liquor in 
between heady thoughts of lying there naked until Paul came to find her. 
Then she'd screw him silly ... in front of snob-nosed Carla and her drunken 
boyfriend. 

Raspberry polished fingertips ran narcisstically over the goosebumped bumps 
and curves of her bronzed nudity, coming to rest on the strawberry tips of 
her nipples, puckering from the titillating touch of her own admiring 
fingers and expectation. Another deep swill of. the burning alcohol tickled 
down her swan-like throat, while curtains of honey hair sprayed over the 
coverlet. If touching her own body could feel this wonderful to her, Lordie 
what it must do to men! 

The thought of how fantastic it must feel to be a man, to have the power to 
penetrate a woman made her pussy burn with lust. During a few photography 
sessions, she'd been asked to squat naked next to a woman in the simulated 
act of lesbian love. A few times, too, the temptation to let a woman fondle 
her had popped to mind and along with it snuck the temptation to penetrate a 
woman, to share the power afforded only to men. Frantically, she lifted her 
head from the mattress and took a deep sip of the Jack Daniels, noting that 
she was well on her way to drunkenness. Spite rippled through her as she 
became aware of the stubborn pulsing in her female flesh, deep in the valley 
of her thighs. 

Lying naked in a warm spot like here next to the heater, always made her 
feel happy and sexy. Smiling crookedly, she drew her dimpled knees up to her 
fully swollen breasts and turned her face to the heater, feeling the slight 
tingle, like the sun's rays, playing over her anger-flushed cheeks. 

With deliberation, she rubbed her fingers over the tips of her breasts, 
warming them with her hands. It was an automatic reaction, something she'd 
been taught to do by photographers who wanted their models warmed up and 
ready for a sexy photo session. The touch of her own fingers against the 
sensitive flesh provoked an unusual response, a thrilling jolt that seared 
to her belly. Suddenly, the snugly fitting bikini panties felt horribly 
restricting, confining the hair-fringed fleshy lips of her pussy. God, they 
were soaked too! She could feel them sticking to her inner thighs, crying 
for attention. She lifted her hips from the coverlet and peeled them down 
over her swelling hips and slender thighs, and kicked them off her ankles. 
She drew a deep breath, another shock of excitement racing through her loins 
as her vaginal furrow rubbed down against the coverlet. 

"Damn you men!" she snarled under her breath. She seemed to have become a 
toy for men ... an object of their selfishness. A cold rush of night air 
rushed over her suddenly exposed pussy and she caught her breath, sinking 
down into the coverlet. Lazily, languidly she stretched out now, arching her 
back a little to stretch out like a cat before the fire. Oddly, she sensed 
her muscles tightening sensuously under her sun-bronzed skin. God, she 
needed to make herself cum ... just to forget. 

With a little smile of anticipation, she slowly spread her legs apart and 
let her hand drift down over the shallow bowl of her belly into the chestnut 
burnished thatch of her pubic hair. Her eyes were half-closed, the thick, 
dark lashes fluttering over her cheeks as her fingers lightly brushed the 
swollen bud of her clitoris. Already she could feel the lips of her 
love-hungry pussy growing hot, tingling and throbbing under the gentle 
rubbing pressure of her fingertips. God, it wouldn't take long ... not long 
at all! 

She raised a delicate hand to cup one after the other of her fleshy breasts, 
taunting the tightly clenched nipples between her fingers, after propping 
the Jack Daniels bottle up against the van's wall in a cuddly nest of the 
coverlet's wrinkles. As her breath began to come in short labored gasps, she 
felt the lust smoldering in her loins ignite into a bonfire of passion. 

Her long shapely legs began to scissor open, making folds in the coverlet 
half-draped over her thigh, while the heater warmly kissed her nakedness. As 
she stroked the hotly throbbing nipple of her clitoris, her eyes became 
glazed and smokey and she felt her nerve-endings tingling with the needs 
built up in her womb. Her smooth rounded buttocks twisted frantically 
against the mattress. Her full sensuous Clara Bow lips fell open in delight 
as her trembling fingers slid downward to the soft, hair-covered lips of her 
pussy and pulled them outward to expose the tiny opening that throbbed 
hungrily between them. 

Tenderly, cooing to herself, she wormed her outstretched middle finger into 
the moistly quivering hole of her sex, forcing it into the clasping wet hole 
until her finger was squirming up inside the warm, liquid tightness. A 
shudder of delight rippled through her naked body as she began to fuck it 
slowly in and out of her hungrily working belly, feeling her greedy cunt 
walls pulling and nibbling on her finger. 

But one wasn't enough for Mae ... men, fingers, cocks ... one was never 
enough. She quickly thrust another finger past the swollen flanges of her 
moist cunt, gradually widening the lips as she rotated the inserted fingers 
deep around up inside her cunt with sensual abandon. Disconnected images of 
Paul fucking his cock into her hotly writhing body began to flash through 
her inebriated mind as she drove her hips eagerly upward to meet each 
downward sloshing movement of her fingers into her penis-starved pussy. 

Abruptly that image faded. No not Paul ... not a man ... not someone to use 
her and throw her away. Gradually, almost before she was aware of it, the 
erotic visions transformed into the softer features, softer body, softer 
touch of a woman. A woman's soft fingers tracing the luscious bumps and 
curves of her naked body with an appreciation a man wasn't capable of. The 
idea of rubbing her flesh against another woman's was hellishly intoxicating 
filling her hungering vaginal cavity with a heated presence of her own 
fingers. The idea brought a groan of lust from her lips, and she pulled her 
knees back up to touch her breasts and lewdly ground her hips upward to meet 
each delightful stroke of her fingers fucking into her desire-drenched 
pussy. 

The sand was damp and cold as a wet towel, but Chet felt more than a vague 
discomfort that centered somewhere in his chest like an ache of longing 
disguised by inebriation. The tide was rising to its peak, frothy waves 
crashing against the night-hard silhouettes of rock outcroppings that mark 
the Pacific as treacherous. Through his brain rattled hate-filled words 
accompanied by a deep sense of loss. He rolled over onto his back, nostrils 
stinging from smoldering logs. 

A bloodcurdling glint simmered in the short man's eyes as he stalked the 
helpless figure slumped before the fire. Scrambling beast-like, the knife 
between his teeth caught the slender glimmer of moonlight as he neared his 
prey. Adrenalin pumped in his veins when Shorty stretched out a cold bony 
hand to awaken the drunken camper. He'd heard the gorgeous-bodied blonde 
rail at him for being drunk and watched surreptitiously from the sidelines 
as she ran towards the van. 

Through murderous eyes, he glanced over his shoulder to stare long and hard 
at the burgundy van that had been his object of attention since the last 
campers got here. Tonight was the night ... she would be his! Oh, she would 
get it ... every place he wanted to put it ... like the other fool women who 
thought they were alone on this beach! His dark eyes snapped toward his 
lanky friend hovering in the bushes. A nod of the head was the signal. 

On all fours, resembling a warlock, gnarled and quick, Chuck sneaked toward 
the van. Ten feet away, he dropped to the ground and crept reptilian-like 
toward the shiny vehicle. His fingers touched the dew-wetted metal as he 
pulled himself up to nose level with the low convex window. 

Abruptly he pulled in his breath, his ghoulish features leathery from months 
of living on the briny-aired ocean beach, cracked into a lecherous grin as 
he stared at the lusciously naked body of the bitch blonde that he and 
Shorty had stalked ... as they had the slimy Viet Cong back in Nam. 

From his back pocket he hauled out the pair of bikini panties he'd found 
earlier in the day from the mountain top where he'd discovered the drunk and 
the dark-haired bitch lying naked under the sun. He would have got the dark 
one then ... would have plunged the knife into her heart ... but she had 
seen him and foiled his plans. 

Chuck's bony hand wadded up the bikini panties; he brought them to his nose, 
sniffing, taking in the' rich muskiness of a female in heat. The bushiness 
of his hair and a pair of foreboding eyes rose above the ledge of the van's 
window as he watched the gorgeous blonde fucking herself with her fingers, 
lying outstretched nakedly, just waiting for him and Shorty. It seemed too 
perfect, too easy. He balked, waiting for Shorty. 

In the valley of his thighs, Chuck felt his cock bloat from the salacious 
finger fucking the blonde woman was giving herself. Christ, what a body ... 
! His hand slithered down to his pants to cup the weight of his cum-filled 
balls. Jesus, he couldn't wait ... couldn't pry his eyes off of the 
bronze-bodied bitch tossing her blonde hair over the bed, trying to make 
herself cum. His cock was hot and thick when he yanked down his pants zipper 
and hauled it out into the night air. Hot and thick beneath his fingers as 
he envisioned her pink pussy lips wrapped around his cock while he screwed 
into her, pulverizing her guts! 

Chuck's hand stroked steadily up and down the bloated length of his hard 
cock, pumping it, pulling the foreskin back and forth lustfully with 
teeth-gritting lust. The bitch ... the bitch ... like the whores back in Nam 
who jammed glass tubes up your prick and laughed while a scrawny Cong Commie 
grumbled out interrogations, threatening you with worse than death if you 
didn't cooperate. Two years of that was enough to make any man go fucking 
crazy ... want to kill. 

His hand began to beat up and down his penis, making lewd slapping sounds 
against his hairy groin each time his gnarled, leathery fist struck 
downward. His body tensed and trembled and he chewed on his bottom lip as he 
concentrated on the feast a window-glass away. He could hear her grunt and 
groan, twisting and arching her back off the mattress while she 
finger-fucked herself into oblivion. 

On the other side of the window he watched as Mae delved down between her 
satiny legs with the other hand and feverishly pinched and teased at the 
tiny, swollen bud of her clitoris while her hotly clenching buttocks danced 
insanely to the savage rhythm of her driving fingers. Choked gasps of animal 
pleasure and lust arose in her throat, and her face contorted to a wild mask 
of lust as she speeded up her rhythm, straining toward her orgasm that she 
needed so badly. Her long blonde hair tossed around her baby-featured face 
as she struggled for it and hung there ... 

Hung there while the lusty-eyed murderer watched with hollow-cheeked glee 
... knowing that in minutes she would be his to play with and taunt. And 
nobody was there to help her, nobody to hear her screams. 

Shorty had done a helluva job on the MG's clutch and both of them had 
watched from the manzanita bushes the driver curse and swear as his car 
lurched down Johnson Road ... never to return ... with the dark-haired bitch 
beside him, leaving them free to do as they pleased with the baby-faced 
bitch. 

He glared through the window, his breath steaming on the pane as Mae hovered 
for what seemed like a year of seasons on the edge of her climax, and she 
placed both hands over her straining young cunt, frantically massaging and 
fingering the hot, slippery inner walls with all the strength remaining her. 
Mae forced herself to finger fuck long after she realized it was no use ... 
she was too drunk ... something was wrong. She needed a man to make her cum, 
needed something more adoring than her own fingers dipping in and out of her 
crying cunt. She needed attention ... and groaned aloud with frustration. 

