Sinnocent Abroad
by Ian Johns
(GC-372)


"It looks like Arlene will be a very busy sex machine this next week," he 
said. 

Arlene had been quietly listening to the entire conversation. She smiled at 
Carlson, knowing he had been dying to get into her pants for months, but she 
had resisted his every overture. Sex meant one thing to Arlene-money. And 
Carlson St. John was not powerful enough in the party yet to have money. 

"Yes, darling," she responded, "and a very rich girl the week after, no?" 


INTRODUCTION
by Leonard A. Lowag, Ph.D. 

Sinnocent Abroad is a revealing, poignant story, stark in content and 
exposing reality as it exists in all its ugly exactitude. It is not a pretty 
picture, expose seldom is; but the story is founded on tangible vice and 
viciousness as it prevails today. Most of the characters depicted fall into 
the category of the psychopathic personality-those individuals whose 
behavior seem primarily characterized by a complete absence of moral 
scruple. The reader of this introspective tale on espionage and erotomania 
should indeed be equipped with intrepidity and a turn toward the intrinsic 
values of society, for within this book in abrupt and brazen word is 
depicted a cross section of the NOW generation, whose shabby and sordid 
creatures reveal themselves undeniable. The story concerns a segment of 
humanity which for obvious reasons must be brought to light for inspection 
and inquiry. Written in shocking detail, the narrative could well be a 
psychological expedition into the hinterland of man's unconscious id-that 
part of the thinking process containing all of the component sexual 
instincts, originating the erotogenic zones (oral, anal, and genital), and 
including the instinct of aggression. 

This substratum of biologically determined impulse in man is present in each 
of us, lying submerged from our conscious awareness, but motivating us in 
acts which often seem lacking in purpose or directive. It is the id which 
transforms man into the ambivalent personality from which he vacillates with 
little or no knowledge of his basic drives. The story plot in Sinnocent 
Abroad centers about a young victim of man's lust and bestiality, whose id 
drove her away from a heterosexual life toward homosexuality in search of 
fulfillment. Cynthia Walters' traumatic encounter with an uncle at a young 
age becomes the pivot point in her life, swinging her ever farther from the 
norm into the realm of inversion and deviation. Struggle as she may with her 
superego (conscience), she is powerless against this most devastating force 
that controls her conscious behavior. The reader lives with Cynthia through 
tempestuous days of ravening desire when the mania for her own sex seeks to 
devour and destroy her, when the allure for repressed sexual gratification 
drives her recklessly toward utter oblivion. It is a tale of one caught in 
the harsh pincers of fate's own particular brand of torture, and definitely 
geared to adult reading by those mature enough to rationalize the behavior 
of the characters in the light of our current standards. 

Sexual inversion in the female has been as prevalent down the years as 
homosexuality in men, extending even to distinguished women in all ages and 
in all fields of society. Catherine II of Russia is represented to have been 
bisexual and Queen Hats-chepsu of Egypt consistently represented herself in 
statue in masculine costume, even to the extent of wearing a beard. Queen 
Christina of Sweden exhibited marked masculine traits and her biographers 
regard her as bisexual or homosexual. Rosa Bon-heur, French painter and 
woman of genius, frequently dressed as a man on the streets of Paris. Since 
the days of Sappho, literature has recounted great love and passion among 
women. The works of Diderot, Balzac, Gautier, Flaubert, and even Zola have 
described female sexual inversion in a manner predisposed toward passionate 
sensuality mixed with idealistic feelings of love and affection. Even among 
the legends of Indian mythology is to be found stories of homosexuality. 
D.C. McMurtrie in his A Legend of Lesbian Love Among the North American 
Indians tells of a folk tale involving a man, whose wife fell in love with 
his sister and ran away with her. Later a boneless child was born as the 
result of this union. The husband found the wife and killed both her and the 
deformed child. A similar legend in the mythology of the Fox Indians relates 
the story of two young females who were drawn together through homosexual 
desire. They often went into the woods together and stayed for prolonged 
periods, and during one such time, a pair of youths followed them and found 
them in the act of coitus. The girl enacting the male role " ... fell over 
backward. Her clitoris was standing out and had a queer shape; it was like a 
turtle's penis. Thereupon the maidens began to plead with the youths ... 
'Truly it is not of our own free desire that we have done this thing. We 
have done it under the influence of some unknown being.' It is said that 
afterward one of the maidens became big with child. In the course of time, 
she gave birth and the child was like a soft-shell turtle." In this same 
regard, ancient Hindu medical works also mention the possibility of a woman 
sexually uniting with another female and begetting a boneless fetus. 

