GC-356 The Epic
By Kyle Roxbury


“The answer was one that made her shiver. There was only this bed, larger
than king-size, covered by a single mauve spread that would lend 
magnificent tints to a naked body-hers. There were reflectors to throw 
under-lights and highlights and backlights on a thrashing, tortured body. 
The examination table baffled her until she remembered how a woman was 
spread and exposed when strapped into its fixtures; a perfect instrument to
hold and quiet a frantically struggling woman… Marcia shuddered, then her 
fright caused her to sob, and a moment later she folded over on the bed and
wept in total frustration.”


INTRODUCTION

By Douglas H. Gamlin, Ph. D.

The Epic is what one might term a modern piece of satire. There are, of 
course, some deep meanings couched in this highly erotic tale, but the 
primary purpose of the work is a satirical treatment of our modern society.

Before we take a closer look at Kyle Roxbury’s interesting novel, let’s 
first define an all important term-satire. Satire is so often used today 
many people think of it as pertaining to comedy. The term, however, has a 
somewhat different connotation when applied to the arts, and especially 
when used to describe a literary effort. According to the most heralded 
dictionary in recent years, The Random House Dictionary of the English 
Language, satire has the two following definitions: “1. The use of irony, 
sarcasm, ridicule or the like, in exposing, denouncing, or deriding vice, 
folly, etc.; 2. A literary composition, in verse or prose, in which human 
folly and vice are held up to scorn, derision, or ridicule.” The two 
synonyms used with satire are “Parody,” and “Travesty.”

Satire may be accomplished in many ways, the most common of which is 
exaggeration to the point of the sublime. In other words, carrying human 
folly and vice to illogical extremes. Many authors have found out the hard 
way that this is indeed a dangerous course to follow. There is a certain 
line beyond which the exaggeration becomes too ridiculous to even be 
classed as satire, and below this imaginary line the author flirts with 
very dangerous realism.

Perhaps the major criticism of Mr. Roxbury’s work is that he did not 
achieve the perfect balance for satire. His scenes and his characters are 
almost too realistic to be satirical, yet the overall treatment rescues the
work and makes it an important criticism of our contemporary society. For 
it is in the extremely well-chosen ending that the author erases any doubts
from the reader’s mind about the nature of his work.

The Epic presents us a rather superficial glimpse of the semi-private 
world of one of moviedom’s glamorous queens. If the author was pointing out
that “the girl next door” star has a private life completely separate, and 
almost diametrically opposed to the image Hollywood creates for her, the 
book could be dismissed without further comment. The fact that she, like so
many Hollywood personalities, is a sexual deviate is actually of little 
importance to the story or the character development. The author tells us 
simply that she is what she is, and then begins to tell us why in a wildly 
erotic tale which spotlights and calls attention to the standards and 
values of today’s society. And it is here that the author tosses an 
interesting and challenging question to the reader-just who is responsible 
for Marcia Mallory and her children? Is she responsible, or is she nothing 
more than a product of a society who proclaims one standard and lives 
another?

Marcia, her husband, Frank, and her three children are kidnapped by a 
master blackmailer and his gang while on a trip in London. Leo Felton, the 
villain, makes his living by placing famous Hollywood stars in compromising
positions involving sexual deviation, filming the situation and then 
selling the film to the star. Marcia Mallory, the stellar personality with 
a virginal image to protect, is his victim, but with a clever twist in the 
end he becomes her victim. His plot is simple, make Marcia perform every 
sexual deviation known before his cameras and then sell her the film at a 
fantastic price.

Here the author deals with realism because this has been done many times,
and a number of Hollywood stars and starlets have found themselves the star
attraction of a “stag” movie. This realism, however, is also satire; for it
is here that the author takes serious exception to the hypocritical 
Hollywood image, an image that moviedom feels it is forced to adopt to 
please a hypocritical society.

Kyle Roxbury handles this with both exaggeration and ridicule, which, of 
course, bring The Epic into the realm of satire.

The Epic, however, is much more than a slam at Hollywood morals and the 
dual personalities demanded by the image. It is through the eyes of 
Marcia’s children that we see the panoramic question posed by the author. 
Delia, at the ripe old age of thirteen, contends that she is “no square,” 
that she has a thorough knowledge of sex and has practiced it with her 
younger brother for some time. She says that she is preparing for the orgy 
of adolescence, and it is here that we see the sexual freedom of modern 
youth held up to ridicule. The ages of these children and their sexual 
experience are a travesty on our current younger generation. Their 
appetites are jaded at a young age and they have to seek fulfillment in 
something other than sex.

In fact, we quickly see that each and every character in The Epic is 
desperately searching for something, something he or she will never find. 
And in the end each uses sex as a means of expression-the only means of 
expression available to them in a world in which they cannot communicate 
with either themselves or others.

Why sex? Well, again we come to grips with the author’s use of satire. 
Sex is the forbidden fruit, yet it provides a common denominator. By 
overemphasizing sex. Kyle Roxbury is pointing up society’s overemphasis on 
sexual behavior. At the same time he is ridiculing the standards we have 
somehow evolved and telling us that we are responsible for the Marcia 
Mallorys and Leo Feltons of this world, that we created them in our anxiety
to repress a natural human drive. And by creating the Marcias, we 
ultimately created the Delias and Johns that cause us so much concern in 
our current youth rebellion.

This is not to say that The Epic is a message book per se. In a sense, 
all satire carries a message, but this is handled in such a way that it is 
up to the reader to decide what the message is. Gulliver’s Travels by Swift
is perhaps an excellent example of this particular technique. Swift was 
holding the politics of his time up to ridicule, but it was up to the 
reader to interpret the meaning according to his or her own philosophy of 
politics. Gulliver’s Travels, incidentally, was banned in Swift’s own 
country when it first appeared because it hit too close to home to suit 
those in power.

Instead of a message, The Epic presents a problem, a problem to which 
there is seemingly no solution in our current society. The problem is just 
what value do we place on sexual conduct? In Marcia’s case the price is 
five million dollars, or her career and her marriage. This is the problem 
on the surface, the part that is held up to ridicule and scorn by author 
Roxbury. Beneath this, however, is a more serious problem. What does sex 
actually mean to those involved? What of the children and their cynical 
attitude toward sex and life? What meaning does life have for Fred Bignor, 
Olga Beresnev, Chattel, Carolina, Sam and Jody? Each of these characters 
represents a particular facet of society and of life, and each receives a 
brutal slapping around by the author’s satirical pen.

Each of us will see these various characters differently, but for each of
us they will have very real meaning and identification. Frank Goddard, who 
fights involvement at every juncture, may represent society’s ego; while 
Carolina, the insatiable nymphomaniac, may well be society’s alter ego. 
You, according to the dictates of your own mind, will make these decisions 
as you read The Epic.

It seems unfair to discuss the ending of a book before the reader has had
an opportunity to enjoy it, but here, as I said earlier, we find the key to
this satire. Two star-crossed people find themselves on a lonely South Seas
island, their identities preserved by precious crates of vaseline! A 
take-off on Hollywood’s famous “happy ending,” this satirical barb is aimed
at the very center of the cancer in our society. The vaseline, of course, 
is both symbolical and satirical in the same breath-it creates an illusion 
and makes the bitter medicine of life go down easier. And here the author 
erases any doubt that he has been “spoofing” the reader all along. With one
deft stroke he slashes through his realism and enters the world of fantasy 
and fable.

The Epic is certain to come under fire in some quarters because of the 
abundant use of sexual action throughout, yet is there any other way that 
this particular satire could have been presented as effectively? And if we 
suffer from a cancer of overemphasis on sex as Kyle Roxbury suggests, is 
there any better way to treat that cancer than first making an effort to 
understand it? Perhaps his realism is a bit too realistic, but this was 
obviously done with a purpose in mind. Kyle Roxbury wanted to shock us, 
which is indeed a task with the current trend in literature.

Books like The Epic and other erotic classics are making a major 
contribution to an understanding of a new, sensual generation of human 
beings, a generation in which we all must pass a certain amount of time. 
The suppression of books of this nature a few years ago created the 
generation gap which plagues us today, but we are fast bridging that gap. 
Understanding is the pavement out of which we will build the roads of 
progress toward human psychology, and each stone in that road is important,
no matter what its source. In the final analysis, I think few would argue 
that The Epic doesn’t contribute to that progress in understanding.

Satire, of course, is not only instructive but great fun. The Epic will 
provide many hours of pleasure for readers who enjoy a heavy flavoring of 
sex in their literary diet. The author’s style is fast, clippy, and full of
surprises, and The Epic is above average in the field of erotic literature.
Read it for understanding and satire, or for pure enjoyment. Either way, 
you’ll find it entertaining!

-Douglas H. Gamlin, Ph.D.

PROLOGUE

On November 22, 1963, an assassin murdered John F. Kennedy, the 
thirty-fifth President of the United States of America. The crime was never
legally solved. On the 23rd of November, 1963, Marcia Mallory, one of 
Hollywood’s most glamorous and successful actresses disappeared from the 
face of the earth. This enigma, crime or not, was never solved because by 
the time the entire world got around to caring about anything not 
associated with President Kennedy’s death, Frank Goddard and his three 
children, husband and offspring of Marcia Mallory, had gone into seclusion 
and the problem of her disappearance was in the hands of capable publicity 
men, lawyers and sundry double talkers. No official conclusion was ever 
printed.

A number of English constables and district magistrates in Beaker Valley,
a few miles north of London, suddenly retired to the distant lands via 
expensive luxury liners.

A man named Fred Bignor and his housekeeper, Olga Beresnev, migrated to 
Melbourne, Australia, and acquired a well-stocked tobacconist shop.

Some facts were known, others suspected-a few were created.

A pretty but innocuous hippie in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury district 
wrote the following narrative in 1967. The original manuscript was rough 
and lacked any literary technique whatever. The girl sold the handwritten 
document to a sharp newspaper writer for one hundred dollars, ostensibly 
because she needed a fix to ease her drug-ridden nerves. Factually, she 
killed herself with an overdose of morphine, three days later-eighteen 
years of age.

As some kind of a memorial to the girl’s obscure end, and for money, the 
newsman checked the manuscript against some long-buried facts and here you 
have the story of Marcia Mallory-Goddard, nee Gelling.

-Kyle Roxbury

CHAPTER ONE

Fred Bignor stood at the open door of the glistening black Bentley, the 
perfect picture of a properly liveried chauffeur. He was stocky, bland of 
face and cool as the light fog wafting now from London to the south. Fred 
was also richer than a chauffeur had any right to be, but this was because 
he had some unique talents, one of which was to be tested within the next 
half minute. Staring from under slightly puffy eyelids, his mouth watered 
as he watched the glamorous Marcia Mallory, her three children and her 
non-professional husband, Frank Goddard, emerge from the Green Moors Inn, 
one of central England’s finest. Hideaway for the rich, the famous and the 
arrogant.

Even in the approaching dusk, Fred could feel the impact of the beautiful
movie star’s lush body and sensual walk. He knew all about her. She was 
thirty-two years old, the American screen’s most popular 
virgin-adventuress, gay, talented, and rich because twenty million sterile 
fans had never quite gotten around to tainting their heroine with anything 
as hideous as sex and intrigue. No sex below the upper hp and even in beach
scenes Marcia Mallory wore the corniest, most ridiculous bathing suits in 
the flicks. Fred smiled to himself. If things went as he had them planned, 
he’d get about nine inches of hot and hard cock into her before midnight. 
Then they were at the curb. He bowed his head briefly, with proper respect.

“Wait,” Frank Goddard said. “You’re not the studio driver who brought us 
here this afternoon.”

“No, sir. The other car had electric trouble. I was sent to replace him, 
sir.”

“Gee, Daddy,” the twelve-year-old John Goddard enthused, “it’s a ‘63 
Bentley! Boy, could a guy hot-tool this one up and down Sunset. How fast’ll
she go, mister?”

“John!” Marcia Mallory snapped. “You do not fraternize with servants! 
Delia, Carmen, get in and take those jump seats. Frank, help me in. Oh, 
this miserable climate!”

“Mama, can I sit up front with the driver?” John asked.

Fred held his breath. That was a circumstance he did not want to 
cultivate. But his estimate of Marcia, the arrogant and snobbish, was 
correct.

“No, you cannot sit up front with the driver,” she said. “My good man, 
can you get us to the London Plaza before nine?”

“Yes, madame,” Fred replied, and shut the heavy door with a firm hand. He
walked around, but before he climbed behind the wheel, he surveyed the 
expansive front of the Green Moors Inn. A few tourists were watching, but 
he felt that they were a lot more interested in the famous and perpetual 
ingenue than they were in the car in which she and her relatively unknown 
family were departing. At an earlier hour there might have been camera 
bugs; it was working perfectly, Fred decided and got behind the wheel. Out 
of habit and caution, he touched the button on the dash that locked the 
rear doors of the Bentley. He had them, in any case, and in addition to the
one-thousand quid he was earning, the night promised some rare fun and 
fucking, as well as the privilege of bringing the Yank bitch to her knees. 
He drove with one hand, the other lying on his sturdy thigh, the fingers 
toying with his pulsing, half-hard cock.

Five minutes after he turned off the main road to Tottenham, and thusly, 
to London, Fred picked up the microphone that connected with the 
limousine’s rear compartment. At the same time he touched another dash 
button, knowing that the Bentley’s service compartment would react 
instantly. “There is tea, madame, and in the lower chamber, brandy against 
the chill. From here, the road is steady so you may enjoy something warm 
and cheering.”

He watched the rear-view glass. The children had become very excited 
about prospects of having tea in the limousine. Marcia’s full lips moved; 
she seemed to be cross, or at best, arbitrary. Her handsome husband went 
about the matter of pouring tea, five cups, two of which he laced with the 
expensive Napoleon brandy. Fred sighed and slowed the Bentley, as if to 
provide them with a steadier ride, but actually to lengthen the time so the
scopolamine would begin its work. Normally, four and one half minutes was 
enough, and six or seven would render the entire Goddard family into a 
state of total control, complete debilitation. And it was yet twelve 
minutes to the Lonsberry Cottage. Fred grinned. It promised to be a roaring
weekend. He and the boys knew exactly what to do with a big-titted bitch 
like Marcia Mallory and Fred had some plans of his own for her tonight. And
for the thirteen-year-old Delia Goddard and her eleven-year-old sister, 
Carmen. And maybe the middle kid, John, whose ass fitted his trousers with 
encouraging tightness.

While Olga locked the garage doors, Fred walked around and opened the 
limousine. Marcia slouched in the rear seat beside her husband. Both sat 
with open eyes, peering at nothing, their hands listless in their laps. The
three children had slumped to the floor, the adult dosage of scopolamine 
had knocked them out. Impulsively, Fred put a hand to the bowed bottom of 
the older girl. His fingers felt the small, firm cheeks, then dug between 
them to test the sweet, soft valley. Then Olga was at his side.

“St. Peter!” she exclaimed in her Russian accent. “Five!”

“Get the kids out,” Fred said. “Put them in the North room. I will put 
the man in the cellar. The bitch goes to the gallery.”

Olga sighed. She was a large woman, of mountainous breasts and bold hips,
formed during the years she had harvested wheat in the Ukraine. Her broad 
mouth and large eyes gave her a coarse prettiness, and now a slow, 
lascivious smile showed strong, white teeth. With no effort at all, she 
gathered the limp girl in her arms and carried her through the door that 
led into the large country cottage. Fred pulled the man out of the car with
almost equal ease, threw him over one broad shoulder and carried him to the
dark stairs leading to the cellar rooms, which were really cells with stout
doors and no windows. He went back up just as Olga was carrying the second 
little girl into the house.

Fred put eager hands to the seemingly unconscious Marcia, his fingers 
roaming over .the curve of her thighs, up her stylishly clad belly and to 
the large, firm tits, never allowed to show so enticingly in any of the 
twenty features she had made. He felt the nipples, slack now, but soon to 
harden and bristle under his attentions. He eased her out of the Bentley, 
then steadied her against his sturdy body. This was the good thing about 
scopolamine, he thought. It kept ‘em cool but didn’t belt them all the way 
out. As if they were under hypnosis-alive but with no will of their own 
past responding to commands and feeling no false responsibility.

“Would you like to suck my cock, bitch?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her head remained unturned.

“Do you know how?”

“Yes.”

“All right, let’s go,” he said, aiming her for the door at the rear of 
the carriage house. She walked with measured tread, her flared hip rubbing 
his, through the door which closed on an air-cylinder. He put one arm 
around her to guide her along the corridor to the gallery. She stood 
quietly, unaware, uncaring, while he unlocked the heavy door to the prison 
she would not leave for at least three days. Fred pushed her into the cool 
room and followed, locking the door behind them. Not that Olga would 
interfere. She would be getting her bloody jollies undressing the kids. Her
tastes in sex were odd. Fred turned on the gallery lights.

The room was a full fifteen meters long and nearly as wide. It contained 
only two pieces of furniture: a huge square bed covered in mauve satin 
occupied the center of the room, and against one wall, ready to be placed 
when required, was a medical examination table, complete with straps, 
supports, control wheels and levers. All the other fixtures in the room 
would have done justice to a very well-equipped photography salon. Lights, 
tripods, many heavy electrical cords and silvered screens to furnish 
backlights and roundness. Not that Marcia Mallory would need lights to aid 
her natural roundness. Even now, standing in the relaxation of numbness, 
her body was a symphony of curves and tapered segments. Fred trembled with 
anticipation.

He stood directly in front of her, his eyes narrowed with the lust slowly
building in his groin. He reached up and fumbled her thick blonde hair 
loose. She seemed not to see him at all. Then he carefully removed her fur 
jacket, exposing the svelte fullness of her shape. He moved around and 
unzipped the back of her lame blouse, baring the expanse of milk white skin
above and below the tightly snapped band of her brassiere. He caressed the 
soft flesh, running his palms around to massage the softness of her belly 
under the blouse, drawing them back to smooth down over the classical flare
of her hips. Then he unsnapped her brassiere, feeling it pop away from his 
fingers as her compressed tits bounded outward. He removed her blouse and 
brassiere and laid it with the fur jacket. Then Fred stepped close and 
pressed his belly to her piquant ass, laying his cock, now upright in his 
pants, to the sharply defined crack of her ass. His hands went around and 
cupped under her hot, firm tits, his thumbs seeking the soft nipples, 
flipping them into some life while he rubbed his cock to her nates. Marcia 
didn’t move, except to raise her head in small awareness. Fred teased 
himself, dryfucking her as his hands admired and abused the unbelievable 
solidity of her tits. His leer was one of victory. He had her, Marcia 
Mallory, haughty, desired and rich, standing like a mare in heat while he 
pull and rolled her tits and worked up a proper hard-on against her 
inviolate ass. He had her and the night was young yet. The boys wouldn’t 
arrive from London until morning. Sweat broke out on his ruddy face as he 
stacked promises to himself in his boiling brain.

Nervous fingered, he found the small zipper at the side of her tailored 
skirt. Carefully, he rolled the light wool down, little by little exposing 
the pantied contours of her high, twin-pillowed ass. His breath came 
jerkily as he devoured the luscious contours, and he refrained from 
furiously digging his fingers between the hot shapes with great difficulty.
Then he rolled the panties down, noting their thin edge-lace and the fine 
seams. The warm odor of woman came up to his hairy nostrils, the smell of 
cunt made him hurry, rolling the panties down around her slim ankles. 
Stooped so, his face was almost against the hot rounds, and he opened his 
mouth and planted a slow, moist kiss to each of the moons. The contact of 
hot flesh to his mouth was like an electric shock, but he knew what had to 
be done and with trembling hands, he finished removing her clothes, even to
her long, elastic-topped stockings and sleek-heeled pumps. These items he 
placed with the rest of her clothes. Then, as if unable to resist his 
eagerness any longer, he walked around and stood in front of her.

His blood boiled with frenzy. Feeling her tits had not told him how 
magnificent they were to see. They hung only a bit, thrusting most of their
globular volume out, jiggling with her regular breathing until the pink 
tips made little blurring places of exciting color. Her slim waist was 
almost girlish, and the slight out-curve of her mature belly turned down to
disappear into a thick, silky vee of curly hair, only slightly less golden 
than her head. Nestled between the smooth juncture of her thighs was the 
last surprise. Fred gasped, his excitement almost more than he could 
control. Like millions of people, he had somehow thought of the exquisite 
Marcia as the kind of woman she portrayed on the screen-sweet, almost 
chaste, certainly virtuous and a perfect example of a dainty, desirable 
female. He thought she was all of these things, if a trifle underexposed, 
but as his hot eyes measured the bold, moist pout of her nearly purple cunt
lips, pooched out of the golden curls, separated by the crooked, worm-like 
shape of her large clitoris, he trembled visibly. And he got the first 
voluntary reaction from the drugged woman when he extended one thick finger
and nicked the pink nubbin. Marcia moaned and a slow bend came to her knees
as her back curled and humped her crotch forward in lewd offering. The roll
of her hips caused her tits to bounce, and Fred fingered the clitoral shape
from side to side, savoring the sudden series of fucking hunches that her 
body described. He looked up at her face. Her eyes were still staring 
upward, her nostrils were only slightly flared and her lips were open, 
slack enough to show the tip of her pink tongue, dripping saliva and toying
with the edge of her perfectly capped teeth.

Fred stepped back and removed his uniform coat. His fingers fumbled as he
unbuttoned his white shirt, jerked free the tie and exposed his broad, 
hairy chest. His slight paunch heaved; he inhaled and unbuckled his 
trousers, then unzipped his fly over his pounding cock. Hastily then he 
stripped himself of everything but his socks and shoes. As if waiting for 
her to appreciate his bulk and masculinity as much as he had appreciated 
her delectable nudity, he stood in front of her, gently stroking his huge, 
up-angled cock. He ran back the heavy foreskin, forcing the red shank area 
behind the overlarge coronal ridge to lift. He flexed his cock, causing the
large, slightly gaping eye to ooze a drop of thick, impatient come. With 
his other hand, he scooped his massive sack of plum-sized balls upward for 
her inspection. Forgetting her real condition, he snarled at her continued 
staring at the ceiling.

“Aye, you snotty bitch,” he growled. “So it ain’t the size of a mule’s 
but before this night is done, you’ll think it’s the greatest cock in the 
whole fucking world and you’ll swim in its come, that you will!”

His class-conscious mind, fired now by her beautiful indifference to his 
huge organ, rolled with indecision. The greatest fuck, the hottest suck; 
what first humiliation could he put her to? He looked at the huge bed, 
wishing he dared roll her onto the satin, but reluctant to face the boys if
they came with their high-powered cameras tomorrow and found the expensive 
under-drop spotted. And it would be spotted because Fred intended to pump 
his boiling come into Marcia Mallory until it gushed out of every sweet 
aperture in her exotic body. He stepped forward, his massive cock gripped 
at the base so the thick shaft aimed up at her face, the throbbing head 
jerking with impatience. Then he reached up and curled his hand behind her 
head, forcing her face down, her eyes hardly a foot from his organ. Her 
thick tits swung out and he saw with satisfaction that as he pulled her 
face closer and closer, her pink nipples seemed to distend and fatten into 
solid berries. Then he felt her urge forward of her own volition. He 
laughed victoriously, and instead of aiding her, he gripped her hair in a 
tight fist. Then he began a fucking motion into his right hand, rolling the
shaft through the foreskin, thrusting it out to within an inch or so of her
suddenly drooling lips. He felt her begin to struggle. Her body rolled, 
twisted as if she could feel the throbbing flesh ploughing into her lush 
body. Fred laughed-a low, lewd chuckle of success. He had her now. Her 
bitch heat was penetrating the scopolamine trance. She shuffled her bare 
feet apart and began to flutter her broad, tightly bent ass. Then her hands
lifted in slow struggle, and when they were about to clutch his thrusting 
cock, Fred pulled her mouth onto his organ with perfect aim. The hot, wet 
cavity of her throat was like heavenly velvet; Fred hunched, watching her 
red mouth stretch and form a taut oval around the shaft; he felt the swift 
rise and rub of her tongue, beating at the swollen under forms of his 
glans; he clasped her head between strong palms and fucked into her face 
with excruciating passion.

Marcia’s hands were now fumbling at her tits, trying to cup and roll 
them, deforming the pulsating flesh in her inability to control her 
muscles. Her hips swayed, her knees quavered. Fred held her head and drove 
his organ in until it snubbed against the back of her convulsing throat, 
causing her to gag slightly until he drew it out so only the head was 
gripped by her eager lips and her tongue dug at the hot, oozing eye.

“You didn’t He!” he gasped. “You do know how to suck a man off! Oh, now 
there, you bloody whore! Augh-hh-ugh!”

He hadn’t intended to come so quickly, but the sudden fury of her sucking
had surprised him. He felt his balls gather, knot and kick hard in the 
hairy sack, then the long, sweet and almost painful ripple of his jism 
running the length of his throbbing organ made Fred’s spine wrench in 
ecstasy. He felt the first glob blow hard into her mouth, then as a whole 
series of spurts came, he twisted and hunched as her frantic swallowing 
provided an excruciatingly demanding suction. He moaned and gasped and 
rammed until the last strength was shot out of his balls. His hands let go 
of her head but she clung to his cock with relentless sucking, her lips 
splaying out around the jerking head in furious claiming until he was 
forced to push her away to ease the agony of her greed. She staggered back,
his come dribbling from her abandoned lips, her white, perspiration-damp 
body sagging. Fred swayed, his hand fondling his deflating cock as he 
stared at the lush nakedness sitting now on the floor, her legs 
outstretched, her back bowed forward so her chin rested on her chest. Slick
strings of his come dropped from her mouth to run heavily into the valley 
between her quivering tits. Fred saw how her cunt deformed between her 
thighs and the carpet, and his stroking firmed; he was not through with 
her, and he thought she might not be through with him, remembering the fury
of her sucking right up to the moment he had hurled her away.

There was something wrong. Everything seemed real but Marcia knew it had 
to be a dream, a memory, because only one man in her past had possessed a 
prick so huge, so thick and so endlessly spewing. Max Fromann, the producer
of Ranger’s Destiny, the first picture in which she had ever appeared. 
Fourteen years ago, but she could remember that afternoon in his elegant 
office. The contract for three-hundred dollars a week lay on his desk, a 
fortune to an eighteen-year-old ingenue. It was only a bit part, but he had
promised her better roles, even stardom, flushed with excitement, she had 
let him feel of her tits, already monstrous by average standard. She had 
smelled his heliotrope shaving lotion, the pomade on his hair and the 
tobacco smell of his, two-hundred dollar suit. She had hated his heavy, 
sensuous mouth on hers, his hairy hands squeezing and rolling her tits 
until, despite her revulsion, the nipples had grown hard and tingling under
his thick thumbs and she had fought the strange excitement with all of her 
Methodist upbringing. But she had wilted when his wet mouth had slobbered 
down to the valley between her tits while his strong hands had crawled up 
under her skirt, to dig under her panties and brutally feel her virgin cunt
and tight, plump ass.

She had cried a little and twisted in distress, but never far enough to 
evade his plunging fingers, ripping the hot moist flesh of her cunt until 
in frenzy, she had hunched to send his worming finger through the once 
precious membrane of her maidenhead. There had been several horrible, 
delightful minutes as Max had laid her back on his desk, fingerfucking her 
grasping, oozing cunt until she had thought she was going crazy. He had 
sucked her tits, now standing up in furious pulsing, and she had succumbed 
to the long-subdued fire of her nubile flesh. She had spread her legs, 
holding them out and up in trembling eagerness and Max had sucked her cunt 
while he stripped down his trousers and underdrawers.

Then it had been confusing, thrilling, devastating to every moral concept
she had ever known; the lashing tongue, ripping at her clitoris, licking 
the swelling lips and mixing his saliva with the full flowing fluids from 
her opened vagina. She had writhed and rolled on the mahogany desk, 
panting, mewling and moaning with the ecstasy of his adept sucking, and her
wits had flown until that weird and wonderful moment when he had thrust his
thick middle finger into her saliva wetted asshole, plunging inward until 
the raped tissues seemed ready to tear apart. She had abruptly come; 
between the dig and lick of his tongue and the huge finger fucking 
palm-deep in her asshole, the explosion in her body had been a hundred 
times more wonderful than any orgasm she had ever induced with her own 
finger and girlish images of mental heroes.

She had screamed, and bucked and thrashed, caught in a passion she had 
not dreamed possible, then as the wonderful colors had subsided and the 
convulsions relaxed, she had discovered Max Fromann, standing between her 
out-flung legs, stroking his huge cock, his face drawn into a frown of 
disappointment. She had stared at his cock, the first one she had ever 
seen, and the length and thickness of the darkly headed flesh had stirred 
some new emotions in her heaving belly. It was so thick even his big hand 
would hardly encircle it, and the eye, large enough for her little finger, 
oozed a white, thick fluid. She had seen the pulsing blue veins, the small 
nodules of sebaceous glands on the white, throbbing shaft. And the huge 
wrinkled sack of balls, thickly haired and weighted with his unspent sperm.
And the words, echoing now, strangely brutal but somehow exciting, “Would 
you like to suck my cock, bitch?” and the urging, the thrusting up and 
forward as she had raised from the desk, her mouth suddenly flowing with 
saliva, her tongue darting from between her lips.

All thoughts, even small, uncontrollable yearnings to be fucked escaped 
her mind. She had crawled off the desk, her legs shaking with strain, her 
breasts popping at every moment, and she had gone to her knees, one 
quivering hand extending to take the monstrous cock in her inept fingers. 
It had been hard, but coated with a soft layer of skin, and the heat 
throbbed into her hand and sent furious desires racing in her throat. She 
had not known what to do, except that it seemed her destiny to open her 
mouth, lips wet and out pushed, to catch that throbbing, oozing knot of 
black-red flesh. There had been a taste, musky, exciting, ugly and sweet, 
and the feel of her lips and tongue, deforming the softer flesh overlaying 
the hard core of the member had caused her to plunge her head forward to 
slide the giant column as far into her throat as she could manage without 
gagging before she drew back, ringing the jerking cock with the full grip 
of her mouth.

He had held her head, not with a hand on each side, but with one at the 
back of her skull and the other curled under her chin to feel the working 
of her mouth and throat as she sucked in rhythm to the slow, ecstatic 
fucking he began. Her own hands had curled around his hairy thighs, 
holding, pulling, sensing the play of his muscles. She hadn’t been able to 
close her eyes; the sight of his throbbing cock, his swinging balls and the
straining cords in his belly had been overwhelming. She had gone half out 
of her mind, tonguing the delightful contours of his coronal form, savoring
the few eager drops of come that had leaked up the length of his cock, and 
finally settling herself to a long, deliberate suck and slide while her own
body had reacted as if a thousand cocks were ramming into her from every 
direction. She had eventually dropped one hand to her gaping, convulsing 
cunt and the other to her bouncing ass.

One finger, even two had not been enough and she had rammed three of her 
slim fingers, bunched like kindling sticks, into her cunt and fucked 
herself furiously while her left middle finger re-raped her asshole as 
deeply as the awkward bend of her wrist would permit. She had come and 
come, soaking her hands, wetting her taut thighs and staining Max Fromann’s
expensive rug, but somehow, the insane spasms in her womb were not enough 
and she had intensified her sucking, knowing that until his balls released 
their flaming fluid into her throat, the obscene act she was committing 
would be in vain. There had been some warning; she had felt his already 
puffed cock swell, jerk and strain into her throat, and she had raised, 
trying to straighten her mouth and neck so he could lunge farther, and he 
had come with the thrust, forcing his spurting cock past her palate. Her 
face had come to his hairy groin, her mouth had stretched until her jaw 
ached. She had gagged, coughed around the thundering cock and tried to draw
away. Max had held her, jerking and thrusting and her near choking had 
sucked every drop of his come into the fiery pool formed in her retching 
belly. But she hadn’t vomited. Writhing, twisting, coming in endless 
ecstasy, she had let Max hold her head and fuck her in decreasing intensity
until at last, his cock had gone slowly limp and soggy in her mouth.

Here, the memory had become bitterly lewd; her cunt gulping, her asshole 
flaming with sensation, she had momentarily succumbed to the trance of 
super-passion. Reluctant to release the sweet, rubbery tube of hot flesh, 
she had clung to the head with her burning lips and Max had urinated, with 
difficulty at first, with the full force of his distended bladder. There 
had been nothing else to do but drink his gushing piss, acrid, malodorous 
and hot. Then she had gotten sick in the little bathroom adjoining his 
office and while she had leaned over in violent regurgitation, he had knelt
behind her and licked up into her cunt.

But that had been fourteen years ago and Marcia could not understand why 
the memory had suddenly become so vivid; the taste was in her mouth, the 
fire was in her belly. What confused her most was that Max Formann had been
a circumcised Jew and the cock in her immediate memory had possessed a 
flowing, thick and tender foreskin.