Chuck's body became board stiff as he watched Mae's luscious breasts jiggle 
from her thrashing movements. Ah, in a little while she would be going wild 
and her slippery pink cunt would bathe his cock in hot, musky juices. Tight 
and smooth and velvety on the inside would be her cunt ... he thought, 
licking his lips as he stared at the woman's crying genitals. He gave his 
cock an extra pull as he stared at the glistening oil drops of her 
lubricants. Christ, this one would cum the second he shoved it to her, 
unlike that other bitch who fought and scratched ... until they were forced 
to hurt her-bad. 

He knew he would cum in three more strokes. He felt it amass in the hairy 
balls of his testicles, felt it burn in his gut ... then felt it gush. His 
knees buckles and for a steadying moment, he was forced to lean against the 
van to keep from collapsing. He cupped his hands to the main force of his 
semen and with a grunt, gave it a last pull of the foreskin ... the one that 
arched his cock backwards, and pulled hard on the skin of the head so that 
it stretched painfully. Then he grabbed the panties from his back pocket and 
with a snarl of contempt, let the shower spurt onto the black undies. His 
head snapped back, his ghoulish face bathed in threads of moonlight as his 
mouth fell open in slack-jawed ecstasy and relief. Christ, he couldn't wait 
to fuck her! Grinding his teeth, he groaned a muted gurgle of 
pleasure-filled expectation and, breathing hard, glanced over his shoulder 
to see Shorty winding ropes around the drunken man's arms pulled back behind 
him. 

The fun was about to begin. As always happened on nights when he and Shorty 
felt the unstoppable thrill of bringing back to life the gut-tearing reality 
of war, a tingle of wariness crept in beside expectation. He could feel it 
in his fingertips, feel it in the soles of his feet, could taste it in his 
mouth. The thrill of fear was tangible within him. 

Cramming his flaccid, sticky tube back into his pants, he zipped them up and 
stole around to the door side of the van. He could smell her womanly scent 
through the metal door. There was no stopping them now. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

The air within the van smelled heavily of musk, fairly twitched with the 
itch of unsatisfied sex. Mae crooned drunkenly on the mattress, the bottle 
of Jack Daniels propped up in the goosedown folds of the coverlet rumpled 
about her body shivering with the dread of passionate need. A sob tore from 
her throat. Deserted ... utterly deserted by Chet and Paul. Why? Wasn't she 
a gorgeous-bodied woman, uninhibited and willing to give a man exactly that 
which made him feel like a man and proud of it? Wouldn't any man give his 
worldly possessions to see his girl friend's naked, oiled body decorating 
the glossy folds of a sex magazine? 

Wouldn't they? A curtain of honey hair spilled over her shoulders while 
tears seeped from her eyes. Alone ... alone on the beach in this empty van. 

Abruptly, she sniffled and wearily raised her head off the mattress. The 
moment she heard the scrape of the van door, she twisted her head around. 
Blue eyes stared drunkenly up at the ceiling under spidery eyelashes. 

"Paul ... Paul is that you? I've been-" 

The van dipped suspiciously under the weight. A dark shadow of a figure 
blanketed Mae's naked body, shading it with the dark omen of lust. 

"Paul ... oh, Paul ..." she slurred. 

A crooked smirk creased her intruder's leathery face. A bony hand raised to 
his face and his nostrils flared from the scent of fresh sperm sticky in the 
wadded up skimpiness of a woman's bikini panties. 

Chuck took a head-spinning sniff and tossed the panties to the sandy ground 
outside the door, and turned, prepared, to see her face to face. 

Cop cars, like taxis, were never there when you need them, grunted Paul, 
half-walking, half-jogging, keeping watch over his shoulder for any car that 
might careen over the hill. Carla, Mae, car hoods slamming in the night, 
missing campers, woman's hiking boot, knife ... everything congealed like 
the scattered clues of a Sherlock Holmes movie into something too foreboding 
to ignore. 

The night was stony silent, unresponsive and unyielding. How long had he 
been walking fifteen, twenty minutes, and not a single vehicle. His only 
hope lay in the unplotted theft of the old man's liquor which he'd left 
alongside the road. If the policeman came back for a cup of coffee, 
certainly the old grocer would complain and send the law after him. God, 
he'd never thought he'd want to be arrested. What a woman can do to a man! 

"Ahhhh ..." Mae's balled up fist flew to her mouth, her wide blue eyes 
saucered in white-hot fear as she stared up into the flinty eyes of the 
scarred face man grinning down at her. 

"Who-who are you ... please, go away, leave me alone, please ..." she 
whimpered, raising up on her hands and knees and cowering into the goosedown 
coverlet, frantically trying to cover her body. His face was horrifying, 
scarred from cheek to chin and part of his nose was disfigured as if a knife 
had cleaved it in half. The smell of him was nauseating. 

"Don't try nothin', Blondie," he grinned. "Me and my buddy been watchin' you 
flingin' that hot ass 'round for a day now ... and we intend to get a little 
ourselves ..." He closed in on her, his bony hand reaching for the knife 
sheath hanging from his belt. The van light caught the shimmer of a knife 
blade. 

"Ahhhhhh! No ..." 

"You shuddup or I'll make ribbons outta that pretty face ... then you'll 
look like me!" he snarled, placing one knee of his filthy pants on the 
mattress, his foul breath bathing her face. 

"No ... please ..." His eyes were eating her alive and when Chuck worked at 
the zipper of his pants, real fear so strong she could taste it watered in 
Mae's mouth. For a moment she thought she was dreaming, this was a 
nightmare, but no, it was very real. The cold touch of his reptilian hands 
and (Oh God, she couldn't look at it) his nose, was all too vivid for the 
imagination. 

He yanked down his pants, holding his knife in his teeth, and kicked the 
dirty fabric over the sandy soles of his army boots. Then he turned to her, 
and ripped off his shirt. A man accustomed to living on cold beaches needs 
to become acclimated to cold nights and seldom wears jackets. His thick army 
jacket had gotten too bloodied from the red-headed camper ... fiesty little 
bitch she'd been-all fight. Too bad they had to hurt her. 

He swung around, completely naked and knelt down on the bed. His long 
purple-veined cock was partially erect, a pearl of pre-cum oozing from the 
mushroom like tip. 

Mae sobbed, hanging her head, hiding her face behind the blonde curtain of 
honey hair. "Don't hurt me, please ... I'll do anything ..." 

"Don't worry," he grated. "You will!" 

"Nooooo!" Rearing up on her haunches, she pushed tear wetted hair from her 
eyes and spat at him. "No, you won't ... Chet won't let ... Paul won't let 
you!" 

"Forget it, honey. Paul ain't gonna get back here. He ain't got a car and 
your drunk buddy's all tied up by the fire ... just you and me, and my 
little buddy here." He wagged the stiffened tube of his penis at her. 

Squeezing back tears, Mae glowered at him hatefully. She was being used as a 
man's toy again. Lord, would it ever change? Only this one meant to hurt 
her. She whimpered from deep in her soul, imagining her face being ripped to 
shreds by the knife he held in his hand. 

"Now you gonna suck me off? Or do I gotta cut up that pretty face?" He ran 
the tip of the cold knife blade along her jugular vein. "I cut up plenty of 
Congs ... don't think I won't do the same to you." 

Her blue eyes fell to the hunk of veiny meat dangling between his hirsute 
thighs. Deep within her a masochistic yearning began to churn within the 
un-sated depths of her womb. 

"I been watchin' ya play with yerself in here, Blondie. I saw ya dippin' yer 
fingers in yer cunt ..." he chuckled lewdly. "Wouldn't ya rather feel my 
hard prick boring into that pretty little hole?" 

Mae hated herself for thinking it, but she had to admit it would have been 
far more satisfying (if only she didn't have to look at his face), than her 
skinny fingers. Some jobs belonged to a man. She closed her eyes, sensing 
his weight beside her, felt his hairy body touching her satiny one and 
winced as if the knife blade had plunged into her heart. She felt his bony 
hands dig into her shoulders and lower her down onto the mattress. To look 
into his ugly, disfigured face would have been too damning and so she 
clenched her eyes behind a curtain of hair. 

She felt him lifting her head and peeked through the shimmering curtain of 
hair to see him wadding up the pillows. A lewd chortle broke from his mouth 
and she felt his naked chest brush over her bronzed breasts as he reached 
for the bottle of Jack Daniels. 

"Mighty nice of ya to leave me some booze ... ain' had J.D. for long time." 
The sound of liquor gurgling down his throat sounded in her ears. "Ahhh," he 
smacked his lips and threw the empty bottle to the floor. "Now we gonna get 
down to some real cock suckin'." 

Oh, God, if only he'd just shove that knobbed hulk of meat into her pussy, 
cum and be done with it? He was going to torture her to the end! With a 
withering shame burning within her, she realized he knew her shame: he had 
seen her, a sex-crazed woman, trying to satisfy herself. And he was coming 
to her rescue. She'd brought this upon herself, she realized in a burst of 
understanding. 

In terrified disbelief, she watched as he lifted a leg over her naked body 
and positioned himself, straddling her breasts. His knees clamped into her 
armpits, his throbbing, seeping cock dangling inches from her face. The 
smell of his musky genitals told her he had orgasmed not long before ... and 
that she would have to suck the pearls of his sperm still drying on the 
purple-veined tip. The thought made her wretch in disgust. 

"No ... please, cum inside of me ..." she begged. Then in her flirtatious 
girlish voice: "Push it in my pussy, Blondie'll make you feel sooo good!" 
The words choked from her baby-soft lips unconvincingly. 

"Don't play no games with me, bitch!" In answer, he shook his blood-heavy 
cock before her eyes. A dribble of its cum flew from the tip, pearling the 
trembling line of her rosebud lips. "Suck my cock ... or you know what I'll 
do!" 

Mae closed her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to do it. It was too ugly, 
too demeaning. For once in her life she had to make a stand and defend 
herself. Rolling her blonde head from side to side, she avoided touching the 
salty-smelling flesh with her lips. Chuck grabbed her cruelly by the 
shoulder, digging into her shoulder bones until she swore he'd cracked her 
clavicle. "Open your mouth, you slut!" Wrapping his bony knuckles in her 
baby-soft hair, he yanked her off the pillow, mashing her face into his 
groin. 

"Owww! Stop! You're hurting me!" she sobbed, whimpering. 

"Open your mouth!" 

Slowly, knowing there was no choice, she parted her rosebud lips, trembling 
from pain and fear. Mortification swept over her, but she obeyed, knowing 
she must. She closed her succulent lips around the blunt, musky-tasting head 
of his meaty stalk. The taste of his earlier orgasm lingered, making her 
nostrils flare and her mouth water. Strangely, however, it wasn't 
disgusting. Anything was better than having her face lacerated by the knife 
that sat conveniently in the folds of the blanket. This man was insane; he'd 
hesitate at nothing. 