Homosexuality in the larger sense can be seen in all of society, from the 
vantage point of man's dividing himself into sexual groups at every level of 
behavior to the show of genuine affection exhibited between males and 
especially among women, who tend to show a greater need for ties of 
affection. There is conclusive evidence that admiration is felt and shown 
within the sexes. Thus, it must be concluded that only in the most 
exaggerated sense when sexual excitation is experienced can homosexuality be 
termed true inversion. A series of comparisons has established itself in the 
human mind starting with the antithesis: male-female; good-bad; right-left; 
high-low; and above-below. In every neurotic female there appears to be a 
refusal to be a female in the "below" category, socially as well as 
sexually. The female who is inferior in looks, intelligence, or position and 
cannot either compensate for that inferiority by displaying superiority in 
some way artistic or scientific, or otherwise reconcile herself to her 
inferior position, wishes consciously and unconsciously to be a man. She may 
consciously parade herself as masculine as possible without objective 
recognition of her role. Unconsciously she dreams herself into a male 
personality, physically, mentally, socially, and sexually. Her wish to be in 
the "above" category causes her to play a man's part in love as well as in 
society. All of this data voices what Adler terms "the masculine protest" by 
the female sex. However, homosexual behavior should certainly be 
distinguished from homosexual leanings. Cynthia Walters was basically a 
normally sexed female until such time that she was brutally maltreated by 
her uncle. So great was her sexual humiliation at this time that her 
heterosexual tendencies were smothered by fear and hate for the male sex 
with the result that she carried this mania into her adult life, moving 
toward homosexuality until she became a complete Lesbian. Cynthia's case is 
not unique, as many women are often driven into spinsterhood, frigidity, and 
Lesbianism because of an early unfavorable sexual encounter. 