CHAPTER TWO

Olga Beresnev was a methodical woman. She stripped the three children of 
their clothes, carefully folded each small garment and placed them in a 
drawer of the hand-carved dresser, then went back to stare at the three 
bare, white bodies lying side by side on the bed. They were beautiful 
children, she thought. The boy had a good cock, even if his balls were 
small and closely drawn up under the base of his limp organ. The older girl
was dark; a few stray beginning hairs grew on the fat mound of white flesh 
at the tip of her flat belly. Her cunt was a neat buttonhole, virginal, 
Olga supposed but nearly ready for a man’s inquiring finger or maybe, a 
cock the size of her brother’s. She was showing a little fullness at the 
hip and her titties were dark tipped and pointed, even if the flesh pads 
were hardly more than palm thickness. The smaller girl was blonde like her 
famous mother, and she had thicker legs, even if her arms and shoulders 
were slim. Her cunt, Olga noted, was also nearly ready and of better shape 
than her sister’s. It had open lips, pink, like a small mouth, but would 
develop in a year or two to blatant demand, responding to the rub of close 
panties or the occasional flick of childish fingers.

Olga Beresnev was an authority on cunts. Her own had begun the extensive 
education she had acquired in thirty-five years. It had occurred in a wheat
field on the edge of the Dnipr River in the Ukraine when she was ten years 
old. The autumn had been hot, the wheat high. The five scythe wielders had 
forced her and her mother down on a layer of freshly cut wheat, raised 
their peasant dresses and laughed gaily at the expanse of young and old 
flesh. Credit the hot young laborers, they had merely fingered and patted 
Olga, but they had drawn for a short straw to see who would fuck her mother
first, then in rapid succession, they had turned her handsome mother into a
laughing, hysterical, belly-humping receptacle for their steaming, unwashed
cocks while Olga had watched with perspiring fascination.

Her only confusion lay in the fact that unlike her mother’s big, 
fat-lipped cunt, lying like an eager mouth in the thick hair of her 
straining crotch, Olga’s little cunt was merely a long, close-pressed slit.
The fact that growing out of the top of the slit was a finger-sized 
protuberance that was wonderfully sensate and capable of stiffening when 
she touched it was baffling to Olga. It didn’t even need to be touched. 
Watching first one sturdy Ukrainian and then another kneel between her 
mother’s heavy, out-thrust legs and ram his cock into the hot and quaking 
slot amid the wet matted hairs, Olga’s odd form had stiffened and thrust 
outward. One of the men saw it. They had all promptly gathered around her 
slender body, taking turns feeling and pinching the strange flesh-finger 
until Olga had cried in distress at their roughness. She heard words and 
phrases she did not understand and she was building terror when one of the 
men thrust his thick, dirty finger into her cunt and ripped her open. 
Another wriggled an equally large and dirty finger into her asshole. She 
remembered her mother’s laughter as the pain changed to a peculiar goodness
and her little body began to describe the same undulating rolls as had her 
mother’s under the pumping bodies of the five scythe-men. Olga hadn’t 
protested when they turned her to her hands and knees. One by one, they had
tried to fuck her, ramming, twisting, pressing and bruising her little cunt
into quivering distress. None had been able to force even the head into her
little vagina, but the roughness and the few times the urging cocks touched
the protruding clitoris caused Olga to have sweet orgasm.

She had learned that night from her mother and her aunt that the 
flesh-finger was a clitoris and that the wild, hysterically wonderful 
feeling that followed their turn-by-turn sucking of it was a come. By the 
time she was fourteen, the dubious organ was both a blessing and a curse. 
It was grown to a full ten centimeters-four inches since she had learned 
English, and was as thick as two of her fingers together. Soft, she could 
tuck it down and into her cunt and close the lips over it. Hard, she could 
thrust its twisted shape into the cunt of other little girls, too shy to 
let a boy fuck them but naughty enough to permit Olga to worm the stiffened
shape into their eager cunts and then enter into frenzied belly bumping and
hugging until they wet each other with mutual comes. It had quit growing by
the time Olga was eighteen, but by then, her mother and her aunt and 
various other females in the village had sucked it until it was a full 
fifteen centimeters long and as thick as a man’s cock, if twisted and 
rope-like with bulges and ridges of red, madly sensitive nerves.

Now, Olga felt it swelling, and she put her hands to the huge bulbs of 
her tits and let the flesh roll in slow, teasing pressure. She looked over 
her shoulder at the door; Fred would spend hours and every drop of come he 
had with the glamorous Marcia Mallory. Olga unzipped the front of her 
cotton dress, revealing that it was her only garment. Her grotesquely huge 
tits bounded free of the thin cloth, showing the massive black nipples 
thrusting out from the thick dark aureoles on the white flesh. Her belly 
was a bit heavy, but it curved under to the broad area of thick hair, 
growing from her deep navel to the inhuman obscenity of her mal-formed 
cunt. Her dress dropped around her thick ankles. Her right hand went down 
and she used two fingers and a thumb to pull the longer half of her 
clitoris out of her vagina. It hung out, swelling slowly, thickening in red
convolutions, sending tremors of anticipation through her voluptuous body. 
The lips of her cunt throbbed open and several drops of eager fluid oozed 
from the bottom corner, sending up a sweetly acrid odor to Olga’s nostrils.

She decided on the older girl. Legs well apart, Olga pulled the small 
body to the edge of the bed and raised the limp, slender legs, folding them
back until the small ass was bent, forming two little moons separated by 
the barren pooch of the mons venus, divided symmetrically by the little 
slit, and below it, the soft pucker of the girl’s asshole. Olga shuffled 
forward and let the gnarled end of her clitoris indent the little lips. Her
hips twisted, spreading the rubbery slit as her clitoris urged inward. Her 
own background nullified any surprise she might have felt when she 
discovered the tiny ruffles of a broken maidenhead surrounding a tight 
gathering of flesh that inwardly closed the girl’s vaginal channel. 
Straining, Olga hunched, and the throbbing, half-turned end of her 
sensitive organ wormed into the diminutive aperture. She wriggled and 
pushed, gasping in ecstasy, suddenly eager for full penetration. The girl’s
head turned but her eyes remained closed. Leaning over now, Olga began the 
slight, fluttering fuck that worked her buried clitoris in the unresisting 
flesh, wetted by the childish glands so rudely disturbed. As the deformed 
flesh seated itself deeply, Olga leaned harder, resting her pulsating tits 
on the girl’s face. Her fluttering increased in gradually lengthening 
strokes. Her broad, nearly flabby ass bobbed and twisted, and sweat broke 
out on the smooth bow of Olga’s back. Her come was quick, but the fluid 
gushed out of the lower end of her quaking cunt, wetting the girl’s abused 
flesh and running in a strong rivulet down the crack of her splayed ass. 
Again the girl stirred, this time raising one hand to move a jelly soft tit
so she could breath. Olga fucked Delia Goddard again, because with her it 
was as endless as life and as excruciatingly good the tenth time as it was 
the first.

He felt sure he was awake but he could not quite react. His mind seemed 
atrophied, not by sleep but by some pressure that kept his thoughts in slow
motion. Nothing seemed very important to Frank Goddard, but gradually he 
began to remember. It had been a terrible argument, a fight really. It had 
been building for three or four years, ever since Delia had flunked her 
sixth grade arithmetic. Due, Frank felt, to the fact that his children had 
skipped from school to school, from country to country, fighting constantly
to keep up with less fortunate, or unfortunate, children in America and 
nearly every country in Europe. His glamorous kids, surrounded constantly 
by the adulation of grown-ups who really adored their beautiful and 
talented mother. No. Beautiful and talented actress; a fucking bust as a 
mother. A horrible fight, the climax of a thousand terrible arguments. 
Frank couldn’t remember whether he had won or lost, but in the nearly 
fourteen years he had been ‘Mr. Mallory’ instead of Mr. Goddard, he had won
few times so he supposed he had lost this last battle too.

He had never been jealous of Marcia’s success. If she were top box 
office, he was top thinker. It was true that she had made fifteen million 
in fourteen years; fat parts, wonderful performances, massive appeal and 
good vehicles. But the fifteen million would look like thirty cents today 
if it hadn’t been for his astute application of his own capabilities. So 
the fifteen million looked like twenty million in stocks, bonds, 
apartments, developments and investments that kept five accountants busy 
computing profits, and the taxes. Big fucking deal. He couldn’t remember 
how many successful pictures Marcia had made as America’s clean, white and 
honorable heroine, the dream girl next door, the staunch and faithful wife 
to a dozen leading men who got rich because her talent made them look like 
stars instead of the bums they were.

He thought the beds in the Green Moors Inn were the worst he’d ever slept
on, then a small doubt occurred. He tried to remember why he wasn’t sure he
was in the exclusive English retreat but it didn’t come to him. This is it,
the echo in his brain insisted. Quit the goddamned picture business or put 
the kids in a good private school. We have more damned money than our 
great-great grandchildren can lose with loaded dice. We owe them more than 
the rough shuffle we’re giving them. Smart up, woman, the time is now. What
do you want, the richest, most mal-adjusted kids in the industry? And what 
about me? We haven’t been to bed together since Carmen was born, eleven 
years ago, not really. A blow-job now and then, a hand-job if your hair was
put up, and some dryfucking, all because Marvelous Marcia might lose her 
sweet, untrammeled image if her fans thought she’d gotten knocked up by a 
dirty, funky prick. Come on, baby, I love you and I need you, and our kids 
need a mother, not a prissy page cut-out of a movie magazine. The bed 
wasn’t getting any softer and Frank shifted his hips to find a more 
comfortable place to he. The pressure increased and his mind slipped back 
and back to the day Marcia Mallory had shocked him, and the world, by 
agreeing to be his wife.

His second shock had come the first night after their wedding. As a 
Junior brokerage clerk, he had had little to offer except initiative. Just 
finished with her first starring role, her second picture for Max Fromann, 
she had signed a new contract for four thousand a week, guaranteed 
twenty-eight weeks a year for three years, with a percentage of the gross 
the third year. He had been twenty-six, Marcia had been eighteen, nearly 
nineteen. The shock had come when he’d discovered that he hadn’t married 
Marcia Mallory, but Marcia Gelling, a girl-woman so removed from the image 
created by Starwing Studios that his wedding night seemed more like a 
hundred-dollar bit in the Hollywood-Roosevelt than it did the beginning of 
a long and apparently successful marriage.

Frank’s mind flicked; he had lost the argument in the Green Moors Inn, he
was sure of it now. He’d almost lost the first argument too, but not quite.
The beach house at Ensenada had been nicely isolated from the sleepy 
Mexican town, a perfect place for a honeymoon. But it hadn’t started out as
a perfect honeymoon, by a damned site. By the time they’d dined and danced 
and returned to the beach house, he’d had a hard-on a cat couldn’t scratch.
She’d giggled when it banged her belly in their first furious embrace. Mad 
with desire, he’d hugged and kissed and caressed her million-dollar body in
a standing position because her gown was too tight for comfort and her hair
too expensively done to muss. It wasn’t bad because it gave him a chance to
impress her with the size and thickness of his bursting cock as he crammed 
it to her flat belly and rubbed it between her perfectly formed thighs. He 
had expected to retire to the crude Mexican bathroom to undress, but to his
surprise, Marcia had demanded that they stand barely arm’s length apart and
undress before each other. That had been something; already excited by his 
new bride, he had been doubly thrilled that the famous Marcia, sweetheart 
of the range, open and electric too, wanted to show him her lush, naked 
body in return for viewing his mutual exposure.

Frank could never remember what he did; he had stared as if hypnotized as
Marcia had unzipped her gown, then slowly dropped one shoulder strap, to 
allow her unbrassiered left tit to peek out in glorious bulbosity, the pink
nipple a hard berry, aching to be kissed. Then the right tit, jiggling in 
tempo to the left, forming a broad, rolling white enticement of pulsating 
flesh. She had been coy, lifting each tit to show him its weight and 
solidity, driving him half crazy with the desire to kiss and suck and 
maybe, if the frenzy were right, to lay his throbbing cock between the 
sweet globes and fuck through them at her full, moistly scarlet lips. That 
urge he had stilled, because she was his wife, not a pick-up in a Hollywood
bar. So he had waited while she went through the very non-Mallory 
strip-tease, rolling her gown down, inch by inch to expose the tiny waist 
and the now fluttering curve of her girlish belly. She had stopped there 
for a moment, twisting and turning so her tits had smacked to her rib cage 
and the nipples had hardened even more. By then, he had rid himself of his 
dinner jacket and boiled-front shirt and was in the process of unsnapping 
his tailored trousers. Smiling wryly, she had begun the final roll-down, 
her palms pushing at the cloth over her flared hips, her body writhing in 
accelerated eagerness. The first fringe of golden hair showing along the 
fold of the dark gown had changed everything for Frank. He had thought 
about it many frustrated times, but as the hair was exposed, lying in 
matted curls over the whiteness of pubic bulge, he realized that Marcia 
Mallory had a cunt, and further, it was all his. He reached, but she had 
evaded his clutch by sinking to her knees, her magnificently manicured 
fingers going to his cock, then standing up-angled from his athletic groin 
in throbbing demand. He had stared down in disbelief as she had taken the 
pulsating head between her famous lips, and he had grunted in involuntary 
pleasure as her tongue had rolled and titillated the nerve-filled flesh. He
had tried to lift her, to press her delightfully writhing body to the bed, 
but she had refused to leave the offspring now a full three or four inches 
into her working mouth. He had stood, legs trembling, his groin hunched 
forward, his eyes on the back-thrust of her bold, beautiful ass and in 
desperation, he had fucked her mouth as hard as she had sucked. During this
furious act, he had loosed her hair, and the violence of her bobbing head 
had caused the thick golden waves to fall like curtains around her face and
his thrusting, jerking cock. He hadn’t wanted to come that way; she never 
let him go until she had swallowed every drop of his spewing, a massive 
contribution developed over months of barely controlled restraint.

They had talked some afterwards, lying body to body on the bed, his hands
filled with her lush flesh, hers constantly on his cock and his quickly 
recovering balls. Again coy, she had wriggled and refused his searching 
fingers and when he had developed a sweat trying to get his fingers into 
the moist and apparently ready cunt, she had rolled him back on the bed and
come to her knees astraddle his muscular thighs. He had feasted his eyes on
the way her crotch was spread, allowing the lips of her cunt to hang open, 
drooling slightly, convulsing slowly in tempo with her breathing. He looked
down his belly at his cock, standing high again, throbbing with yearning 
and he had reached for her hips and had had his hands slapped in playful 
refusal. She had done a peculiar, twisting, undulating dance then, shaking 
her body so her tits smacked and her belly rolled and contorted. He had 
waited, certain that one of his new wife’s talents was total abandonment to
pure desire. Then she had put one slim hand to her cunt and carefully 
spread the lips, running her fingers down, curling them under into the wet 
flesh, smearing her body fluids over the quaking flesh. Crawling on her 
knees, she had leaned to him for a deep, openmouthed kiss and he had 
hunched, jabbing his bursting cock to the softness of her underbody. Marcia
had reached down and under herself and he had stilled, allowing her to 
prepare their first meshing as she chose, his heart about to explode with 
love. Presently, she had pressed her belly to his, her tits rolling on his 
hairy chest, and he could feel her hand grasping his aching cock. The 
pulsating head touched wet, soft flesh, driving him nearly berserk. She had
cried, now, and he had hunched up with all his strength, causing her to 
gasp as the excruciating grip of flesh brought a groan of ecstasy from his 
dry lips. He had held, then urged again, and her body had twisted, pushed 
back, screwing itself down on his cock until it flamed with sensation. He 
had fucked her for a minute, perhaps longer, before he put his hands under 
the cheeks of her ass to regulate the undulations of her hips. It was only 
then that he had discovered he was a full seven inches up her rectum, and 
that her cunt was rubbing, smearing wet on the hair of his thrusting groin.
By then, he was too far gone to protest. Later, she had said it was simply 
something she’d thought about a lot and had wanted to try before his balls 
were exhausted and his sweet cock had lost its fire. Satiated, he had not 
complained, although it worried him. Eventually, they had fallen to sleep 
of exhaustion and satisfaction, but he had awakened at three in the 
morning, his sore cock as hard as a ball bat, his nuts rolling with a new 
supply of sperm. He had raised, viewing Marcia at his side in the light 
from the veranda. She was lying on her back, her naked legs akimbo, her 
untouched cunt a black cavern in the golden hair. Frank had rolled over 
her, his cock dangling out in furious demand, and with great care, he 
lowered his hips until the head hovered but a fraction of an inch above the
hot slit. When it became more than he could stand, he had just dropped his 
hips, and his cock had entered a bit, to stop against a tough membrane, 
then go on as the flesh burst open. He had been shocked by the fact that 
his seemingly adept wife was a virgin, but her sudden screams and his 
frustration did not let him stop.

Eventually, her screams subsided and she fucked him back, and nine months
later, Delia was born.

Suddenly, Frank sat up, his mind tumbling in recovery. He was lying on a 
crude cot, in a musty smelling room. A single light bulb hung from the 
cracked plaster ceiling, throwing yellow light over his surroundings, and 
subsequently, over the big, half-pretty woman standing in front of the 
single, tightly closed door. She was naked; he was too, and if his cock was
brutally rigid, demandingly thick, the deformed shape extending from her 
huge cunt was even more impressive. She had the biggest tits he had ever 
seen, and yet they seemed to belong on the voluptuous body. He blinked, 
trying to remember how and why he had come to this whorehouse, then he 
became dizzy and fell back on the barely padded cot. So he had lost the 
argument with Marcia and somehow, found his way to a cheap London 
whorehouse, winding up in a dirty, ugly room with a massive titted 
hermaphrodite only the legendary wives of Roman Senators could possibly 
appreciate. His head ached, and his cock throbbed. He could smell her now, 
the hot odor of ready cunt. If she had a cunt. She had a mouth, though, and
an asshole. His hand was heavy but he managed to raise it and wriggle the 
fingers in a come-here way. Screw Marcia. Screw everybody. He would fuck 
off this hard-on and go back to sleep. But he went to sleep before she 
answered his beckoning fingers, and yet it didn’t seem like a real sleep. 
For the first time in his life, Frank dreamed of fucking a completely 
responsive asshole without awakening when it came time to blow his lump in 
the milking, grasping bowel.

Johnny Goddard opened his eyes and his first thought was that he had 
fallen asleep before the beautiful big Bentley had reached London. He 
stared up at the odd ceiling lamp in confusion-it was not the lamp in the 
country inn, nor was it the lamp in the bedroom of the Plaza. The ceiling 
was dingy, the walls barren. He turned his head and the first thing he saw 
was his older sister’s bare ass, a tight pair of familiar rounds at the end
of her curled back. This frightened him. He had fucked her many times but 
never gone to sleep in the room with her. He raised to one elbow, 
multiplying his confusion as he searched the barren room for some familiar 
object. Then he saw Carmen, also naked, lying on her back with spread legs 
and arms out-flung.

“Gee!” he gasped, because he had never dared touch his squeaky little 
sister, let alone remove her clothes. But here she was, naked and sleeping 
with her little box pooched out, and her nice tits standing up like ripe, 
pink buds. Frightened by the strange situation, John slipped off the bed, 
staggered a bit, then went to the door. It was a peculiar type of latch but
no matter how he fumbled it, the door did not open. He decided he was 
locked into a room, naked, in company with his two sisters who were equally
naked and if his mother or his father should find the three of them like 
this, they would get the shit beat out of them, and maybe, no television 
for at least a month.

He looked back at Delia, lying in a curl on one hip. Despite the apparent
danger, his cock jerked and started to swell. Her ass was too much. He 
fingered back his foreskin and this made his cock leap out in slim, 
developing rigidity. He ignored his headache and the dizzy feeling. She 
wouldn’t care, but what if Carmen awakened while he was pumping her sister 
full of cock. John shuddered. She could scream like a fire engine. He 
wished he had his pants, then he wondered where his sister’s clothes could 
be. His cock was up now, and he worked the foreskin in idle pleasure. It 
seemed rather nuts to stand there jacking off with Delia’s ass turned up 
that way. He moved to his sister’s side and decided to wake her before 
fucking her. He shook her shoulder. He shook it again. With a forefinger, 
he snapped at her right tit tip. She didn’t move. Frowning, Johnny wondered
about this, then inspirationally, he moved around and pinched Carmen’s big 
toe. Not too hard, but enough to make her turn in her sleep, only she 
didn’t turn. He shook her firmly. Nothing happened. He reached out and 
stuck his forefinger between the fine lips of her cunt and even this didn’t
awaken her. But it made his cock jerk. All he had to do was crawl up and 
fuck her. Then his boyish fears vetoed that intriguing idea. But if she 
were out, he could fuck Delia without worrying about the little bitch 
awakening with the screaming meemies. And maybe, without even awakening 
Della. This thought gave him another idea, or revived one he’d had for 
about six months. He shook her hip again, panting with new excitement as 
her ass shuddered under his hand. Really out. He climbed up on the bed, 
kneeling behind her curled ass. Even the bed shaking didn’t stir either of 
them. He put a hand down and gently touched his older sister’s asshole. He 
rubbed but she did not move. He prodded and even this didn’t awaken her. He
managed to get the tip of his finger into her asshole, far more relaxed 
than he had ever found it before. His blood raced. She had never let him 
stick it up her asshole, but she was in no condition to resist now, and 
once he had it in, he was sure she’d go for it just as she had gone for 
their first fuck, a year ago. He trembled, suddenly so excited he could 
hardly breathe. His hand worked his foreskin, caressing the head, now hot 
and dry with distention. Spit. He nervously formed a tongue load of saliva 
and with shaking fingers, transferred it from his lips to the head of his 
cock.

Then with quaking haste, he lowered his hips and placed the head of his 
cock to the resistless pucker. He fluttered his ass, pushing, and as the 
rather pointed head of his cock depressed the rubbery flesh, his excitement
betrayed him. Without getting even the head started, he had a come, short, 
violent and ecstatic. At twelve, his ejaculation was small, but it spurted,
partially into Delia’s asshole but mostly out and around the jerking head 
of his cock. He grunted and panted, then the dizziness came on too strong 
to fight. Then with no conscious feeling, John Goddard fell over on his 
side, asleep before he was fully settled and before his cock had given the 
last, failing jerk.

CHAPTER THREE

Leo Felton hung up the telephone and turned back to his breakfast, a hard
smile of restrained elation drawing his handsome face. Beside his ham and 
eggs the London Times confirmed the information Fred Bignor had just given 
him, except that the Times accredited the sudden disappearance of Marcia 
Mallory and her family to the beautiful star’s known temperament, and the 
suggestion that there had been some family differences for some time. It 
was probable, the Times implied, that the Mallory-Goddard family was in 
seclusion in an effort to settle their private concerns. Leo knew exactly 
where Marcia Mallory and her family were, and he knew why they were in 
‘seclusion’. He hadn’t counted upon the diligent Fred Bignor to get the 
entire entourage, however, and Leo ate indifferently, trying to decide 
whether he had acquired a windfall or a disaster.

The elegance of his London townhouse and the richness of his attire 
testified to Leo’s enterprising nature. He was forty, a matured version of 
the matinee idol he had never quite been. He was an American, divorced from
his own country by a series of early angers and disappointments. He was 
also a successful blackmailer, using his hard-won knowledge of Hollywood, 
New York and sundry cinema centers to ply his chosen trade with great 
effectiveness, effectiveness being measured in Leo’s mind by the size of 
his private bank account-and the pleasant occasions when he could dip his 
insatiable cock into the squirrning, protesting bodies of his blackmail 
victims.

He had planned a long time before trying Marcia Mallory. She was the 
biggest, and the richest, star he had ever marked for victimizing. Now he 
realized that by some stroke of fortune, he was in a position to make the 
one big killing he had dreamed about since the first time he had whisked a 
drugged starlet to Lonsberry Cottage and photographed her being soundly 
fucked by Chattel who had been as big and as black at twenty as he now was 
at twenty-eight. Tina Thrush; Leo remembered her well. He had gotten five 
thousand American dollars for the four hundred feet of screaming 
pornography from Tina. If he played his cards right, he might get five 
million from the haughty-Maria. Her image, worth untold millions, to [text 
missing] tures, could not stand even one small suggestion that her private 
life was anything but identical to the sterile, eternal virgin roles she 
did so well. But it would have to be done with finesse. It would be done 
with finesse, he vowed.

Leo tinkled the small brass bell on the gleaming white table cloth. 
Instantly the service door to the kitchen opened and Barra appeared, her 
slim beauty a radiant thing. Her black satin maid’s uniform was cut to fit 
like a second skin. It was low at the neck and the skirt came half way down
her perfect thighs. Her firm young tits bulged upward out of the black, 
quivering with each rolling step. Even at fifteen, the fresh-bodied Polish 
girl was enough woman to speed any man’s blood; Leo called her his ‘house 
dummy’ and fucked her often for a variety of reasons, none of which had 
anything to do with Barra Slansky. She was always handy when his nerves 
were taut with planning, or with success. Her bold Polish ass and 
passionate responses were always available when Leo missed out among the 
socially acceptable girls with whom his wealth and striking personality 
allowed him to circulate.

“Pack me a bag, Barra,” he said. “For at least three days, maybe four or 
five. I’m going to the Continent.”

“Weeth a woman?” she asked plaintively.

“No. With a bitch dog in heat,” he teased her. “Sports clothes-it won’t 
be a formal trip.”

He soothed her pout by running his perfectly manicured hand up under 
[text missing] fingers. Her hips hunched, she rolled, and Leo wiped the 
sudden juices her cunt released back up the crack of her bobbing ass.

“There iss time,” she hissed.

He pushed her away. “There is no time. Have my bag at the carriage 
entrance in fifteen minutes! Get going!”

Marcia awakened in the grip of terror, even before she could understand 
why she was afraid. She was lying on a bare mattress, or part of one that 
had been exposed by throwing back the mauve spread. It was a big bed in a 
big room, strangely bare but remarkably familiar. The familiarity was due 
to the several professional stand lights, the heavy-duty extension cords 
and the several reflecting screens along the wall. It was a studio, strange
to her but not too different than many she had worked in. Then she sat up, 
aware that she was naked. She groaned as her legs moved and awakened some 
sharp stiffness in her hip joints. She was unaccountably dizzy and she 
fought a sudden surge of nausea. The struggle caused a sticky glob of 
significantly milky fluid to vomit from her cunt. With nervous fingers, she
explored her body, discovering many places that wore a crust of dried 
gray-white. She found red marks, finger welts on her tender tits and inner 
thighs. In new horror, Marcia pushed off the bed to a swaying stance.

“My God, my God!” she husked. “What has happened-oh, my babies-Frank! Oh,
help me, [text missing] nothing in the room to tell her what might have 
happened, except the obviously professional photography accoutrements. 
Marcia quivered. Had she come here of her own accord? Standing spraddle 
legged, she stared down at her famous body, now showing positive signs of 
having been fucked and fucked and mauled and chewed upon. She could 
remember nothing. Was it possible that she had one of her spells when 
everything she did as Marcia Mallory was so violently repulsive she went 
half out of her mind? She sat back on the bed, trying desperately to 
remember something that would explain this nightmare which was obviously 
very real.

Start slowly. The argument with Frank at the Green Moors Inn. Tea in the 
dining room, with people standing around staring at Hollywood’s most famous
star. Not talking to Frank, murmuring impatiently to Delia, Carmen and 
John. Then the announcement that their car was waiting to take them back to
London. She had signed the management’s check; Frank always scowled when 
they asked for her signature instead of his. Her mind rolled on through 
each successive step and it was only when she came to the tea and brandy, 
delivered by the inhuman mechanism of the expensive Bentley, that Marcia’s 
gasp of realization sent fresh pains through her abused body. A sip or two 
of hot tea laced with brandy, then nothing.

Once more she surveyed the room, some of her terror giving away to the 
cool, cold appraisal that had made her one of the most respected, if 
dismal, not too clean bathroom containing a washbasin and an old toilet, 
managed by a pull chain to a water box overhead. It was almost as welcome 
as an exit. Marcia used the toilet, then washed her hands and face with the
palms of her hands, slicked off the crusted places and rinsed her cunt, all
the while trying to orient herself with the hideous reality of what she was
doing. The other door from the big room was locked. It was devastatingly 
solid in the heavy wooden casings. She was a prisoner, naked, bruised, 
confused and once more, frightened.

If she were here, the victim of some unimaginable plot, where were Frank 
and the children? Immediately then, she was stricken with a frightful 
thought. Frank had been after her for years to quit the business and settle
down to being a mother and a wife. Was this the beginning of some weird 
plot? Had he finally decided to take some positive physical action in the 
face of her constant refusal to listen to his pleas? Again she looked at 
the stand lights and the reflecting screens. This was no movie studio. It 
was too low ceilinged, too confined, and it was without any of the 
rick-rack that grips left in corners. There were no windows, no ventilation
ducts. If any three of the seven or eight lights were turned on, the heat 
in the room would be unbearable. Then she saw the very professional looking
table, exactly like several she had been on during the early days of her 
three pregnancies and later, during the periodic physical examinations the 
studios and sundry investors demanded of her as part of the performance 
bonding. This was not a segment of a major studio; it was a private 
gallery, patently set up by somebody who understood electrical matters. For
what purpose?

The answer was one that made her shiver. There was only this bed, larger 
than king-size, covered by a single mauve spread that would lend 
magnificent tints to a naked body-hers. There were reflectors to throw 
under-lights and highlights and backlights on a thrashing, tortured body. 
The examination table baffled her until she remembered how a woman was 
spread and exposed when strapped into its fixtures; a perfect instrument to
hold and quiet a frantically struggling woman while leering photographers 
literally thrust a fine lens up her ass. Marcia shuddered, then her fright 
caused her to sob, and a moment later, she folded over on the bed and wept 
in total frustration.

On top of that, some son-of-a-bitch had fucked her good without even 
being gentleman enough to let her enjoy it.

The Volkswagen van moved slowly through the foggy morning, wending its 
way carefully through the network of roads North of London. Chattel was an 
expert driver. He was an expert at everything he attempted, largely because
Leo never gave him a job past Chattel’s limited intelligence nor one that 
would conflict with the big Jamaican’s basic nature, a nature that was 
primarily dedicated to exercising his massive cock, and at best, to 
inventing new ways to humiliate a white woman before a battery of cameras. 
The cameras were in the van, along with Sam, Jody and Carolina, three of 
the best technicians Leo could hire, with the often valuable ability to 
double in brass when the photographic sessions demanded a bit of spiking 
up.

“Man!” Chattel suddenly exclaimed. “Marcia Mallory!”

“It’s the big one,” Leo said.

“Yeh-yeh! My old pappy would sure be proud of his boy did he know he was 
going to fuck that there woman! We going to do it like always, Leo?”

Leo shook his head. “No. You get one thing when you prop a broad up and 
shoot her with a half yard of cock down her throat or up her ass. You can 
fake a suck-off with some ingenuity. But I have something else in mind. 
Suppose we could make her get into the bit on her own? You know, come like 
a first class nympho, fuck, suck and sneeze it off? Know what a thousand or
two feet of Marcia Mallory climbing your black cock like it was nothing but
sugar candy would be worth?”

“Whoo-ee! But, Leo, that stuff you use just knocks ‘em silly. Sure, their
eyes are open and they breathe but they sure’n hell don’t come on, even 
after they get a good warming up on my meat. How you figure to get a big 
star like Marcia Mallory to go for a black ass like mine? Anyway, I hear 
she is a cold tomato and tough, at least the fan magazines tell it that 
way. She going to spit and kick and maybe bite a hunk out of my cock like 
it was a new salami!”

“Not if the director, me, has her two daughters standing by to stand in 
if the star gets temperamental,” Leo said. “Fred got the whole fucking 
family! One girl is maybe thirteen, the other is eleven, and if that 
doesn’t work, the boy is twelve and a good turd tamping might make dear 
little Marcia think twice about saying no.”

Chattel chuckled, licking his lips over the pictures Leo had presented. 
“Man, you sure think good, Leo! Give me a half hard-on just listening! Hey,
if she goes, maybe we can make a real movie out of it. You know, with a 
continuity and some romancy scenes. I sure would like sucking tongues with 
that Marcia! You suppose?”

“I suppose. And then we can shoot some stuff with the kids that she 
doesn’t know about. Splice the outside stuff right into the thing with 
Marcia. Titles and all. Maybe a dubbed-in sound track. Chat, my boy, this 
thing has got to be worth five million U.S. bucks!”

“Whoo-ee! How much for me, boss?”

“Fifty grand an inch,” Leo laughed.

“A half million bucks! Hey, I’ll take my black ass to Sweden and get me a
whole fucking harem of those sleek little blonde cats! But do you reckon 
it’ll work, Leo?”

“I reckon,” Leo said, his mind already pushing ahead to his assumption of
a big-time director’s role. And the private part of his brain was toying 
with the excitement of being a participating director. A little make-up, a 
phony moustache and maybe a toupe. “Drive a little faster, will you?”