He shoved his briny-tasting organ between her lips another inch. Despite the 
horror of her situation, she felt a strangely kindled excitement in knowing 
that she was acting sluttishly to save herself, instead of destroying 
herself. That her earlier nymphomaniac experiences with men had been a 
subconscious act of self-destruction did not strike her just then, but she 
acted upon that subconscious reality soulfully. 

"Lick it ... lick off the cum ... the cum that came gushin' out while I 
watched ya fingering yerself," he breathed, panting from the thrill of 
seeing his cock disappear through the blonde-haired lovely lips. For the 
past day he'd watched her crawling all over the dark-haired man, sneaking 
off and making anal love, and he'd been carrying around a load of cum that 
damned near threatened to explode. Steam hissed from his lungs as he pulled 
it from her lips and growled: "Lick it all over ... lick it nice and clean, 
Blondie ... and keep them blue eyes on my face so you can see who you're 
gettin' it from." 

Reluctantly, her eyes lifted to his disfigured face, half-blown away by 
shrapnel in a senseless war that nobody won. She winced. 

Chuck's face went tight. "Lick it ... bitch!" he spat. He jerked it in front 
of her nose. It was hard, so hard the skin was stretched purplishly over its 
stony surface. Lined with thick veins, it pulsed madly against the tightly 
drawn skin. Below, his testicles hung pendulously, swollen and heavy with 
cum. Hesitantly, Mae ran her hot pink tongue over the warm rubbery surface, 
feeling the blood pulse against her tongue wormishly. Kittenishly, she 
swabbed it clean with her tongue, then ran it along the underside, a feat 
she'd prided herself on many times. 

As she slaved over his genitals to save her life, she began to feel a 
strangely eruptive pleasure growing in the pit of her stomach at the idea of 
saving her own life by acting a slut. Held captive in the van while Chet- 
(what had happened to him, the drunken creep) ignored her, Paul ignored her, 
leaving her to save her own soul with the one weapon the Lord had given 
her-her body, her sensuality. 

Deep in the soft bowl of her belly, she could feel a burning heat the only 
joy left her from her pitiful attempts at satisfying her crying need for 
attention. She sucked a little harder. 

Above her, he trembled from the exquisite sensation of her wet tongue 
bathing his cock that dangled like a carrot before the horse. "Come on ... 
lick it, bitch! Lick it like you licked his cock!" 

Her blue eyes rose to meet his snappy ones, then quickly lowered; the 
murderous glint in his eye was too terrifying, too real. In a burst of 
self-pity, she trailed her velvety tongue back down the veiny pole and 
ovalled her rosebud lips so that they might slip more easily over the naked, 
briny-smelling head of his cock. Chuck flicked his strong hips and groaned 
from deep in his lungs. Then he slid the full eleven inches of his 
lust-engorged flesh into the wet hole of her mouth and pushed further until 
it gored down the length of her tongue to bang painfully against the back of 
her throat. Panic flooded through her and she gagged from the taste of him; 
his genitals filled her nose. She sucked and slipped her warm tongue up and 
down the hot tube, nibbling softly at the base with her front teeth. 

"AAAAGGGHHH ... Jesus!" he groaned, throwing back his head, exposing the 
disfigurement that marred him for life openly to her macabre-awakened 
curiosity. Slowly he rocked his strong hips back and forth, jamming into her 
ovalled mouth as if it were her cunt. He rammed hard, tearing the breath 
from her overworked, burning lungs, boring into her throat and pulling out 
only to shove it harder back down her throat. Her cheeks hollowed on each 
out stroke, bloated, tears stinging her eyes when he rammed his slippery, 
cum-tasting penis back down her esophagus. 

For Mae sex had been her game; she had been the manipulator, the progenitor, 
the actor, the director ... calling the shots, barking out the yes and no. 
Not so now. This was one chess game where she was the pawn. Being held 
captive in a van and forced to suck a stranger's cock salved the change of 
roles. Strangely perverse it was for the LA Barbie doll to discover herself 
the responder instead of instigator. Minute by minute she endured the 
torture, fearful she might go insane and start screaming ... then he would 
use the knife. For the sake of her beauty, she must face her fate. As if to 
prove her acceptance of his mastery, she raised her head and bobbed it up 
and down while her tongue worked over the rubbery length of cock, licking 
it, sucking it, giving it all the attention it needed. 

Chuck craned his neck and squinted through the van window to where the 
drunken man lay gagged and roped on the sand near the fire. The man was 
moving, struggling against his bonds. Chuck grinned, knowing Shorty would 
soon be joining him to ravish little Blondie's hot-assed body. He glanced 
down at the flossy, ovalled lips hugging the thick base of his unwashed 
penis. His jaws meshed, feeling the adrenalin shoot through his body to the 
cock. Too bad she was so pretty; the world shouldn't be robbed of her pretty 
face. Like the last two, he didn't want to hurt her, but he wasn't about to 
be sent back behind bars. A year of being held prisoner in the Viet Cong 
jungles, fed snake meat and maggoty rice was enough for him. 

To distract those thoughts he watched the ridges of soft pink flesh as it 
pulled back from her gently sucking lips that slipped back inside as he 
slipped it forward again. A laugh tore from deep in his chest as he mashed 
his groin into her face until his kinky pubic hairs made a moustache of 
black in striking contrast to her ivory-haired beauty. The beauty and the 
beast he thought self-demeaningly. Let her see how it feels to be made a 
fool of. That thought made him slap his sperm-heavy balls punishingly 
against her dimpled chin. 

She was good, he had to admit that. Her rosebud lips wrapped around his hard 
prick ... the doll-like features scrunched up while she sucked a rapist 
turned murderer. His heavy hips rolled in a chin-slapping rhythm as he sawed 
away, back and forth, back and forth, never quite drawing it all the way out 
... then slamming it back to plumb her throat and graze her tonsils. 
Cruelly, he grabbed the knife and held it in front of her saucered eyes as 
she sucked with vacuuming pressure. He ran the tip along the arched curve of 
her cheekbone tauntingly. Tears spurted from Mae's eyes and she sucked with 
every ounce of self-preserving strength in her body. 

"Oh ... ahhh!" His abdominal muscles became steel. "Suck meee!" He bared his 
teeth and threw back his head and locked his hands around the back of her 
bobbing head, forcing her to swallow all of his cock. Only a quarter inch of 
quivering, red-veined skin could be seen around the rim of her wildly 
sucking lips. He gnashed his teeth, shoving his cock down her throat trying 
to drown her in cum. It erupted, pulsed and shot out in great salty gulps. 

His hands gripped her hair, making her eyes water from the pain of his 
powerful strokes. Her cheeks were flushed the color of ripe apples as she 
gulped the briny fluid to keep from drowning. She sucked furiously, yet 
dribbles of cum seeped from the corners of her ravaged mouth to wet the 
coverlet below. Finally, he grunted in satiation and his deflated rubbery 
tube went soft in her cum-filled mouth. The reddened, wormish stalk plopped 
from her lips. Mae struggled to catch her breath as Chuck's weight collapsed 
on top of her, his chest rising and falling from the labor of breathing. 

Chet ... Paul somebody come help me! her mind pleaded. Get this creature off 
of me! Yet she dare not move, fearing one jarring movement would rile him 
and then she would be as ugly, as deformed as he. Her eyes turned toward the 
van window. Who was he looking for? Had Chet, the drunken bum, shown signs 
of life? Damn him, how dare he abandon her like this? Didn't he care? 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Carla trod decisively down the long, lonely stretch of Johnson Road. She 
thought about herself, about Paul and about Mae. Paul, she realized, had 
become entrapped in Mae's lethal web and snared in the venomous threads of 
her game, couldn't fight loose. Poor, drunken Chet. Probably drunk and 
passed out in the van. Without Paul to taunt and Chet to degrade, the black 
widow spider would be righteously caught in her own web. 

Self-confidence and a sense of well being within herself soared as the moon 
rose high in the sky. No longer would she wither in Mae's threatening 
presence and if Paul was fool enough to fall into her trap, then he deserved 
losing her. Jealousy was a bitter pill to swallow, no matter what rationale 
you washed it down with. 

Ahead the metallic glimmer of Chefs camper van shone under the moonlight. A 
beam of light shone from the window. Carla squared her shoulders for the 
showdown. Her mind started to race. Determinedly, her slender legs scissored 
toward the van, without a glance to right nor left. She sensed that Paul 
hadn't returned. Probably moping in some bar feeling sorry for himself, she 
snickered with a curl of the upper lip. 

And that was her last thought ... from that point on Carla was too terrified 
to think. 

They rushed at their prey, attacked her from inside the second her tennis 
shoe stepped on the mottled red carpet, had plotted her demise from the 
first shadowed movement coming unaware and on foot. They threw her down on 
the bed and clamped salty hands over her mouth, muffling her scream. 

Carla's blood froze in her veins from the first glimpse into the disfigured 
face, her eyes shooting wildly to the shorter one's leathered features. 
Knocked down on the sofa, she felt her head hit flesh ... naked flesh ... 
Mae's flesh! Kicking, she gouged her pearly teeth into her attacker's hand; 
but it was too late. He had an accomplice-human and a knife! 

The sharpened tip of a cold blade was jabbed under her chin. "I won't think 
nothin' about slicing your throat, honey ... better sit still." She felt the 
tip prick her skin. She screamed, again a hand clamped over her mouth. "You 
don't believe me, ask yer girl friend here." 

Carla choked; her throat was bone dry and aching. Her eyes riveted on the 
knife blade. Compliantly, she nodded her head, agreeing to their games. They 
let her go-for the moment. There in the confines of the camper van, she 
turned her head toward Mae. Was that lifeless body she'd been tossed against 
dead? Maimed? Raped? Carla's terrified eyes stared in meaningful contact for 
the first time that day into Mae's horror-struck orbs. Fear and terror 
flashed between them like lightning. When the tall one spoke, both women 
shivered, knowing the worst was yet to come. 

Chuck chortled cruelly. "Okay, you cunts ... we been watchin' you fucking 
and suckin' balls and cocks and assholes-now we wanne see ya suckin' each 
other's cunt!" 

The man Carla had glimpsed spying on her had not been a figment of her 
imagination. The abandoned backpack and cooler, the slam of the car hood ... 
it was all falling together into an ugliness so black she felt dizzy. 

"You two," she heard the tall one admit, "is two a the prettiest lookers we 
seen yet." He jerked his head toward Shorty. "He ain't had much pussy since 
he come back from Nam ... he don't hear too good or see too good, so I want 
you two girls to get nice and close." 