The setting of Sinnocent Abroad is laid primarily in contemporary Paris 
against a backdrop of espionage, gangsterism, and prostitution. Uniquely, 
spying as well as harlotry has been practiced since our earliest records. In 
Biblical times, Delilah was in reality a secret agent of the Philistines 
whose purpose it was to weaken Samson. The ancient empires of Asia had 
well-organized systems of espionage, and during the 13th century, the 
Mongols had a spy system which was unequaled until the time of the 19th 
century. Espionage was used for five centuries by the church to ferret out 
unbelievers, and this practice continued up into the Middle Ages. Even 
Napoleon, who distrusted all spies, built up an elaborate and costly secret 
police service among whom were his agents Joseph Fouche and Karl 
Schulmeister. And so it has gone down the years with espionage and 
counterespionage being used both for good and for evil purposes. In our 
story, Cynthia, whose latent sexual tendencies are unknown to her 
government, goes to France on an assignment for the American State 
Department and is drawn into a web of international intrigue manipulated by 
professional criminals whose devious goals are reached through channels of 
blood and blackmail. The target of this particular ring is the discrediting 
and humiliation of the United States by luring some of their emotionally 
disturbed personnel into compromising situations. The characters drawn by 
Ian Johns are without parallel, dredged from the veritable core of humanity; 
cunning and without honor. Their single purpose is the destruction of their 
prey. One of the members of the spy ring is the beautiful Arlene Richards, 
an American embassy employee. Morally depraved and fraught with cupidity, 
Arlene presents to the reader the epitome of deviation. Arlene is a 
practicing prostitute and an established bisexual. Havelock Ellis, along 
with other early psychologists, believed inversion among prostitutes to be 
an integral part of the profession, while it was Hirschfeld's contention 
that inverted females are prone toward prostitution. The harlot's 
professional sexual relations with men preclude social equality and as a 
general rule, sexual satisfaction. She must find these attributes in a 
procurer or in a female lover. Ellis also felt that in a large number of 
cases, prostitutes show signs of neurotic heredity with a tendency toward 
homosexuality, and tests made in this area do appear to bear out his theory. 
It is to the sinister and reprehensible Arlene that Cynthia succumbs to 
escape her former sexual identification. The scenes depicted in Cynthia's 
demoralization are unforgettably graphic and pointed. Nothing is left to the 
imagination of the reader in this display of felonious and degenerate human 
behavior, and he is seized with the awareness of the widespread depravity 
extant throughout every area of our existence. As mentioned prior, the basic 
characters are psychopathic and though often winsome and charming when it 
suits their purpose, they have no hesitation in selling out their best 
friends for the sake of personal advantage and will not balk at murder if 
seriously frustrated. The psychopath, who is often intelligent; generally 
exhibits poor judgment and his only rule of conduct seems to be one of 
expediency. He appears incapable of postponement and long-range planning and 
his least whim demands prompt gratification. He may become fiercely angry 
when opposed, but quickly recovers his equanimity when his end is gained or 
if something happens to change the direction of his desire. A psychopath may 
commit a crime of passion on the spur of the moment and begin cold-bloodedly 
to cover his tracks a moment later. Certainly, as the reader addresses 
himself to the personality of the characters in this story, he can evaluate 
the various types of immorality and relate them to the psychopathic 
personality. In a psychological sense, Sinnocent Aboard speaks to a portion 
of our society which should be analyzed without secrecy. It is true that 
each of the characters depicted here share in common with the balance of 
humanity a turntable personality of obliquity and impeccability. To 
understand this ambiguity, and to unlock the path that walks undaunted 
between these two halves, I feel to be the answer to the riddle of society. 

If the reader will but read, not with an eye for lustful or depraved deed, 
but with concern to put each component of this sick society in its proper 
perspective-piece by piece, bit by bit, he may strike at the destruction and 
decay so prevalent in our times. 

Shakespeare said it 400 years ago: 

"Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her 
own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws. And burn 
the long-lived phoenix in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons as they 
fleets, And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, To the wide world and 
all her fading sweets; But I forbid thee one more heinous crime." 

-L. Lowag 

CHAPTER ONE 

When the man pulled down his jockey shorts, his erect cock sprung straight 
out in front of his body, his heavy balls hanging in the blue-veined sack 
covered with short, black curly hair. Cynthia's pale blue eyes widened and 
she gasped. He began to move toward her, the small hole at the end of his 
cock staring her in the eye. 

Cynthia closed her eyes, using all her effort to seal them tightly. Her 
knuckles turned stark white as she bunched the sheet in her hands, gripping 
it with all her might. This is what you want, she told herself, and you have 
to go through with it! You must find out; you have to know; you can't go on 
like this any longer! 

The man looked at the young blonde on the bed before him, his eyes moving 
slowly, appraisingly over her well-turned calves, up those creamy white 
thighs with the firm, molded skin. Her legs were slightly spread, one knee 
in the air and the other flat on the bed. He could see the thin pink slit of 
her cunt covered with the soft blonde tufts of hair that formed a small 
mound, raised slightly from her flat belly. His eyes lingered on her 
virginal cunt for a moment, his tongue moistening his lips as he thought of 
ramming his hard cock through that soft hair up into her white belly. 

"God, what a piece of ass!" he muttered, as his eyes moved slowly upward 
over her rib cage to caress the large, soft white mounds rising from her 
chest. Two, bright-red nipples surrounded by dark circles stared at him. He 
stopped for a moment, feasting his eyes on the most luscious set of tits he 
had ever seen. They were like two fully ripe melons, oversized for the 
girl's body, but perfectly shaped. The bright-red nipples topping the pure 
white skin of the breasts reminded the man of luscious, ripe strawberries 
cresting soft whipped cream. 