“Fog’s bad, boss.” Chattel chuckled. “And we sure don’t want to bust up 
any of that equipment in back, do we now?”

Desperation made Frank he in perfect quiet, his vision restricted to the 
tiniest of eye-slits. The woman carried the tray to the small table, then 
methodically began setting out a plate of food, coffee and some utensils, 
not one of which was a knife. She was a big, strong-looking woman, with 
whopping, ill-controlled tits and a large but well-formed ass. She looked 
Slavic and to Frank, slightly familiar, though he knew he could have never 
seen her before. He tensed his naked body, then coiled and snapped across 
the room, his right arm curling under the woman’s chin, his left seizing 
her wrist in a hard, twisting grasp. For a moment, he was surprised by the 
abruptly pleasant contact of his naked belly with the solid flesh under her
thin cotton dress. Then he hurled her to the bed and twisted her arm up 
behind her shoulder blade, his bare knee planted firmly in the small of her
struggling back.

“I’ll break your arm,” he warned her. “Answer my questions and don’t he! 
Where are we?”

“Ou-uh! You crazy, mister? Let go me!”

He tightened his wrist, causing her to writhe in pain. “Where is my wife,
my children? Answer me or I’ll rip your shoulder out!”

“I think you’d bloody well better let her up,” a voice behind Frank 
suggested. “Blimey, what a bugger you turned out to be!”

Frank whirled, facing the stocky man standing in the doorway with a huge 
pistol in his hairy right hand. The man also looked a bit familiar, but his
country shirt and heavy wool trousers made him seem remote from any memory 
Frank could generate. He debated the chance of jumping the man, then 
decided that nakedness and ignorance were poor qualifications against the 
big revolver.

“Then you answer my questions, mister,” he snarled.

“There’s no bloody problem, mister. Name is Bailey. Me and my woman run 
this little farm, maybe twenty miles north of London. Bellcaster country. 
Yesterday, I was tending the stock and here you came down the road, naked 
as a jay and babbling nonsense. We kind of helped you in and put you here, 
figuring you were an escapee from the Bellcaster balmy farm. Some violent, 
you were. Lucky I’m strong and so is the missus. You all right, Carrie?”

“Yes. You watch him though because he very strong!”

“I think you’re a liar,” Frank ground out. “I was traveling to London 
with my wife and three children. What have you done with them? And my 
clothes? Speak up, man, or I’ll have you before a magistrate within an 
hour!”

“Oh, now. Bloody ungrateful, I calls it,” the man complained. “Here we 
take you to our breast, give you a place to sleep off your silly spell and 
my woman makes you breakfast and all you want to do is haul me to court. 
Bloody difficult, to say the least. But I’ll tell you, bucko. We ain’t 
going to do anything until they fix the telephone to Bellcaster and they 
tell us they’ve lost a loony, or haven’t. Now, you best eat your breakfast 
and drink the coffee-we ain’t much for tea here, and sit quiet like till I 
find out something. As for your wife and kids, we ain’t seen any. Like as 
not there ain’t any. It ain’t our problem anyway.”

Stunned, Frank remembered he was naked. The woman was gazing at his limp 
but promising cock with expressionless eyes. He put two hands over his 
hairy groin. “Well, could you loan me a pair of pants, Mr. Bailey?” he 
asked in a gender voice.

“That’s sensible. Man dangling is kind of off balance, so to speak, but 
don’t worry about my woman none. I had more cock’n you got when I was 
fourteen and I was sixteen when the rector married us. Here, Carrie. He 
gets rough, you shoot him some place that’ll hurt. I be back presently, 
mister. See if I got some pants to loan.”

Frank heard the door close, heard the additional click of a lock being 
shot. He looked at Carrie. For some reason, he could not help thinking he 
had seen her before. His eyes narrowed as he stripped the ill-fitted dress 
from her voluptuous body. The impression was even stronger. There was no 
time for odd speculations, however, and he began to think objectively. If 
he could get the gun, the situation could not help but improve.

Then he smelled the coffee, steaming in a bowl-shaped pot. The plate she 
had brought showed two perfectly fried eggs, some coarsely fried potatoes 
and two thick slices of home-made bread, toasted and buttered. Frank was 
suddenly hungry, and he also wanted to get his hands on the pot of nearly 
boiling coffee. He got up and started for the table, causing the woman to 
raise the heavy gun and watch his progress with cold eyes.

“Can I eat, Mrs. Bailey? I guess I’m quite hungry.”

“You eat then,” she said. “You kind of pretty,” she admitted.

Encouraged, he sat down in the stiff chair at the table, turning so she 
could get a straight view of his cock, lying heavily between his muscular 
thighs. Everything might help. If she was intrigued by his cock, it might 
be easy to finish off her curiosity with a bath of hot coffee. With the 
gun, he’d make short shrift of Mr. Bailey, and once out of this house, or 
whatever it was, he’d find his way to civilization and some very important 
answers. He frowned. Bailey’s story of finding him naked and wandering made
no sense, but Frank had no better answer so he had to consider it.

The eggs were good and the potatoes properly fried. He sacrificed one cup
of the pot’s contents and as the warm coffee and food began to work in his 
growling belly, he reviewed his intentions.

Turning casually toward the woman, he received another shock. She had 
unbuttoned the top of her dress and was delightfully and slowly massaging 
her huge tits, now half exposed in all their bulging glory. The hand 
holding the gun was resting on one thigh, now significantly separated from 
the other by her outstretched feet. Seeing the mountains of rolling, 
deforming flesh and briefly, one huge black aureole with a black nipple 
mounted stiffly upon its noduled puff snapped another half-memory back into
his consciousness. And most disturbing was the fact that though he felt not
one whit of sexual interest in the country woman, his cock jerked and began
the slow, exquisitely stretching growth that would soon be embarrassing, to
say the least.

“The breakfast was good,” he said stupidly.

“You like my tits?” she asked, squaring her shoulders so the huge blobs 
lifted and pushed out through her opened dress. “My man was lying, Won’t be
back with pants. Won’t be back at all until he telephones the nutty farm. 
You can fuck my tits if you want. I’d like that, mister. You too, maybe.”

Frank felt his spine ripple. She had laid the revolver in her lap and was
now molding and rolling her tits with both hands, forming a deep pressed 
crack that ran from just above her belly almost to her chin. She was 
smiling, her big gray eyes narrowed in strange coquetry. His cock jerked 
mightily and lifted in a half-hard arc above the level of his trembling 
thighs. Better than scalding her with hot coffee, he thought. Smile, fool, 
show her you are interested. Get up and whip it up for her. Just walk 
forward and straddle her broad hips, lay it right in between those 
grotesquely beautiful tits and hypnotize her with exactly the fuck she had 
suggested. Fuck into that luscious meat valley until she was so fascinated 
she couldn’t move fast enough to beat him to the revolver lying in her lap.
He stood up, facing her.

He wasn’t sure Bailey had told the truth. Frank had a full seven inches 
of thick, throbbing cock, and among the sophisticates of his world that was
not a nubbin. If Bailey had more cock than he, the woman didn’t seem to 
scorn the difference. She leaned forward to lift her tits, smacking them 
together in avid demand. He could see now that the nipples were like black 
rocks, and the blue veins under her milk white skin were pumping as swiftly
as the big ones curling around his nearly bursting cock. He had a moment of
shame; somewhere, his wife and kids were wondering and worrying and here he
was, about to tit-fuck another man’s wife. Then his nostrils caught the 
heady scent of her perspiration, and Frank shuffled forward, his stout legs
spreading to straddle her squirming hips. The chair creaked as she writhed 
to present her tits, now held wide apart to show him the deep, white valley
in which to lay his up-angled cock.

She closed her tits over his organ with firm greed, and the shock was 
enough to make Frank gasp and hunch. He put his hands to her shoulders, 
arched his back and began to fuck, shuddering as her soft flesh formed a 
tight sleeve that forced his foreskin to roll and return as the thundering 
head darted up under her chin at every undulation. She started to giggle, 
her head tipped down so she could share with him the voyeuristic thrill of 
watching cock and tits join in obscene meshing. And it was either very good
or his cock was very tender because once hunching and thrusting, Frank 
could hardly control himself. The white skin of her tits turned pink, then 
scarlet as the friction built up. She moved her flesh, pressing, releasing,
milking his member with perfect anticipation of his needs. Then it was 
going easier and he saw that her mouth was drooling saliva, dropping it to 
the dry pink flesh with remarkable accuracy. His cock began to slosh and 
swish, smoothing his strokes as they lengthened and sent his hairy balls 
knocking against her heaving chest. His back ached, his legs quivered and 
Frank closed his eyes as the perverted fuck closed his mind to everything 
but sensation and desire-desire for a massive, burbling cum that would send
his hot jism spurting up to her face in sticky, white-fiery globs. As he 
felt it rising, he closed his eyes, urging, hunching and screwing his 
swelling cock into the absolute torture of her gripping flesh. His body 
wavered in strain, and then he cried out, “Ough-ugh!” and his balls spat up
through the bloated flesh hose and his come hit her chin with an audible 
splatting. He couldn’t stop pumping, his muscular nates hardened in stress,
he pushed and for a moment, the chair and the woman threatened to topple 
backward. Then she let go of her tits and put her palms to his belly and 
pushed. Off-balanced, Frank staggered back, his cock waving, spurting its 
final come into the air in short, thick globs. Sapped by his furious 
fucking and the devastating end, Frank could not save himself and he 
tripped on the bed and fell back. For a moment, he lay in stunned 
exhaustion and when he looked at the woman again, she was holding the 
revolver aimed precisely at his deflating cock.

“Oh, shit!” he groaned and rolled over to one hip, cursing himself for 
having succumbed to the very subterfuge he had planned for this country 
nympho. In his smashed vanity, he almost blamed Marcia for his failure; if 
she had been the kind of a wife who took care of her husband, he wouldn’t 
have, couldn’t have, developed a bursting hard-on for the country cow who 
left him on the bed as she went out the door, opened with a key she had 
obviously had in the pocket of her five shilling dress. “What an asshole!” 
he told himself, then he quieted. Asshole or not, her tits had provided him
with the best fuck he’d had in more years than he cared to remember. But he
still thought he had seen her, even felt her, maybe even fucked her, some 
time in the past. His thoroughly abrased cock burned like fire.

CHAPTER FOUR

“The kids were easy,” Fred said to Leo. “Little bastards were starving, 
sitting there, naked and cute, not even crying. Ate their food with right 
proper gusto, they did. Scared, I guess because they didn’t ask no 
questions. He was some different. Tried to take Olga over. But I 
straightened him with a bloody story, and Olga took the steam out of him 
with them tits of hers. The woman is something else. I played deaf and dumb
with her when I brought her breakfast. She was screaming and hollering and 
carrying on like a branded cat! She’d tore the spread to make a wrap 
around. I barely got out of the room before she crowned me. Couldn’t take 
no chances bruising that pretty hide, now, could I?”

“What was in the coffee?” Leo demanded.

“Five drops in the big pot, there, just like always. They ought to be 
going down about right now, I’d bloody well guess.”

“Fine,” Leo decided. “It will keep them quiet while I have some things 
done. I want the doors and windows sealed from the outside. Bolt them, nail
them, do whatever has to be done. We are going to turn this house into a 
total studio-we are going to shoot in every room. Get Olga busy cleaning 
up. Jody and Sam will help you sealed up the house, Fred. Carolina, you 
make a thorough survey of the lighting we’ll need for every room. I’m going
to sketch out a shooting script. All right, let’s get moving. This is big 
and we don’t want any fuck up, see?”

Carolina laughed at the unintended pun. She was a brunette of 
twenty-five, model-thin, tiny-titted and flat-assed. She was a wizard at 
handling either a still camera or the big Bolex, and among her other 
talents was a tendency to be double jointed. As a photographer, she was 
nearly unbeatable, especially in the pornography field, largely, Leo 
suspected, because all of her personal instinct ran to horse-sized cock and
no vaseline.

Sam was thirty-five and an ex beach boy from the Riviera. Jody was 
twenty-eight and hardly over five feet tall and weighed an even hundred 
pounds. Three of which dangled from the tip of his skinny middle. It was a 
good crew, and Leo had no doubt that the next two or three or even four 
days would turn their combined talents into a five million dollar pot of 
gold. Non-taxable.

Hungry and thirsty as she had been, Marcia had none-the-less dumped the 
enticing breakfast in the old toilet. The deaf mute had not been able to 
answer a single one of her questions, nor reply to some good location 
invective she had poured upon his ignorant head. But she was sure now, of 
what was coming. Knowing the technical side of her business almost as well 
as any cameraman or grip, she had made a careful survey of the room’s 
contents. The stand lights were all equipped with daylight bulbs for color 
shooting. The reflecting screens were beaded in pale blue, again an 
indication that color film was used. From any angle, the big bed was the 
prime target. Marcia even knew about dirty movies. Half the producers and 
directors and many actors and actresses had costly collections, some in 
which they had once participated, others in which some presently popular 
star had appeared in less plushy days. She had never been forced to go such
a route. Max Fromann had suggested it in the beginning, but her rise to 
success had been too sudden, too valuable for even the sex-mad Max to 
endanger. The industry knew the name and measurement and cunt capacity of 
many popular actresses, but it was an industry secret, carefully protected 
from the soulless fan magazines and the drooling public. Somehow, Marcia 
didn’t think this was an industry pornography mill. And anyway, it had 
never been necessary to kidnap a struggling starlet and shoot her against 
her will. It had been necessary to kidnap Marcia Mallory, and she had a 
deep horror of the certainty that there would be no industry cloak 
protection against the revealment of the photography she sensed to be 
imminent. She cried some and made useless plans but by the time she heard 
the stout door being unlocked, she had regained much of the composure and 
craftiness that had made her Marcia Mallory in the first place.

He surprised her. He was tall and broad and obviously no leering creep 
who peeped in windows or drew dirty sketches on washroom walls. She knew 
instantly that he was wearing make-up, cleverly applied. His moustache was 
false, his hair was wiggified, and he wore cheek pads to disguise the 
general shape of his face. But he was handsome, and smiling and direct.

“I guess you’ve guessed, eh?” he asked. “You may call me Ted.”

“I’ll call you cocksucker and live to see the day you hang! Where are my 
children? What have you done with my husband?”

“Tut-tut! The sweet, demur and saintly Miss Mallory, using language like 
that. I wonder what your public would say if they knew you used words like 
cocksucker? That’s a very attractive sarong you’ve made out of a fifty 
pound bedspread! Lamour never wore one more effectively!”

“You’re an American, aren’t you? That makeup! Who turned you on to this 
rotten deal? For how much? I’ll double the ante. Just bring me some clothes
and take me to my children and my husband. Cash on the barrelhead, buster, 
and a percentage of your legal fees if and when they ever catch up with 
you!”

“Five million and fifty dollars,” he said gently. “I expect to make five 
million dollars selling the world pictures of Marcia Mallory making a bum 
out of Cleopatra, the Real! The fifty bucks is to make me feel better about
the fact that I’d miss fucking you myself. Square-deal Teddy, they call 
me!”

She wanted to rip him with words, wanted to cut him with scorn, but the 
cold terror his words had driven into her brain made her throat refuse to 
work. The figures he mentioned were devastating; the fifty dollar item had 
been stated with such calm brutality that Marcia lost every hope of making 
a subtle conniver, a sneaky dealer. He was an opera deal with this 
disguised animal. He was not a tor. No man in fourteen years had dared ask 
her for a fuck; he hadn’t asked. He had said he intended to fuck her and 
fifty dollars would soothe his disappointment. Fifty dollars. It was a full
revealment of what he thought of her, and the smile on his face was 
taunting, derisive.

“Five million fifty dollars,” he repeated. “I’ll refund five bucks 
because I always tip a whore I can make come. And I can make you come, hard
and often with zip, baby! Take it or leave it!”

“You’re a foul-mouthed bastard,” she hurled at him.

“I learned it from the same people who taught you, Marcia. Come on, let’s
get this shit boiled down to packageable form! Time is precious. My crew is
waiting. Everything is set up for shooting.”

“C-crew?”

He grinned. “I don’t make home movies, baby. I make epics! You’re going 
to star in one-with some other people. Now, do you want to listen or are 
you going to pull temperament on me?”

Marcia trembled. “First. My children. My husband. Are they all right? I 
mean, you haven’t hurt them any, have you?”

“They are all right now. And will be, if you listen good.”

“I-I will listen,” she murmured helplessly.

He talked for an hour, volubly, directly to the point and with 
discouraging knowledge of what he intended to do. Her belly curled like 
over-fried bacon, her mind tumbled with the lewdness he planned for her, 
and her own soul cringed at the outline of what he expected from her. And 
he didn’t ask one question; he said what he wanted and described three days
of intense orgy, all to be recorded on film. “-and you smile and you hustle
and you come on like you like more of it than you pretend to dislike!”

“What in God’s name can you do with a film like that?”

“Sell it to priests, politicians and a few producers in Hollywood. Or to 
you, for five million dollars!”

Marcia gasped. “You must be crazy! To expect me to cooperate in producing
a dirty movie that will ruin me or cost me five million! Christ and 
bullwhip won’t make me do such a ghastly thing!”

“Oh? You’d be surprised what a circumcised Jew and a bullwhip could 
induce your two daughters to do if you dog out on me, Marcia!”

She screamed, “You beast!” and leaped at him, kicking, scratching, trying
to bite, trying to do anything that would destroy his composure and somehow
render him impotent to carry out the vicious threat he had made. He caught 
her in his amazingly strong hands, and as her make-shift sarong unwound and
dropped from her writhing body, he forced her back to the bed, and down, 
evading the knee aimed at his groin, crushing her to breathless, squirming 
helplessness under his big body.

His fine white shirt was torn at the collar, his face showed several thin
red lines from her fingernails. But he laughed, and when his body pressed 
her nakedness to the mattress, she felt his cock, a thick, too-long log 
between her heaving belly and his.

“No! she gasped. “Oh, God, no, no! Please!”

He didn’t speak. Their eyes met, clashed, exchanged hatreds and silent 
vows. Slowly, his lips lowered; she could see the falseness of his 
moustache, the thick make-up that blended cheek pads with the natural 
contours of his disturbingly masculine face. Marcia clamped her lips, 
turned her head. She gasped in agony as his open lips pressed wetly to the 
smooth white flesh under her right ear. She felt his tongue, teasing upward
in soft wet caress to her dainty ear. She moaned in fear and remained 
still, tense from scalp to toes. Then she felt the slight, nearly 
imperceptible rotation of his hips, working the frightful log of his cock 
over her belly. Her knees moved together, her thighs hardened in frantic 
resistance. Still it came, the slow rolling undulation that gradually 
impressed the hateful organ into her lower abdomen. Her breath came faster 
because of his weight, and she squirmed, which only worsened the subtle 
pressure and added to the horrible feeling that he was already inside her, 
driving and plunging his enormous organ against the cringing mouth of her 
womb. Now he was licking and kissing into her ear, the wet touch sending 
unreasonable tingles down her spine to lodge in turbid turning deep between
her ass, now deformed on the firm, unsheeted mattress.

“You-you son-of-a-bitch,” she breathed. “No! Let me up!”

His kiss became a gentle nibbling bite and with no warning, Marcia was 
suddenly crying, her mind twisted, her nerves ripped with hateful shock. 
She could feel his cock, now low as he spread his legs and gripped hers, 
forcing the monstrous bulge hard against the golden-haired pubis, and after
a few slow undulations, mashing her cunt with the fine wool of his 
trousers. Clamped to her writhing body, his deliberate dryfucking increased
in intensity and perspiration suddenly beaded Marcia’s forehead. She mewled
and whimpered in protest, and as the steady pressure, the smashing weight 
burrowed into her groin, she felt the demand splash upward in her belly 
like a burst sky-rocket. “No, no, no,” she whispered, but it changed 
nothing. Suddenly she turned her head and his open mouth closed over hers, 
his big wet tongue driving greedily into her gasping throat. She closed her
eyes to shut out the closeness of his and to keep from choking, she raised 
her tongue to his and closed her lips around his darting intrusion. Her 
mind screamed no, never, no, never, but she felt her muscles giving way. 
Her back relaxed, her thighs softened, letting his bulging cock press even 
deeper, mashing the moist lips of her cunt to either side, rasping the 
cloth over the abruptly swelling ridge of her clitoris. She was lost, and 
Marcia knew it when he let go of her arms and slipped his hands between 
them to roll possessively around her pounding tits, his thumbs flicking and
caressing the swelling nipples. The breath went out of Marcia in a weary 
rush.

“All right, all right! Fuck me, then, you-you animal!” she cried. “Oh 
yes! Fuck me, fuck me! I’m going crazy, crazy!”

He slid back slowly, dragging his kissing mouth and his teasing tongue 
down over her throat and to the tips of her big tits. His lips nibbled, his
saliva warmed, and as he pushed back, farther and farther, Marcia put her 
freed hands to his thick black hair. The toupee shifted; she hurled it 
aside and tangled her nerveless fingers in his own thick hair. When his 
mouth slid over the first golden curls of her suddenly thrust up groin, she
guided him fiercely lower, throwing her legs out in total surrender to his 
deep, hot-mouthed kiss at the pulsing top of her tortured cunt, already 
abraded to convulsive seeking by his trouser wool. Then tongue, burrowing 
like a wet snake into the pink and tender tissues, formed as a loose pucker
to close the burning, eager channel of her vagina. It dug and twisted and 
lashed at the sensitive walls, then streaked out and up to whip her 
half-raw clitoris and Marcia screamed in ecstasy and had a come that nearly
broke her whipping back. Her legs kicked out, her toes curled and uncurled 
and her belly fluttered as she vibrated her ass to the fierce streaks of 
delight that filled her body. She humped and bobbed until physical 
exhaustion joined with nervous failure and as she settled to the mattress, 
her mind half destroyed, she discovered that he had left her convulsing 
cunt and was now standing between her trembling feet, his shirt open, his 
trousers down.

Marcia wailed and raised to her elbows, tits quivering, crotch twitching 
in after-glow. Her eyes stared until they ached; she hadn’t seen a cock 
like he was stroking at her since Max Fromann had filled her 
eighteen-year-old mouth with the head of his. It was at least nine inches 
long and as thick as her wrist, veined, throbbing with blood and colored 
with vivid flesh tints from his hairy belly to the open, oozing eye. For a 
moment, hatred, fear, revulsion and disgust chilled her body and mind, then
with a cry of agony, she fell back and dragged her legs up and out, 
presenting the full nakedness of her famous ass, cunt open, asshole 
winking, skin glistening with the violent perspiration of pure animal want.
Her hands went around her tautly stretched ass and her shaking fingers 
opened her drooling cunt.

“Rape me!” she husked. “Rip me, ream me, rape me! Forgive me, Frank, 
forgive me! Come on, you mule-cocked son-of-a-bitch! What do you need, an 
Indian guide?”

Leo was frozen with awe. He had fucked thirteen-year-old Hindu girls, 
Algerian boys, Barra a hundred times, and some of the pinched cunts that 
hovered under mink and sable. He had jacked off against a Lord’s wife’s 
belly and fucked a Follies dancer in her hairy armpits. He had seen a dozen
Hollywood starlets lying drugged while Chattel had fucked them in the cunt,
the ass and in their atrophied throats. He stood now, stroking his swelling
cock and staring into the most beautiful ass he had ever seen; more 
important, the impact of having Marcia Mallory, lying on her back, legs up,
her fingers holding open her cunt for his pole-sized cock was a victory he 
had never even dreamed about in the days he had haunted his agent’s office,
the casting offices, and the cheap sets he had worked on in his striving 
days. Marvel of marvels, dream of Kings, Marcia Mallory was screaming for 
his cock; Clark Gable had probably never even dared pinch her ass the best 
day he had ever lived. He licked his lips, savoring the flavor of that 
lovely cunt, teasing himself with anticipation before he moved forward to 
lower the steaming head of his cock to the grasping purplish lips, already 
puffy with want and the grinding punishment he had inflicted upon it. The 
head of his organ had barely kissed into the sweet wet aperture when 
Marcia’s legs closed over his back in furious clamping, dragging his 
straining body in to her bucking crotch as a crab in feeding. His cock 
deformed the lips and wedged open the inner flesh until it closed greedily 
around the thick shaft behind the coronal head. For a moment, Leo stilled, 
feeling the hot close grip of subtly working flesh, then with a grunt of 
desire, he slid the full nine inches of member into the tight sleeve of 
flesh.

Marcia yelped, her legs flying out in an effort to open her body and 
relieve the pain, then as her flesh relaxed and his tightened, they closed 
in furious embrace, fighting with hunches and twists to find a rhythm that 
would mesh them perfectly.

“Oh, God,” Marcia whimpered in his ear. “Fuck long, fuck long! Clear in, 
clear out! Slower, slower, baby! Oh Jesus, Jesus, what am I to do? Oh, 
Frankie, I’m sorry, believe me, I’m sorry! But you never gave it to me like
this in all y-your life!”

Leo’s back curled and he ran his cock in as deep as it would go, flexing 
it furiously while Marcia thrashed and whimpered. “Who the hell is Frank?” 
he demanded, mashing his hairy groin in her pubic mound as his balls 
slapped hard against her asshole.

“Oh! N-not so hard! Oh yes, harder! F-Frank is my h-husband. Oh, 
goddamnit! Quit t-talking and fuck, baby!”

Pleased then, Leo let his vanity add strength to the steel-cord force of 
his fucking. Like a great piston, he pumped his cock in tight, then enjoyed
a second or two of exquisite sensation as her distended cunt fought to milk
and massage his member before his dragged it slowly out until only the 
throbbing head was snugged in the convulsing aperture. He was a master stud
and he knew it. Time had matured him past the drive and lunge and the blind
haste of youth; He nursed his ascending passion, easing when it became too 
demanding, pressing when he needed one more streak of goodness. Nor was he 
unaware of Marcia. He sensed her twist to let him reach some eager spot and
he could anticipate her screwing, upward envelopment. His hands crept under
her rolling ass, lifted, shifted and controlled her body with expert 
technique. Marcia lay back then, her arms out-flung, her eyes closed, 
completely abandoned to his mastery. Her tits rolled stiffly because they 
were pumped full of hot blood, and the flesh was solid with tension. She 
lay in limp surrender, permitting Leo to fuck as he would, concentrating 
her total energy to the inner workings of her secret muscles inspired and 
irritated by his monstrous organ. Sweat broke out on Leo’s back, his belly 
muscles ached with the steady stroking and his mind’s eye began to see in 
tempo with the fierce ecstasy of the coursing of his cock. The sound of 
wet, sloshing to each stroke was like a symphony of lust; without more than
a moment’s hesitation, Leo gathered her ass and reared back, coming to his 
knees, her crotch spread wide on each side of his hips, her cunt raised a 
full foot off the bed. Now he looked down, watching the way his ribbed 
penis plunged and twisted in the soft, electrified tissues, and the working
flesh of her cunt around the thick shaft was a massive impact to his 
whirling brain. His nostrils flared as the odor of her oozing glands rose 
around his face. He tipped and turned, driving his cock at off-angles, 
deforming the pink flesh and causing Marcia to moan in ecstasy. He saw how 
her clitoris, swollen now to a bulging ridge, quivered at each stroke, 
following his inward thrust, turning outward as he withdrew. When he felt 
himself dangerously close to a come, he toyed with the magnificent body now
so utterly in his control, so dependent upon his every whim. He dragged his
cock back, exposing the wet column until only half the bursting head lay in
the pulsating nest of pink and scarlet, then he screwed his hips, rolling 
the head of his cock to tease and irritate the throbbing clitoris and the 
sensitive nerves of the gaping aperture. Marcia began to writhe, tried to 
hump her ass out of his hands to inhale the tantalizing coronal form, and 
her moans were tiny protests, even though each movement he made sent fresh 
shudders of ecstasy the length of her body.

Then he felt the end coming, the kind of a finish that would not be 
postponed. He folded over, sinking half his cock in the soft sleeve, 
fucking up against the solid flesh of her pelvis, bruising her tissues and 
causing her to roll as if to escape the new punishment but actually to 
expose every section of her cunt to the last furious plunging. Further and 
further, his control forced him to lean into her body and her back curled, 
folding her stomach in small wrinkles. Now, with the member buried to the 
hairy base, he began the last, sweet undulations that would bring his cock 
to a spewing climax.

“No! Oh, God, no!” Marcia cried, and her left hand came up to his chest, 
pushing until her body twisted in strain. “No, no! Not in my cunt! 
Anything, up my ass-I’ll suck it, I’ll suck it, but if you-Oh-ough-h!”

He was past doing anything drastic even if he had cared. His hands held 
her struggling ass, his cock pumped furiously, sending glob after glob of 
hot sticky come a full nine inches deep. And after the second or third, 
Marcia ceased to struggle and her ass became unmanageable as her come burst
around his cock in mighty convulsions. Her head rolled from side to side, 
her hands beat on the bed in rhythm to the groans and gasps of ecstasy that
sputtered from her saliva-coated lips. Wearied by his long fuck, exhausted 
in the last fires of his spine wrenching come, Leo fell hard on the 
perspiration damp body and as the goodness rippled through his body, he 
began the half-hysterical, nearly boyish laugh that signaled the moment 
when he was helpless, in the throes of after-glow. After that came the 
sweet relaxing and he raised, drawing his deflating cock from the inflamed 
cunt, now still in its own exquisite resting. He pushed up, off the bed, 
standing there in a half slouch while his dripping cock slowly settled to a
dangling arch.

Marcia raised to her elbows, unashamed of the sprawl of her weary legs, 
aware only of the burning pool of jism in her cunt and thing she had done 
with this stranger, despite her hatreds, fears and apprehensions. “You 
dirty mother-fucker,” she hissed. “Bastard!”

“You’re good, kid. This Frank guy must be a perfect asshole to let you 
walk around with that box popping and snapping like a new saddle. Anyway, 
you can always say you’ve been fucked at least once in your miserable 
life!”

She knew then that some of the tiny flashes of hope she had known as he 
had seemingly fucked her with more tenderness than she had expected, and 
more consideration for her uncontrolled response than a rapist should have 
shown, were false. She tried to remember the passion-born words she had 
spoken as the big cock had ripped her veneer of sophistication away. She 
tried to reconcile his masterful fucking with what he now seemed to be, a 
big, handsome male who possessed the instincts of a gorilla in heat. She 
could see her cum and his, gleaming on his shriveling organ; at the moment 
their juices had joined, she might have been willing to give him her life, 
whatever it amounted to. Suddenly her mind was filled with revulsion for 
herself and hatred for him. She was Marcia Mallory, heiress to the world’s 
devotion. She had a wonderful husband and three beautiful children, and her
mind returned to the hideous situation in which she was trapped. She pulled
her legs together, hiding her still throbbing cunt from his cold eyes.

“It isn’t going to change anything, is it?” she asked.

“Not a goddamned thing, baby,” he said, stooping to retrieve his shorts 
and trousers. “A fuck is only a fuck! Sure you’re good and I enjoyed every 
minute of it. But a gram of Spanish Fly will make your grandmother put up 
an equally good screw! Money talks, bitch. And you’d better be ready to do 
as I’ve outlined tomorrow morning and do it right or I’ll strap you to that
cunt-inspector and let you watch a show that will win an Oscar everywhere I
show it-and I know all the big distributors!”

Marcia closed her eyes and folded her shaking hands into fists of fury. 
“Please, God, strike him dead!” she gasped.

He snorted. “If it’s a boy, name him Theodore, huh?”

Marcia rolled over, burying her face in her arms. She knew her ass was 
turned up, knew how two white pillows of perfect flesh with her rounded and
bruised cunt and well-rubbed asshole could affect a man, but nothing 
mattered now but the chance to rest and plan some desperate defense against
this vicious animal who held her life, and maybe her family’s life in the 
palm of his come-encrusted hand. She didn’t want to die; she wanted only a 
chance to fight back. She did not even look when she heard him leave the 
room.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lonsberry hadn’t been a cottage for seven years. Fred Bignor sat in the 
big parlor, slouched in the sulk brought on by having the six-room house 
invaded by Leo and his crew. Not that this was unusual; it happened several
times a year whenever Leo put into motion his clever blackmail schemes. 
What bothered Fred was the fact that he could only fuck once, maybe twice a
night and there were three available cunts in his house, only one of which 
he had sampled. He licked his lips, remembering the slim sleek bodies of 
Marcia Mallory’s two girl children. He had always wanted to fuck a little 
girl. Olga had a cunt like a cow, with that silly growth to interfere with 
a man’s best efforts. Carolina was a little woman, and that was a lot 
different than a little girl. Fred broke a sweat and his cock jerked in his
pants. A little girl. Too small, too tender, too frightened. He made a 
vivid picture for himself, of the crying girl, suffering from the ripping, 
thrusting of his big cock, gradually growing used to the size and then 
growing anxious for the magnificent length and thickness of his member. 
Little legs kicking, little belly heaving, and tears turning into sniffs, 
then to gasps and finally to pleading. Fred sipped his ale and looked 
toward the hallway to the North room.