Carla feared she might vomit when she stared up into the wild eyes of the 
war victim. And the smell of them filled the van-that and the heady scent of 
musk. Behind her she heard Mae and knew that they had raped her. She should 
have felt pity for the lush-bodied sex-pot, but something forbid emotion. 
Her thoughts fled to Paul, and she cursed him for not being here to protect 
her. 

Both women were paralyzed in fear. "I said git naked, you dumb bitch!" 
barked Chuck, brandishing the knife before Carla's dilated pupils. "I 
wouldn't wanna git this van all bloodied up ... people git kinda touchy 
'bout stuff like that ..." 

His intentions were unmistakable. Carla's heart pounded in her chest; her 
throat was dry, her stomach in a knot. Gently, she let her eyes close as if 
in expectation and acceptance of death. She knew that before Paul came back 
to camp, one of the two ugly rapists would have put his cock in her. She had 
to fight ... had to live through this outrage no matter what horrors they 
forced her into. She was far too in love with life to hesitate a second with 
that ugly-faced man brandishing his knife under her throat. 

"I said git naked!" His breath was foul on her face, the knife, sharp 
against her jugular vein. 

Slowly, hands inching down to the hem of her sweater so as not to create any 
jarring movements that would spark off their rage ... to leave her bleeding 
to death with her throat split from ear to ear. Her fingers froze as she 
hauled up the bulk of her sweater, pausing as the first rush of cold air bit 
at her stomach knotted with fear. Something she heard made her stop in 
mid-movement. It was the whine of a zipper. She closed her eyes, praying to 
forces above this was not true. It seemed incongruous, humorous, even, in a 
sardonic way that she had survived the wilds of Los Angeles her entire life 
and now, on the privacy of a beach she would lose her life. 

"I said git naked!" 

Behind her, Mae sparked to life. "Do it ... please," she sobbed. 

Stealing herself for the worst, Carla yanked her sweater up over her head, 
leaving her breasts naked, the rounded spheres of her breasts swollen with 
fear and goosebumping in the night. Her nipples fear-hardened, crinkling 
from the soft mounds of her breasts. The haplessly wounded vets stared at 
her full, womanly figure. Carla stared at the floor, blood singing in her 
ears. 

"I thought Blondie here was the tits girl ... you got nice ones, honey, a 
little smaller but damned nice," congratulated Chuck. 

Slowly, she worked at the zipper of her jeans, easing them down over the 
curve of her hips, leaving her lacy white panties to cover her nakedness. 
Down over her hips she peeled then, hooking her thumbs in the waistband to 
haul them down over her buttocks and finally over her thighs to her knees. 

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him as intensely as they watched 
her, averting her eyes when they met. She stepped free of them, leaving them 
crumpled at her feet. Hesitating, she balked as her fingers froze on the 
elastic waistband of her bikini panties ... until Chuck waved the knife 
under her nose, laughing jubilantly. That was enough for Carla ... in a 
flash she'd had pulled them down over her swelling thighs and spread her 
legs slightly to peel them down over her smooth calves. Instinctively, her 
hand snapped to her pelvis to cover her fluffy triangle, while the other arm 
clamped over her breasts. Their lusty gaze was too much. A tear stung in her 
eyes. 

Naked and vulnerable with two demented creatures who had performed Lord only 
knew what indignities upon Mae ... what could she do? What good was modesty? 
The men ogled her smoothly flaring hips, the arch of her buttocks. 

"Spread yer legs, bitch and bend over ... I wanna see yer cunt close up this 
time." He snickered. "You miss yer panties up there on the mountain top? You 
know what happened to em? I cum in 'em ... squirt my cum right where your 
pussy was. How you like that?" 

Carla feared she might be sick. Her face grew crimson red, but obeying his 
instructions, she bent over, placing her sweating hands on her trembling 
knees, opening up the soft crevice of her genitals to his eyes. With her 
hands resting on the mattress feet above the van floor and Chuck standing 
behind her, she was an easy target for anything. Abruptly he stiffened, 
arching her back and throwing back his head. She sucked in her breath as a 
cold bony finger bored unwetted into the taut ring of her anus ... up to the 
second knuckle. She tried to squirm away, but he held her captive with one 
finger hooked in the tender passage. She couldn't jerk away ... there was 
that knife. "Please ..." she whimpered. 

The act was humiliating, but the witness damningly. She imagined Mae's 
snickers as she watched Paul's wife-to-be defiled so shamelessly. And her 
tormentor was reveling in it, squirming his bony digit inside the buttery 
tissues of her nether hole. 

"Nice 'n tight, nice n' tight. Okay girlies ... now let's see some action." 
His eyes fled to Mae cowering in the corner. He jerked his head in her 
direction. "What's the matter, Blondie ... you was all hot sucking my cock 
... now let's see what them lips can do with a pretty cunt like this one's." 
Lewdly, he licked his finger and said: "I seen ya fucking that bastard with 
the sports car back there near the cave ... lettin' him fuck you in the ass 
..." 

Carla feared she might pass out. She was afraid to meet his cold eyes and 
more afraid of Mae's tight smirk. It seemed there were no secrets left. 

"You two's gonna play Cong whores ... just like the bitches who sucked us in 
and blew us up-the cunts!" He pointed to Mae. "Get on your back so I can see 
your cunt." She didn't argue, but whimpered as she lay trembling back on the 
mattress. She lay perfectly still, not protesting as long as he kept the 
knife a safe distance from her baby face. He grabbed her slender ankles and 
she clenched her tear-filled eyes tightly, lower lip trembling, knowing she 
was going to die. With his hands, he pried open the hair-lined slit of her 
pussy so that he and his buddy could see the pouting lips. They were still 
swollen from earlier sex with Paul. 

"Looks like you been screwin' already," he sneered. 

His attention turned to Carla. "Git down there and start suckin' cunt, 
bitch!" Without hesitation, Carla obeyed; the look on his ugly face was 
beyond murderous-contempt, pain and bitterness shone in his eyes. She placed 
her knees at Mae's side and knelt on all fours as she was ordered, awaiting 
the next humiliating, perverted instruction. Her breasts dangled ripely from 
her chest as she knelt and as Mae breathed in and out, they lightly touched 
her naked body; the pink nipples tingled and quivered, but this time not 
with excitement, but revulsion and dread. 

The idea of having sex with a woman was beyond repulsion. Her stomach began 
to bubble in dread. Worse: To make love to the woman she utterly despised 
was emotional punishment beyond the horrors of any World War II 
concentration camp. That she would be tasting her fiance's sperm struck her 
between the eyes like a sledge hammer. But do it she must ... or die. 

"Git on with it!" growled Chuck. 

For the first time Carla managed to speak, but the words hung in her dry 
throat; she managed finally to choke them out: "Please ... I can't ... not 
with her ... not with Mae!" Her pleas fell on deaf, uncompassionate ears, 
but Mae saved her the trouble of another try. 

"Don't worry ... I won't hurt you," offered Mae, stretching flat on her back 
beneath Carla. "It's not so bad once you get used to it." She gazed up at 
the man with the knife. "Right?" One more baby-faced grin up at their 
tormentor to test his vulnerability. But Chuck was the winner and Mae knew 
it. Her charms weren't working on this one. 

Now Mae could see all of Carla's lusciously naked body kneeling above her, 
the female scent of her genitals filling her nostrils. Her full breasts 
teased over Mae's naked abdomen if she breathed hard enough to raise it that 
high; the effect was titillating, exciting ... could have been a treat under 
different circumstances. The slim, creamy thighs were just a few inches from 
her face now. The warm, inviting hairy slit nestled there above the fleecy 
down of Carla's pubic mound was a tongue-lash away. She had to admit that 
Paul was a lucky man for having a woman as beautiful and flawless as Carla. 

Now she reached up and locked her soft hands around the curve of Carla's 
back and pulled her trembling pelvis toward her waiting lips. She sensed 
Carla tense and pull away, and to speed the act she relaxed and lowered her 
loins to Carla's face. A shiver raced through Carla's body as Mae's pubic 
fluff brushed her nose, filling her nostrils with the heady scent of sex. 
Closing he eyes, Mae pressed her lips hard against the moist lips of Carla's 
vagina and felt the other tense, her thigh muscles growing hard and sinewy. 
But Carla, terrified; followed her leader and lowered her own lips until her 
auburn head was cradled against the flat plane of Mae's belly and touching 
the hard mound of her pubis. 

Tentatively, cautiously, Carla touched her lips to the fragrant cleft 
between her foe's legs, fully aware of the shivers that her gentle touch 
sent through Mae's belly. It wasn't as disgusting as she'd feared, though 
she was still fighting to hold back choking nausea in her throat. She 
followed the instructions of her teacher, and as Mae began to nibble 
tenderly on the soft, ragged lips, she returned the same favor. 

Don't think ... don't think ... don't let yourself know that Mae has made 
love to Paul with this part of her body ... don't go insane ... just act out 
their perversions and live! 

Yet she couldn't escape the haunting eyes or their two tormentors. It was 
all so insane ... so crazy, wondered if this insane day might be some 
psychotic fantasy. But it was real, very real. She was making love to 
another woman, the woman who'd tried to lure Paul away with her cheap sex 
and cheaper emotions. The Barbie doll of LA. 

Still, she could not deny the soft touch of another woman's satiny, naked 
body, so tender and delicate compared to the hard muscled virility of men 
with their hairy bodies. 

Mae's tender nibbling between her widespread thighs grew more frantic, 
almost desperate in intensity, almost as if Mae were enjoying this salacious 
feast under the direction of two moronic uglies! 

Curiosity softened repulsion and she burrowed her slithering tongue between 
the girl's pussy lips to find the hot, moist slit. Mae's tongue snaked in 
and out of her Carla's pussy hole, and a quiver of titillation passed 
through her as she felt Carla's body begin to writhe and squirm under the 
wicked tonguing. Mae's snaked tongue slipped in and out of that wet hole, 
prodding lizardlike the sensitive walls, making Carla shiver and goosebump 
with guilty desire. 

Carla eased her licking motions in a fit of dizziness. The reality of making 
love to another woman was too hellishly damning. But the cold nudge of a 
steely blade at her throat quickened her pace once more. Her tongue burrowed 
back between Mae's pussy lips, nibbling and sucking slurpingly. She told 
herself she was feigning pleasure ... but this time something different, 
some signal she couldn't pinpoint told her differently. It's impossible, she 
thought. I can't be enjoying this-not with Mae! 