"Oh, baby, we're really going to ball it!" he said, reaching down and 
stroking his heavy hard cock with his hand as he moved closer to the naked 
blonde on the bed. He saw her body shake as he spoke, and he took this for a 
tremendous craving on Cynthia's part. Lowering himself beside her on the 
bed, he reached out and cupped the upper portion of her breast in his hand, 
kneading and teasing the nipple. With his other hand he reached out and 
gently pulled her face toward his. He felt her resist and he applied firm 
pressure, bringing her ripe sensual lips close to his. 

Cynthia's grip on the sheet tightened. The rough feel of his hand on her 
breast sent a shudder racing through her body and she could smell his whisky 
laden breath wafting against her cheek. His rigid, moist cock was pressing 
hard against her thigh. Her muscles tensed as she felt his hairy arm scrape 
against her soft skin, pulling her face to his. She fought bravely against 
the nausea sweeping through her body. 

Dear God, she thought to herself, why? Why am I like this? What's wrong with 
me? Do all women feel like this and somehow manage to conceal their true 
feelings? No, it couldn't be! Some of her girl friends told her they loved 
sex, even craved it. Then why was she like this? Why did the feel of a man's 
touch make her freeze up, want her to be sick to her stomach? Why? Why? Why? 

No matter what, Cynthia told herself, I have to go through with this! She 
owed nothing to the man. After all, she had allowed him to pick her up at 
the bar in the Shoreham, forced herself to make polite conversation and 
endure all his suggestive, crude remarks, then agreed to go to his room with 
him. No, she owed him nothing. She hadn't even allowed him to buy her 
dinner. But she did owe herself something. She owed herself positive proof 
that she was normal, and not some freak walking the streets. 

A common pick-up! Her brain reeled at the implication. Cynthia Walters-a 
common pick-up, a cheap whore! Her mind quaked and her body shuddered at the 
thought. Then she felt his rough, moist lips pressing against hers. His 
alcoholic breath was overpowering now, permeating her nostrils and causing 
her to gag. She felt his tongue with its grainy tip running along the inside 
of her lips and trying to wedge itself between her teeth to pry them open. 
She held them clenched tightly together, fighting against having his awful 
tongue invade her mouth. Suddenly the man pinched her nipple hard between 
his thumb and forefinger. 

"Aaaaauuuggghhh!" she cried, as the pain in her breast shot through her 
entire body. The minute she opened her mouth to cry out, the man's tongue 
shot inside. Cynthia realized too late that the pain he had subjected her to 
had been for that express purpose. Now the sour taste of his mouth flowed 
down his tongue and ran into hers. Cynthia let go of the sheet in an effort 
to push him away, but he was too strong for her. He grabbed both of her 
wrists in one hand and pinned her arms to the bed above her head. Then, 
moving his head slowly and letting his tongue leave a moist trail across her 
neck and down her chest, the man held her arms pinioned while he lustily 
sucked the ripe nipple of her breast into his mouth. He wrapped his tongue 
around the firm nipple and sucked hard, his teeth grazing the deep brown 
aureole. 

The feel of her soft breast in his mouth sent a tingle racing through his 
loins. With his free hand he reached down and pulled her tightly clasped 
thighs apart, sending his racing fingers to her silky blonde crotch. He felt 
Cynthia struggle beneath him and he tightened his grip. She's one of those 
broads who'll go to your room with you, but wants you to rape her, he 
thought. Well, don't worry, baby, he said to himself, I'm gonna give you 
seven inches of solid steel up that cunt! You'll know you've been fucked 
when I get through with you! 

He roughly pulled the lips of her cunt open and inserted his middle finger 
between the soft folds of flesh. Finding the hole, the man began inching his 
finger up inside her. She was dry and tight, her body squirming to dislodge 
the foreign member from her body, and he applied pressure as his finger sunk 
into her cunt to its first joint. 

"Aaaaauuughhh!" she screamed, as his brutal finger wedged itself deeper and 
deeper into her dry vaginal passage. 

"Shut up!" he commanded, sinking his teeth hard into her soft breast. "I'll 
give you something to really cry about if you don't shut up!" 