If Leo found out, he’d have his ass. And both girls were old enough to 
tell on him. Fred weighed the odds. Not good. Leo had said, hands off, at 
least for a day or two. Leo didn’t fuck around with people who disobeyed 
his orders. But there were still those two little cunts, with neatly 
puckered assholes just behind, and Fred stood up, suddenly gripped with a 
lust he could not control.

Counting the kids’ father, there were six grown men in the house. If he 
threw the electric switch and entered in the dark, how would the kids know 
who to snitch on? The rooms were virtually soundproof and Leo’s crew were 
several walls separated from the North room. Olga slept like a log. Fred 
licked his lips. His cock was pushing furiously against his trouser front. 
Slowly, he began to undress. Go in naked. One man’s body felt exactly like 
another, excepting the nigger, Chattel, who was a hairless ape. It was 
worth the chance, Fred decided. Naked, he walked to the hallway, and his 
cock, resting in the slowly sliding grip of his right hand, said the time 
for chance-taking was now. At the door of the North room, he took the big 
key from the top of the broad door casing. In quietly, lock the thick door 
from the inside, then go feeling through the dark until he found the small,
slim body he desired. Do it gently. Feel her up, satisfy his stubby fingers
with the solidity of childish flesh; do it gently. Maybe little girls were 
like any other woman. Gentle feeling, caressing, teasing and kissing the 
sensitive titties and the flat little belly might excite her. Fred’s 
fingers shook at the thought of exciting a little cunt for the first time 
in its inviolate existence. Excite it, tease it and open it with a firm 
finger. Then when she was breathing hard and squirming, slip it to her, a 
bit at a time. He unlocked the door and eased into the darkened room. He 
had locked the door and was standing in a tense crouch when he remembered 
that he had forgotten to throw the fuse box switch. There were three kids. 
He couldn’t control them all. By now, they knew where the wall switch was. 
At the first sound of a commotion, one of them was sure to turn on the 
light. He shivered, but the throbbing of his cock and the tingling of his 
balls demanded he not stop now. He couldn’t stop. Standing there, his thick
body vibrated with the mental images he was forming, and he had to let go 
of his up-angled cock to keep from spewing his load out over the floor. He 
moved forward, listening. Little kids slept soundlessly, but after a 
moment, he sensed the breathing. His knees touched the edge of the bed. 
Slowly, he extended a quivering hand, fingers outstretched in anticipation 
of a warm, firm body. When he made the contact, his shock was exquisite. He
moved the fingers and decided he was touching a hip. It was soft, too soft 
to be a boy’s hip, too shapely to belong to anyone but a girl. He kneaded 
the flesh, encouraged by no resulting movement. He curled his fingers back 
around a relaxed nate; he could hardly breathe in his excitement. Then he 
froze as the little ass moved.

“Johnny?” came the soft whispering query. “Not now, I’m sleepy! Anyway, 
you’ll wake up Carmen.”

“It’s all right,” Fred whispered, trying to imitate a boy’s hushed voice.
The body under his hand stiffened. “It’s all right,” he repeated. “Don’t 
make any noise, now.”

“Daddy! Is that you, daddy?” came the tense question.

“No. But I’m your friend.”

“Oh! I know who you are-the man who brings us food!”

“I’m your friend,” Fred insisted, working his fingers around in the neat 
crevice between the cheeks of her little ass. Suddenly, the hip turned and 
a clutching, seeking hand struck his belly, hesitated, then settled down to
grip his steaming cock. A giggle followed. Fred held his breath for the 
scream that should ensue.

“Hoo boy,” the whisper hissed. “You want to fuck, don’t you?”

Stunned, Fred crouched, his senses reeling with the impact of her words 
and the adept manner in which she was manipulating his swollen foreskin. 
Now another hand joined the first, wrapping around his thick member, 
sliding the foreskin, caressing the blood-filled head. Sweat ran from his 
face; he put a hand down and found the hip, now turned his way, and his 
fingers rippled the soft belly flesh and slipped to the neat vee of her 
thighs. Again came the giggle, and to his surprise, the upper thigh lifted,
and he was touching the small hot lips splitting the fat mound in the 
spread crotch. At the first touch of wetness, the body moved on the bed. 
Fred could feel the way the girl had flattened on her back, her legs apart,
her hands still twisted to hold his throbbing cock. His knees shook from 
the awkward stance and he went down at the side of the bed. He put both 
hands to the quivering body, so small, so tense and softer than velvet. He 
found the tiny titties, mere buds with flinty tips, mobile, pulsing and 
hotter than fire. Now, only one of her hands gripped his cock, her left, 
working enthusiastically from an arm hung over the edge of the bed. Fred 
could hardly believe that she was lying there, stroking his cock, waiting 
for him to do whatever he could. His left middle finger rubbed open the 
little cunt, causing her hips to tense up, and when he boldly slid the 
thick finger into the hot, drooling aperture, the giggle came once more, 
chattering, excited and intense.

His mind tried a dozen possibilities. Gone was his thought of swift rape,
of ploughing into a virgin body, to rend and thrust and enliven. The 
awareness he now had was even more exciting; a girl, Delia, the eldest, he 
suspected, was no innocent child. She was a thirteen-year-old nympho, 
obviously used to her brother, and now, giggling eager to try a full-grown 
man. But how? Fred knew that his bulk on the little slut’s involuntary 
squealing would awaken the other two children. If the boy discovered a 
strange man fucking his private stuff, he’d be a problem. The little girl 
might not understand and scream her head off, believing some naked brute 
was hurting her older sister. Pull off the bed to floor. Pick her up and 
carry her to another room. This latter idea seemed the best, then his 
middle finger coursing in and out of her squirming crotch made such a delay
distasteful. And her hand was stroking his cock, not with the skill of an 
accomplished fricatrice, but with the enthusiasm and awkwardness of a 
neophyte. Suddenly Fred settled for what he had. He leaned forward and 
kissed the fat pubic mound, sliding his finger free of the tight cunt as 
his lips moved down to the soft wetness. He felt her legs part even more 
and his face, tongue thrusting and licking delved deeper into the sweet 
nest of juvenile passion. Her belly heaved under his right hand, her ass 
bobbed and settled its small shapes into his big left palm. She didn’t 
smell like a woman and she didn’t ooze too much, and Fred let his senses 
dull as he strove to kiss and lick her into a state similar to the one she 
was inducing with her gripping hand. He felt her stroking hesitate as his 
tongue reached all the fresh and tender nerves, then as he began to fuck 
her with his tongue, her hand resumed its rhythm in tempo to his darting 
tongue.

Her breath came faster, made a regular hissing. Her body writhed in 
passion, but not enough to shake the bed. Even when the thumb of his 
underhand rubbed deep between the cheeks of her ass, she merely squirmed 
and screwed down against it. Now his lust was building and Fred covered her
dripping cunt with his open mouth and alternately sucked and blew, his 
tongue racing in furious circles around her little clitoris and into the 
squeezed opening of her vagina. Her ass fluttered, he pressed his thumb 
just into the soft pucker of her asshole and felt her winking response. Her
hand on his cock was jerky now, less controlled, less intense. He deepened 
his tongue thrust and nibbled at the puffed lips, and she gasped, louder 
than safety as her childish come burst with swift jerks and fluttering 
flesh. Fred could not stop sucking, could not cease his punishment of the 
convulsing delicacy. Her hand froze on his near-to-bursting cock and he 
fucked into the trembling grasp, banging the pulsating head against the 
overhanging bedcovers. But it wasn’t until her come fluttered to nothing 
that her fist enlivened on his cock, and after a few sweet seconds of 
concentration, Fred curled his back, lifted his belly muscles and spewed 
his come on the bed. He was atrophied with ecstasy, jerking, spurting, 
fucking into the little hand, and as he leaned forward to rest on the soft 
body, he felt her fingers over the head of his cock, smearing the sticky 
come, squeezing and milking his prick as if it was a cow’s teat. His knees 
hurt and his back ached, but he lay for several minutes, kissing and 
licking the small flat belly while the insistent fingers played with his 
gummy, deflating cock. The room was silent, except for the soft rush of his
own breath. Fred straightened, ranning one hand up to touch her face. “All 
right?” he asked stupidly.

“Sure,” came the whispered reply. “You sure suck good! I like that. Do it
again?”

“Tomorrow night,” he husked.

“Did you like what I did?”

“It’s the bloody truth. But I have to go now.”

She giggled. Fred stood up, hating the fade away of her wet fingers. His 
mind still didn’t grasp it all, but he was delirious with erotic shock; the
last small giggle as he left the room almost sent him back for more of this
sweet obscenity. In the hallway, he leaned against the wall, fingering his 
hand sore cock. And his mind began to clear, to weigh the mad adventure.

“Why, the bloody little whore!” he gasped.

Her first words had been, Johnny? Not now, and a second later, she had 
asked if the fingers in her ass belonged to ‘daddy.’ Old enough to 
understand danger, she had flopped to her back and let him fingerfuck her, 
suck her cunt and ruffle her little titties while she had jacked him off. 
Even in her come she had controlled her bouncing and her twisting, a trick 
bloody-fucking grown-ups couldn’t always manage. Fred broke a fresh sweat. 
Somebody had sucked her cunt before-in the proximity of her small sister 
and maybe, her horny little brother. She had wanted her cunt sucked again 
but had not protested when he had postponed his reviving lust until 
tomorrow.

She was a bloody little whore. Then Fred chuckled. There was a day or two
left, depending upon Leo’s schedule, and in that time, Fred vowed to get 
the little nympho to himself. He knew now that there’d be no problem with 
her, no matter what he suggested, and the mere dreaming of that unknown 
rendezvous brought Fred’s big cock up so thick and stiff that he could 
hardly get his trousers back on. He sat again in the living room, drinking 
his fourth pot of ale, his senses dulled by the fantasies his agile 
sensuality could not stop creating.

Instinctively, Frank felt that he was in a cellar or some type of 
sub-surface room. The house above was quiet now, but during the earlier 
hours, he had heard a great deal of pounding, always above his level. He 
squatted at the door, shivering slightly in the dampness, and inserted his 
crude picklock into the heavy door. He was neither a locksmith nor a 
mechanic, but desperation had caused him to fashion a pair of bent tools 
from a spring he had taken from the bed. Half of his mind went to work on 
the lock; his head ached with the futility of thinking, guessing, 
speculating and worrying.

He was sure he had been drugged, not once, but twice. He had no memory of
having gotten into this room, nor of the two people he had so far seen. 
There had been an hour or so of clarity-at least, partial sanity had 
returned long enough for him to become involved with the farmer’s wife in a
way that left him half-ashamed, and half-amused, then he had slowly drifted
back into the strange comotose condition that had lasted until 
mid-afternoon. The peculiar lethargy had worn off in an hour or two, but it
had left him with a headache and a touch of nausea. His inexpert fingers 
worked the prods with tiny clicks and no apparent success. He had to get 
out of this cell and as he struggled with the lock mechanism, his 
frustration mounted. His position was intolerable; naked, locked into a 
strange room, guarded by an ignorant farmer and his nymphomaniac of a wife,
separated from his wife and children as if he had been transported to 
another world. Frank cursed and renewed his tinkering.

When the probe caught and the lock went ‘click’, he gasped, almost unable
to believe that he had succeeded. He tried the doorknob and it allowed him 
to swing open the big door and look up the narrow stairs to a faintly 
lighted hallway above. He was suddenly faced with two choices; he could try
sneaking out of the house without being seen, or he could arm himself with 
some sort of a bludgeon and seek out the farmer and his wife. A weapon 
seemed advisable, even if he tried a mouse-like exit. Then an additional, 
almost defeatist thought came. Hide the picklocks in the room. If they 
recaptured him with the aid of the big revolver, he might need the 
picklocks again. After secreting the two probes, Frank took a big breath 
and ascended the stairs. His first bewilderment was that though the 
household had apparently retired, small yellow globes burned at intervals 
closely enough spaced to obviate darkness. His second surprise was that it 
was a seemingly large and sprawling house, with decent furniture and some 
signs of middle-class affluence. The hall was long, with several doors on 
either side, room-spaced apart. He found the living room, the dining areas 
and the kitchens. He availed himself of big butcher knife without the 
slightest determination to stick anybody with it, then he went to the 
kitchen door. It was locked with a padlock. The windows were not only 
locked but shuttered. It took Frank about three minutes to discover that 
the entire house was sealed up tightly, at least to anyone not possessing 
keys to the formidable locks.

His only out then was to surprise the farmer and his wife and get the 
all-important keys. He hefted the knife and felt silly doing it. Like a 
Grade-B movie hero. He started toward the hallway again when a sound 
stopped him cold. He backed into the living room and crouched behind a 
wing-backed sofa, positioned so he could see all entries to the room as 
well as through a double doorway into the dining area. Two voices then, one
a throaty female voice with a strong British accent, the other a deep male 
voice with a strange lilt and a peculiar accent. The voices passed down the
hallway and seemed to enter the kitchen. There was the sound of an ice 
chest opening.

“There’s ale,” the woman said. “And some smashing roast beef. That 
bloody-fucking Olga is a damned good cook.”

“That’ll be the bloody-fucking day,” the woman answered with a lewd 
laugh. “You’ll come up in the morning with a hard-on like the Bishop’s 
staff, Chattel, and you know it! And from what Leo has on paper, you’ll 
need it!”

“Marcia Mallory,” the man grunted. “Pretty high-class cunt for a Jamaican
nigger, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t say. I just run the Bolex. Damn it, let go of my ass until I get
these sandwiches made!”

“Just checking, baby. Is she going along like Leo wants or do we have to 
work her over?”

Again the throaty laugh. “She’ll go along, Leo says. He hung it in her 
this morning and she came bouncing up for more. She was so good it left him
with a barmy spot or two. Here, baby.”

“Damme, that ale is cold!

Frank drew a breath, he first he had been able to force into his 
nerveless lungs since hearing Marcia’s name bandied amid the vulgar 
conversation. He straightened up and moved into the dining room. Knife 
gripped firmly, he eased one eye around the door casing. The view was 
through a small pantry. Seated at a table, a huge negro man was slouched 
forward, chewing on a bite from a thick sandwich. He was as naked as Frank,
but there the comparison ceased.

Standing, ne would have been an inch or two over six feet tall. His black
thighs were like tree trunks, his chest was wide and hairless and covered 
with layers of muscles under the gleaming skin. He was not Africa-ugly, not
Bellefonte handsome, but he was pure animal, chewing and grinning and using
his free hand to fondle and pet the weirdest looking woman he’d ever seen. 
At first he thought it was merely a tall, adolescent girl, titless, 
shingle-bottomed and scrawny of leg and arm. But her wavy black hair hung 
in adult thickness, and it also grew in a mature thicket from her belly 
button, merely a dimple in her hollow belly, down over her thin thighs and 
under the open plane of her crotch. He could count her ribs, and her hip 
bones looked sharp enough to hang a hat on. She too was chewing, apparently
ignoring the way the black man’s huge hand dug under her crotch and toyed 
with the delights buried in the deep black hair.

“I’d give a fiver to see you knocked up, Carrie,” the man said when his 
huge throat had swallowed heavily.

“Better men than you are have sure as hell tried,” she laughed back at 
him.

“Bettern’ me?” the black man demanded, raising his cock from between his 
thighs. “Ain’t no better man than me, baby!”

Frank swallowed with difficulty; he believed the Negro implicitly. Even 
half soft, the huge organ lay like a black rubber hose that had been sun 
blistered and lumped. The head was mammoth, much larger in circumference 
than the ribbed shaft, and the color was reddish in comparison with the 
black, fatly veined shank and the wrinkles of loose foreskin. A private 
flash of inadequacy went through Frank; maybe if he’d been hung that 
heavily, Marcia would have been a better wife all these years. The thought 
reminded him of what the girl had said about Leo having hung it in ‘her’ 
that mjrning. He chilled. Then Marcia and the children had to be somewhere 
in this house. “-and she came bouncing up for more,” Carrie had said.

He didn’t know what to do. The knife seemed useless. The house evidently 
contained far more people than the farmer and his big-titted wife; there 
were these two, a man named Leo and how many more Frank couldn’t imagine. 
And if all were of the same mind as the Negro and the thin girl, there was 
no telling what was in store for the Goddard family.

A Bolex was only one thing-a camera, and one that needed running was a 
moving picture camera.

Rage, frustration and suspicion tumbled in Frank’s brain. This Chattel 
had said that Marcia Mallory was pretty high-class cunt for a Jamaican 
nigger. Leo had convinced “her” to go along with some expansive plan 
already on paper; he had hung it in Marcia and been so thoroughly fucked he
had wound up with a “barmy spot or two.” And for some part of it all, 
Chattel was supposed to come up with a hard on in the morning. Sickness 
coiled in Frank’s belly. And the kids?

Then he broke a fine sweat because the pair in the kitchen, through 
eating, were fooling around. Not fooling, he decided. The girl held a 
bottle of ale in her right hand and had straddled the black man’s close 
pressed thighs. He also held his ale in one hand, but the other was 
stroking his massive cock into astounding proportions. Now the girl slapped
his hand away and took the throbbing organ in her spindle-thin fingers. The
Negro curled his hand around her waist and pulled her closer, blending the 
black of his belly with the hair covering her spraddled crotch. Frank 
couldn’t hear their words, only the murmur. The girl was buhding the huge 
black member into a rigid, unbelievable weapon. Once, she made the man gasp
and hunch by inserting her slim little finger into the oozing eye, fucking 
it with short vibrations while the black man grunted and humped; proof of 
their pure dedication to lewd play came when each of them sipped their ale 
at unpredictable moments.

“Okay, you got it up there, Carrie. What you going to do with it?” the 
Negro asked, ruffling her hairy crotch with more intensity than Frank could
justify from his angle of vision.

“Maybe just play with it till you go out of your bloody-fucking mind,” 
she replied.

“Oh? Well we just going to see who goes out of their bloody-fucking 
mind!” he rumbled. He set his ale on the table and suddenly leaned forward,
wrapping his massively muscled left arm around her thin body. His right 
hand went out and under her cheekless ass, and she gasped as his huge 
fingers dug up under her crotch, hauling her close so his cock was 
sandwiched between her belly and his. Frank thought she might struggle, but
her slim arms went around the black man’s neck, her face pressed cheek to 
cheek with his and her body began a slight rising and falling. Frank broke 
an involuntary sweat. He was sure the Negro had at least one finger up the 
girl’s asshole, and the resultant muscular reaction was fucking him between
their bellies. He watched the fascinating way the Negro’s buttocks tensed 
and relaxed, creating a hard up and down movement in tempo with his 
plunging hand and the girl’s slow, excruciatingly graphic rolling.

A flash of fire went through Frank; his cock was half up and stiffening 
to its modest seven inches before he realized how thoroughly the hot drama 
had absorbed his thoughts. The farmer’s big-titted wife had done it to him 
too, and now, a black man and a thin nympho were destroying his desperation
with their obscenely beautiful play. He knew one brief moment of clarity 
and understanding during which he should have dashed forward and pinned the
two together with the long butcher knife, then Frank was lost. The girl was
slowly raising, her belly sliding up the black torso, hunching, humping and
vibrating as the plunging fingers screwed into her asshole, opening and 
loosening the rubbery flesh, even as it excited her to chattering giggles 
and panting murmurs.

Frank could feel the throb of his cock because the echo pounded in his 
brain. He stared through burning eyes; the drama of white and black, the 
deep shadows caused by the poor light, the half seen workings of fingers, 
faces and frenzied flesh were like some carefully planned scenes in an 
expertly directed movie. As the girl raised, he saw the Negro’s distended 
member spring out between her legs, then a black hand took it and seemed to
hide it in the spraddled crotch. Frank didn’t have to see it spread and 
plunge and screw itself into her asshole to know just when it entered. She 
gasped, arched her back and twisted, then writhed her thin body downward, 
her limber spine rippling with desire and stress to meet the up-lurch of 
the black man’s hips. For a moment, Frank could hardly believe what he saw 
but there was no doubt that without a cry of pain or a moment of apparent 
distress, the emaciated Carrie had taken Chattel’s massive cock complete-up
her rectum. More unreasonable, as Frank watched, she became a giggling, 
twisting, humping dervish, her scrawny legs kicking out to each side as she
bounced high and settled low, aided slightly by the man’s broad black hands
clamped about her waist.

Control, shame and desperation evaporated, Frank curled his back and 
masturbated with deliberate intent. His eyelids settled, his mind left his 
body, and for sweet minutes, it was his throbbing, straining cock that 
coursed in and out of Carrie’s asshole, it was his ear she nibbled, his 
back she raked with talon shaped fingers. He smelled her body, felt her 
hair thrashing against his face, and when she began to moan and gasp in the
rising tide of massive passion, he felt her secret muscles, milking, 
pumping, gripping and rolling around his own furiously abused organ.

Then disaster nearly destroyed him. His hand holding the knife turned to 
water. The heavy instrument dropped straight down, sticking in the pantry 
floor with a single “thud.” It stiffened him and brought back reality, but 
the Negro had not heard, nor had the girl, because at that moment, the lust
in the black man had sent him up, lifting the girl as if she weighed 
nothing. On solidly planted legs, the Negro leaned, laying the thin girl on
her back over the kitchen table. Her legs went out, kicking, toes 
wriggling, white flags of ecstasy as the man leaned into his long, smoothly
timed stroking. Frank’s teeth clicked at the new vista. He could now see 
the magnificent meshing of flesh. The palm-thick cheeks of Carrie’s ass 
were splayed on the table top, blending into the broad plane of hairy flesh
formed by her inadequate thighs. He could see how the thick black shaft was
working in the distended circle of brown flesh, dragging it in as the 
ribbed shank of his cock demanded servitude, hauling it out in a thin pout 
as he withdrew. And above this obscene meshing of black and white, the 
thick purplish lips of Carrie’s oozing cunt glistened with sticky wet, 
gaping, closing, pumping as her thin body was invaded and evacuated with 
the huge bulk of her lover’s cock.

Frank barely had time to turn his hips so that his bursting come smacked 
to the wall with audible force. Wracked by ecstasy, he spewed his strength,
fighting the sag of his knees and his panting lungs. When he thought the 
blindingly exquisite come was nearly done, it started all over again, 
enlivened by the sight of the black man, ramming his own spurting cock into
the humping woman with new force. The thin legs had wrapped around the 
bowed black back, flailing arms closed over the sweat-wet back, and the 
table moved on the floor with the fury of their corning. Grunts, groans and
whimpering came from the kitchen and as Frank’s mind went back into the 
schizophrenia of mutation, he sank to his knees and rested, his cock slowly
draining the last of his sperm in the dying convulsions of his passion.

Like a stunned idiot, he watched the girl and her lover recover. The 
Negro straightened up, dragging his deflating cock from her flaccid asshole
with a soft wet sound. She sat up, panting, squirming, trying to regain her
senses. They talked, too low for Frank to hear, even if he had cared. There
was some movement; she found a tea-towel, crouched with her thin legs well 
out and wiped her cheekless ass before she carefully wiped the dangling 
tube of weary black meat. They both took a final sip or two of beer, then 
laughing together, they left the kitchen, turning out the overhead light as
they passed through the door.

Only then did Frank realize how insensible he’d been. He staggered to his
feet, swaying headily. Earlier fears and apprehensions returned; he dared 
not leave the house, dared not chance an escape that when discovered, might
turn these animals on Marcia and the kids in brutal vengeance. 
Unbelievably, Marcia had apparently consented to some lewd agreement with 
the man called Leo. If so, then he owed it to himself and the children to 
find out just what the saintly-imaged bitch was really like. If not, then 
his family would need him close by to help as much as he could and to 
provide encouragement if things went as badly as he thought they might.

He took the knife, but his grip on it was as half-hearted as were his 
steps as he returned to the narrow stairs that led to his cellar room. He 
debated relocking the door, wasn’t sure he could and finally decided he 
might win a fragment of somebody’s trust if they knew he had escape at hand
and had volunteered to remain a prisoner.

Sleep might have been impossible but for the exhaustion of his cock and 
the flabby debilitated state of his balls, and the way in which his brain 
rolled and tumbled around the facts of his bizarre situation. He couldn’t 
imagine a tomorrow more erotically weird than the day just finished. 
Frightening, horrifying, spine-jolting, but as he drifted into welcome 
sleep, his mind retained a bright spot because Frank’s inner mind was wired
directly to his cock, and excitement, like malaria, didn’t care who got it.

CHAPTER SIX

They came after breakfast, which Marcia had been forced to eat because of
a gnawing hunger that would not let her mind concentrate, and she was 
amazed at the group, because of its size and its obvious professionalism. 
The man she knew as Ted, dressed now in a casual combination of shirt and 
slacks, presented her with a pile of clothing. She knew at once the 
expensive net stockings were hers, as were the costly, highheeled shoes. 
There were three pairs of her laciest panties and a garter belt. Nothing 
more.

“That’s the wardrobe, Mallory,” Ted said with a grin. “Meet my location 
crew. This is Carolina. She works the number one camera. This is Jody. He 
works the creepy-peepy for close-ups and impromptu shots. Sam hustles the 
lights and reflectors. And this grinning ape is Chattel, your leading man!”

Marcia cringed. The huge Negro was the most frightening human being she 
had ever seen. He wasn’t uglier than many she had seen, nor did his leering
smile alone make him horrifying. It was the belly exposing shirt he wore 
and the finely tailored Continental slacks, cut so tightly she could see 
the long thick column of his massive cock lying down his left, inner thigh,
and the rolling bulges of his balls cuddled high under the man’s torso.

“Hi-ya, baby,” he said, winking lewdly at her.

“No!” Marcia exclaimed. “N-not a Negro! No, I won’t do it!”

“Funny,” the Negro said, losing his grin. “I got a hunch those there kids
of yours ain’t so color conscious, baby.”

Marcia screamed and huddled over on the edge of the bed, her face buried 
in her hands. Someone snickered. The thin girl said something dirty to Ted.
Marcia fought to control her sobs of terror; her only chance, if there was 
a chance, was to remain calm, or at least, in control of her senses. She 
raised her face. “You’re bluffing! No man in this world is foul enough to 
let an animal like him touch two innocent children! He’s too-well, he’d 
kill them!”

“Stretch a mile before it will tear an inch, Mallory,” Ted told her. 
“Hell, I don’t know what I’m arguing with you for! Your ass is on the line,
baby, and I know what I want. In fact, I’m glad you kicked up a fuss. I 
just had a story conference with myself and we are going to rewrite the 
script a little. Like I told you yesterday, the thing was going to be a 
story of a nympho broad, with you as the star. Now, I have a better idea. 
We’re going to shoot a documentary, entitled, ‘Marcia Mallory and Family on
Vacation.’ Get it?”

“N-no, but I w-won’t do it!”

He ignored her protest. “Like smiling Marcia, darling of the saccharine 
set, full face in the camera, takes her hot ass and her children to a 
cottage in Central England to meet her secret lovers and be herself for a 
change. Warmed up, she forgets to worry about her kids and they stand 
around, eyes bugged and asses bare while their dear sweet mama takes on all
comers. Like it, Mallory?”

“I’ll kill you!” she hissed.

“She likes it,” Jody decided.

“Great story line,” Carolina agreed.

“Now, I’ll tell you something, Mallory,” Ted went on. “This cottage is 
sealed up tight-a Sherman tank couldn’t get in or out of it. We’re shooting
with good light and six-hundred color film. Chat, here, comes off great in 
color! I understand a little make-up technique, so we are all going to come
up in a rosy glow. We’ll shoot it every way we see it and edit ourselves an
Academy Award winner afterward. Time means nothing to me, and your ‘lovers’
won’t give a damn how many scenes you fuck up. The more convincing you are,
the shorter the shooting session, get it?”

“M-my husband,” Marcia wailed. “Where is he?”

“Around. We got a scene or two planned for him, too. But it’s you and the
kids that will make the negative worth the five million. Imagine! Marcia 
Mallory’s son gets his first hard-on watching mama suck the director’s 
prick! Super-colossal epic of passion in the peat bogs! Get those fucking 
stockings and that belt on, Mallory. I’ll clue you in to the scenes as I 
think ‘em up!”

*

One dram of scopolamine and five grains of barbituric acid, suspended in 
seven ounces of cream and dutifully consumed by the three children in their
tea, made overly strong to insure the use of the diluting cream. Fred 
grinned. The little slut had winked at him and wriggled the tip of her pink
tongue through her closely pressed lips. He’d get her tonight after she 
came out of the scopolamine stupor Leo wanted the three of them in during 
the afternoon shooting. After watching a day of Leo’s movie-making, Fred 
thought he’d be ready to give the little bitch all the cock she could 
handle and maybe some she couldn’t. He licked his lips.

Then Fred frowned hard. He was unable to understand how he or Olga had 
left Frank Goddard’s cellar room unlocked. Nor was he sure of why the man 
should have been so tractable and pleasant. But it was not his problem and 
as long as Goddard hadn’t made any attempt to escape, Fred had been saved a
big, crashing hunk of Leo’s anger. He was afraid of Leo, even though he had
an impersonal admiration for the renegade Yank. He did things with such a 
marked deliberation, managing the risks with a total attention to details, 
and coining money with schemes so devious as to leave his cohorts 
breathless.

Like this caper. No man in his right mind could think of kidnapping 
Hollywood’s most valuable property, let alone three mewling kids and a 
husband. Then to force the gorgeous Marcia Mallory to willingly act in the 
dirtiest movie a man could dream up, while her kids looked on, was an 
accomplishment in entrapment beyond Fred’s comprehension. But explained by 
Leo, the situation was bloody great. It didn’t matter that she Or her 
husband found out where Lonsberry Cottage was, nor who Leo was, nor who his
confederates were. Once the film was shot with Mallory’s smiling face 
intermingled with shots of her famous ass being perforated and punched, she
would not dare call the law. While Leo held the precious negative, the 
bitch would not dare to retaliate in any way. And Fred knew that Leo always
kept the negatives, even when harassed starlets and stage-personalities 
thought they had bought the original. Leo believed in an ace in the hole, 
as the Americans called it. Fred sighed. Brains always mystified him.

Cunt always interested him, unless it was one hung under his woman’s 
belly. He entered their bedroom now, his mind intent upon a private nip of 
Scotch to congratulate himself upon what he planned with Delia Goddard that
night. Olga stood in front of the mirror, tinting her lips and cheeks with 
Leo’s special brand of make-up. She was naked, except for long stockings 
that shaped her calves and thighs and made her broad ass and reasonable 
waist seem perched upon much prettier foundations than they really were. 
Her massive tits jiggled and swayed on her ribcage. Her slavic blonde hair 
was coiled high. She looked better than usual, but Fred wasn’t very 
concerned. She’d turn around and there would be that great huge clitoris 
hanging out of her cunt like a cock that had gotten caught in the bloody 
meat grinder.

“Ain’t you the fancy,” he said with a grin. “What’s he want you to do?”

She turned and drew herself erect, throwing her tits out in bobbing 
bulbosity. He couldn’t see the clitoral shape because it was tucked into 
her cunt. Now she didn’t look bad but he knew that the moment her she-wolf 
heat came on, the bloody thing would bound out and stiffen like a pot 
handle.

“I’m supposed to be maid,” she said. “Like this. Clean, sweep and cook 
like this. Good, huh, Fred?”

“And?”

She giggled which shook her body enticingly. “You watch!”

John Goddard felt peculiar but he was too young to analyze the odd 
numbness that crept up his back and spread through his head. He didn’t 
question the fact that his little sister had become drowsy and curled up on
the bed, her body a relaxed thing under the not-clean blankets. It was a 
relief not to have her whimpering and crying, as she had been doing for 
most of her waking hours since they had been put in this room. Now he 
looked across the room to where Delia was playing some kid kind of 
solitaire with the pulpy cards the man had given them. Out of habit, John 
put his hand to his cock as he stared at his sister’s slim body, bowed over
the table, her chin resting lethargically on one hand as she manipulated 
the cards. Cheating, probably. She cheated when they played Hearts.

“She’s asleep,” he said, sliding his cock back to flop the slowly 
building member in idle play.

“I don’t care,” Delia said without turning her head. “I feel funny, do 
you,”

“Kind of, I guess,” he admitted. “You want to do something?”

Her head turned then. “Maybe. Is she asleep? You’re sure?”

The “maybe” caused John’s cock to jerk, pushing itself upward in slender 
rigidity. He put a hand out and shook Carmen’s body. She didn’t stir. 
“See?” he queried his older sister. “It’ll be okay.”

Delia mussed the cards and slid out of the rickety chair. Her black hair 
needed combing and brushing, but the rest of her naked body was sleek and 
limber. She came across and stretched out beside her brother, being careful
not to awaken her sister with the bed jiggle. John rolled toward her, his 
throbbing cock poking her flat belly. She giggled softly and took it in her
hand, expertly stroking the foreskin, but not with her usual enthusiasm. 
Then she did a thing that puzzled him. She made a circle of her thumb and 
fingers and passed the doughnut shape the length of his member without 
touching it, “I wonder if it will ever get this big?” she murmured.