Carla struggled to fight down that damning sensation, to suppress and 
unnatural desire. It started as a tiny fluttering deep in her belly, then 
shot up to her breasts and centered in the tingling tips of her mammary 
glands. The harder she fought it, the stronger became the sensation until 
now it overwhelmed her body and soul. A sense of power surged through her 
knowing she could excite Mae, the lusty sexpot, and the fact that she was 
making Mae the submissive one (for once) in front of two men added to her 
supremacy. She loved the feel of Mae squirming as she held her arms locked 
around the small of her back, forcing her pussy down against her probing, 
sucking, nibbling lips. Lips that searched and explored every pore, every 
crevice, every fold of the woman's soft yielding pussy, snaking into the 
warm, tight hole, flicking playfully at the throbbing bud of her clitoris. 
Carla wasn't the only one feeling the effects of lesbian love. 

Mae could feel the delicious heat welling in her pussy, titillating the 
frustrating itch of unsatisfying onenistic love making. She thought it was a 
man's cock she needed, boring into her belly, but oh, how wrong she was! 
Carla's slithering tongue slicking into the lubricated hole between her 
quivering thighs was doing wondrous things to her libido ... in a way a man 
never could. Every pore of her body secreted desire and she gripped 
desperately with raspberry fingertips the other's naked hips while she 
ground her baby face into her quivering cunt, ramming her long velvety 
tongue as far up into that cry hole as it would go. 

The women mewled and cried and mashed their faces into each other's pussies 
as if their life depended upon on it-and indeed it did! "Jesus, look at them 
bitches!" snorted Chuck, a look on his face of a sex monger. His face and 
that of his short friend were inches from the girls' naked, squirming 
bodies, their flesh glistening and sheened from the heat generated from 
their own bodies and that of the electric heater that had been kicked over 
in the fray. 

Carla tried to shut out all thought and center all attention on feeling ... 
on sensation. Sobbing, she sucked and kissed and licked just as Mae was 
doing to her until the two women had become one ... a sobbing, moaning 
tangle of female flesh, forced into this disgusting act by the brutality of 
two demented men. They'd found a common depth of feeling, of sharing, a 
pinnacle of passion they'd never known before; neither fought it now, not 
even Carla. She was lost in her own forbidden wickedness, the prohibited 
pleasure. 

Mae stiffened and let out a cry straight from her anguished loins. "Ahhhh! 
C-Carla ... I'm cumming! Don't stop ... please, I'm cumming!" Her body 
heaved and thrashed wildly beneath the other's weight, and Mae red 
fingertips dug into the other's satiny hips and held her prisoner to her 
hungry, nibbling lips. She sucked hard and fast, chewing like a starved 
child on the fleshy lips and pulsating, quivering nipple of her clitoris. 
She could feel Mae was teetering on the light splattered brink of orgasm, 
and knew that in a few more seconds she, Carla would have the power of 
pushing her over that brink. She sucked and kissed and licked the tender 
pink lips until ... 

"AAAHHH!" Mae's body went board stiff, breathing snorted from her flaring 
nostrils and every nerve in her sensitive body pulsed with a mind shattering 
orgasm. Their quivering bodies were one, locked and fused together by 
tongues and cunts. One unbroken curve of soft female flesh ... drawn 
together in total subjugation in this act of lesbian love. Their nudity 
wriggled and squirmed together in a passionately desperate need of raging 
girl lust. 

Then it was Carla's turn. Stars sprinkled before her eyes and all sensation 
was centered in the oily bud of her clitoris. It pulsed as if someone were 
holding an electrical cord to that tender bud, sizzling and electrocuting 
all emotion ... and the knowledge that they were held prisoners by two 
demented war veterans bent on destroying them ... but only after they'd 
tormented them to the fullest. 

Now, orgasms spent they collapsed in a panting heap. Rational returned 
slowly to Carla and she wanted to cry from the shame of it; but tears 
refused to come. What use was crying? 

Beside the fire, groveling in the sand, hands rope-tied behind his back, 
Chet squirmed in semi consciousness. He struggled to rise to his feet; 
that's when he discovered his ankles were bound too. Breathing short, 
labored behind the dirty rag stuffed between his lips and tied behind his 
head. Beside him the fire was dying. A cold fear suffused his drunken body 
like the crawl of a dead snake up his spine. 

His blood shot eyes lifted toward the van. A splash of light shone through 
the van window. Hysterical female crying stung his ears in echoes of 
self-denegrading guilt. The effort of craning his neck was too much and his 
head flopped lifelessly down onto the sand. As he drifted off into a stupor, 
female cries stung the air. 

Mae! Someone was hurting her bad. What kind of a man was he to leave a woman 
alone? Black guilt blanketed those thoughts and he fell into a deep sleep, 
one he wished he'd never awaken from. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

Chuck and Shorty were gloating over their victories. This night was turning 
out more entertaining than last weekend's foray with the stubborn little 
redhead who thought more of morality than life. Chuck could tell Shorty had 
his eyes on the redheaded one. And Blondie ... well, what challenge was she? 
Beautiful body ... Christ, what a body ... but no fight. He could read in 
Shorty's eyes that he was going to shove his hot aching cock into that 
gorgeous creature's pussy, going to feel the blood throbbing knob of his 
cock far up in her sweet little belly, going to screw her like a stuck bird 
and fuck her until she begged for her life ... just like he'd done to the 
Viet Cong back there in Nam. Those goddamned betraying whores ... pay them a 
week's salary for an opium high and a little cunt ... and they toss a hand 
grenade in your face! Those whores, those women who competed with men. 
Jesus, how he hated their guts! 

Collapsed on the mattress beside Mae's shivering, semi-comatose satiny bumps 
and curves, Carla prayed to the forces above that the men had had their 
treat. Carla's eyelids fluttered in the pre-stages of sleep ... then she 
awoke with a start. 

The cold steel of a knife blade slithering up the slender underside of her 
cum glistening thigh made her eyes fly open as if on springs. She lay 
heaving with gut wrenching anxiety. She tried to jerk away but the cold 
prodding was dangerously insistent. Chuck's rasping laugh made her turn her 
head to see whose hand held the blade. To this point Shorty had spoken 
little, a fact which surprised her; of the two, Shorty looked the most 
normal, but then one couldn't judge a mental state entirely by looks. The 
feeling something satanic lurked in his soul shivered through her. 

Her eyes fled to Shorty. A fierceness burned there, born of repressed hatred 
and fear and a very real hatred of women. He terrified her-one look into his 
cold, steely eyes convinced her Shorty had singled her out, that she would 
be the star of tonight's cruel sex circus! She knew her life was in danger 
if she crossed him up. He grinned lopsidedly at her, showing off a set of 
dark teeth. No warmth brightened his grin; it was dark and ominous as his 
eyes and the idea that struck him. He was searching for an act that would 
leave its marks like a scorched brand on her brain. She could see the rusted 
wheels turn in his brain. 

"Looks like Shorty there's taken a liking to you, hon," sneered Chuck. "You 
know, my buddy here's had a couple problems ... ain' been real good at 
gettin' it up since Nam. Now," and here Chuck turned diplomatic, "I'm gonna 
give ya a chance to live. I want you to get him hard, you hear ... I don' 
care what it takes, you get him hard ... and if you don' ..." He snickered 
and ran the knife under his own chin. 

Carla's blood froze in her veins. Her fear-taut features turned to Mae for 
support. Carla gulped dryly, feeling her stomach knot. She, the 
inexperienced of the two women, forced into satisfying a demented man under 
the threat of death to both she and Mae! 

Her fear-widened eyes fled to Shorty's leering grin. A wet grin spread over 
his face, a look of jubilation, when she realized what Chuck had in store 
for him. 

Carla's shook her head dumbly. "I don't understand," she whispered meekly, a 
faint germlike notion of what these men were planning starting to ferment in 
the back of her mind. The idea of making love to these filthy creatures was 
too horrid to believe. She, who had never experienced oral sex with a man. 

"You ... you can't do this to me!" she wailed. "Paul will be back here 
soon," she warned, her upper lip stiff and suddenly defiant. "This is 
kidnapping ... you could spend the rest of your days behind bars! Don't you 
understand that?" It was a plea, it was begging. 

Mae touched her arm without looking up and said a dozen words with that 
single movement. Carla's mouth fell silent, her threat, in mid-sentence 
dying. They were alone with these two demented creatures and a knife ... and 
they were nothing more than sex slaves to them all until they had sated 
their lustful thirsts, until they'd drunk their fill of humiliating females. 
Carla felt her stomach sink. If she'd been stripped naked and paraded down 
Hollywood and Vine, she wouldn't have felt more cheap, more ashamed. She 
thought of Paul, thought of the moment when she would (hopefully) repeat 
this scene to him, and was sickened at the very idea. How could she possibly 
ever be his lover-his wife? How could she ever live with this degradation? 
Being forced into helping an impotent creature (and surely that must be his 
problem) into getting an erection, no matter what the psychic cost to 
herself. 

"Git naked, Shorty, and show the gal yer stuff," chortled Chuck lewdly, a 
tinge of bitterness acrid in his voice. "Show 'em what those Cong whores 
done to your prick!" 

Carla clenched shut her eyes, listening dumbly to the whine of his pants 
zipper, the swoosh of denim as he yanked the Levi's down over his stubby 
hips. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks and sing in her ears, and when 
she had gulped down disgust and garnered the courage to peek through the 
curtain of auburn hair hanging about her shoulders, she thought she might 
faint. 

His penis could not have measured more than a few inches at best. Scarred 
with red streaks and diminished to a few flaps of skin, it hung pathetically 
above where his testicles should have. More scars along the insides of his 
thighs attested to the maiming results of a hand grenade's fury. How a man 
with such a deformity could ever have an erection again, was a scientific 
marvel. And now it was up to her to play Florence Nightingale, if they 
wanted to keep their heads on their shoulders. She wished he would plunge 
the knife through her heart right then and get it over with! It was 
inevitable. She realized beyond a doubt that he would not hesitate to kill 
her if she refused his slightest whim; her eyes fled pleadingly to Mae, but 
Mae's eyes reflected defeat; she could offer her no relief, no consolation. 
There was nothing to do but pray. 

"You didn' have no trouble gettin' a woman hard," he sneered. "Let's see 
what you can do for my buddy here, Shorty. Watchin' you whores go down on 
each other got my buddy all riled up ... now you damned well better do 
somethin' about it." 

Carla swallowed down pride and looked at the short man who was crawling up 
on the mattress just in front of her, his face alight with anticipation. He 
licked his lips with the point of his foul smelling tongue. Aside from the 
scars on his genitals, his stomach had been ripped to shreds. Zigzagged 
scars crosshatched it. His navel was off center, a chunk of his hip bone 
missing, giving him a stubby, appearance and was responsible for the limp in 
his walk. 

"Come on!" barked Chuck. 

Gulping down disgust and shame, Carla climbed atop the mattress and Mae 
slithered off. Chuck slammed the blonde woman into a reclining chair near 
the front of the van and held the knife to her throat. "You wanna see baby 
face here bleed all over this van?" 

Maybe yesterday Carla would have had no problems wishing that upon the woman 
who'd stolen her boy friend, but this was no silly love triangle, no game. 
This was beyond war, beyond imagination. She reached out tentatively to 
touch his stomach. The clammy skin, almost reptilian, made her shiver. 

"No! Please ... I can't ... you don't understand ... I'm not a whore! I'm 
not a whore!" Her cries reverberated off the van walls. But Chuck wasn't 
moved; the knife was an inch from Mae's temple now and the cold mask of 
savagery on his scarred face told her she had better begin her task. 

"Jus' give him a blow job ..." 

Mae suddenly lunged upward. But Chuck was too quick for her agile reflexes. 
He spun around in a blinding fast twist of his body and caught her with his 
free hand and threw her back into the chair. "Okay, Blondie," he spat 
between his teeth. "One more stupid move like that and you'll both get it!" 
He knotted his knobby fingers in her blonde hair and twisted it until she 
knelt at his feet, her head turned upward and her face contorted in pain. 

"You shouldn't a done that!" he growled. "Somebody's gonna pay for that!" An 
idea hit. "I just might get you into red's act here ... maybe you could suck 
his asshole. I have a feeling you'd like that!" He turned back to Carla. "I 
said suck!" 

Carla stared at the lewdly glistening stump and at the grenade-gouged base 
where the remainder of his hairy testicles dangled impotently. She saw it, 
but her mind refused to record it; it seemed impossible that anyone could 
demand this awful act of her ... a woman who had never performed oral sex on 
a man. 

Trembling with fear and repulsion, Carla slowly reached out to touch the 
reddened hunk of flesh between her fingers. Shorty squirmed eagerly at her 
soft touch. 

Chuck was right there guiding her. "Keep your head turned so I can see the 
look on your face." 

The tall tormentor was the kingpin of the operation, that was easy to see; 
and he used his friend's sexual deformities as a detraction for his own 
horrid disfigurement. Carla tried to close her thoughts to this, to focus on 
something else, on Paul maybe ... something healthy and normal. No, she'd 
never sucked his penis before, had found it disgusting and unnatural. How 
she wished she had! The spasms of reeling nausea tearing her stomach apart 
were growing more intense now. With every muscle in her body fighting her, 
she placed her face on the man's warm stomach, her fingers encircling the 
shaft of his tapered penis. It struck her in a flash of disgust that his 
penis looked much like the family dog Toby's. Long, narrowly tapered, red. 
Slowly, as Chuck egged her on, she studied the pink gleaming tip that oozed 
now from the tiny hole at the top and slowly moved it forward until it was 
less than an inch from her lips. She was heaving with deep gasping breaths 
as she fought down the choking ball of nausea in her throat. 

"Jesus Christ, ain' you got ears!" barked Chuck. 

Carla submitted with a whimper, pushing every confused thought from her mind 
and opened her lips slightly and let the tapered tip slip into her mouth, 
over her quivering lips. The stubby hunk of male flesh snaked far back over 
her tongue, its smooth shaft gliding easily over her moist lips. The taste 
shocked her ... it was tangy, not dirty as she'd imagined that part of a 
male's body to taste. A tang of sweat fragranced it, like after a bout of 
love making. 

The short man responded with a twitch, his back arching and breath raising 
and falling on his chest as she hunched forward to sink his cock into the 
warm depths of her throat. She sensed Chuck hovering over her, checking her 
actions; quickly she feigned enthusiasm, giving Shorty's prick a kittenish 
lick from the stubby base to the tapered tip. Shamed beyond belief, she 
swallowed down pride as she twirled the man's pink cock around in her mouth 
as it began to throb and wriggle. Shorty was ecstatic. 

"Rub his balls," grated Chuck. "I think Shorty might like that." 

Carla didn't protest this time. So far so good. She moved her hand down to 
cup and lightly caress the furry meatball-sized testicles with her nails, 
brushing over them to bring a long, low whine from his throat. Somehow it 
was becoming less repulsive with every passing moment. 

That thought registered in her mind searingly. want to live, she told 
herself, I want to live ... that's why I'm acting like a whore! 

Her mind was a blank sheet, forgetful of her own vulnerabilities as she 
concentrated on the degrading act. Buttocks high in the air, she knelt over 
Shorty's body, her still moist pussy lips open and unguarded from behind as 
her ass cheeks wiggled and squirmed in unintentional invitation to Chuck. 

Chuck snickered to himself, wiped his nose with the back of his hand and 
reached over to secure the lock on the van door. Mae lay crumpled at his 
feet, sobbing hysterically. With the toe of his army boot, he kicked her so 
that she rolled over onto her back. 

"Get outta my way," he grumbled. "I wan' a little piece a red here ... an 
don't try no funny stuff or you know what's gonna happen to that baby face!" 
he warned, hissing through clenched teeth. 

Carla couldn't see him as he stood behind her, but he quickly yanked down 
the zipper, and stepped out of his dirty pants. His cock jutted out and 
stood at right angles to the ceiling. Roughly, he pulled back the loose 
yielding skin from his penis and let the purplish knob see what a treat it 
had coming. Like it had a mind of its own, his long penis leapt forward and 
snaked between the soft, round globes of Carla's naked buttocks. 

Carla stiffened, recoiling in horror at the warm, rubbery feel of her 
rapist's penis drubbing at her genitals. She knew that he wasn't alone 
behind her ... he had his knife with him. His cock jutted forward as he 
crawled up tight against her trembling buttocks crevice and dragged it 
slowly and tauntingly along the juicy furrow of her pussy, spreading the 
gentle pink lips with the throbbing head of his orgasm as her own juices 
glistened the way for him. He pulled it back through the moist slit again, 
then touched the swollen lust-inflated head to the tightly puckered rim of 
her pussy hole, his hands roughly clamped to the curve of her hips. 

"Stick it in, whore ... put it in or else!" 

"Damn kid came in here, bought some beer and a bottle a booze and took off 
without payin'!" The grocer shook a bony finger at the patrol man. "I don' 
care much for these outta towners, no I don't one bit! I want my seven 
dollars and fifty-nine cents. He's looking for a ride back to Johnson Road. 
Camping illegally, too." 

The patrolman held up a hushing hand. "Don' worry, Pops, I'll go find the 
guy ... I know where his car is, picked 'em up myself." 

Down the road, halfway to Johnson Road, Paul was frantic. He'd managed to 
stop a car but now the driver thought he was crazy. 

"Take my car ... its a new MGB ... it's yours, just give me a ride to 
Johnson Road." 

The driver of the station wagon regarded the man cryptically and shook his 
head. "Sorry ... I got kids in the back seat ... don't wanna take chances 
with strangers." 

Paul's knuckles turned white as he clutched the half open window on the 
driver's side, his head level with the middle aged man on the other side. 
"Here, take my wallet ... take my credit cards, I'd give you my wife if I 
had one. Just give me a ride down the road!" 

The window rolled up and in a screech of tires the driver tore off, leaving 
Paul stranded and insane with worry and guilt. 

Paul kicked a chunk of loose pavement and let loose a stream of expletives 
that would have made the angels cry. He tore at his hair, cursed himself, 
cursed fate, and turned then as a splash of car headlights rounded the 
corner. The black and white symmetry decorated with red light atop the car 
was unmistakable. As a street hood in his teens, he'd grown to abhor police 
cars, but now he could kiss this one. 

"Hey ... you?" The policeman stuck his head out the window. "You the guy who 
ripped off Pops for seven dollars and fifty-nine cents?" 

"Yeah!" grinned Paul, ear to ear. "I was wondering when you would show up!" 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Mae thought she might be ill watching the perverted act Carla was being 
forced to carry out at knifepoint. She'd winced, stomach knotting, watching 
Carla's face twitch with disgust, had watched her rib cage wretch, fighting 
nausea, had watched her eyes burn with tears. Now Chuck was going to take 
her from behind. Surely Carla would crack, lose control and start fighting. 
Then all would be lost; both women would end up so much whale fodder! 

No, she, Mae should be the one threatened into performing these diabolical 
acts. She was the whore, after all. She rose to her knees, blonde hair 
streaming over her naked shoulders, tears streaming down her face. 

"No ... stop ... you fools ... don't make her do that! Make me do it! I'm 
the whore, not Carla! Just let her go!" I'm already a whore, already ruined. 
One more cock to me is nothing. I've treated every men like a toy because 
they treat me like toys. Dear God if she cracks, we're both dead! 

Chuck swung around, considering her pleas. A crooked grin creased his 
disfigured face. What the hell, he had them both no matter how you cut it. 
Then he laughed at his own humor and stroked the knife blade against his 
thigh, pulling loose from behind Carla's upraised buttocks. Abruptly, he 
grabbed the blonde haired lovely and swung her around until they stood belly 
to back. He pushed her arms forward so that she was leaning over the back of 
the driver's seat. 

Mae sensed a movement, a stirring there, but was afraid to think what he was 
up to. His hand swept around her front and instantly her head snapped back, 
fearing the cold steel against her jugular vein. But it was his hand, 
cupping her swollen breast, squeezing the fleshy skin between his calloused 
fingers. She shivered at his animalish touch, but there was no escaping him; 
she must stand there and take his abuse like a prisoner of war, and to make 
matters worse she had to listen to the pathetic cries and tortured mewlings 
torn from her friend's chest as she was forced into the most heinous of acts 
for a woman of Carla's purity. 

Mae shivered, feeling something move against the bottom curve of her ass 
cheeks, a huge, rustling knob prodding between her soft, tightly clenched 
buttocks. Chuck shifted himself just a bit and she felt something, saw 
something that made her blood run cold ... his huge prick stiffened and 
snaked with the force of a man's fist between her closed, trembling thighs. 

His penis was immense and dripping! Like a tree trunk, it stuck between her 
thighs until the friction made it straight and fully erect My God, I've 
never seen a penis that big ... funny that when it was in her mouth it 
didn't look that big. Probably because it had sobered me up, she thought. 

Mae's eyes raced down over his hairy forearm, down to the soft bowl of her 
belly to the soft fleece and the junction of her slender thighs. His 
cockhead was jutting out between her thighs as he masturbated himself 
between them as if they, too, were just another cunt. It looked as if she'd 
just grown a penis of her own ... it rubbed the whole moist furrow of her 
pussy as he moved his hips back and forth, clasping her nakedness soft and 
warm, to his hairy, leathery body, still fondling the soft oozing mounds of 
her fleshy breasts. His fingers tweaked roughly at the sensitive tips of her 
nipples. So thick was his tree trunk cock that it spread her legs apart at 
the top and rubbed from the nether ring of her asshole to the bud of her 
clitoris. Mae's raspberry tipped fingers clutched more tightly the 
upholstered driver's seat. 