“My gosh,” he muttered, his eyes envisioning his cock grown to such a 
diameter. “Heck, it won’t go in very easy now!”

“It isn’t supposed to go in easy, dumbbell. I wish it was that big, 
though. I bet you even Carmen can take it now, if she’d just try.”

“She’d tell mama if I tried it. You know how she cries when she sees me 
do it to you.”

Delia giggled. “Maybe you ought to try it while she’s sleeping. Once it’s
in I bet she wouldn’t holler very much!”

John looked over at his sister, the curl of her back to him. He felt odd;
the room whirled a little bit and he had a hard time remembering where they
were and how long it had been. The man had said their mother had wanted 
them to stay in the room for a few days, but he hadn’t explained why. John 
wasn’t sure why they were naked, but he didn’t mind. “Ouch,” he gasped. 
“Don’t skin it back so hard!”

“Make it grow,” Delia explained. “She still asleep?”

John reached over and thrust his forefinger into Carmen’s left ear, a 
trick that always made her cry. She did not move. “Boy, I’ll say she is!”

Delia giggled. “Why don’t you stick something else in a different place 
and see if she wakes up? Wait a minute.” Delia wriggled across her 
brother’s belly, her hip bumping and rubbing his up-angled penis. She 
pulled the cover down over her sister’s body, exposing the little angled 
ass with the small pink slit in the fat flesh pinched between her thighs. 
With no hesitation, Delia thrust a forefinger into the slit, worked it 
open, then thrust in two full joints. “See?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, suddenly caught in a flash of excitement. “But what 
if she wakes up? She’ll holler like the dickens!”

“Just keep on fucking her. She’ll quit hollering when it starts to feel 
good! Go ahead, Johnny. I want to see you do it!”

Delia scrambled across him, no longer worried about awakening her sister.
John turned over and got to his knees, his pulsing cock standing up in 
furious jerking. He couldn’t think very clearly; he saw only Carmen’s 
little white ass, now being fingered and poked by Delia. “Come on, silly,” 
she panted. “Do it to her now!”

John shuffled around on his knees, poising directly behind the small 
form. He leaned over, placing his palms on either side of Carmen’s 
shoulders, sledding his knees back until his cock bumped down on her hip. 
The strained position made him shake, and he looked down under his belly to
see where his cock had to go. Then Delia’s hand gripped his shaft and aimed
it to the now slightly moist slit her finger had agitated. John eased his 
lean hips forward, twitching when the swollen head of his cock kissed the 
hot, soft flesh.

“Stick it in, stick it in!” Delia husked.

It went in only to the extent of the limp flesh, then stopped. Delia 
rolled the head around, trying to open the reluctant aperture. “Push, 
Johnny!” she commanded.

“I c-can’t! It won’t go in. Raise her leg a little!”

Still holding her brother’s pulsing cock, Delia hooked her free hand 
under Carmen’s knee and lifted the limp leg. John gasped as the head of his
cock snugged into the suddenly resistless slit. With boyish lust, he 
started to hunch but it seemed to him there was a bone collar buried under 
the wet pink flesh. His cock bowed, slipped once, rubbing upward through 
the lips, snugging between the triangle formed by her thighs and belly. He 
backed, dragging his cock through Delia’s grip, to thrust again as she 
guided the wetted head to the desired nesting. Neither of them seemed to 
remember that Carmen could awaken at any moment. John was caught up in the 
lewd adventure of driving his cock into the little cunt, of finally fucking
his sulky, uncooperative sister. Delia was panting and squirming, as if the
cock were bludgeoning into her own, more receptive cunt.

“It’s the wrong angle, Johnny,” Delia decided. “She’s laying funny. We 
have to turn, her over. Back up a minute!”

“You’ll wake her up,” he protested.

“Who cares? We’ve started now. Let her holler!”

Only when Delia roughly flopped Carmen over on her back, legs akimbo, 
arms oddly limber, did he realize she was more than asleep.

“Hey, there’s something wrong with her!” he blurted.

“Who cares? Fuck her, Johnny. I have to see you fuck her!”

His eagerness climbed faster than his alarm. Again, he went forward on 
stiff arms and his cock dropped from the angle of his hips, the head once 
more kissing the slightly parted lips, pink, moist and hairless. Delia ran 
a hand in flat on her sister’s belly and with two fingers, opened the 
buttonhole as she ground the head of her brother’s member into the softer 
nest below the tiny bud of Carmen’s clitoris.

For many seconds, John urged and fluttered his hips while Delia tried to 
fit his sex-finger into the reluctant glove, then she began to pant and 
mewl in frustration. “Push harder, it’s going!” she exclaimed. “Push, 
Johnny!”

But it was useless. His cock had throbbed itself into maximum length and 
girth, the eagerness and irritation had set his lean body to quivering 
almost beyond control. And the strange dizziness, the burning flush had 
returned. Suddenly, his elbows kinked and he fell sideways, gasping in 
distress. Light and color faded; he knew when Delia fell across Carmen’s 
body and onto his, but as her chattering lips closed around the coronal 
flare of his cock, he sought the deep blackness that spread from his eyes 
back into his throbbing skull, then turned to a gray that neither lightened
nor darkened. He forgot about Carmen and his unsuccessful rape of her 
virginal cunt; he felt only the fury of Delia’s caress. Her fingers seemed 
enraged that she had been cheated of her voyeuristic delight. They pinched 
his cock and squeezed his balls, and her lips were hardly less ferocious 
than the incipient nibble of her teeth. He could hear her moaning, hear 
interspersed words which were never quite formed around his member. He 
tried to move his hands to push Delia away but he had no strength.

John lay, feeling his sister’s wet, demanding mouth sucking frenziedly at
his softening cock. It was a strange sensation and not good at all. Then he
heard Delia weeping angrily, and presently, she struck his belly with her 
fist and was away. He couldn’t have cared less. About Delia, Carmen, 
himself or anything.

Marcia had no mirror but she knew exactly how she looked in the 
garterbelt, stockings and highheeled shoes. She trembled in badly subdued 
terror, her mind fighting the way in which her hands and legs obeyed the 
instructions Ted had left. He had threatened to let her children watch; as 
much as she wanted to see them, to know that they were all right, she was 
horrified at the probable nature of that seeing. And Frank-somewhere in the
house. Her white flesh flushed from forehead to thighs as she thought of 
him witnessing her degradation. The other fear was personal, grinding in 
her belly like a miller’s stone.

She had succumbed like a Sunset Strip whore to the biggest cock she had 
accepted in nearly ten years. Her fury at Ted was boundless; thinking about
the ruthless, delightful way his prick had rammed in, then leveled to that 
long, deliberate stroking, Marcia shivered in memory and trembled with the 
certainty that she might not be able to fight, to play the part of a dirty 
picture actress. The hot cock, throbbing, rohing, thrusting had turned her 
on like she had never been turned on before. Could she fight it next time, 
with memory tearing at her brain and his meat tearing at the greedy, 
startled tissues high in her hungry belly?

And the nigger. Marcia moaned in agony. She hated black men with all of 
her blonde heart. Under any other circumstances, she would curl her upper 
lip and see clear through the ebony giant. But she was caught. Even now, 
realizing that there was no escape from a thorough fucking by the arrogant 
Chattel, she allowed certain long buried weaknesses and carefully obscured 
instincts to flourish. A nigger with the chest and neck of Belafonte, the 
cold eyes and overpowering masculinity of a Poitier, and the animalism of 
Sammy, Jr., spider man with slim, agile legs that had to shelter enough 
cock to keep a white woman happy. Marcia sat down, her fingers rolling over
her thigh to dig gently into the thick blonde hair growing like a shroud 
over her abruptly weeping cunt.

She was a bitch, a dirty, cock-loving, revolting bitch. With herself a 
captive, threatened by disaster and blackmail, her children threatened by 
brutal obscenities, and her husband threatened by God-knew-what, she was 
sitting in a whore’s attire, thinking about a nigger’s prick. Wallowing in 
self pity, even as she made unreasonable excuses to herself for succumbing 
to a roaring fuck, with cameras rolling and hot-eyed voyeurs staring. Her 
blood pounded with insane images. Don’t look, my darlings, don’t look while
mama takes this sweet rod in her mouth, tasting, rolling her tongue to the 
friable head, dimpling the oozing eye and swallowing the delightful flavor.
Don’t watch while mama strokes the white, black, green, yellow skin, 
feeling the way it ripples over the throbbing shaft, sensing the drag of 
the churning balls in the great hairy sack. Don’t look, babies, while the 
man feels mama’s ass, teasing her asshole, rubbing the fire building just 
past the winking pucker. He’s a dirty rapist, a foul animal, a sodomite, an
evil man who cannot be resisted for your sakes. Don’t blame mama when she 
melts into a quivering heap, moaning and mewling as he fucks her half out 
of her poor sensibilities. Don’t look. You either, God.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The others called him Leo; this revealment was only the first shock. 
Carolina on the tripod-mounted Bolex, Jody on the creepy-peepy and Sam 
clearing the power circuits and arranging the lights as Leo ordered. 
Crushed with shame at being forced to watch, Marcia cringed, her eyes 
closed. At least, at first. It wasn’t the attraction of the kitchen scene, 
it was the words Leo used to direct Olga Beresnev’s movements. Marcia’s 
eyes snapped open.

“Pop your ass, Olga, make the cheeks bounce, then turn a little to your 
left and reach back to re-tie that little apron. Get the tit, Carrie, and 
Jody, walk that lens right up to full frame when her asshole winks. Easy, 
Olga, not so fast, and sigh.

Now, back to your potato peeling, but make it look like you’re thinking 
of something else. Stand on one leg and squeeze your thighs together-that’s
right, now the other leg. Look toward the kitchen door, smile and pant once
or twice. Then hunch like you were riding a cock, and go on peeling. 
Remember, you’re waiting for a delivery man. All right, Carrie, pan her 
down and up. Move around, Jody, get a profile of those tits and the way her
ass is pooched out like a mare’s butt. Easy, Olga, don’t look at Jody. 
Slowly, boy, and get that ass good! Fine, ease back and both of you fade 
out.”

“I was all right?” Olga asked, turning so Marcia caught her first glimpse
of the tribade’s monstrous clitoris, standing out in gnarled stiffness from
the purple lips of Olga’s hairy cunt.

“Remember to move slowly and you’ll be fine. All right, Mallory, you’re 
on. Come in from the pantry door, smiling and strutting. Stop in the 
doorway so Jody and Carrie can get a full half minute of pan on you-and 
keep smiling! Breathe heavy, shift your belly. Remember, you’re a hot cunt 
who is expecting a boy friend any minute. When I signal, walk over and pat 
Olga’s ass, showing yours. You talk animatedly to Olga, look at your 
wristwatch and pat her ass again. Then you turn and walk right up to 
Carolina’s lens, smiling, licking your lips and rolling that ass. Jody, get
low and wind out. I want you on sixty-four frames for slow motion and don’t
stop until her cunt bangs your lens-shade! All right, Mallory, get to it!”

“Iw-willnot!”

“Listen, I’m trying to shoot this in continuity to keep a mood going. But
there’s nothing to stop us from doing five hundred feet with Chat up your 
ass. Maybe then you’ll get the point!”

“F-from the pantry door?”

“From the pantry door. And smile. Roll your ass and flop your tits. Pat 
Olga’s ass with a loose middle finger, but don’t go too deep.”

Blindly, with more histrionics than she had ever required before, Marcia 
did as Leo had directed. She was talking to Olga with the proper animation 
when Leo broke in. “Fine, fine, but don’t just talk. Pick up one of Olga’s 
tits and kiss it to one of yours. Grin, Olga, and hunch your ass again. 
Mallory, bend down and kiss the nipple kind of playfully. Remember, this 
for fun, not funerals!”

The final exit, her hips rolling, her tits flopping and her crotch aimed 
directly for Jody’s lens was almost more than Marcia could stand. Out of 
the action, she stood trembling, her face covered with nervous hands, her 
body shaking in revulsion for what had begun. But it wasn’t the end, barely
the beginning. Compared to what came next, the first scene was merely 
patty-cake. Jody relinquished his creepy-peepy to Sam and donned the white 
jacket of a green-grocer’s delivery man. Poised at the door, a loaded sack 
in one hand, the other on the knob as if he had just entered, the action 
began.

Olga looked at him with surprise and pleasure as he came forward. He set 
the sack on the table and closed with the woman, who was larger than he and
taller. His hands went around and cupped her massive nates, his mouth went 
to her tits, sucking audibly and greedily. Leo was close in, the portable 
camera aimed up to get the furious struggle Jody was putting up to lick and
hunch and caress the big Slavic woman. Marcia watched with burning eyes, 
unblinking, unbelieving. No direction from Leo was required. Olga suddenly 
sagged to her knees and while Jody removed the jacket, she opened his 
trousers and took out his prick, the size of which so surprised Marcia that
she gasped. It was nearly a foot long and as thick as her wrist, a white 
column of closely circumcised flesh, tipped with a small pointed head which
flared from a scarlet shank. Olga’s body writhed and bobbed as she kissed 
the head, licked it and slapped her face with it, then in obvious 
non-acting, opened her broad mouth and half swallowed the huge prick. Jody 
was not acting either. He held her head, humped and plunged and while the 
cameras ground for a full minute, Marcia watched with hideous fascination.

“Cut!” Leo snapped. “Don’t blow him off, Olga. We need that hard-on a few
more minutes. You okay, Jody?”

“Shit! The broad is a human vacuum cleaner! Okay.”

“Okay, Olga. Bust that egg and inhale the white. Let it dribble from your
mouth as you stand up, then suddenly lick it all in and go into a clutch 
with Jody. Now!”

It was so real, so close to many memories Marcia had that her quivering 
skin broke with a fine bead of perspiration. She watched them enact the 
false orgasm, the eruption from her broad lips of a flood of mock come. The
cameras followed her unsteady rising, and her amazonian embrace of Jody, 
his cock standing high and hard against her heaving belly. Olga took over 
again, petting him, releasing his pants, and finally, stripping them down 
as she kissed his cock and licked into the indentation of his navel. In 
this action, her clitoris jumped out and vibrated in eagerness and Leo 
called a halt.

“That fucking thing is a nuisance,” he growled. “It’s so damned big it 
doesn’t look real! All right, we’ll go the kiester route, Jody. Olga, just 
be sure not to turn too much. Load her over the table, Jody. Look at your 
watch first, shake your head as if you were behind schedule, then bang her 
in the ass. I’ll pick up her splayed tits and facial expressions. Carrie, 
be sure to level in on the cock going in. Slow, Jody, so we get the whole 
action of her asshole.”

Marcia’s knees wavered. She moved sideways and sank into a straight 
chair. Her tits thumped with excited blood, her thighs refused to close, 
lest the pulsating of her drooling cunt choke her. They had been filming 
less than thirty minutes and all she wanted was Jody’s thundering cock, 
Leo’s, or in a pinch, Chattel’s. She stared in terror as Jody began his 
assault up Olga’s ass. He was not acting. He parted the monstrous cheeks 
with shaking hands, pressing his thumbs into the soft flesh, depressing the
slack pucker right then left. His cock was up-angled, pulsing visibly for 
the color film. Sweat poured off of his face, due to intense excitement and
to the powerful lights. Olga’s legs kicked out with genuine eagerness, 
exposing the dripping bottom corner of her cunt but not the clitoral shape,
depressed upward under her belly. She could hardly rest on the table, her 
huge tits lay in deformed pillows under her chest and her arms supported 
much of her weight.

Jody’s dry cock would not go up her asshole, so he slipped it into her 
cunt, hunched and rolled several times, which caused Olga to jump and bob, 
then he drew his cock out, gleaming and swelling, and with no 
preliminaries, rammed it three or four inches up her ass. Olga screamed; 
Marcia nearly fainted with desire as Jody began to pump, screwing his cock 
deeper with every lunge. When it was completely buried, he rested, letting 
Olga’s frenzied reactions fuck member in short, jerking spasms.

“Cut it,” Leo commanded.

“Ah shit!” Jody grunted.

“No, no, no!” Olga protested. “I fuck him good, good!”

“Haul it out, Jody. Lay still, Olga, while he breaks another egg in your 
ass. What the hell’s wrong with you, Carrie?”

The thin dark girl looked at Marcia. “Same thing that is wrong with her, 
Leo! But I’m okay. Just let me get over the first heat, huh? Anyway, I’ve 
got to reload.”

Hating herself, Marcia looked around at the others to see if it was 
getting to them as it was to her. They were in the living room now, 
preparing for her first big scene. Leo was to be her first stud of the day;
lights and reflectors were set up and all seemed ready. But there were some
differences hardly an hour old. Laughter came too easily, on a hysterical 
note, from Carolina, from the half-fucked Olga, from Sam even from Leo. 
Jody hadn’t put his pants back on, his half-hard cock contained only by his
shorts. The heat from the lights had turned Chattel’s ebony skin to wet, 
gleaming sateen. He fondled his cock, still sheathed in the tight trouser 
leg. Even Leo, arranging the old sofa for proper camera angles, moved 
jerkily.

Breathless with terror, Marcia listened to her instructions. She was to 
act as if she heard a knock on the door. This was to excite her terribly. 
She would go to the door, smiling, rolling, wriggling, check her tits for 
pulsing solidity, pat her cunt while she bobbed her ass, then reach for the
door knob. There would be a quick cutaway to Olga, peeking around a door 
casing, then back to Marcia, and to Leo, who would pretend to have just 
closed the door. Then the clinch. Marcia shivered. The clinch was what she 
was afraid of. Her resistance was already shattered; in an hour or so, she 
had already gotten used to exposing her naked bottom and golden-haired 
crotch. Jody’s cock hadn’t lost its fascination, but she accepted its 
flopping presence, just as she had accepted Olga’s barbaric nudity. In only
a few mad minutes, Marcia’s scale of evaluations had been shattered. Cocks 
and cunts and winking assholes were as standard as the words Leo used to 
get them lined up as he wanted them. It all seemed very business-like, even
professional, until Marcia remembered that Leo had not volunteered any 
instructions about the scenes that were to directly follow the clinch. 
Perhaps he thought he could whisper directions in her ear as they played 
the part of lovers. Perhaps, she thought, he had already guessed that all 
that had gone before had turned her nerves, her brain and her revulsions 
into a quivering mass of raw desire, so alien to her normal character she 
could not stand to think about herself.

“You ready, Mallory?” Leo demanded, his voice husky.

Marcia swept the room with fluttering vision. Faces, hot eyes,-squirming 
bodies, tense waiting. They were going to watch her enact a series of total
obscenities, so vile she barely knew the gutter names for them. Her skin 
crawled, her mind cried for help, sudden disaster, the Bomb, anything to 
obliterate the impending minutes. She suddenly realized she didn’t really 
care if they watched. She cared only that they might not know how much she 
needed anything Leo did to her-or what her boiling sensuality desired to do
to him.

“I’ll pop with a belt of brandy if it will help,” Leo said.

Marcia stared at him. She couldn’t believe the gentle tone of his voice, 
almost reassuring, or at least, understanding. The fire in his eyes she 
believed, and when Jody brought a bottle, she waved it away, still meeting 
Leo’s gaze with speculative eyes. When he smiled, she gained hope. 
Underneath this cold, money-hungry skin, below the filth and ugliness of 
this enterprise, a man breathed and moved and felt. For a moment, the real 
Marcia Mallory revived, cool, calculating and mistress of her own destiny.

“I can stand it if you can, Leo,” she said. “Let’s go!”

His kiss, with open mouth and searching tongue, turned Marcia to jelly, 
and when she nibbled at his tongue and drove it back into his mouth with 
her own, she saw his eyes flutter with the impact of her response. 
Instantly, the massive pool of brilliant lights in which they stood became 
the world. The shadows, the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional 
scuff of a nervous foot ceased to exist.

Marcia held the kiss. His body was big and strong and hot against her 
naked flesh; her tits mushroomed, pounding with surging blood, her belly 
lay hard to his, feeling the monstrous bulge of his instantly swollen cock.
She quivered as his hands smoothed down her arched back, rolling under her 
taut ass to cup and lift her to him, to mold and knead the twin mounds, 
separating them, pressing them, adoring the sensual mobility. Helpless to 
resist the overwhelming fire that began in her quaking cunt and spread 
upward through her tortured body, Marcia lay against him, totally 
surrendered to the insane moment. When he turned her, fingers digging in 
caressive waves between her nates, she let her feet drag out, her trembling
thighs pressing hard to his. Then he lowered her to the sofa and sat 
himself, pulling her into his arms to cradle her bare shoulders and press 
her flaming tits to his chest. His hand went under her arm and his fingers 
closed possessively, nearly with cruelty, into the white flesh, and he 
closed her gasp of momentary agony with his hot wet mouth. Then his free 
hand smoothed around her belly to the flare of her hip, working the white 
skin with distorting force as it slipped over and around the trembling 
contours. She knew when he was going to find her cunt by the wandering 
course of his fingers over her thigh and inward, pressing the soft inner 
flesh of her thigh, then creeping in to ruffle the golden curls. 
Whimpering, Marcia moved her leg, and then the warm, strong and knowing 
fingers moved in, petting the lips of her cunt, rubbing fire into their 
puffed shape, and finally, sliding down and in, two big fingers, delving 
into the oozing tissues, rubbing in and out and around in a way that sent 
streaks of ecstasy through her taut body. For a moment, the fact of his 
fingers fucking in her cunt caused her to freeze in terror, then she let go
of her fright and began to hunch and roll to the rhythm of his caress. As 
she released her eagerness, her leg slowly raised and raised until she was 
wide open, fucking frantically as his kiss dulled her senses to everything 
but lust. Sweat broke out on her quivering skin; the heat was stifling but 
she had forgotten about the boring lights, the humming cameras, the five 
million dollars this moment and others were sure to cost. And when his 
fingers left her cunt, wandering down the now wet crevice to the tight 
pucker of her asshole, she gasped and drew her upraised leg up in a 
jack-knife fold, holding her breath as his finger smeared her own juices 
over the winking aperture. She burned, working her ass in small 
undulations, fighting the urge to scream in ecstasy as his finger depressed
the rubbery flesh, touching the sensitive pink she strained to open to him.
Then the first joint of his forefinger was in her asshole, wriggling, 
teasing and vibrating. Marcia cried at its smallness. She suddenly thrust 
her hand down under her belly and felt for his cock, a thick, pole-hard 
shape in his stylish trousers. In frantic need, she shifted and so did Leo,
and she fumbled his zipper down, scrambling his belt open to unsnap the 
band of his trousers. Her hand pushed the cloth, her fingers feeling the 
hard mound of his groin, thickly haired, hot and heaving, and then his cock
sprang free, the rock-hard shaft laying in her palm like a primitive club. 
She smelled his cock, the heady odor of man and body heat, and with the 
feel of his screwing finger in her asshole, the hot throb of his cock in 
her hand, Marcia lay in coiled awkwardness and moaned her passion into his 
tireless kiss.

It wasn’t all she wanted but it was more than she wanted to relinquish, 
even for the moment it might take to turn over and impale her vacant, 
gaping cunt on the fist-thick head of his member. Suddenly, reality struck 
her like a hammer.

“For Christ’s sake, Leo, hold up for a minute. I’m ready for reload!”

Marcia looked. Jody was kneeling not a yard away, the powerful lens of 
his portable camera aimed directly at her ass. Knowing something about 
movie cameras, she suspected that his lens was getting not only the drama 
of Leo’s finger in her ass, but her open, oozing cunt and her hand stroking
his cock into super-swelling. Marcia cursed under breath at the 
interruption. Leo seemed reluctant to let her go, but when she dropped her 
leg and straightened up, he followed. Jody shrugged and backed away, his 
expert fingers already working to remove the exposed reel in the expensive 
creepy-peepy.

“Oh God,” Marcia panted, dropping her head so her thick blonde hair 
became a blessed curtain between her shame and the leering audience. The 
lights went out with a slow fading of overheated elements. The momentary 
cool was sweet. Then Marcia realized Leo’s arm was still around her 
shoulders, his fingers toying pleasantly with her aching tits.

“You were great,” he whispered. “I almost forgot-”

Marcia looked at him, her nerves in wild disarray. “Well then, you 
fucking Methodist! What are you waiting for?”

Leo stood up. The lights came on, the camera hum resumed. Blinking now, 
Marcia stared as Leo began to remove his clothing, jacket first, then his 
tie and shirt. His cock stood out through his fly, swaying, bobbing and 
pulsating, the head flaring and jerking. A new wave of uncontrollable 
desire flooded Marcia’s body and she dropped out of the world of dirty 
movies and back into the sex-trap as if there had been no interruption at 
,all. She extended her shaking fingers, flute-touched the huge cock, then 
swept Leo’s trousers down to a pile of wrinkles around his ankles. He 
kicked one foot free, then the other, causing his cock to wave and the huge
sack of sperm-puffed balls to swing against the hairy inner rounds of his 
muscular thighs. Then he stepped forward. Marcia turned her head away, 
tossing her hair, letting the agony of her desire draw her eyes and mouth 
into a mask of suffering.

Then she shuddered, her hands going to her bouncing tits as she slowly 
brought her face back to the level required to accept his steaming cock in 
the open, pursed and drooling cavity of her lips. She wetted only the head,
rolling her lips and tongue around the helmet-shaped flesh, darting her 
tongue tip to the moist eye, licking the under rounds of the perfectly 
formed glans and finally opening her mouth enough to push forward and 
accept the pulsing form, her lips closing possessively around the scarlet 
shank between the thick foreskin and the naked head. Her mouth worked, her 
throat swallowed, then she gripped his cock with one hand and cupped his 
balls with the other. Her head began to fuck, her hand stroked the foreskin
in jerky tempo, and her ass began to tighten and hump, moving her burning 
torso in rhythm to her avid sucking and stroking. Now Leo’s hands on her 
back crept up and his palms closed gently on either” side of her face. His 
body trembled, and with slow authority, he began to fuck her mouth, 
dragging his cock out until her frantic lips held only the tip of the 
gleaming head, thrusting in, running the underside of his cock over her 
flattened tongue until the head touched the back of her throat, threatening
to gag her before it withdrew. In and out, wetly sloshing, pumping as her 
lips dragged over the sweet shapes and her throat swallowed the massive 
flow of saliva the musky taste excited from her glands.

She heard several husky murmurs from the shadows. She didn’t care. Let 
them look, let them photograph her hunger for Leo’s cock. Let them fart and
jack-off or fuck each other or drop dead.

She was not going to stop, was not going to let them break an egg and 
make her inhale the white so the icky could drool from her lips in false 
evidence of come. She was going to suck Leo off, and to appease them, she 
might turn and open her mouth to show Jody’s lens the thick, sticky, 
boar-flavored come on her tongue, but after that, she was going to fill her
mouth with Leo’s cock and make him ram the nectar down her throat. Fuck 
them all, fuck them all, she thought.

But no one spoke a word, nor did Leo try to stop her when she intensified
her sucking to match the sudden jerking that warned her of his climax. She 
clung to his cock, working his balls to aid the spurting, and then she felt
the first convulsion, the first hesitancy as his exquisitely tortured 
nerves let go. The hidden tube in his cock rippled under her thumb and she 
sucked smoothly. None the less, it surprised her. It didn’t come in a 
sudden spew, it came in a long stream, filling her mouth, washing around 
her teeth and tongue and pumping back, forcing her to swallow furiously 
which virtually milked his cock and caused Leo to groan and fold forward 
over her bowed back. Lost in ecstasy, Marcia clung to him, stripping the 
underside of his cock in an attempt to drink the last dribbling strings of 
come. Her belly rolled and knotted and she spread her legs as far as her 
strained hips would permit. Her cunt bubbled, then was stricken with a 
frenzy of convulsions. Mouth clamped tightly around Leo’s cock, she relaxed
every muscle in her body except the unrelaxable ones around her cunt. The 
come was devastating, exquisite and painful, and she could feel every 
nerve, screaming eagerly, jumping and dying as her come thudded slowly to a
fading pulsation. Leo’s cock slipped wetly from her nerveless lips, her 
head drooped, and in total exhaustion, Marcia fell back on the sofa, her 
tongue weakly licking her swollen lips to claim every taste left by Leo’s 
musky come.

She heard words-exclamations, lewd gasps of laughter. She didn’t care. 
She felt Leo’s fingers, closing her cunt, petting her thighs and belly and 
soothing her aching tits. She supposed they were filming her debilitation. 
Suddenly a rolling gasping laugh escaped her weary lips. After fourteen 
years of careful planning, of cautious image-making, the world would know 
that Marcia Mallory was an accomplished and enthusiastic cocksucker.

“Oh God, I’m dead!” she wailed.

“You’ll feel better after tea,” came Leo’s cold assurance.

Any hope of respite was smashed the moment the spots died out and the 
overheads showed Marcia what her passionate exploitation of Leo’s cock had 
done to his crew. Carolina stood like a wet rag, her blouse open to the 
waistband of her skirt, her flat tits exposed as spike-tipped pads of 
brown-black flesh. Jody had removed his shirt and stood in his undershorts,
his cock a stone-hard column of throbbing flesh standing out through the 
fly. Sam was stripped to the waist, and the front of his trousers was 
bulged significantly. But it was Chattel, the now-naked black man, and 
Olga, who had gone the farthest.

She was on her hands and knees over a petit point stool. She was a mass 
of hanging flesh, her tits draped over the stool, her arms supported her 
bowed back and her belly hung and swayed as Chattel pumped hard and 
rhythmically against her flabby ass. Marcia couldn’t see where his cock 
was, but from Olga’s eagerness for Jody’s member up her asshole, Marcia 
thought the Negro was sodomizing the slatternly woman. They were both faced
to the sofa; the idea of them indulging in violent buggering while they had
watched her suck Leo off made her tremble with a strange new emotion, only 
slightly tinged with revulsion.

“Knock it off, Chat,” Leo commanded. “Or can you?”

The laughter was instant, lewd and pitched as high as the crew’s nerves. 
Chattel seemed to have not heard. He was sweating and grunting and driving 
Olga into writhing response. She reared back, waving her ass, panting 
loudly and groaning with delight. Jody swung around and aimed his camera. 
Sam turned a stand light and flipped the switch. Hypnotized by the 
obscenity, Marcia could not help absorbing some of the excited interest. 
Leo stood, naked and huge, his feet apart and his back slightly arched so 
that his half-hard cock hung out like a weary snake. Marcia quivered. She 
didn’t even mind when Leo put one strong arm about her shoulders, drew her 
close and fondled her right tit, now beginning to throb again.

It was getting to some point, Marcia could see. Chattel was now lying 
close to Olga’s back, his spine curling under, his shining muscular ass 
hunching in short, brutal lunges. His black arms closed under Olga, 
gathering her sloppy belly high, sending ripples of loose skin and fat over
his forearm. His mouth dripped saliva, his tongue lolled like a dog’s, and 
at every stroke, Olga gasped a Slavic word, shaking her head in ecstatic 
frenzy.

Caught suddenly by a wrenching convulsion, Marcia turned her face into 
Leo’s armpit. The sudden fragrance of his sweat gave her another spasm, and
as she huddled, frightened, excited and confused, her tongue crept out to 
taste the damp wet hair. It made Leo twitch, and she instinctively knew he 
had taken his cock in his free hand, to stroke it as she licked his sweat, 
or to ease the tension Chattel’s lusty fucking had created.

“Look,” Leo commanded. “Check that, Mallory!”

Marcia looked. Olga’s body seemed stricken with violent jerking, and her 
raised face showed a stunned, cow-like placidity as she slowly fell 
sideways. Chattel, obviously caught in a herculean orgasm, let her body 
slip away from his paralyzed arms. His spurting cock slipped out of Olga’s 
asshole with a “sloush,” and the single light showed the spew and 
trajectory of his come, white globs of sticky fluid flashing out and down 
to splatter on Olga’s quivering body. Carolina let a shriek of nervous 
laughter escape her dry mouth. Jody, poised a few feet from the twisting 
bucking Negro, let his camera lower slowly as his back bowed and his hips 
began to jerk. His cock lifted and seemed to spit, like an angry snake, and
the creepy-peepy operator pumped his wasted come onto Olga in seemingly 
endless streams.

“Oh shit!” Carolina screamed, and her thin hands tore at her blouse, then
her skirt. In the final moments of Jody’s dying come, she shrugged her thin
body into nakedness and hurled herself into Sam’s arms. “Everybody fucks!” 
she wailed. “But Carolina! Come on, Sammy! Spike my bloody fucking ass to 
the goddamned floor!”

It was a good cock, Marcia saw, but hardly in the same class with 
Chattel’s softening monster, or the beautiful up-angled column standing 
from Leo’s hairy groin. Carolina went down on it, but with no deliberation,
almost as if she craved the taste and the feel without caring whether or 
not Sam enjoyed her slobbering lips or not. He staggered back, knees 
catching on a chair that tripped him to a seat. Carolina came on, but she 
landed on him with thin, straddled legs, her cunt neatly sheathing his cock
as she clamped her spidery arms around his shoulders. Marcia stared at the 
cheekless ass, bobbing, waving and undulating with inhuman fury.