Dear God, help me ... but I've never seen a man that big. When he was in my 
mouth he didn't seem that big-but now! She threw back her head and hissed 
through clenched teeth. She felt the tingle of excitation begin as the bulky 
shaft rocked and rubbed back and forth over the delicate, still swollen lips 
of her cunt, bringing new excitement to percolate in her lusty loins. A 
whimpering moan of submission bubbled from her half-parted lips; she closed 
her blue eyes and leaned back voluntarily against her tormentor's massive 
frame. 

I'm going to do it, dear God, Chet ... Paul, forgive me, but I'm going to do 
it! I'm a nymphomaniac, it's true! 

Her trembling, warm hand reached behind the swelling cheeks of her buttocks 
and gripped the mushroom tipped knob of Chuck's organ and, with a quick 
movement, slipped it between the elastic lips of her warm, womanly aroused 
pussy. It wriggled easily into the wet hole, worming far up into her cunt 
passage, far up between the soft clasping walls of her pussy. He rammed it 
home with a punishing slap against the globes of her ass and, with a final 
thrust, sank his prick to the wiry haired base deep inside her belly. 

Mae hated herself for wanting it, but want it she did! Her lips ovalled in 
attempt to protest this rape, but she couldn't ... a lewd, unstoppable 
desire fanned the flames of nymphomania once more. She was lost ... a lost, 
hopeless, beautiful woman who was a slave to her own body. 

Behind her, Carla slaved over the stubby, tangy penis to save their lives, 
sliding it between tightly pursed lips. She was doing this degrading thing 
to save them both ... Mae had better appreciate this, she thought dumbly. 
That she would lower herself to this ugly deed for Mae's sake was beyond 
belief. But life was precious to Carla and used that rationalization when 
Shorty's penis began to taste sweeter She swirled his stubby length around 
in her warm mouth then with the rough surface of her tongue, bringing mewls 
of animalish pleasure to the deformed little man. 

This day was one Carla would never be able to erase. Memories would mark it 
forever: making love to Chet, to Mae, and now this ugly little victim of the 
war. Somehow it seemed irony that Paul, the man she loved, should be left 
out of this unlikely circle of people. 

She thought about that strangeness as she worked on the stubby protuberance, 
growing harder and more erect each minute. The deformed man had wrapped his 
fingers in her hair now, pulling her down to his groin while he babbled 
nonsensical mutterings and drooled. She forgot who she was sucking, wanted 
only to feel, to taste his seed in her mouth-because it was her indirect 
gift to Paul. Dear Paul, I didn't give it to you, and now I'm doing it to 
save my life. Please understand that. Yes, she didn't want to die without 
having experienced the sheer wickedness of tasting a man's cum. 

Carla sucked and licked his penis, a flitter of pride rippling though her at 
the knowledge that she had performed her task well. And well she had! His 
penis stood up at a right angle toward the van's ceiling. Carla shivered at 
every deep, thrusting in stroke that poked and prodded toward her tonsils. 

The loud slurping sounds caught Chuck's attention. As he drilled into Mae's 
grateful belly, banging into her cervix with chill blazing slams, listening 
to her mewls and cries an idea struck home. The lust crazed man rammed deep 
into her belly a few more strokes and whispered into her ear, foul breath 
bathing her face. 

"Like that, don't you, whore? Like to feel my cock banging into your cunt 
... you love it you slut, you love it too much!" 

With that, he pulled free, a loud slurping sound filling the van accompanied 
by Mae's pleading mewls of disappointment. "Just to make you jealous, bitch 
... I'm gonna give it to your friend. She deserves it!" 

"No ... no, please!" wailed Mae, a twinge of jealousy rippled uncontrollably 
through her as she watched him hover over Carla's wriggling ass cheeks, and 
finding his target, shooting straight for it. Carla threw back her head and 
groaned and gripped harder the stubby cock slipping into her mouth. The hard 
penis made a squelching sound as it rammed between the elastic lips of her 
cunt. He rammed it home with one resounding slap and with a final thrust, 
sank it deep until it banged into the spongy tip of her cervix. 

Carla wanted to scream out from this sudden invasion ... but she didn't. The 
lewd desire of sucking on this hapless deformed creature had done perversely 
strange things to her libido. She hated herself for the horrid desires 
rattling through her body, yet she sucked and licked to save her life on the 
pink shaft while Chuck rammed into her with head-banging strokes from 
behind. She shivered at every deep, in-stroke and goosebumped and panted at 
every prodding far up inside her. She could feel the demented creature's 
log-sized penis boring into her with a need she'd never experienced in a 
man. She slurped and licked and gulped and tongued Shorty in eager ecstasy. 

Chuck grunted and heaved with red hot lust at the feel of the tight young 
pussy hugging wetly his prick, while he watched Shorty's stumpy manhood slip 
glistening in and out of her lips. Damn, she was good! He'd never seen 
Shorty get it up ... since Nam, that is ... and boy, redhead here was taking 
him for a joy ride. Maybe he wouldn't do her in ... maybe they'd keep her 
around for a pet. 

Goddamn, Chuck wasn't sure he could hold out another minute; yet he didn't 
want to give in to the need to cum before he'd taken her in the ass. A few 
more delicious, juicy strokes and they'd play musical cunts. The lascivious 
savagery of watching this innocent looking doll suck Shorty's impotence, 
like the lowest whore, was something to behold. Shit, if he'd known that, he 
would have attacked her today on the mountaintop when she was lying naked 
next to the wine drinker. Instead he'd stolen her panties. 

He rammed his aching cock hidden in the wet pinkness of her wide open pussy, 
his eyes locked on the sight of his log-sized cock disappearing with slow, 
slurping sounds between the ravaged, distended lips of her pussy, 
disappearing inch by swollen inch into the moist, tight furrow until his 
balls slung forward and slapped down between her smooth, sweat streaked 
thighs. He was delirious with pleasure as he pulled his hairy pelvis back 
and sucked the girth of his cock from her taut cunt, watching eagerly as the 
soft, fragile lips of her cunt were pulled out along with the throbbing, 
purple head of his burning cock. He rocked forward and eased the burning 
pain the moist, soothing depths of her naked pussy. His breath was heavy and 
fast and he knew he'd better slow down before he shot his load. He closed 
his eyes and pumped hard and deep into her tortured belly and waited ... 
just a little more ... 

Carla was as lost as the rest. She was wild with a wracking, alien passion 
and need that she'd never felt before. It didn't matter that Mae was 
watching as she sucked and licked like a whore on batteries on the short 
man's stump of cock. It didn't matter that she'd never be able to live down 
the moment ... nothing mattered save for the burning savage desire ravishing 
her twisted, flaming belly. Where she should have felt shame and horror, 
there was only lust. She ground back against Chuck's thrusts, feeling her 
pussy walls suck hungrily on his hardened penis, sucking hard to pull every 
inch of his prick far up inside her, to suck his scalding hot load from his 
testicles and into her belly to satisfy her. Just a little more ... and 
she'd be there ... just a little more. 

Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked faster on Shorty's penis, chewing tenderly 
on the pungent crimson flesh, swirling her tongue around the tip. She felt 
him quiver uncontrollably; his body shook and spasmed. Carla was about to 
let loose in a way she never had when- 

A cold gush of air bathed her genitals where once a hot, satisfying penis 
had been. She shivered with dreadful need when she heard Chuck bark out his 
orders. 

"Okay, Blondie ... come over here and suck your friend's cunt while I fuck 
her in the ass!" 

"What? No! Not to Carla ... not to Carla!" she yelped defensively, 
forgetting that she herself had recommended precisely that to Paul just 
twenty-four hours ago. 

"Come on ... get over here!" he snapped. 

She refused. "Do it to me, not to Carla ... please!" 

Chuck's hand snapped out and grabbed her arm, but Mae was agile, too, and 
she slipped from his grip. Then with one unerring swipe, Chuck caught the 
naked blonde's long hair and yanked her toward the mattress. 

Carla's wide brown eyes saucered as he abused Mae. "Get your ass up there 
and start licking her cunt ... you didn't hate it so much before!" 

With Shorty's penis drubbing into her lips, Carla could only watch dumbly, 
half dazed, her eyes not seeing, her ears not hearing. 

The abuse didn't stop there. Chuck pulled Mae by the hair, positioning her 
with her head to Carla's pussy. "You're hurting me! Let me go!" 

Chuck sneered and laughed, delighting in his abuse of this naked, sniveling 
little piece of Hollywood ass. He grinned at the sight of her pain-twisted 
face, her nude sprawling body, her pathetic little whelps of pain. 

Now it was Carla's turn. "Get your ass up in the air ... up on your knees, 
bitch!" With one arm hooked under her belly, he hauled her up onto her knees 
in doggy-position. Now her buttocks were naked and exposed to his hungry 
stare as she was bent over. Chuck fondled the enormity of his veiny cock 
with his fingers; he was proud of his huge prick, the only manly attribute 
left him after the war. He watched Carla's naked, squirming ass cheeks in 
the van's overhead light, watched her wiggle and twist as she tried to 
struggle out of his grip. He could see the folds of her pink, warm flesh 
that formed ridges around the jewel of her pussy ... that fascinated him, 
but something else was more important. The puckered ring of her anus. He had 
to have her there! 

"Please ... please ... don't do it to me there!" 

"Shut up and keep sucking ... and you, Blondie, get suckin'!" 

He dragged his warm prick through the moist crevice of her buttocks. "If you 
want an asshole left, you better relax them muscles, cause I'm tearin' in no 
matter how much it hurts." 

She tried to do just that. 

"Aaaahhh!" Carla screamed as Chuck pushed until sweat beaded his forehead. 
Carla's tightly clenched anus locked painfully around his cock; her 
sphincter ring threatened to cut off his circulation from his penis. Yet he 
rammed hard until the tip of his cock was peeking an inch inside the muscle 
ring. It was intensely erotic. "Shit," he choked, grinning down to see 
Shorty smiling back up at him. A hard-on did a lot for a man's ego. Chuck 
rammed again, winning another inch of virgin territory. 

"Oh gawwwwwddd ... you're killlling meeeee!" screamed Carla. 

"Get suckin', Blondie ... it'll help her take it," he grumbled down at Mae 
who lay with her hand on her arm, sobbing under a curtain of honey hair. 
Obediently, wanting to make it easy for Carla, she did. She squirmed on her 
back until her head was wedged under Carla's belly. Her tongue licked out 
tentatively, then more enthusiastically. 

Inch by torturous inch his penis bored into her rectum until all but the 
hairy base was buried deep inside her anus. He glanced down to see the 
cruelly stretched little hole clenching and unclenching for dear life around 
the thickness of his blood fed cock. By God, it's in, he thought at last, 
and quit pushing then, knowing that her anus must be burning like wild fire 
right now. Deep inside her buttery depths he felt his penis spasm. 