“Oh, Leo!” Marcia panted. “Oh, let’s go, let’s go!”

He turned her into his embrace and she tried to climb his torso to get 
his cock between her legs, to feel some fierce clubbing shape in her 
flaming cunt. Leo chuckled like an arrogant schoolboy but he didn’t help 
her. Wailing with want, gasping in frustration, Marcia clamped her thighs 
and nested his cock between the taut muscles and the pleading lips of her 
cunt, then she began to dryfuck him, panting with eagerness as her swollen 
clitoris raked and raked the top of his throbbing cock. How long she 
lasted, Marcia did not know, but the orgasm was excruciatingly wonderful, 
turning her body into sweating spastic frenzy while Leo held her to his 
chest, his lips brushing her tousled hair, his throat humming with unspoken
words of encouragement.

Tea was a secondhand orgy. Recovered, Olga served it, laughing when one 
of the men patted her ass or pinched the ridiculous appendage thrusting 
from her big cunt. They all talked about Marcia’s sucking technique, about 
Chattel’s massive cock, and about Jody’s impromptu orgasm. The words were 
filthy, the themes were obscene, and Marcia hated herself for joining in 
and even liking it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tea over, they moved back into the living room. Returning to a set was no
novelty to Marcia, but this one seemed not to be a set. Nor did the cooled 
and washed crew seem impersonal. No one had put clothes back on, no one 
seemed willing to even try a resumption to normal. Standing by the sofa, 
her body a flashing, voluptuous loveliness in the powerful lights, Marcia 
looked down at Leo, slouched on the sofa, his massive cock lying in half 
relaxation across one thigh.

“Well?” she demanded,, smiling for the benefit of Carolina’s panning 
camera.

“Do it any way you want to, Mallory.”

It was a cold challenge, but it struck some chord of vanity within 
Marcia’s actress soul. She had hit bottom sucking that splendid cock; aware
now of Jody’s skill with the close-up lens, she knew that there was a reel 
or two in which he had faithfully recorded each expression of her face, 
each movement of her lips and throat, even to the exquisite moments when 
she had sucked and sucked Leo’s cock while her own cunt had gasped and 
drooled like the mouth of a dying fish. It had been so graphic, so real 
that the crew had collapsed into a mass of fucking, sucking jelly. They all
thought she had gone the limit; there was no limit if the burning desire in
her belly were any sign of what was left. Then she remembered this was a 
dirty movie, not just a publicly witnessed fucking session. All right, 
she’d give them dirty frames, exciting views and spine-shattering action. 
She took a position in front of Leo, her legs spread widely, black-netted 
columns of curved flesh, meeting the hairy mound so beautiful split by her 
dark scarlet cunt. The lips were puffed, swollen into rolls of quivering 
flesh by the furious dryfucking she had given Leo. Her hips began a lewd 
rolling, nearly a burlesque grind and she slowly bent forward at the waist.
Her hands slipped back to splay over the fat cheeks of her perfect ass and 
as her hips rolled one way, she rolled the hot shapes in the opposite 
rotation. When she was sharply angled at the waist, she separated her nates
pulling them until her asshole was exposed to Jody’s creeping camera. Her 
head ducked, looking back between the swaying balloons of her tits. She saw
Jody go lower to shoot under her gyrating body to include Leo’s gradually 
stiffening cock in the frame. Furiously, in time with the nights of mental 
desire, she tightened her asshole, then held her breath and strained, 
swelling it outward, pursing the expanded pucker to eager semi-slackness 
before tightening it again. Then Marcia began to turn, exposing her 
profile, ass out-thrust and, finally she was facing the cameras, her ass 
but a foot or so from Leo’s face. Again she worked the cheeks of her ass 
and the way her belly pulsed was graphic proof that she was showing her 
lover the same sweet vista the camera had just recorded. Looking under 
herself, she could see Leo’s cock, returned to its fierce rigidity, but 
even more impressive because of the swollen, irritated head and the 
fattened foreskin. Marcia straightened up, swirling her tits, grinding in 
the dirtiest dryfuck she could manage. Her womb rolled, her cunt milked in 
eager frustration, and she stepped back, coming to a slow seat on Leo’s 
belly, his cock standing up before her cunt, as if to measure the 
impossibility of her belly accepting the massive organ. Leo’s arms closed 
around her, his hands gripping her tits with power enough to force hot 
white bulges between his big fingers. Marcia threw her legs out until the 
thigh tendons stood out in strain. She hunched, holding her cunt open so 
the lips fitted around the throbbing shank as if biting the glorious 
column. She began to tense and relax the cheeks of her ass, causing her 
belly to rise and fall and the wet, swollen lips to slide up and down Leo’s
cock in short wet strokes. It was precisely the dryfuck she had stolen, 
riding his chest, but now her crotch was spread, and the play of the giant 
penis was completely exposed to the cameras. Every once in awhile, the cock
slipped free of the hot, slippery cunt mouth. Marcia would hold her cunt 
open and fit herself anew, then fondle and squeeze the massive head, 
opening its eye with a gentle pinch and stripping it up from the fat sack 
of balls to wet the gaping eye with Leo’s oozing. Finally, her clitoris 
could stand no more. Panting, she wriggled back on Leo’s torso, letting his
cock angle back, jerking and swaying as her cunt relinquished its bite. 
Smiling, panting to show her darting tongue, Marcia reached down between 
suddenly upraised legs. She took the huge cock in the vee of two fingers, 
using her thumb to tease her cunt open. Like a bride, she beat her drooling
flesh with the huge club, then as if in doubt, she guided it down to deform
the friable head in the softness of her powerfully winking asshole.

“For Christ’s sake, put it somewhere!” Leo gasped, his breath hot on her 
neck and shoulder. “I’m going to blow it off on your belly.”

“Schoolboy,” she hissed, then with a lurch and a swift movement of her 
guiding hand, she buried the head of his thundering cock in the deep canal 
of her cunt. To show it all, she moved her hands to her low abdomen and 
began to massage the soft flesh, causing her hips to slide forward in jerks
that slowly eased the throbbing cock into her cunt. She played then. 
Holding her outer lips in separated strain, she revealed the hot tight 
circle of inner flesh stretched around the wrist-thick shaft. She tingled 
her bulging clitoris with the ball of her forefinger. She petted the 
partially arched shank of Leo’s organ, rolling his balls and fingering them
to show how they floated in the sperm-inflated sack.

Then she began to fuck down, screwing his organ ever deeper. Leo humped 
up in eagerness, bouncing her tits and causing her out-flung legs to wave. 
And Marcia forgot to act.

She ignored the movement in the room, the familiar gasps and grunts were 
of no importance. She didn’t even notice when the lights moved to broaden 
their beams. All she knew was that in her belly a massive burning club was 
thumping and churning the greedy, sex-starved tissues. She could feel her 
guts rise as the huge intruder shoved deep, and she moaned as the 
withdrawal gave her an empty, eager feeling only the next thrust could 
satisfy. As her heat expanded, she pulled her legs in and straightened them
in an upright angle from her belly. The pressure of her thighs made her 
cunt lips pout and deform around the sawing cock, and the pressure also 
made her clitoris bunch down hard. She gasped in thrill, suddenly no longer
in command of the fuck. When Leo rolled her over, following her with his 
hips, she didn’t care. When he raised her top leg to expose his cock 
fucking into her, she remembered. She rolled her head, clawing wildly at 
her own tits, showing her face in every contortion related to passion, 
acting not at all.

“Ten seconds, Leo,” came Carolina’s warning.

Marcia cried out as Leo jerked his nearly bursting cock from its seeking 
nest. “In, Jody, in!” Marcia screamed. Then the come exploded from between 
her parted legs, almost into Jody’s lens. Her belly bucked, rolled, pumped 
as her cunt lips hardened and distended, and Marcia was stricken with a 
spasm of hunching fuck movements that built the ecstasy into endless 
climaxes, then slowed in soothing as her groans of excruciating delight 
died away in short, harsh breaths. “Get it?” Leo demanded.

“The hottest come I ever filmed,” Jody husked. “I never saw a cunt open 
up and come out at me like that! Hell, I could see her uterus! Man, this is
the bloody-fucking end, I’ll tell you!”

“Smashing good show,” Sam agreed.

Marcia sat up, dazed by her own abandonment. Then she noticed the light 
differences and how far back Carolina’s Bolex was set. She suddenly became 
aware that something was wrong because Leo, still wearing the massive 
hard-on she had not been able to cool had moved back from her. Then she 
saw. A scream of horror escaped her lips. Fred, the big farmer who seemed 
to be a caretaker as well as Olga’s man, was urging Delia and Johnny 
through the door into the hallway. Both children were naked. She knew 
instantly that somehow they had been included in the long, lewd scene. She 
leaped to her feet, her mouth open to call their names, then the frightful 
situation hit her in the belly with all the impact of a charging bull. She 
whirled on Leo, her eyes flashing her mouth spitting curses.

“You dirty son-of-a-bitch! Oh God, what a filthy animal! My own children!
Watching their mother-oh, Leo, how could you do a thing like that? Why? 
What good-why should you want to destroy me, destroy my life. Why, why, 
why?”

He grinned. “Director’s touch,” he said. “Kids came on fine, too. The 
girl, Delia?-hanging on to her brother while he jacked off at his mother 
getting it but good. Sorry we didn’t have the little one but she was too 
limp to handle.”

“L-limp? What have you done to my children? Oh, you beast!”

Past caution, she turned to run after them. Leo caught her wrists, 
swinging her around and down on the sofa, her body a suddenly pitiful thing
as she was wracked with sobs. Huddled there, she fought to maintain her 
sanity, and she felt Leo kneel at her side, one knee firm against her lip. 
A moment of clarity came to her. He was naked, his cock stiff in unsated 
lust, his balls hanging heavy with sperm under the thick base. Even now, 
his hands were smoothing and petting the cheeks of her ass, kneading the 
plump rounds apart as his fingers crept into the half-hidden delights of 
her crotch. Whirl, she thought, grasp his cock with one hand and his balls 
with the other. Wrench and squeeze and tear at the sensitive flesh until he
screamed in agony. He would strike, hurt her terribly, but before he could 
knock her out, she’d cripple him for a long, long time.

Then her guts collapsed. Her children were here in this house, being 
used, abused perhaps, by a group of fiends. If she attacked Leo, even if 
she succeeded in hurting him, there was no telling how he’d retaliate. Kill
her, maybe. Leaving no one to look after Delia and Carmen and Johnny. She 
had no idea where Frank was, but he was obviously a prisoner. However thin,
she was the children’s only hope, and she dared not lose the small 
advantage her violent cooperation in the obscene enterprise had gained. She
rolled her ass under Leo’s fingers, then slowly drew her hips up as if 
eager for his lewdness. And suddenly, she was eager, eager to please Leo, 
to take his lust, in her asshole if that was what he wanted, but any way to
please him. To please the crew, scrawny Caroline, the panting Jody, and 
even the nigger, Chattel. If there was one escape from this horror, one way
to save her children, and in the end, herself, it was to soften them with 
admiration and sympathy. What Delia and John had seen was beyond removing 
from their childish memories; now she could only hope to save them further 
exposure to obscenity by being all Leo demanded, and perhaps more than he 
had counted upon.

He was leaning over her now, his hands smoothing and massaging her belly 
and tits, his cock thumping against her upraised ass. She could feel his 
body heat and smell of man mingled with her own cunt juices, settled in an 
aura around them. She turned a professional face to the cameras, eyes 
lidded with mock passion, mouth slack and wet as if she were already 
entranced by what seemed to be coming. Then as if unable to await Leo’s 
pace, she raised her ass and reared back to meet his taut belly muscles. 
His cock slipped low between her thighs, and she put one hand to it, 
stroking the foreskin, squeezing the throbbing head and pressing the shaft 
up into the gape of her hanging cunt lips. Holding him to her, she began to
massage her ass. Leo began to shape himself but she refused to let him go. 
He laughed at her game and she laughed back, holding herself to him while 
he struggled to bring his cock back and up to the deep, sweat-wet gash 
between her flexing buttocks. Abruptly then they were grunting and mashing 
bodies as they played at the game of try-and-evade. She lost her grip on 
his steaming cock when they fell sideways, and Leo became almost violent. 
He wrapped his arms around her heaving belly and began a brutal series of 
jabs, his cock poking Marcia’s ass and thighs in furious seeking. She 
twisted and anticipated his thrusts, and it occurred to her that the 
cameras were recording what seemed to be a hot wrestling match which the 
massive battering ram would surely win. Once, his cock did jab straight to 
her asshole, and she gasped at the abrupt pain, writhed her hips away, 
causing his cock to slide down and lunge into her tingling cunt. But this 
wasn’t what he sought, and he dragged it out, smearing her hot fluid on the
soft squirming flesh of her ass.

He was almost breathless; she sensed the pure exhaustion of a man being 
frustrated when he could afford only a little more fooling around. His 
hands were getting too rough under her belly, his nearly clean shaven chin 
was raking her back, and his attack was brutal. Marcia controlled the urge 
to still her elusive ass and let him fuck her, then a purely feminine fear 
mingled with a fiery desire to be raped. His swollen cock would rip her 
asshole asunder, perhaps wound her for life. As furious as he was, as hot 
for her bowel as his jabbing indicated, he couldn’t be gentle nor 
considerate. Marcia could almost feel the destruction of her bowel, the 
plunging, raking and distending.

“No, no, Leo!” she panted. “Not this way-there’s a better way-a hotter 
picture. You c-can have it, Leo, but let me show you the best way!”

“You bloody-fucking whore, hold still!” he growled.

“Please, Leo baby!”

He seemed past reasoning. His grip around her belly became agonizingly 
tight, his hips humped, his cock bruised the sweating flesh of her ass, 
mashed her cunt lips, poked in futile seeking for the elusive pucker. 
Genuine terror flooded Marcia and her evasive twists and wriggles became as
real as his brutal lust.

“Cut, Leo!” came Jody’s warning.

“Reload h-here, too, if I can handle the fucking f-film!”

Leo made one more jab at her ass, the jab that told Marcia his lust for 
her ass had almost superceded his bent for business. Slowly, his arms 
relaxed around her belly and his body raised from her back. He swore under 
his breath, then as if unable to control his anger, he slapped her still 
rolling ass so hard Marcia screamed.

“You fucking tart!” he said. “I ought to tie you down!”

Sam killed the lights. Carolina fumbled through the motions of changing 
reels. Jody sat back on his haunches, sweating furiously, his cock still 
hanging out through his shorts. Marcia leaned to Leo and took his cock in 
her left hand, not stroking it, but kneading it in her fingers to show him 
she was not unfriendly.

“What the fuck was the matter with you?” he asked. “You know what I want 
goes. Or shall I have Fred bring the kids back in?”

“No, no! Oh, Leo, that wouldn’t have been a good angle. Anyway, dry, your
cock just wouldn’t go up my ass and you know it. Have Olga bring something,
Vaseline if you have it, or face cream. Oh baby, if we’re going to shoot 
hot stuff, let’s shoot hot stuff!”

“A minute ago you called me a dirty-son-of-a bitch.”

“I know. But the kids have to learn about sex sometime. I just got 
excited. What did you mean about limp?”

“All three of them. I gave them a strong sedative-not a sleeping thing, 
but a harmless type of anesthetic. Won’t hurt them a damned bit and they 
probably won’t remember much when it wears off. You okay?”

Marcia blinked, his concern surprising her. “Yes, Leo.”

“You ever been fucked in the ass?”

“Does it matter?”

Leo turned and told Olga to bring a jar of petroleum jelly, “You guys 
ready?”

Carolina’s laugh was short and nervous. “Blimey, yes! But if she won’t 
give it to you, Leo, I will! Jesus, that was the hottest attempted 
buggering I ever saw!”

Marcia got to her feet, stretching her tired body to show them every 
charm she had. “Wait till you see it now,” she warned them. Then she turned
into Leo’s arms and lay her belly to his cock and teased him with dirty 
rotations of her hips. Olga brought the Vaseline and Marcia took it. She 
unscrewed the cap and tossed it aside.

“Okay, Leo. Let me set this one up?”

“Make it good,” he warned her.

Marcia turned to the others. “Get it all, because after this one, Leo is 
dead!”

Chattel’s laugh was loud and brash. “There’s still me, baby.”

Marcia shuddered. Then she told Leo how it was to be.

For continuity, they went back to the sofa in the same position they had 
been in when the reload was called. Leo eased his belly hug, but he could 
not resist making another playful jab or two before he let Marcia slip out 
of his grasp. She turned and with a convincing show of affection, kissed 
him soundly, her right hand petting and strengthening his cock as he mauled
her tits and her seemingly impenetrable ass. Then she slipped away and went
to the door, ostensibly calling Olga who brought the uncapped jar of 
vaseline. There was some horseplay with Olga’s tits and then Marcia went 
rolling and hunching back to Leo, slouched out now, his legs well apart, 
his cock standing in bristling stiffness from his hairy belly. Standing 
before him, her body dancing with a subtle rhythm that set her throbbing, 
pink tipped tits to swaying and rolling in tempo to the bob of her 
deliberately relaxed ass, Marcia stared down at the giant organ and turned 
sick with want. She had no concept of what had happened to her in the past 
twenty-four hours, but she started the sag of her knees that would bring 
her kneeling between Leo’s with the distinct feeling that nothing mattered 
but what she was going to do. The hum of the cameras blended with the pound
of blood in her ears; symphony of sex, prelude to lust. With a faint cry, 
Marcia leaned forward, tits swinging voluptuously, hips rolling, and took 
Leo’s cock in her saliva-oozing mouth. For just a second, she luxuriated in
the feel of his pulsating flesh filling her mouth. Then she raised, smiled 
in breathless adoration and said, “Now, baby, now!”

She raised the jar and scooped a big three-fingered gob of the gray 
lubricant, depositing the significant material on the head of Leo’s cock. 
Then another scoop which she left on the rigid shank by dragging her 
fingers over the top of it. Then a third gob before she set the jar aside. 
Slowly, lovingly, she began to work the overly applied Vaseline the length 
of his cock, more in the fashion of a masseuse than an impatient lover. She
was not impatient. She molded and spread the warming lubricant, from tip to
base, up and down, sliding her palm and fingers with easy strokes. The 
Vaseline rolled and piled, she smoothed it out to roll it and pile it again
and Leo’s face contorted with acute sensation. His cock gleamed and seemed 
to swell and distend through her slippery hand. The white turned whiter, 
the scarlet throat of his shank darkened and the pulsating head turned dark
red. Then Marcia put her other hand to the massive column and for a few 
seconds, manipulated his foreskin with a two-handed grip. After that, she 
began to work the excess grease down, rubbing it into the thick black hair 
of his groin, rolling it under to coat his sperm-filled balls. Little by 
little, she coated his entire groin with the Vaseline, flattening the stiff
hair to a sticky mat on his white skin. His breath came in deeper, faster 
heaves of his chest. His eyes widened, his mouth twitched at the mild but 
intriguing sensations of her spreading, molding fingers. She pushed the 
Vaseline higher, almost to his navel, then spread it out and down over his 
muscular thighs. After a few minutes, he was greased from belly to 
mid-thigh, and she went back to arranging the Vaseline in neatly fingered 
ridges just back of his coronal flare and over the blood-filled head. She 
even made a small ritual out of forcing a little of the now nearly liquid 
jelly into the eye of his cock. Then she straightened, gazing at the bare 
brutality of his monstrous phallic offering, seemingly half again as large 
as it was because of the flattened hair and the highlights from the stand 
lamps.

“Oh, Jesus, Jesus!” Carolina’s wail exploded. A husky murmur answered, 
feet shuffled.

Marcia reared back and came to her feet, every muscle in her body taut. 
She spread her tapered legs, arched her back and thrust her crotch forward 
as if in lewd offering. Then she began to smooth her low belly, her inner 
thighs, smearing the Vaseline over her flesh as she had done to Leo. 
Swiftly, she stooped and scooped another big gob from the half-empty jar, 
and after washing her hands in the thick lubricant, she turned her ass to 
the cameras and began to coat the plump cheeks with the palms of her hands.
The flesh slipped and bulged, turned into near liquidity by the applied 
Vaseline. She rubbed between the cheeks, pressing and forcing it into the 
crack, and down under to her inner thighs. She palmed and fingered it into 
her cunt, then deliberately middle-fingered a blob to her asshole, not in, 
but firmly enough to leave a gleaming layer over the winking pucker. In a 
moment, she was greased, belly, ass and thighs, and she straightened up, 
turning her greased golden crotch to the cameras as she used the last of 
her hand-coating to turn her throbbing tits to gleaming, jouncing bulbs of 
eager flesh.

She stood then, swaying and undulating in front of Leo. The grease had 
turned them both into vivid obscenities, increased the impact of nakedness 
and smoothed away the hair to emphasize the size of his cock and the 
openness of her cunt. Marcia snapped her ass in the best imitation of a 
strip teaser she knew, then held her hands to Leo. He took them and as she 
reared back, he swung up. Their greased bellies came together with an 
audible kiss. His hand went around to her ass and soon slipped and massaged
as hers had done. Marcia began to twist and turn, spinning in his greased 
hands, sliding her body against his in eel-like freedom from friction. Then
she kicked off her highheeled shoes and stepped up on the sofa, her body 
hunching, her back turning to Leo. Her well spread feet braced her as she 
began to bend her knees, dropping her greased ass lower and lower until she
was spread in the most accessible crouch possible.

“Slowly, baby,” she husked. “Come to me like it was fragile! Beat my ass 
with the head, slide it under, rub it into my cunt but don’t fuck it, then 
play back. No fingers, baby. Just tease my asshole with it, as if a cock 
kissing was the ultimate, sweet, gut-crunching end. Film okay?” she asked, 
turning her head.

“F-film?” Jody croaked. “Oh shit! Leo, I’m down to forty seconds! God, 
wait, wait. I’ve got to get all of this.”

“Play it out, baby,” Marcia said to Leo. “Take some more Vaseline and 
grease me from shoulders to stocking tops!”

She straightened her trembling legs, bringing her gleaming ass up in 
sharp bending. Leo slapped a big gob of lubricant on her back, then with 
both hands smeared it over her skin till she gleamed like a polished ivory 
goddess. The heat from her body and the stand lights turned the coating to 
near liquid and the manner of Leo’s petting, massaging hands showed the 
softness of her flesh as it depressed and rebounded under his strong 
fingers. Marcia was so excited she could hardly breathe. Her body had 
turned to heavenly fire, her skin tingled exquisitely. Her cunt jerked when
she saw Leo smear the rest of the vaseline over his own belly. In pure 
lust, Marcia reared and rubbed the cheeks of her ass on his heaving chest.

“Okay!” Carolina called.

“Go, kidlets!” Jody chimed in.

Once more, Marcia began the slow bending of her knees, spreading them, 
dropping her splayed ass lower and lower as Leo’s hands went to her hips in
slippery grasp. She was ready, her mind so fired by her own build-up she 
could wait no longer. When his up-angled cock bumped between the cheeks.

Marcia held still, except for the tremble of her knees and the swing of 
her tits. Leo’s hips moved slightly; the feel of his cock pressing her 
asshole made Marcia groan. Then Leo’s hands tightened on her hips and she 
felt the pressure. The flesh deformed, the hot head shaped a round hollow. 
In Marcia’s belly the emptiness was unbearable, her need for filling seemed
endless. There was no ram, no brutal thrust. When she thought her asshole 
must rip, it suddenly relaxed and the wondrous filling began. There was 
pain, but not sharp pain, only a feeling of being shaped around the massive
intruder. Then Leo was fucking, long, slow, unhesitant strokes, his greased
cock sliding in and out with piston tempo, his hands holding her close, his
belly smacking her nates as his balls swung to thump her gaping cunt. 
Marcia threw her head up and began to roll it; in profile, she was showing 
the world that a foot of cock pumping into her shining ass was the 
ultimate. Marcia Mallory, the biggest asshole in the world. But she loved 
it.

Now her body pulsated in delicious response to the thrust and bulge of 
Leo’s cock. Her cunt seemed to fill from the inside, pushing the hot pink 
flesh through the purple outer lips, sucking in as Leo withdrew until only 
the head ridge was hooked in her working ass. Her senses reeled with the 
slow build of her climax. The Vaseline eased tortured nerves, prolonged the
ecstasy. It was working for Leo too, because he seemed as steady now as at 
the beginning, yet not more than minutes ago, he had been ready to come 
against the ungreased cheeks of her ass. Her legs steadied, she leaned 
back, hanging on the unfailing rigidity of Leo’s coursing cock. Nothing 
seemed clear in her mind but the image of that monstrous shaft, sliding in 
and out of her eager ass, rippling the constriction of her bowel, sending 
hot steaks of fire to some greedy pool in her guts. Then she felt the 
sudden change, from sweet forever to presently. Her body tightened, her 
head dropped low as she began to seek the rapidly approaching come. Her 
fresh concentration of mind and body caused Leo to quicken his stroking. He
came in tight, her asshole closed firmly around the base of his cock where 
strands of greasy hair sent new and sharper pleasures rotating around her 
rectum. He held, and while Marcia’s secret and excited muscles milked his 
straining, throbbing cock, he reset his feet for the final moment of 
thrusting.

“You ready, Marcia?” he gasped. “Quick, now!”

If she hadn’t been ready, the use of her fist name would have done it for
her. “Yes, yes! Fuck me! Drag it back and fuck me with just a little of it 
until-until-Oh, yes! Oh, my dear sweet God, I’m coming. Ram, Leo, ram me!”

His grunt answered her scream, and his cock shot in and in until her 
convulsing bowel sent screaming pain into her chest. She felt the furious 
blow, the thick thudding of his come as it spewed. It rippled her taut 
asshole, then traveled the length of his cock like soft marbles, to pump 
deeper and deeper into her guts. Her own come was slower, beginning at the 
top of her empty cunt and descending to the quaking lips in a flutter of 
ecstasy. The waves went on and went on, her ass bucked and twisted and then
she felt Leo slowing, felt his cock sliding out as his knees sagged 
slightly. With a moan of reluctance, Marcia made one last screwing movement
to keep the hot intruder in place for her final moment of excruciating joy.
As her strength failed, she dropped her head. Directly under Leo’s greasy 
swinging balls, now drawn up in flaccid emptiness, the bold lens of Jody’s 
camera appeared, absorbing every twitch and wrinkle of the dying fuck. Leo 
moved, and to please Jody, Marcia pushed forward, taking one last, 
delicious thrill as Leo’s member slipped out of her ass with the last 
excitement of his coronal ridge as it deformed to pass out of her anus. A 
string of brownish-white come stretched, then snapped, to swing forward to 
her right inner thigh, joining the copious flow from her own drooling cunt.

Destroyed, Marcia collapsed in a huddle on the sofa, her bare ass thrust 
out to Jody’s camera. She felt the cool of air in the hard-fucked aperture,
then her body began to react and she let Jody run his film out as her 
asshole recovered and her cunt began to quiet. She had one silly fear; 
so-fucked, how could she ever be happy with anything but sodomy?

CHAPTER NINE

Leo led her to his bedroom, her shoulders clamped in the curl of his 
strong right arm. Back of them, she could hear the crew, laughing, talking,
and going into orgy. She didn’t care. Her body seemed numb, yet furiously 
alive. Leo lowered her bare ass to the bed and she folded forward, her face
in her greasy hands.

“Do you want to bathe?” he asked.

“No.”

“Me either. The Vaseline feels good. You okay? I mean, this 
son-of-a-bitch would strain a mare!”

“I’m all right.”

“Where did you learn that Vaseline routine? It nearly killed me, Mallory!
It seemed to me I was corn-holing you with my whole damned body!

That’ll be the greatest film ever shot unless those two fuck-happy jerks 
goofed up!”

Marcia raised her head. “What are you going to do with it once it’s 
processed?”

He grinned. “Sell it to you for five million-or send some prints to a lot
of your friends and fans. I’ve already told you, Mallory. I’m in business. 
Business and the best cocksucking, asshole poking afternoon of my life 
comes up high on my scoreboard!”

Tears filled Marcia’s burning eyes. “Oh. I thought maybe-”

“You thought maybe because you liked every minute of it, I was hooked, 
huh?”

Marcia sighed. “I should have known better. Well, you’ve got what you 
want. Can we leave here tonight? I know. I don’t dare call the law-but I’m 
s-sick, and I want my children out of this horrible place! I’ll have to see
you again about the film, I guess, but I can’t think r-right now! Please, 
Leo! Can we go tonight?”

He laughed in derision. “You dumb, fucking cunt! Certainly you can’t go 
anywhere tonight. Sure, you and I are through, but tomorrow is Chattel’s 
day. Marcia Mallory has two lovers, maybe three if I can get old Fred made 
up like a country gentleman! You got a lousy memory, baby. I said epic and 
I meant epic!”

“I c-can’t, Leo, I can’t go through it again, I can’t.”

He stepped forward and slapped her face with his swollen, but 
half-deflated cock. “No? Well, I’ve got a feeling that the minute Chat lays
his dong in your hand, you’re going to flip-just like you did today.”

Marcia sagged at the accusation; her shudder of self-hate was visible. 
“Oh God,” she muttered painfully. “Leo. Can I see my children? Please! And 
my husband, wherever he is? Please, Leo!”

He said no and she pleaded. He stood like a conquering God, smiling and 
torturing her with his adamant will. As hopelessness meshed with her 
self-revulsion, Marcia felt as if the world had come to a hideous end and 
she was being punished for her transgressions by a leering, naked Devil. 
Then she made a decision.

“I’ll give you the five million dollars,” she said. “Not a penny less or 
a penny more. Let me take my family out of this house tonight. Once in 
London, I’ll start my attorneys liquidating assets. You’ll have the whole 
five million in ninety days. By then you’ll have the filthy film you took 
today processed-what was it, a thousand, two thousand feet? Another two or 
three thousand feet won’t make it any more sensational, Chattel, Fred or a 
goddamned mule! Is it a deal?”

He stepped close, his hand going to her throat, curling up to pet her 
cheek. His cock hung precisely right to dangle against her weary tits, his 
knee pressed hers. “You tempt me, cunt, but I’ve got the fever now. I’m 
going to make an epic, or hadn’t I mentioned it before? I’ve the greatest 
star in the business and three of the biggest cocks this side of the Congo.
No, you can’t go home until I’ve done what I want to do with you! And don’t
worry, I’ll get my five million bucks-about three and a half minutes after 
you see what I’ll have on film at a private screening.”

Beaten, her head sagged forward, her sweat-damp forehead resting on his 
hard belly. Below her tear-filled eyes, his cock swung in thick promise, or
soul-smashing memory.

“You can stay here in my room tonight. I may join you later, after I’ve 
got the crew back in hand, but I doubt that you’ll mind. Marcia, you’re the
craziest, cock-hungry woman I’ve ever seen in my forty years! Oh, and try 
to think up another trick or two like the Vaseline. It’s your ass so you 
figure out how to use it!”

She spat down on his cock. He wiped it off on her cheek. As he left the 
room, her eyes followed him with fire sufficient to burn his big musclar 
body to wispy ashes. She found his bathroom and sat on the bowl for a long,
agonized time, straining to rid her body of every tainted remnant of his 
bestial lust. But she didn’t take a bath; the film of Vaseline on her body 
was like an insulation, a protection from reality. And it made her skin 
warm and soft, and soothed her jangled nerves. After a bit, she slept in 
utter exhaustion.

Jody and Sam had gone to London, carrying the precious first two thousand
feet of film. By midnight, it would be processed and stored in a secret 
vault. Olga had put on a dress and was retired to the kitchen to prepare 
the evening meal. Fred was off to town; the ice chest was too small to 
store the kind of groceries the houseful of people could consume. Leo, clad
only in a bulging pair of jockey shorts, sat at the dining room table with 
Chattel, equally garbed, and Carolina who wore no clothes at all. She was 
weary and well-fucked. The three of them were drinking Scotch, straight and
at room temperature. In front of Leo was a scribbled sheet of foolscap, 
itemized as best anyone could remember the day’s shooting.

“Greatest stuff we ever shot,” Carolina admitted. “But it bloody well is 
no smashing epic, Leo. There’s no bits-no between the scenes nasties. No 
artistry, if that’s the fucking word. You know what I mean? We ought to 
shoot a lot of flash stuff-Olga fucking herself with a bloody sweet potato.
And we sure ought to get that big old clit of hers working in a palpitating
cunt! Suppose Mallory would go for it?”

Leo grinned. “Mallory will go for anything I tell her to.”

“Now, just a goddamned bloody minute!” Chattel protested. “Tomorrow is my
day with that hot cunt! You get to fooling around with a lot of quick shit 
and I’m going to lose out! Maybe the next day you can shoot them there 
fillins, not tomorrow.”