Carla sobbed into the hairy forest of Shorty's pubic kinks as she bore the 
hideous shame. The pain of anal rape was beyond imagination, beyond dignity 
and at first beyond endurance. But now the flickering touches of Mae's 
soothing tongue felt like mentholatum on a sore throat, soothing her, 
dulling the pain into a masochistic thud that galloped through her body. Her 
hips bucked back against him, meeting Shorty's pounding penis drilling 
between her lips in mid-stroke. They buffeted her between them, slamming 
their virility into her orifices with wildness that Mae in the middle 
struggled to match. Grunting and moaning, she bucked her hips backward to 
get all of Chuck's punishing cock in her anus, then ground her hips to the 
side to allow Mae the joy of getting a juicy lick at her cunt, and lurched 
forward to get more of Shorty's stubby penis in her mouth. It was all so 
heady ... so forbidden, so packed with erotic secrets that her senses began 
to desert her one by one. Her eyes burned, her ears rang while she was 
fucked in every orifice of her near-virgin body. 

The camper van was rocking on its axel as the star of the rape show was 
moving in heated rhythm with her two tormentors and her one time foe who was 
now slaving over her cunt, licking it tantalizingly. Carla's body felt like 
a sizzling Roman candle, short fused and ready to pop. And then it happened. 
Soaring to orgasm, convulsing with a scream of gratitude, she burst. It hit 
her like a ton of bricks, crushing and violent. Her naked curves and bumps 
shivered and trembled with relief as thrills of orgasmic completion shot 
through her. Flickers of light danced before her eyes in the dawn of 
fainting. Blood pounded in her ears. 

Beneath her Mae squirmed, mewled and cooed as her soft, babyish tongue 
lapped up the juices flowing from Carla's spewing pussy. The room was 
burning with lust as the foursome worked toward their completions. 

"Ahhh ..." Chuck threw back his head. "I'm cumming ... in your ass!" he 
groaned, slamming into her with a final grunt. On and on the slitted eye of 
his cock pumped out its load and even though he stood on his knees immobile, 
feeling her rectal muscles milking him of strength and rage, his penis 
lurched and jerked within her anus. 

Shorty was next to cum. His once pathetic penis jerked and throbbed and a 
briny stream of male cum shot into Carla's mouth like a geyser. Delicious 
chills of wicked pleasure rippled like a million volts of electricity 
through her naked body as she sucked with nibbling lips while her mouth was 
filled with great gushes that almost choked her and oozed down the back of 
her throat in gushing torrents of warm juice. Shamelessly, she sucked and 
swallowed until from behind her still wildly pumping buttocks, she heard 
Mae's cries for release. 

Ah, she'd forgotten Mae ... beautiful Mae with the gorgeously sucking lips 
nibbling at the swollen buds of her cunt and ... oh, God ... now she had her 
clitoris between her teeth. Was it possible ... was it possible that she 
could cum again? 

"Ahhhhh!" It was possible ... very possible. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

The van steamed of sex, satiated sex and an undercurrent of tension. A 
gushing warmth of affection flowed between the two women, so strong they 
could not look the other in the eye. Two women, arch enemies, thrown 
together in a fight for survival. Now what? 

In unison their eyes turned to the men. They stiffened, dared not to move. 
Images of plunging knives and reverberations of their own cries screamed in 
their ears. Chuck pulled himself up from the mattress and was grabbing for 
his pants-when he swung around. The van door was opening. 

"STOP WHERE YOU ARE OR I'LL SHOOT!" a voice in the darkness shouted as 
Shorty bolted upright, pulling free of Carla's collapsed body. 

"What the hell?" Chuck's jaw fell slack. His dark eyes snapped murderously 
as the policeman, with drawn gun, grabbed him by the arm and yanking him 
through the open van door, pointed the barrel between his eyes. 

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Chuck guarded his face with his arm. 

Every detail, every movement was lightning fast and blurred, and over with 
in less time than it took for Carla and Mae to realized they were safe. 
Outside the van there sounded a deafening report like a guerilla ambush, a 
noise you could feel as it echoed in the night. The women cowered together, 
locked in each other's arms as a scream rent the air. Sobbing, they stared 
into the darkened night to see Chuck lying a couple of yards away in the 
sand, staining it with blood spurting from his arm. He kicked and squirmed 
like a beached whale, and his voice was low as he groaned from the pain of 
the .38 slug in his bicep. 

In the same frenzy, Shorty rolled over on the mattress and pounded his fists 
into the mattress and cried. The game of hunt and chase and kill had ended 
for both of them. 

"You ..." The policeman's pistol was brandished before Shorty's watery eyes. 
"I don't want to shoot you too. Get your ass out of there!" They slapped 
hand cuffs on him, after forcing him to dress. There was no reason to 
handcuff Chuck; the bullet wound immobilized him. 

The police officer and Paul exchanged looks of mingled grief and 
satisfaction. 

"We've had reports from campers of harassment ... clothes missing, sleeping 
bags ... a couple of weapons found in caves." His eyes lifted to the light 
splashed interior of the van where the two women sobbed in each other's 
arms. "You two get dressed. We'll have to take you to the emergency room for 
a sperm count." His eyes rested on their naked bumps and curves for a 
lingering moment. He shook his head, muttering to himself: "Can't say as I 
blame those guys." 

Paul hopped into the van, pulling off his jacket and draping it over Carla's 
shoulders, shivering and goosebumped. The full impact hit her now and she 
began to feel, really feel, the bottle up emotions she'd been holding back. 
Feebly, she opened her cum-encrusted lips to speak, to try to relate to this 
man, the man she loved, how much she needed him now, but words refused to 
form. He stroked her hair back from her head. His hands were soft and 
gentle. 

"Oh, Paul ..." she choked out at last. "It was awful!" He pulled the jacket 
around her breasts and, with his arm around her shoulders, helped her limp 
out of the van towards the waiting police car with its flashing red light. 
He opened the door and helped her in. He looked at her for a studious 
minute, cupping her shoulders with his reassuring hands. With a jerk of the 
head toward the van where Mae lay in a sobbing hysteria, he asked: 

"I have to know something. Did she provoke this? Did she do this to you?" 
When he and the patrolman had tip-toed over the sand toward the van, after 
finding Chet passed out in the sand, rope tied and gagged, they had heard 
the moans and grunts of intercourse, forced intercourse, and that roused his 
suspicions. The sex hungry Mae, when ignored, was capable of coercing anyone 
into her game, and he had assumed just that-until he'd seen the glimmer of 
the knife through the van window. 

"No ..." she shook her head, auburn hair floating about her shoulders. Lusty 
scenes of she and Mae groveling in lesbian love flitted through her brain 
and she wondered, with a shiver, just how much Paul had seen. 

But then every one of them had been acting under strange influences this 
weekend, relenting to temptations that ended so ungratifiyingly. So much for 
a quiet trip to the beach to get their heads together and mellow out, she 
thought squeezing back tears. 

"I ... I don't want to talk about anything ... I can't." Her face was pale, 
her mind blank, her heart aching. Could she ever relate to this man the 
lusty details of forced sex with Mae, the ugly man who'd driven her to 
ecstasy ... the fact that three people, men and women, had been making love 
to her at once? Once he knew, would he want to marry her? 

Love wasn't love without forgiveness, she realized, recalling the naked 
lesbian sex with Mae, a bizarre thing. Forgiveness had its own time table 
and who could predict what catalyst would spur the heart into opening onto 
another, of forgiving the other's weaknesses. For admitting to one's 
failures requires strength. That was one subject she knew little of. 

Mae. Her face lifted to the van where Mae lay sobbing with no man to console 
her. Near the dying fire Chet lay in a drunken stupor, ropes freed from his 
ankles and wrists, impassive to the world. Mae had no one. 

"I have to talk to Mae," she whispered softly, her voice drowned out by the 
scuffling between Shorty and the police man. "It wasn't her fault ... she 
tried to protect me, she really did ... but when they-" 

"Shhh ..." He put a hushing finger to her lips. "Go to her then." 

Slowly she pulled free of his arms and with the sand cold under her bare 
feet, padded back to the van. Mae lay naked on the mattress, crying into the 
blanket. 

"Mae?" Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Carla pulled the tear wetted 
strands of silken honey hair back from her face and gently lifted her head 
with a hand cupped under her chin. The mascara smeared baby blue eyes had 
lost their sparkle, dulled to gray shades of despair. 

"He doesn't even care! I've been raped ..." she gasped, "almost killed ... 
and he doesn't care!" 

"Shhh ..." Carla wrapped her arms around the other and pulled her close, 
consoling her as one would a child. "It's not that he doesn't care, it's 
that he isn't very strong right now and he needs you ... Of course he's 
going to hate himself tomorrow, he's going to blame himself, and maybe 
that's what it will take for him to quit drinking. You have to give him some 
credit, Mae, you have to let him find out for himself what's right for his 
life. That's what this camping trip was about" she added with a snicker of 
irony. "None of us were ready for it, none of us counted on this happening, 
but it did and we have to work things out from there." 

She wrapped the blanket around Mae's shivering shoulders. "Come on ... 
they're waiting to take us to the hospital." 

Leaning against the patrol car, Paul's eyes fastened on the two women 
stumbling through the door emerging from the van, the hellish prison for the 
first time in an hour ... sixty long minutes of torture and degradation. 

Mae fell to sobbing. "I'm worth nothing, oh Carla, I've been so jealous of 
you, so afraid of you ... I hated you for having someone who cared about 
you." 

Carla wrapped her arm around the tall, leggy blonde and glanced toward Paul. 
She was lucky, very lucky. Sometimes it took pain to realize that. 

Later they could discuss the horrible web of dark emotions that entangled 
them all in this trap. 

On a weekend at the beach, away from Los Angeles. There was nothing wrong 
with giving it another shot. 

 EPILOGUE 

No one can predict what will make another person change, make him see 
himself for the vulnerable human being he is. That weekend on the ocean 
beach, down the rutted path of Johnson Road to the Pacific's rugged fury, 
marked an unforgettable milestone in the life of each. 

Predictably, Carla and Paul were married in a traditional church ceremony 
surrounded by flowers and friends. Paul continued his agency in Hollywood 
and to supplement their income, Carla took a position as photo-stylist for a 
Los Angeles based photographer. 

Mae ceased posing for nude photographers and seeking pride in seeing her 
nakedly stretched out luscious in full-color glossies. Acting classes and 
singing lessons took up most of her time and, with Paul's aid, got a small 
part in a B-rated movie. The insecurities that haunted her, made her seem 
the empty-headed barbie doll, lifted and with a wider, more realistic view 
of life and the people who filled it, tempered her sexual proclivities. 

As for Chet, no one saw much of him. He didn't stop drinking and he didn't 
stop riding motorcycles. He didn't get a job, that they knew. Some said he 
spent most of his time camping in Big Sur, along a lonely stretch of beach 
... as if he'd left something there he needed, desperately, to retrieve. 


THE END