Leo snorted. “Buddy, she’s going to bleach your black ass to snow white 
in about two hours! Anyway, this is business. Jack-off if you get too much 
pressure. Carrie, is Jody’s camera loaded?”

“Always. He’s a fucking opportunist, you know that.”

“Hour or so before dinner. Let’s shoot some quickie stuff.”

“With Mallory?” Chattel asked. “I thought you said she was screwed out.”

“Not with Mallory-with Mallory’s kids!”

“Ie-yi!” Carolina exclaimed. “You or Chat?”

“Both. We can edit it into the continuity later,” Leo said, his eyes 
narrowing. “Did you watch the little bastards this afternoon? Half full of 
scopolamine and goof-balls, they were plenty sharp. The boy ran up a 
hard-on a cat couldn’t scratch and that little broad hung onto his bare 
hide like a clam, her ass rolling and humping in perfect rhythm to 
Mallory’s. The junk should be worn off by now. Let’s get ‘em together in 
the gallery and let ‘em get started before we move in with the creepy 
peepy.”

“Man!” Chattel exclaimed, his eyes bugged.

“We need Sam for lights,” Carolina objected. “You guys aren’t going to be
worth a bloody shit once you get going with a thirteen-year-old girl!”

“Man!” Chattel repeated.

“Set a pair of floods and shoot the best you can. Chat, you carry the 
equipment down to the gallery. Come on, Carrie. I’ll bring the boy and you 
can handle the girl.”

“Screw that!” she laughed. “You get the girl and let me handle the little
fucker the way he ought to be handled. Let’s go.”

“You ought to have a skirt or something on. They see that dry-dock you 
call a cunt they might have a fit of the screaming-meemies,” Leo observed. 
“Skinned out, you look like a skinny boy who got his fixtures caught in a 
mower!”

“I love you too, you bloody-fucker!”

It was obvious beyond the necessity for a program but it surprised Leo 
and brought a whistle of understanding from Carolina.

Carmen Goddard was huddled in a corner, her face buried in her arms, 
weeping softly, not with hysteria but with steady, weary sobs as if she had
been crying a very long time. On the bed, two bodies lay in a significant 
stack. Delia’s legs were out in limp relaxation. She was asleep under her 
brother, who was lazily fucking with obviously dying enthusiasm. Hearing 
the door open, he rolled away from Delia, exposing his stiff cock, swollen 
with abuse and nearly raw from continual irritation.

“H-hello,” he ventured, trying to cover his groin with a blanket corner. 
“I never saw you before. I’m Johnny Goddard.”

“I’m Leo. This is Carrie. Your sister sick?”

“I guess so. That’s Carmen over there. She cries a lot.”

Carolina went to the small naked form in the corner, stooping to comfort 
the girl with her slim hands. The posture turned her cheekless ass to John,
exposing her slightly swollen asshole and big, droop-lipped cunt. His eyes 
opened in amazement. Leo went to the bed. Delia Goddard’s open crotch was 
strangely chilling to him. Her flat little belly curved up to the pubic 
mound where her little cunt lay open, wet and bruised, the inner flesh 
swollen in sensitive looking puffs, the nubbin of a clitoris snuggling in 
the bloated tissue. Low, almost closed, the wounded hole that started her 
vagina oozed come; it ran down the crack of her little ass and mingled with
some brown stains. John Goddard had fucked his sister into total collapse.

Leo started to laugh. “She wanted to see her kids,” he said to Carolina. 
“I should have let her! Why, this little stud has screwed his sister until 
she’s out like a damned light! How many times, kid? Come on! How many?”

“She liked it,” John said in defense of his quick chagrin. “But Carmen 
always cries when we do it. I don’t fool with her.”

“She’s clean,” Carolina agreed. “What do we do now, Leo?”

“W-what’s the matter?” Delia Goddard asked, suddenly sitting up. She saw 
the adults, then dragged her legs together and covered her crotch with 
shaking hands. “Oh! I know you. You were the man who was fucking Mama 
today! Is she all right? Will you tell her to please come see us? We’re 
awfully lonesome!”

Over his shoulder, Leo spoke to Carolina, now helping Carmen to her feet,
soothing her against the camerawoman’s thin body. “Go get the creepy peepy.
Bring it here. Tell Chat to stay outside the room until I find out what can
be done here. Get going! Let the little broad cry!”

“You sure have got a big one, mister,” Delia observed. “Gee, Johnny, you 
hurt me some!”

“Why didn’t you holler then?” John demanded.

Leo frowned. They were neither talking nor acting like normal, oriented 
kids on the verge of their teens. They were woozy, almost spooky in their 
calm talk about “fucking” and “big ones” and “the man who was fucking Mama 
today.” Even the small girl, staring now but no longer crying, was wobbly 
on her feet and confused. He wondered how much scopolamine and barbituric 
acid Fred had used. Too much had the ability to work like 
marijuana-rendering the mind incapable of logic and inhibitions but not 
hampering the emotional instincts nor the physical ability to express them.

Then Carolina appeared, wearing the heavy camera on her thin, bare 
shoulder. The door closed without her hand so Lew knew Chattel was in the 
hall. “Not much light,” Carolina said, squinting at the built in meter. 
“Lousy color.”

“Are we going to be in a movie too?” Delia demanded. “Like Mama was 
today?”

“Would you like to be in a fucking movie?” Leo asked.

John giggled. Delia slapped at him girlishly. “Who’ll see it?” she 
demanded. “My daddy wouldn’t like it, you know.”

“Okay. I won’t show it to your daddy. Tell you what, you and your brother
come with me. Then your little sister won’t see it, either. Okay?”

“Shall we, Johnny?” Delia asked, suddenly eager.

“Sure. If you want to. We fuck pretty good when Carmen isn’t around, or 
when she’s asleep.”

“Back to the lights,” Leo said to Carolina. “This may be worth its weight
in lovely, solid gold!”

When Leo led the procession to the gallery, Carolina knew he was playing.
It would be difficult to splice in scenes taken in the big room with any 
degree of logic because it was furnished meagerly and not in accordance 
with the rest of Lonsberry Cottage. Following the strange parade, she 
sighted the camera, spending eight or ten feet of film shooting the bobble 
of big bottoms, one black, and the two little ones. It wouldn’t come up 
bright but it might make a filler or a tie-in. The gallery was cold and 
damp, the bed showed the torn spread and on the floor was the torn strip 
Marcia Mallory had used as a sarong. Chattel turned on two of the big 
floods, causing the children to laugh excitedly in the abrupt warmth of the
revealing lights. Standing back, Carolina took winging shots of the four. 
Leo straightened the bed a bit, all the while talking in a friendly way. 
Delia was animated, trembling, eager for what might lay ahead. John didn’t 
seem so enthusiastic, but he sat down on the bed at his sister’s side, 
fumbling with his limp but swollen penis.

“What are we going to do first?” Delia asked, her eyes hard on the lewdly
bulging in front of Leo’s shorts. “Gee, your thing is big!”

“Oh, we’ll just sit around at first and get to be friends,” Leo replied. 
“If you think mine is big, look at Chat’s. Show her, Chat.”

Blood drummed in Carolina’s head as she filmed the easy, horny way Chat 
stripped down his shorts and stood, arching his back as his bone-hard cock 
aimed at the two children. He stroked the foreskin with slow delight, and 
Delia began to giggle and twist in fresh interest. Casually, Leo removed 
his shorts and sat down beside Delia, laughing and making jokes about the 
size of Chattel’s cock and what it could do for a girl. He held his up and 
skinned it back, admitting that he was a little smaller but not very much 
smaller. To Carolina, and the creepy-peepy, it looked exactly like what it 
was; two grown men, one black and both endowed with monstrous members, 
masturbating in front of two wide-eyed children. Only Caroline knew that 
the masturbating would soon end as Leo and Chattel warmed the children to 
more exciting acts. The first being Delia’s hesitant hand going to Leo’s 
cock while he relinquished the swollen flesh and put a hand to her belly, 
fingers spread, thumb down to the pad of flesh and its neat pink slit. 
Delia giggled and he laughed and in five seconds, she was shaking and 
hunching on his thumb and he was bucking his cock up into her two-handed 
grasp as if it were picnic day on the Thames.

Carolina moved around to shoot at a new angle. Chattel was pumping his 
insatiable cock and Johnny was trying to get his hard. It appeared hardly 
larger than a finger, except that the head was swollen and puffed from his 
previous fucking of Delia. Suddenly, Chattel reached some peak; he moved in
and curled his big hand around John’s head and pulled him to the black-red 
coronal fist. John put mildly protesting hands to the black belly, but 
Chattel pushed his cock to the boy’s mouth and held it there until the 
hypnotized John slowly parted his lips and seemed to taste the indelicate 
offering.

Delia laughed and pointed a finger at her brother, jiggling in glee as 
Leo’s hand went under her ass and curled lewdly into her crotch. Shivering 
with tension, Carolina moved in, panning the scene with slow emphasis on 
the developing points of obscenity. Then Leo laid the girl back on the bed 
and lowered his face to her crotch. He separated her legs and kissed into 
her cunt, twisting his body so his cock stood out, jerking and swaying 
within the framing Carolina managed with the creepy peepy. For her benefit,
Leo opened Delia’s pink slit and fingered the wet little aperture, then 
kissed into it with exaggerated pleasure. It was all Carolina could do to 
refrain from dashing forward and falling on her knees to suck Leo’s flexing
cock in companion lust with his assault on Delia’s humping crotch. Instead,
she moved again, spending the last thirty seconds of film shooting Leo’s 
dramatic performance with the background filled by Chattel, holding the 
surrendered John’s face and fucking it firmly.

“Take ten,” she called in throaty tones, and she backed to where Chattel 
had left the extra reels, her fingers working surely while her eyes 
followed the action at the bed. Leo had straightened up, playing with the 
pretty little body while he murmured something reassuring to Delia. Chattel
was not so self-possessed. He seemed not to have heard her reload call. His
huge black body was arched, his chin dropped to watch himself being 
fellated. John was greedily licking and sucking, his protesting hands now 
turned to clasping white spiders on Chattel’s black hips. Leo said 
something to the Negro. Chattel just laughed, his hand ruffling John’s 
hair, his thick thighs urging faster and harder. Carolina got the camera up
and humming just in time to catch Chattel’s come, and the almost instant 
surprise and distress from John. The first gigantic spew had set him to 
coughing and spitting. He twisted away, receiving the rest of Chattel’s 
spurting cum on his face and shoulders. Delia was laughing, Leo was drawing
her close, his cock rubbing her slim white body, his hands digging and 
massaging her wide spread crotch. Chattel too was laughing now, stripping 
his cock out to let the last sticky strings of gray-white sperm drip down 
on John’s thin legs. Finally, the big Negro sat down beside the boy and 
curled one arm around him in strange sympathy, his other hand going to the 
nearly hard finger between John’s legs. Sweating with sensual shock, 
Carolina filmed the drama of Chattel, holding the now whimpering boy and 
bringing his cock to full rigidity with adept fingers. Carolina also made 
sure to record the fact that Chattel’s big penis had not lost one iota of 
its throbbing power. Suddenly, the creepy-peepy became too heavy and 
Carolina’s legs became too weak. She sagged to the floor, letting the 
camera lower to her folded, quaking thighs as her thin body shuddered and 
vibrated with involuntary orgasm.

“You all right, Carrie?” Leo called.

She let the chattering laughter sputter from her lips. “I bloody-fucking 
well am not all right! B-but I’m getting better!”

“How’s the load?”

Dazed by the expenditure of her sudden desire, Carolina turned the camera
so she could see the footage gauge. “H-half,” she said.

“How does it look from there?” Chattel asked.

“Mother of fucking Christ!” Carolina blurted. “Smashing!”

Chattel shifted, laying John back in full exposure while he masturbated 
the small white cock. Then Chattel began to turn over the boy’s spraddled 
crotch and Carolina had to move around to get a full frame of the Negro’s 
jerking member, digging low under John’s tiny sack of balls. She knew he’d 
never make it, so Carolina panned his straining black body and swept to 
pick up the nearly hysterical Delia clasped in Leo’s arms, her face lighted
with furious excitement as she watched the huge black man trying to 
sodomize her brother. The run-out click startled Carolina because for a 
moment, she had lost all sense of professionalism in her lewd absorption. 
“Shit!!” she spat, and went for the third reel of color film.

Leo knelt by the bed, the creepy-peepy nested on his shoulder, the 
powerful lens angled to pick up Delia, lying on her back with her legs 
spread until the tendons stood out strongly. John was kneeling between her 
legs, his body trembling as Chattel manipulated his rigid little cock and 
with his right hand, massaged between John’s nates.

“Okay,” Leo said. “Go, kid!”

Chattel backed away, his black body melting back into the shadows where 
Carolina’s spindly arms closed eagerly around the Negro. Leo followed 
John’s cock as the boy fell forward over his sister’s urging body. There 
was nothing deliberate nor professional about John’s movements. His cock 
nudged Delia’s cunt, spread and deformed the moist lips, then jabbed with 
boyish haste. Leo’s breath hesitated as the cock slipped in, causing Delia 
to rise in swift eagerness. Her legs came up, heels turned in as if to 
twist her body into more openness, and her arms went around her brother’s 
back to pull his violently fucking body in tight. Her face was suddenly 
drawn into blankness, mouth agape, eyes glazed, and John’s was no more 
animated. Leo panned the length of their locked and thrashing bodies, then 
moved around to shoot directly into their bobbing asses. Level with the bed
he drew a sharp focus on John’s cock, churning in the hairless cunt, 
rolling the lips with every thrust and withdrawal. The light was perfect, 
showing in close detail the winking pair of assholes and the beads of 
moisture breaking from the twitching skin. He cut the camera off, then laid
it on the bed. Swiftly, he put a finger to the thickly-vaselined hair of 
his groin and reached out, smearing the warm lubricant to Delia’s little 
asshole. She seemed not to feel the pressure, the slippery touch. 
Intrigued, Leo thrust one joint into the tiny aperture, and Delia’s ass 
only lifted as if to encourage the intrusion. Reluctantly, Leo removed his 
finger, leaving the greased flesh slightly open for the second before 
Delia’s writhing, humping efforts to absorb her brother’s cock tightened 
the secret muscles around the rubbery hole. Then Leo gripped John’s bobbing
ass and pulled the boy back, dragging his swollen cock free of the hot wet 
vagina. While John’s confusion stopped his fucking undulations, Leo 
deliberately guided the sleekly coated glans to Delia’s asshole. Surprised 
but pleased, John hunched as Leo whipped the creepy-peepy up. The lunge 
hesitated only a minute, then aided by Delia’s abrupt excitement, the 
bending little cock shot into the vaselined rectum. There was a moment of 
struggling, a twisting to gain hot entry, and almost as if no interruption 
had occurred, the two bodies resumed the meshed undulations Leo had 
forestalled. Now he moved around slightly to again pan the bodies, John’s 
curled under in frenzied driving, Delia’s curled up to receive the new 
assault. Her face was no longer blank. Eyes closed, she was panting through
a wide open mouth, her tongue lapping and darting as if to follow the 
exquisite drive and drag of her brother’s cock. It was John’s face that had
gone into the atrophy of compelling sensation. Once more, Leo panned the 
jerking, slapping bodies, then he hunkered back, camera silent. He stole a 
quick glance at the grunting, straining pair in the shadows. He could see 
only a thin ribbon of Carolina’s body. Chattel’s huge torso was curled over
her back, his gleaming buttocks a symphony of rippling lunges. Leo was 
sweating. His cock stood high, shining with its coat of soaked-in Vaseline.
For a moment, he had the urge to lift the humping John and hurl him aside, 
to ram his own throbbing cock into the obviously receptive asshole of Delia
Goddard. Then he saw how John was rising, dropping, twisting in the final 
heat of approaching orgasm. Leo raised the camera, waiting for Delia to 
show the same significant haste, and when she did, he triggered the 
electric camera.

The single regret Leo had was that there was no sound track for the film;
the mewlings and grunts and the smack of hot flesh to hot flesh would have 
doubled the impact of the sequence.

He stood up, his cock so heavy with pulsing blood it made his groin ache.
He looked down at the two squirming kids, giggling and “whewing” and 
playing in the after-glow of animal lust. Then he looked at Carolina, 
kneeling, supporting her sagging shoulders with hands to her trembling 
thighs. Chattel stood, staring at the children, his cock a long, deflated 
tube, capped by the black-red head which showed a drop of lethargic come at
the swollen eye.

“Get ‘em back to their room and clean up,” Leo said. “I need a drink.”

“Want me to take it down for you, Leo?” Carolina asked, moving forward to
put a trembling hand to his cock.

He slapped her cheekless ass in appreciation. “When I got the best in the
business stashed out in my room? Thanks anyway. See you later, kids,” he 
tossed at the wobbly children. Then he left the gallery, heady, shaking 
inside and curious about how Marcia Mallory might welcome him and his 
still-greased body.

CHAPTER TEN

Marcia stood at the bottom of the steps, shivering with apprehension but 
excited by her own daring. Under the too-large robe she wore a pair of 
Leo’s shorts and a T-shirt. She listened, but like the rest of the house, 
the room behind the door seemed deserted. Except for the one locked bedroom
upstairs, she had made what she believed to be a complete search of 
Lonsberry Cottage. Surprised by this set of steps to the cellar, she felt 
bound to explore the subterranean room. She tried the knob. It turned but 
the door did not open. Marcia felt for a key, then let her hands wander 
over the walls to each side of the door, searching for a nail upon which a 
key might be hung. Nothing. Then she heard a sound behind the panel.

Without worrying about consequences, she called, “Hello?”

“Marcia!” came the husky voice of Frank. “Is that you, Marcia? Marcia?”

“Oh, Frank, Frank! Oh dear. Can you unlock the door?”

“Yes. It will take a minute, though. Oh, baby! Am I glad to hear your 
voice! Are you all right? The children?”

She heard the click of metal at the lock, then the unmistakable scrapings
of a probing device. In the few seconds it took her husband to open the 
lock, she went through a dozen stages of terror, doubt and confusion. At 
that moment, without time to carefully plan her words, she hadn’t the 
slightest idea of what to say to him, about herself, Lonsberry cottage, the
children, and the brutal conspiracy of Leo. If she told him the truth, 
Frank would go berserk. If she told him half of the truth, he would rage 
like a wounded lion. If she told him nothing, he would know she was hiding 
something, and when he did find out the facts, he might kill her in his 
fury. Then she was in his arms, his lips over her face, his hands sweeping 
her trembling back as if to check her reality.

“Baby, baby, baby!” he murmured. “My God, I thought I’d never see you 
again. The children? Where are the children?”

“I d-don’t know. Somewhere in this h-house, but I can’t find them. Oh, 
Frank, what a terrible, terrible experience!”

“I know. No, I don’t know! But I’ve just been biding my time. I’ve met 
the farmer and his wife, and once I saw a thin girl and a Negro. Where are 
they? How many are there in this house besides you and me? The children-are
they here too?”

“Let me s-sit down! I’m so nervous my legs-I’ve been locked in a room by 
myself. I stole these clothes from some man’s bedroom.” Shaking with 
genuine fright, Marcia leaned against his naked body. Suddenly she realized
that in the past two days she had grown so used to being naked, or nearly 
so, among other naked people that Frank’s lack of clothing had seemed 
perfectly natural. “They-they took my clothes too. Oh, I think something 
awful is going on here! What do they want with us, Frank? Oh, I’m 
frightened half out of my mind about the children! My babies. Thank God, 
I’ve found you!”

“Lie here and rest, baby,” he said. “I have to lock that door again. If 
somebody comes, you’ll have time to get under the bed while they are 
unlocking. It is generally the woman, but sometimes the farmer brings me my
meals. Have they bothered you, or anything?”

“What do you mean, Frank-bothered me?”

“Never mind. If they had you’d know what I meant. Lie back, baby. You 
look absolutely beat!”

With all of her heart, Marcia wished she had never ventured down the 
cellar stairs. She lay back, eyes closed, her arm thrown over her eyes, 
apparently resting but actually suffering. Frank had seen a thin girl, 
Carolina, and she was familiar with Fred and Olga. She heard him at the 
lock. Seconds, maybe less to organize her thoughts. She raised her arm. Her
husband was standing by the bed looking down at her, a peculiar expression 
on his handsome face. “Safe now, darling?” she asked.

Suddenly, he leaned down and jerked Leo’s robe open, back and back until 
she was exposed to the waist. Marcia gasped in alarm. She still wore the 
black garter belt, the long hose and her highheeled shoes. And Leo’s 
shorts. And the thin coat of Vaseline which Frank discovered by swiping his
hard hand up the inner surface of her left thigh. His eyes narrowed, he 
raised his fingers and inhaled the odor of the lubricant. Abruptly, he 
ripped the robe open farther, and stared at her monstrous breasts, loosely 
held by Leo’s grease-stained T-shirt. His next move was to jerk her 
upright, his face a mask of anger, his fingers biting deeply in the flesh 
of her upper arms.

“Now, you’d better goddamned well start talking! You see, I know a few 
things about this house and the people in it! And I know a few goddamned 
things about you, too! For instance, you never wear a belt and long hose 
like those unless the occasion is formal! You stole the shorts and the 
T-shirt from ‘some’ man’s bedroom, huh? Okay. Right after I remind you that
the only other time I’ve ever seen you greased up like this was the night 
we got drunk and made Carmen! That is, we made Carmen after-” He suddenly 
threw her back on the bed and flipped her over, his fingers ripping the 
shorts down over her Vaseline-coated ass. He separated the cheeks of her 
ass, pushed her back down when she tried to twist away, and with brutal 
force, spit right into her swollen, inflamed asshole. “You dirty, lying 
bitch! I ought to kill you right here and now! Talk!”

Marcia went limp, her tears soaking into the covers, her mouth gasping 
and sobbing in muffled grief. Not only grief, rage. He was standing above 
her, naked, panting with fury, his stinking little cock flopping like a 
broken turkey neck. He’d been lying in this room probably jerking off while
she had been upstairs, submitting to indecencies beyond description to save
her children, and maybe Frank, from unnamed degradation. He hadn’t come to 
help, despite the fact that he could pick the lock on his prison door. And 
when it was all over, it would be the money she had earned in fourteen 
hectic years which would save the Goddards from intolerable scandal and 
shame. She rolled over away from him, her eyes flashing with revulsion for 
her husband.

“How would you like to kiss my ruptured cunt, you ungrateful 
son-of-a-bitch?” she hissed. “I just d-did what they forced me to do!”

“Forced you to do? How, I’d like to know!”

“I’ll tell you how, hero. This house is full of men with the biggest 
pricks and the coldest hearts you ever heard of! Our children are somewhere
in this house, stripped naked, piled on one bed and utterly helpless. 
Everything that has h-happened to me happened in front of a camera-a 
c-color camera! It was either me or Delia and Carmen and John. And they 
want f-five million d-dollars for the movie they’ve made or Marcia Mallory 
is d-dead, and her family disgraced forever! That’s how they made me hold 
still for all the cock they c-could ram into any hole they could find. 
Screw you!”

He stared, disbelief on his face. “And they twisted your arm so you told 
them about the Vaseline bath before you take it up the butt, huh? God 
Almighty, Marcia! Don’t you think I know you any better than that? Despite 
the fact that you haven’t let me in bed with you for ten years, I happen to
know you are a dyed-in-the-wool nympho! It was common knowledge on the lots
that you sucked Max Fromann’s prick right into stardom. And mine the first 
night we were man and wife! And we both know about that asshole of yours! 
At least, I do, baby! Who the hell do you think you fooled when you shut me
off after Carmen was born? Not me! No more kids, you said. We don’t dare 
fuck because you always knock me up. I’m tired, Frankie. It has been a 
tough day, dear. Horseshit! I’ve known for years you had a half dozen 
diaphragms. Rubbers cost fourteen dollars and forty cents a gross-and I’ve 
a gross that have turned rotten with old age! Pills are ten bucks a peck-I 
know because I accidentally found an invoice from the Chicago wholesale 
house you’ve been dealing with for Christ knows how many years. Okay. You 
need more than I’ve got, or don’t like the way I deliver it. We had other 
things going for us so I never opened my yap! But this is the end, baby, 
and you count on it! Your nympho ass is one thing, my kids are something 
else. Now you tell me everything you know about this set-up and I’ll try to
get us all out of it. Just spare me the crap about what you had to do!”

Marcia sat for several minutes, digesting the verbal beating he had given
her. She couldn’t decide whether she hated him or loved him; everything he 
had inferred was true, yet within her heart, she denied it as he had spoken
it. She was an artist, world-acclaimed and thus,, exempt from the ordinary 
rules. She was not the only actress who had soured on her husband because 
the lights were hot and the men in her professional life were professional 
in every way. Now she looked at Frank, her face placid, her mind suddenly 
revolted by her own image in his eyes. Five hours ago, she had been 
convinced there was no tomorrow. Tomorrow was now a certainty.

“In the morning,” she said. “We’ll b-be filming in the front 
room-everybody will be there, naked! The room at the end of the hallway 
belongs to the leader. The door keys will be in one of his pants pockets.”

“The kids?”

“I don’t know what room they’re kept in. I’ve only seen Delia and Johnny 
once since it all started. Then just a brief glance! Oh, Frank, I’m sorry, 
I am sorry! I’ve been so-mixed up!”

“Like well-churned butter,” he said grimly. “All right. I’ll find the key
and get out. I’ll get back with a ton of cops as soon as I can find them. 
I’d suggest that you think up a better story than the one you just told me,
too!”

Marcia closed her eyes and shook her head. “It won’t matter. Once the 
police break in, nothing in the world will stop everybody from knowing 
everything about everything!”

“Why?”

“The film they shot today is already being processed in London,” Marcia 
informed him. “And of course, the children will talk.”

“What do they know?”

“I haven’t any idea, Frank. But they’ll eventually know it all. I offered
to pay them the five million dollars to let us all go. The leader said 
no-he wanted to film an ‘epic’.”

“The leader. What’s his name?”

Marcia looked her husband full in the face and replied, “Ted.”

“Ted what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you seen any of them with guns? I know there is one in the 
house-they bring it when they feed me. Any more?”

“I don’t know.”

“All right. You’d better go back upstairs before they start looking for 
you. I’ll make a try for it in the morning.”

“Frank?”

“What?” he asked coldly.

“Nothing, I guess. Good luck, honey.”

He didn’t answer. He picked the lock while she straightened up her 
borrowed clothes. When he held the door open, she went out and up the steps
without a backward glance.

There seemed to be an endless supply of hot water which was good-and 
typical of the man she now knew to be Leon Felton because she had 
discovered his passport in a dresser drawer-because it took three complete 
latherings to remove the Vaseline from her weary body. Marcia stood under 
the showerhead, loving the revitalizing water that poured around her blonde
head and down over her abused flesh. Once she thought of just raising her 
head and drowning herself, but this seemed childish in more ways than one.

Frank’s words, and many he had not spoken, echoed in her ears like the 
ripple of gunshots tearing at the bulkheads of feminine logic she had 
maintained for ten years. He was right. She was a nymphomaniac, at least by
any standard she had ever heard of. And it was not a disease that could be 
cured by pills or lectures or even by a husband as lusty and passionate as 
Frank had been from the very beginning. How could any woman explain to a 
man, doctor, lawyer or spouse, what happened within her mind the moment she
saw a certain kind of animal light in a male eye? And she was sure it would
be impossible to even partially explain what had happened to her the 
morning Leo had raped her in the gallery. Terror, hate and revulsion, 
disgust with herself and abhorrence for the hairy body, the flashing eyes 
and the massive throbbing cock, seemingly bent upon the destruction of mind
and body. Nothing had been destroyed but her own will to resist.

The small determination she had built up through the night had expressed 
itself in feeble protests this morning-and had been completely dissolved by
Leo’s hot, wet kiss in the first minute of filming.

“He threatened our children, poor dear innocent children!” she said aloud
into the gushing shower.

So she had sucked his cock and fucked him, and tried to please him into 
kindness and mercy by showing him the Vaseline bath. Kind of like fighting 
fire with fire, she told herself. She couldn’t expect Frank to understand 
how far a mother would go to protect her children. This seemed like a 
reasonable argument to Marcia until she began to think about the “crew.” 
Emaciated, unattractive Carolina. Disgustingly plump and uninhibited Olga. 
Jody, who looked like a ribbon clerk. Sam and Fred and of course, Chattel, 
the monstrous fucking machine from Jamaica. And Leo, who was Leon Felton, a
brute and blackmailer.

And suddenly, Marcia Mallory-Goddard, nee Gelling, possessing a massive 
infection of the same disease they all had and could only cure with a brand
of sexual extremes not available under normal conditions-or with normal 
people. Sorry for herself, Marcia turned off the water and stepped from the
shower; and her philosophical mood evaporated instantly because Leo was 
standing in the bathroom door, naked, still sleeked with the remnants of 
her Vaseline bath, and with that fearful fire in his dark eyes. His cock 
was half-hard, firm enough to form a thick arc as it swayed and bounced 
with his deep breathing. It was all Marcia could do to keep from leaping on
the man, kicking and clawing and biting, which her inside mind told her 
would wind up being petting, pinching and sucking if she made a move.

“You could at least let a lady shower in peace,” she snapped.

He grinned, moved around her with a hard spat of his hand to her wet ass,
then stepped into the shower himself. Fascinated, Marcia slowly dried 
herself with the heavy towel and watched him turn his handsome face up to 
the gushing water. His phony moustache drooped; he peeled it off, shook it 
and handed it out to her. Stunned with an abrupt feeling of oneness with 
him, she took the moustache, shook it dry and placed it on the edge of the 
washbasin to her right. Realizing what she had done, she picked it up again
and dropped it in the toilet, giving the pull chain a furious jerk to rid 
herself of the guilt she felt. She wanted to wrap the towel around her 
trembling nakedness and escape the steaming bathroom. Instead, she watched 
Leo soap his muscular body, thrilling at the way his big hands worked his 
flesh and finally washed his cock with the same stroking motions he might 
have used to jack himself off. On verge of joining him in the shower, she 
whirled and went into the bedroom. There was a half-bottle of Scotch on the
small table. She didn’t bother to pour some in one of the glasses. She 
tipped up the bottle and swallowed three times. Then she sat down and 
buried her face in her arms and wept in agony.

Presently, she heard the shower turn off. The quiet was broken only by 
Leo’s humming, slightly off-key and so carelessly masculine the weird 
melody cut her like a knife.

“Want Olga to bring dinner in here, or do you want to eat with the 
others?” he asked from behind her.

“Here. But not with you!”

“Why not? I’m no bum. We kill the rest of that Scotch we might enjoy each
other. We been so busy fucking we haven’t had much time to talk. Five will 
get you a trip around the world that we might have a lot to talk about if 
we tried. What’d your husband have to say?” he asked without changing his 
tone of voice.

Marcia whirled, her eyes wide, her mouth open in surprise. “How-how did 
you know?” She gasped.

“Hell, baby. I know everything that goes on in this house, and among the 
people who are in it! I came back here and missed you, so I went looking. I
heard him eating your pretty ass out down there. I don’t think I like the 
son-of-a-bitch too well, either. Pour a couple of shots, will you?”

Stunned, Marcia poured two healthy shots. Leo was donning shorts and 
slacks, and presently, a shirt. He tossed her the robe she had worn to the 
cellar. Then he picked up one of the glasses.

“Well, here’s to Vaseline,” he offered with a grin. “Feels better going 
on than it does coming off! Cheer up, Mallory!”

“You mother-fucker!” she spat.

“As long as it is somebody else’s mother, who cares? Cheers!”

Marcia stood up and shrugged into the robe. Then she grabbed up the 
second glass and gulped the fire down without a twitch. Leo poured two more
shots. “Dinner now?” he asked.

“Later,” Marcia replied. “I want to get drunk first!”

Fred’s patience lasted until long after midnight, then when Olga’s 
snoring assured him she was sound asleep, he eased out of bed. Not that he 
would care; in the three hours following dinner clean-up, she had cavorted 
and wallowed among Jody and Sam and Chattel, with Carolina slithering among
them to fill her skinny body with whatever cock was not being used at the 
moment. Fred had purposely avoided the orgy, his mind burning with the 
anticipation of just this minute. He stood by the bed, stroking his cock 
with idle affection for it. Then he closed his big hand around the ring of 
keys, silencing the possible rattle, and tip-toed out of the bedroom. Olga 
didn’t care where he spent his sperm, but Fred wasn’t sure that Leo would 
think too much of his proposed party with Delia Goddard. And Olga had a 
mouth as loose as her Slavic cunt. So Fred moved silently.

Because locks were his responsibility, the one on the children’s door 
moved soundlessly. Fred eased in on bare feet and walked to the bed. Faint 
light from the hallway showed him the three little forms under the covers, 
and the one he was interested in lay on the far side. Shaking with 
eagerness, he moved around and stood over Delia, his cock standing out 
above her face. Slowly, he bent his knees, lowering the throbbing head 
until it barely kissed her open lips, bathing the blood-filled glans with 
hot, evenly expended breath. He savored this strange thrill until his knees
wavered, then he began to think of the best way to get her awake and out of
this room-and to a place where her laughter and giggling, and maybe little 
screams of anguish over the size of his cock, couldn’t be heard. Carefully,
he laid the covers aside, exposing her childish sprawl, her firm little 
legs akimbo to cause a sweetly shaped shadow at the tip of her flat 
stomach.

Suddenly, Fred could stand it no longer. He stooped and with steady 
force, slipped his hands under the sleeping girl and lifted. Her knees 
bent, her head fell back. She stirred, but with the consistency of youth, 
turned against him, her left arm raising to go over his shoulder. Fred 
waited a few seconds, then satisfied with her even breathing, he carried 
her out into the hallway, and then directly to the abandoned gallery. He 
laid her on the bed, then stole a precious minute to go back and lock the 
other two children in the room. He nearly fumbled the keys; his hands still
tingled from their contact with Delia’s soft flesh and his cock was jerking
and throbbing as it had not done for many years.

He turned on only the single overhead light in the gallery.

Delia had turned slightly, drawing up one leg to expose the fabulously 
neat contours of her crotch. Her little cunt, demurely closed, seemed 
ridiculously small, and it divided the puffy pubic mound in perfect halves.
There were only a few hairs, sparsely shadowing the white pad. Below, the 
beginning crack between the cheeks of her ass showed significant darkness. 
Fred devoured the sight as if frozen at the thought of possessing all of 
this fresh, young beauty for himself. He debated fucking her instantly, 
then realized that it might take many minutes of delicious probing and 
straining and twisting to get his nine inches of thick meat into the 
diminutive aperture. And Fred wanted to miss none of the big pleasures or 
any of the small ones; he could vividly remember the exquisite moments when
he had sucked this little cunt while Delia had masturbated him into violent
come on the bedspread. The recollection struck him with inspiration. He 
knelt by the bed, then with gentle hands, turned the little body until he 
was staring straight into her delicate crotch. He didn’t bother to open the
soft pink slit with his fingers. Bending, he thrust out his dripping tongue
and inserted it slowly between the inert lips, holding the contact until 
the flavor of her delicious body caused his tongue to vibrate, and this in 
turn sent some quivering through Delia’s belly. She shifted, but not to 
close her legs. Her little ass twisted and she drew both her legs up like a
sweet pink frog. Encouraged, Fred pushed his mouth to the newly opened cunt
and boldly ran his thick tongue into her vaginal channel as far as it would
reach.

“Hey!” Delia gasped, suddenly awake. She closed her legs so her thighs 
pressed firmly to his ears, then as if over her surprise, she opened her 
legs, giggled enticingly and said, “Hoo boy!”

“I told you I’d come back tonight,” Fred said stupidly. “You are in the 
gallery. I carried you in so we wouldn’t awaken your sister and brother.”

“I know this place. I was here today, with Johnny and some other people. 
Johnny and I call it the fucking room, only I kidded him about it being the
sucking room. The coon taught Johnny how to suck. Are we going to fuck, 
mister?”

“Do you want to?”

She giggled. “I think your cock’s too big,” she decided.

“I don’t think so, Delia. We can fool around a little and figure how it 
will work.” Fred moved up to seat himself at her side, his cock standing 
out and up from his panting belly and his balls laid out in full array on 
the spread between his legs. His instinct was to seize her little body and 
cram it down over his organ until every fragment was out of sight in her 
slim body. “What do you like to do best?”

“I don’t care. Would you kiss my cunt some more, please?”

“If you want,” he husked. “I’ll lay back and you straddle my blooming 
face. That way-”

“Maybe I’ll give you a blow job too,” she laughed. “I’m no square, 
daddy-O! I go to high school next year. Listen, why don’t you turn on a 
couple of the hot lights? It’s colder than a witch’s tit in this dump!”

Staggered by the ease of his conquest, Fred did as she requested, then he
went back to the bed and stretched out, his cock standing high as his hairy
belly flattened out in repose. With a squealing giggle, Delia crawled over 
him and straddled his wide shoulders, the required spread of her legs 
straining her thigh tendons and stretching her crotch so the tiny cheeks of
her ass almost formed points and the curved segment of her underbody was 
drawn to a tapered plane, beginning at her pubic mound and curling under to
end at the tip of her spine. Her cunt rolled, and she urged back until it 
met Fred’s extended tongue. At the contact with her little clitoris, she 
giggled and twisted down onto his face. Fred put his hands to her hips, 
holding and regulating her writhing, licking up into the moist crack with 
frenzied force. Then he felt her hands close around his prick and her hot 
pink tongue lick at the pulsating head, over, under and around the 
sensitive coronal ridge, very much as skilled as his own tongue in her 
convulsing little cunt. He licked and sucked for several seconds before the
volume of her juices and the abruptly furious fucking of her hips told him 
the little devil had come after only a few seconds of titillation without a
murmur or a gasp, or any lessening of her now openmouthed sucking of his 
cock. The idea was enough to turn Fred’s mind into a boiling, unreasonable 
scarlet. He slid one hand back and around her bobbing ass, and his 
forefinger depressed her winking asshole, sending a shudder from her bottom
to her working mouth. He stole a moment to wet his finger in her cunt, then
with a twisting, screwing pressure, he forced his digit into her asshole. 
Immediately, she bucked up and back, dragging her cunt up over his nose, 
filling his lungs with the smell of her hot vagina. He licked at the drool 
on his lips, and with a deliberate thought to make her come again, he began
to fuck her asshole with his finger, feeling the smooth wet texture of her 
inner bowel, sensing the contraction and relaxation of her secret muscles. 
He temporarily lost feeling in his cock, his mind was so absorbed by the 
lewdness, the beautiful obscenity of what he saw so close over his face and
felt with his big finger that he came dangerously and prematurely close to 
emptying his sperm loaded balls into Delia’s throat. Her body was like a 
bag of springs and elastic bands, turning her ass, lifting it and bucking 
with fury at every plunging of his finger. The circlet of her asshole grew,
pursed and became loose enough for Fred to drag his finger back and add 
another to the false cock. She seemed not to notice the extra thickness, 
and though her asshole dragged in and out until his added finger was 
slippery with wetness, she showed not a bit of distress. He fucked as deep 
as he could reach and as hard as his awkwardly positioned hand would allow.
He felt her second come approaching because she suddenly stopped mauling 
his cock with her mouth and tensed her thrashing body. Warned, Fred drove 
his tongue as deep into her cunt as he could and felt forward with his 
fingers until only the thin and quivering walls of flesh separated his 
tongue and his fingers. At the same time, he pushed his lower lip hard 
against the throbbing nubbin of her clitoral nerves and he almost blew his 
load straight up into the air when Delia yelled, “Oh, darn, darn, darn! 
Oowie yippie, pow!”

Then she was still except for the brief shudders of ecstasy her body sent
down to her oozing cunt. She rested her face on his hairy thigh, and with 
lewd understanding, Fred slowed his fingers in her convulsing asshole until
it regained its control and closed tightly as he dragged his fingers free.

“Boy,” she muttered. “How about that and that and that!”

“Bloody-fucking great, just smashing,” Fred agreed, patting her ass and 
thighs. “Shall we fuck a little now?”

She scrambled up and turned, on her hands and knees across his belly, her
face a mask of surprise. “What the heck were we doing?”

“Just playing, I thought,” he reminded her.

She giggled. “Some play! But, okay, if you want to.” She finished 
turning, again straddling his body but in such a position that his 
steaming, nearly bursting cock lay upright in the valley between her nates.
Playfully, she jiggled her hips up and down, rolling his foreskin enough to
localize his scattered lusts. Fred curled his big body, his hands going 
down around her ass to hold his cock while he arranged her hips. When he 
fitted the pulsating head into her saliva soaked cunt, Delia’s eyes widened
and she stiffened. “Hey, take it easy! No, no, let me!”

Fred’s hands dropped away from her, his eyes narrowed in speculation as 
Delia braced her arms and began to wriggle back, her little ass grinding in
hesitant circles. She bit her lip, then giggled, and Fred closed his eyes 
completely, lost in the excruciating pleasure of being slowly, tightly 
mounted. He could feel the deforming flesh in her cunt, distending and 
crawling over the intruding bulk, first the ridge of the rock-hard head, 
then the rolls of foreskin, and though he could not see, nor precisely 
feel, he thought that at least six inches of his cock was buried in her 
childish body when she grimaced and held still. It was enough, he thought, 
if she had some of her bloody wiggle and hump left. He slid his hand down 
under her belly and with a knowing forefinger, began to rub and flip her 
clitoris, now bulged out as his massive organ crowded her flesh out around 
her tautly stretched cunt.

Delia gasped and began an undulating fuck, holding herself from lunging 
back too hard, teasing herself at the top of her lift before screwing her 
body back down to total filling. He dared not hunch nor hump; he didn’t 
need to do more than flex his cock because Delia’s third ascension to a 
come provided him with the most ecstatic fuck he could remember. He lay 
still, feeling it build and crawl down his spine, to boil for a moment in 
his balls, then with a grunt, he let it go. Caught, Delia hung, half down, 
her eyes wide with shock as his mighty spurts battered her distended 
vagina, rolled in the hot sleeve, then as one spew was followed by another,
began its own contracting spasms and squirted the sticky white juice down 
around his cock to flood the thick hair and coat his curling, rolling 
balls. She fell forward into his grasp, and the only movements they made 
were the sweet, involuntary jerkings that made her small slim body and his 
broad hairy one a symphony of expended passion.

In the blue haze into which Fred dropped, he thought that after a minute 
or so, he’d rouse and fuck her in that small but expandable asshole. But 
for the moment, her body was warm and close to his and his deflating cock 
was perfectly content with the hot nest in which it lay, soothed by its own
copious jism. So Fred slipped off into slumber because he was forty-four 
and Delia was only thirteen.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Leo pushed back from the plate of ham and eggs remains and looked at the 
three grinning men coming into the dining room. Two grinning men, really. 
Fred looked like he’d lost his best friend, but Leo didn’t care how Fred 
felt.

“Get him strapped in?” he asked Chattel.

“Tighter’n a bug’s ass, Leo. He kicked and hollered some but me ‘n’ Sam 
handled him okay. What’s the gimmick, Leo?”

“I’m going to teach that hide-bound son-of-a-bitch about real sex, and 
maybe, a little bit about his wife! What’s Jody doing?”

“Shooting a little funny stuff with Carolina,” Sam said.

“Funny stuff?”

“Well, if you saw that Goddard bastard strapped ass-out in the medico 
harness, his legs up like a cunt about to have a baby, and his dong hanging
over his ass like a tired salami, you’d think it was funny too. Carolina 
bet Jody a blow-job she’d get Goddard’s cock up, and he’s shooting her 
technique. I don’t think she’s going to make it because the guy is madder’n
a clapped up whore! Anyway, after being married to Mallory for fourteen 
years, I don’t think Carolina comes on so great with him. Any more coffee, 
Olga?”

“I think it is a bloody fuck-up to let him see our faces,” Fred said. 
“We’ve had them three days now and somebody’s bound to be looking for 
them.”

“What’s bugging you, old man?” Leo demanded. “I got the barmy jumps,” 
Fred admitted. “Why don’t I go out and take a turn about the thickets, just
to be sure nobody is snooping around?”

Leo shrugged. “Okay, if it will get your sour puss out of my sight for a 
while.” Ke looked at his watch. “Nine-ten. I’ll go get Mallory and we’ll 
get to work. I got a lot of footage planned for today. How’s the stem end 
of your liver, Chat?”

The Negro laughed, raised his left leg and showed the thick column of his
cock lying half-way to his knee inside the cloth. “I been ready since last 
year, man!”

“You don’t need me to set up,” Fred said. “I’ll see you a bit later.”

In jail, he wanted to add. Outside the front door, which he rattled to 
make them think he had relocked, he stared out into the fog-misted woods 
around Lonsberry Cottage. Fear made him sweat despite the chill; he could 
imagine a covey of coppers behind each bush. He looked longingly at the 
double doors to the converted coach house. He couldn’t even use the 
Bentley. The little slut had taken his key ring, his jism, his brains and 
probably, the quickest route to the Beaker Valley station house. How long 
ago, he had no idea. He had awakened at dawn-chilled, alone and petrified 
with alarm. A search of the house had revealed no Delia Goddard, but it had
revealed the unlocked condition of the front door. Skipped clean.

His first inclination had been to rouse the house and join them in a mass
escape. Then his deeply ingrained fear of Leo had shut his mouth. The fear 
had been more potent than his sense of loyalty and Fred had squirmed for 
three hours, counting the minutes until the Beaker Valley coppers arrived, 
hoping no, feeling yes, and finally, feeling nothing at all. But he was 
away now. With half a chance, he would put many kilometers between himself 
and Lonsberry Cottage before the bloody-fucking troops descended upon his 
erstwhile companions. Monday he’d rape his London deposit vault, Tuesday 
he’d ship to the Irish Coast, and fuck the King, the Queen and Scotland 
Yard. And Leon Felton, too. Olga would have a ball in Old Bailey, with her 
half-cock, half-cunt and her penchant for sucking anything she could get 
her mouth around.

Wary, determined and scared to the marrow of his bones, Fred Bignor 
headed into the woods, choosing a direction he knew would keep him well 
away from the moderately populated areas of the district.

The first thing Marcia saw as Leo ushered her through the door to the 
gallery was Frank, cradled in the examination table, his body hunching and 
humping while Carolina sucked his rigid and thumping cock. Jody was 
grinning and working the creepy-peepy. Chattel and Sam were watching, 
laughing at her husband who was moaning and muttering in obvious ecstasy. A
hundred hatreds, endless revulsions tumbled in Marci’s brain. She knew from
her stay in the gallery that anyone strapped into the complicated leg 
supports and shoulder harnesses of the modified obstetrician’s table would 
be helpless. No beach boy she had ever seen could have successfully evaded 
the power of Chattel, Sam, Leo and maybe Fred. She understood Frank well 
enough to know that his impassioned plan for escape had been a true 
intention. What burned within her brain was the obvious fact that captive 
or not, her holier-than-thou husband was about to blow his lump into 
Carolina’s thin, gulping throat. His eager thrashing was subsiding, his 
hips were rolling and fucking upward in the significant deliberation of a 
man about to reach the ultimate ecstasy. He was about to do precisely, what
he had said she couldn’t possibly do. He was about to succumb to the 
devastating force of obscenity so acute it was overpowering.

“Your boy held out about half the length of time you did,” Leo chuckled. 
“Want to go over and finish him off for Carrie? She’s been working on him 
for about thirty minutes.”

“Is there any foulness to which you won’t stoop?”

“What do you mean? Didn’t I hold your head last night while you vomited 
up a half bottle of two-pound-ten Scotch and Olga’s dinner? Oh-oh, there he
goes!”

“A-aaagh-haa!” Frank yelled.

Carolina turned quickly, her right hand holding Frank’s suddenly spewing 
cock at an angle that sent the spurt after spurt out into the air in a long
arc that ended a full three lusty feet from the front legs of the table. 
Laughter from the spectators, all except Marcia, drowned out her husband’s 
moans and grunts of satisfaction. She saw his hips writhe and flutter as 
the last big drops bubbled out of the distended eye and ran down the under 
tube of his cock to Carolina’s fingers. She was grinning, her scrawny body 
vibrating with restrained emotion. Jody moved in close to get the last lewd
details on film. Marcia marched across the room and stood looking down at 
Frank. His eyes were closed, his nostrils flared. Sweat beaded his 
forehead, saliva drooled from his slack lips. A miserable sucked-out clown.
She looked down to the floor where his thick, nearly white come was soaking
into the carpet. Hers, really. Another baby if she had taken it in her 
strangely stinging cunt.

“Bloody-fucking well loaded, he was,” Carolina remarked, her fingers 
toying with his half-deflated cock while she rubbed her belly in private 
reverie. “Hey, baby, you liked it some, didn’t you?”

Frank’s eyes popped open, his mouth made an almost-speech-shape, then he 
saw Marcia. “Marcia! Oh God, strike me dead!” he cried, closing his eyes 
until the wrinkles stood out. “I’m sorry, sorry!”

“You’re the sorriest son-of-a-bitch I’ve seen today,” Marcia ground out 
at him. “Oh, but Frank, you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t! Even if it 
does prove everything I told you yesterday!”

“Touching,” Leo said just back of her left shoulder. “Shall we get on 
with the fucking match?”

Marcia turned slowly. “I can’t, Leo, you know I can’t! I told you last 
night-we talked, remember? Please, Leo please!”

“Anything to please a lady,” he laughed, then he swiftly caught her by 
the shoulders, spun her and hurled her back, directly into Chattel’s 
waiting black arms. His cocked slapped against her buttocks, his huge 
fingers closed around her swollen tits, and with a roar, he dragged her to 
the bed. She screamed and kicked her feet, flailed uselessly with her arms 
and screamed again as Chattel’s weight and naked bulk crowded her down to 
the big bed. She felt his cock, rubbing her thighs, the cheeks of her ass 
and her belly just below the lace of the slightly greasy garterbelt. His 
breath was hot on her neck, then his thick wet lips were smearing over her 
chin and to her gasping mouth. She fought, hopeless as she knew it was. She
heard hum of cameras, the yelps of rage and horror from Frank, and the rush
of furious breath from Chattel’s lungs. She nearly fainted, then regained 
her senses and tried to ram her knee to the Negro’s slapping, rolling 
balls. He laughed in her face, then clamped her close, his huge legs 
fighting to separate her taut thighs and locked ankles. Then the smell of 
his armpits, freed by his upraised arms, seeped into her nostrils like an 
anesthetic or a powerful drug.

Her muscles turned to water, her body wilted. All she could do was cry, 
which turned into a piercing scream as Chattel plunged his massive black 
cock into her unprotected cunt like a battering ram. The pain was 
unbearable; she felt it there, swelling her cunt to a huge aching balloon, 
buffeting the barrier high in her belly, ripping at the tender tissues and 
screaming nerves, then she went numb from the throat down. She saw but did 
not feel his teeth nibbling at her nipples. She smelled his skin, counted 
each drop of passionate sweat on his black face. She had no knowledge of 
whether her legs were out-flung or kinked up until she saw her own toes at 
the end of angled pumps, seemingly stretched out a hundred miles from the 
dull agony in her ass. Then he was fucking her; his black ass rose and fell
with rippling power. His belly smacked wetly to hers, his balls thumped 
against the taut cheeks of her ass and it was from this steady thumping 
that feeling began to return.

“Chat, Chat,” she husked. “You’re k-killing me! Easy, black baby, easy! 
Give me a ch-chance to get under it, to help you, to g-get it going right!”

“It’s going right for me, bitch,” he growled. “Just get to fucking before
I bust your white ass like a balloon! Fuck, woman!”

Marcia tried, to save herself from destruction and because every twist 
and hunch she made turned a little bit more of the pain to goodness. She 
lowered her legs and stretched them until the tendons ached and her hip 
joints streaked pain. By taking every advantage of the soft mattress under 
her splayed-out ass, she could ease under the last punishing inch of his 
fist-thick cock and save her womb the hard thump at the end of his every 
stroke. The feeling of impending death had given away to a sense of 
urgency, an insane need to adjust her tortured body to this brutal fucking,
a mad desire to turn the big black man from a jungle beast to a supplicant 
lover. Black or white, he was a man, possessed of a mind, a body and a 
monstrous prick. She found the rhythm, the twist that eased her battered 
cunt into eager seeking. Instantly, she sensed the rising tension in his 
cock, the flexing power of nerves straining for the ultimate sensation.

“No, no, Chat!” she whispered. “Not yet-hold back, let me get there too! 
Don’t come, don’t! A minute more, just a minute!”

His chuckle was deeply vain, but he slowed his undulating thrusts, and a 
moment later, they were both surprised by Carolina’s call for “reload 
time.”

Marcia hadn’t guessed that Chattel could control himself, but abruptly, 
his body eased; she could feel the muscles in his back relax and his thick,
sweaty neck turned from black cords to a cat-like roundness. His hips still
sawed, but the movement was a slow easy coasting instead of the hard 
driving. Reality rushed in as Marcia rested in the slow, sweet, almost 
super-delicious slip and slide of his solid cock in her responsive cunt. 
Her head rolled to peer at her husband, forgotten for many minutes. To her 
surprise, they had moved the table on its four rollers. Further, they had 
turned some cranks that had raised his strapped down shoulders so he could 
stare directly at her and Chattel between his broadly veed thighs.

What shocked her into hate and revulsion was that without Carolina’s 
fingers or reedy thin-lipped mouth, his cock was standing in furious 
stiffness, throbbing, jerking and causing his balls to sway against his 
opened ass as his voyeuristic orgy fired his senses. For a moment, her cunt
turned cold as she realized that her husband was experiencing a magnificent
vicarious thrill watching his wife getting fucked by a giant Negro. His 
eyes were wide, his mouth agape, and she saw the drop of come ooze from the
eye of his member as his belly urged at each slow stroke Chattel was making
in her body.

Mad for vengeance, Marcia slowly raised her tapered legs, bringing them 
up until they were high over Chattel’s back and her plump, finger marked 
nates were exposed to Frank’s furious gaze. She knew he could see very 
plainly now, how the sturdy black cock was coursing in and out of her cunt,
grown soft and wet by the ooze of her body fluids. As she had guessed he 
would, Chattel passed his big black hands under her ass to lift her to his 
thrusts. And the inevitable male desire sent one of his big-knuckled 
fingers to her asshole, pressing, deforming and pressing deeper until at 
the right instant, Marcia jerked her belly upward, sending her ass down. 
Deliberately, Marcia screamed, “Oh, fuck me good, black baby!” and screwed 
herself onto the intruding finger.

“Okay,” came Carolina’s hoarse cry, and then, “Okay,” from Jody.

Nothing changed. Chattel seemed hypnotized by the ecstasy of Marcia’s 
responsive rolls and undulations. The fire was hotter but it needed less 
violent stoking. Marcia lay with her face pressed hard to Chattel’s 
sweating black shoulder, watching the way Frank’s cock was being 
masturbated by his mind and remotely agitated nerves. Then she saw 
something which her mind believed because it had been battered by lies and 
truths alike, hammered mercilessly into accepting anything. It was Sam, 
stark naked, his cock stiff, and his balls swinging heavily. He was 
suddenly there, stepping close to Frank’s broadly spread ass, his member 
held in dead aim for the stretched and winking pucker of her husband’s 
asshole. There was no hesitation, no preliminaries. Sam simply pushed 
forward until his cock covered the brown pucker, then with muscles bulging,
humped. Frank screamed as the stiff prick drove up his rectum, then as Sam 
began to fuck, Frank used every leeway the straps allowed to fuck back and 
when a few seconds were passed, he shrieked and had his come. The hot 
spurts of jism struck her husband’s face and something within Marcia died 
as she watched him lick the sticky sperm his own cock was spewing onto his 
face.

She turned her face to Chattel’s and sought his drooling, thick lipped 
mouth and it was all he needed. His cock flexed mightily and she met his 
surging come with the thudding, pumping, grasping convulsions of her own. 
In blinding purple and brilliant scarlet, she hoped the nigger would knock 
her up; she’d give Frank a black baby because he had enjoyed the fuck as 
much as Chattel.

Chattel left her. She lay with one arm thrown over her eyes, hearing the 
movements and words around her as if they came from another world. Leo was 
consulting with Carolina, the lights went out, leaving a coolness to soothe
Marcia’s aching body and anguished mind. She could hear Frank, complaining,
cursing, but making no effort to call her nor talk to her. Marcia didn’t 
care because she was past feeling any emotion for her husband, her children
or herself. She could only feel, and weary as she was, every nerve and 
muscle screamed for plunging, ripping flesh; black or white had lost its 
meaning. Her thighs twitched, her belly churned, and she could feel the 
cooling come running from her quaking cunt. Her tits lay like heavy stones 
on her chest but the still hard lips tingled and pulsed from Chattel’s 
abusing mouth. Then she heard the gallery door open and quickly slam. Fred,
she supposed. Who was Fred? Or Sam, who had buggered her husband into 
insane delight. Sam? Jody or Carolina going for more film, or some small 
something. Leo. Marcia raised her arm and looked, but it was none of these.
It was Olga, excited, gesturing and mixing her English with Slavic.

“-in bruska, five, maybe-so fifty!”

Leo roared. He whirled and began to snap orders; strip the cameras, load 
the van, clean out and get going-“The coppers are on to us!”

Marcia snapped back to reality and sat up. Amid the confusion she saw 
herself, Marcia Mallory, queen of the wide screen, nearly naked and soiled 
with a nigger’s come. Over her, her husband, the prominent and capable 
Frank Goddard, master of her millions, his asshole swollen, his cock 
hanging in debilitation over his shriveled balls. And somewhere upstairs, 
her three children, frightened beyond sensibility. Outside, the law, with 
guns and grim faces, ready to close in on Leon Felton’s den of iniquity. 
The end.

She was tying Leo’s robe around herself when he came up, his eyes 
flashing, a grim smile on his lips. “Sorry, Mallory, but the bag is bust! 
Come on!”

“Come on? What do you mean?”

He seized her arm and swung her toward the door. The others had gone, the
sounds of their panic echoed through the house. Marcia clung to the door 
casing. Leo put two hands to her shoulders and threw her out into the 
hallway. “I said, get going,” he snarled. “The others are going to make a 
run for it in the Bentley. I’m going out a different way-and you’re going 
with me! Limey cops aren’t much for gun-play, but if I’ve got you with me, 
they won’t dare open up no matter how mad they are! Come on!”

“I won’t,” Marcia said, suddenly calm. “You’ve had your way. You’ve 
ruined me. You’ve turned my husband into some kind of an-an animal, and God
knows what you’ve done to my children! I’m through. I hope they catch you 
and hang you to the nearest tree! You-you beast! I’m not going with you for
any reason! If you try to make me I’ll-”

Leo squared in front of her, his huge body seeming even bigger than it 
was. He smiled, cruelly, and with no warmth she could see. Suddenly, he 
reached up and grabbed her by the hair. She gasped as he jerked her forward
and spun her toward the end of the hallway, still controlling her stumbling
legs and flailing arms with his brutal grip in her long blonde hair. He 
dragged her into his bedroom, holding her at arm’s length, then he raised 
the window and kicked the shutters open with a flatfooted kick. The burst 
of daylight made Marcia blink. Outside, the woods were green and the brush 
was beginning to flower. Leo looked out and apparently satisfied himself 
that the house was not yet surrounded. He turned and jerked her close.

“You scream, I’ll break your neck. We are going out this goddamned window
and into the brush. It is a couple of miles to a place where I can hide. 
You’re going every fucking step of the way! Come on!”

For a moment, Marcia hesitated. She could hear the racing of a car motor,
then a furious crash. She guessed that somebody had driven a car through 
the garage door; the entire house shook with the impact. There were voices,
loud, demanding English voices somewhere. Then a gunshot, and a second. 
Terrified, Marcia braced herself at the window. The most he could do would 
be to strike her down because there was no time for anything more drastic. 
Freedom, rescue, help, out there within reach of her best scream. She 
opened her mouth, and at that moment, Leo’s big right arm went down and 
between her legs, lifting her as his forearm hooked up against her already 
bruised cunt. She gasped, but he kept raising and then he threw her 
headfirst through the window. She sailed, landing with terrible force on 
her hands and knees and before she could catch her breath, he was over her,
lifting with hard hands and deeply digging fingers under her arms. And 
before she could gather her wits, she was thrown over his shoulder, her 
head and arms bouncing as he started off into the brush. She thought, if 
they shoot, they’ll kill me instead of Leo because his back is protected. 
Brush cut at her, his shoulder jolted hard into her folded belly.

Within seconds, the house was masked by brush. Leo’s arm around her legs 
hugged her knees to his torso. It was hard to breathe, difficult to cling 
to her senses. Her hands went to his waist to ease the furious jogging her 
head was undergoing. She felt like fainting and she had no breath for 
screaming. It seemed to her that Leo was the strongest man in the world. 
Carrying her one hundred and twenty pounds bothered him not at all. He was 
almost trotting, stepping over logs and gullies, wending his way over the 
barely discernable path.

Then she heard the pursuit behind them, shouts, answers and the distant 
sound of feet crashing over dried branches. Leo speeded his pace. He was 
breathing hard, like an animal escaping the hounds. But Marcia thought he 
would not escape. He couldn’t escape; God or the Devil, one, would anger at
his evil and trap him like the rat he was. Even when he seemed to be 
outdistancing their pursuers, she had faith in the triumph of right over 
his unspeakable wrong.

Suddenly, three quick shots sounded very close behind them. Marcia 
thought she heard the bullets cut the leaves around them. Leo turned 
abruptly from the path, diving straight into the thickets. Marcia cried out
as stiff branches poked and slashed at her nearly bare arms, then Leo 
reached a down slope and broke into a near-run.

She felt him stumble before he realized he was tumbling, Marcia closed 
her arms over her face, the million-dollar face that could be easily ruined
forever by being jammed into rocks and sharp branches. Leo was losing pace 
with his feet, his own big body heavily weighted by hers, plunging down 
faster than his feet could lift and push ahead in the underbrush. Then 
Marcia was jerked from his shoulder as he spun in final effort. She felt 
his arms close around her, and she thought, the dirty sonof-a-bitch is 
going to use me as a cushion for his fall.

Instead, when the huge thump came it was Leo’s back on the rocks and dirt
and it was his body that cushioned hers. Nonetheless, she huddled for a 
second or two, the breath knocked completely out of her lungs. And when she
released herself from his strangely limp grasp she saw that he was 
unconscious. The rocks under his head told her why. She scrambled to her 
feet, swaying in the highheeled pumps, her borrowed robe half open and her 
hair flying nearly as wildly as her mind.

He lay limply, but straight. His face in repose was brutally handsome, 
and his big body, still shaking from his short breathing, seemed painfully 
familiar. She stared down at his thick thighs in perfectly tailored 
trousers, now dusty and flecked with dirt and leaves. She could almost 
count every inch of his big cock hugged close to his left thigh. Leo the 
Lion, lying like a dead warrior. Finished. No more, “Suck my cock, 
Mallory.” No more, “I’m the man here so we’ll do it like I say. I’m going 
to film an epic. Get your ass up where I can reach it, Mallory!” Nothing 
more.

Then she heard the crash of feet in the brush at the top of the hill. One
scream and she was back in the world that loved and adored her. One scream 
and Leo was in handcuffs, on his way to at least a half a life in a dank 
English prison.

One scream and Marcia Mallory was again a living dead-woman.

She sank down, throwing her body across his. The English Paisley robe 
covered his white shirt, her arms raised and covered his pale face. She 
thought, she hoped and she prayed that from the top of the knoll, her body 
and his would look more like rocks and limbs and brush than like people. 
She did not know if they saw or not, but she didn’t take a breath until the
sound of feet in the undergrowth faded and moved away, leaving her taut and
frightened and ridiculously happy. She raised her terror-dry lips and 
kissed the granite shape of Leon Felton’s chin.

“Umm-h,” he grunted.

“Sh-hh, baby,” Marcia breathed. “It’s going to be just fine!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Trader Mike didn’t know them very well because they were relatively new 
to the little archipelago, windward of Jamaica, but they had paid three 
thousand dollars in advance for the order, and from the looks of the wad in
the big man’s hand, they were ready to pay the balance due on the three big
wooden cases.

“All there?” demanded the big man, obviously an American.

“Invoices say so,” Trader Mike replied, pointing to the four sheets of 
listings. “All that photographic stuff. You some kind of a photographer, 
M.. Leon?”

“Some kind. Chat, haul those cases out to the launch, will you? And be 
careful wading through the surf. If that junk gets wet, we’ll have Carolina
and Jody on our necks like wildcats!”

“Have no fear, Chat is near,” the big Negro singsonged.

“Oh. I’ll bring the little box.”

Methodically then, his big, sun-burned hands counted out the twenty-five 
hundred dollars required to complete the payment. Trader Mike smiled, 
exposing his snaggle teeth. “Nice to do i business with you, Mr. Leon. Need
anything else, I just bring me a list.”

“I sure will. May need some more before long. My work is progressing 
nicely. Well, better be getting along because it is a three-hour trip to my
i island. So long.”

“So long, and thanks, Mr. Leon.”

Leo stuffed the remainder of his money back in) the pocket of his 
bleached jeans. Then he gathered’ the small bulky case under his arm and 
walked down the beach to where Chattel stood, calf deep in the surf, 
talking to Sam who was tinkering with the big, long-shaft outboard motor. 
He hefted the wooden box because a corner was digging into his lean hip, 
but he didn’t ease his grasp of the box.

If anything happened to this case of Vaseline, she’d eat his ass out and 
when Marcia turned it on, her language even embarrassed him. Someday when 
it was safe to go back to the mainland, he’d buy a Bolex with a sound track
and really film an epic.


THE END