He hated these broads who wiggled their ass at every man they saw, then 
screamed when the man spread their legs for them. Goddamned prick-teasers, 
he'd always called them. Well, this one would get a lesson she wouldn't soon 
forget! With one hard thrust he shoved his finger up to the knuckle in her 
dry cunt, then began a brutal sawing motion to open her tight passage. 

Cynthia was helpless. The man grabbed her hair viciously in his hand and 
forced her head back on the bed. She could see the thin trails of saliva 
seeping from his rough lips as he moved his mouth toward her face. In horror 
she watched his tongue dart out and moisten his lips as he pressed forward 
to bring his mouth into contact with hers. Her cunt was throbbing with pain 
as his finger brutally raped her virginal opening with his finger. The 
nausea sweeping through her was almost uncontrollable. 

She felt her stomach heave and she was certain she would vomit in his face. 
It was only with a great effort that she was able to swallow and force the 
sour liquid back into her stomach. 

She felt blood swimming around her fingernails where she had broken the skin 
on his arm trying to push him away. Then his mouth clamped against hers, his 
tongue running into hers and swabbing the inside of her mouth like 
sandpaper. 

"Your cunt's too dry, baby,' 'he whispered hoarsely. "What we need to do is 
get you turned on and warmed up. Maybe sucking a good, hard cock will get 
you going, huh?" 

He pulled his body up until his knees were straddling her sides, his heavy 
balls brushing against her nipples as he moved his rigid cock slowly toward 
her mouth. Cynthia's eyes widened as she saw the long, dark tan shaft with 
its bulging purple veins steadily advancing at her face. She felt his balls 
drag across her breasts and fall heavily against her throat and chin. Tiny 
droplets of moist semen oozed from the head of his inflated cock, making it 
glisten as though it carried a thousand tiny lights. 

"No! Don't!" she pleaded, as he jerked his hips forward and planted the dark 
head of his cock against the base of her nose. The pungent odor of sex 
permeated her flared nostrils and seeped into every pore of her skin. It was 
more than she could bear. The very thought of taking his slimy cock in her 
mouth was too much! "Please don't! Use me if you must, I deserve that for 
coming here with you, but don't make me touch you!" 

He grabbed her hair roughly and jerked her head up. 

"Suck it!" he ordered. 

"Pleeaaassss...." Cynthia never finished her plea. The moment she opened her 
mouth to beg him to leave her alone, the man jerked his hips forward and 
rammed his swollen cock between her lips and teeth. She felt it rush into 
her mouth, bruising her lips, scrapping against her teeth, grinding against 
her tongue and then bouncing off the roof of her mouth to fill her throat 
with its giant head. His pubic hair ground against her soft lips and he made 
an obscene thrust with his hips to sink his cock deeper between her red 
lips. 

Cynthia blacked out momentarily. Her body felt like a thousand tiny needles 
were pricking her skin. The nausea she had been holding in check now raged 
out of control. Her stomach retched and her throat heaved. Perspiration 
broke out on her forehead and ran in small rivers down her cheeks. She 
panicked, gasping for air, grasping for freedom. With every ounce of 
strength she had, Cynthia wiggled, squirmed, pushed and heaved to dislodge 
the giant cock from her mouth. She broke his skin in a dozen places with her 
fingernails, trying to topple his body from on top of hers, but he had his 
knees firmly planted on the bed and by pulling his thighs in he was able to 
ride her like a horse. She couldn't move him, couldn't remove the filthy 
cock that was invading her mouth, no matter what she did. Her panic 
increased until she was reacting from terror. Cynthia felt she would die if 
she didn't free herself from the man who was raping her mouth. With a 
strength that comes only in those moments of blind terror, Cynthia managed 
to free her hand from beneath his leg. She struck out with all her force at 
the nearest thing to her fist-his crotch. She felt her knuckles sink in the 
soft sack containing his throbbing balls and she pushed as hard as she 
could. 

"Oooowww!" he screamed in agony, his knees buckling and causing him to fall 
to her side. "You dirty, rotten bitch!" he groaned, holding his aching balls 
in his hand and trying to recover his breath. 

Cynthia jumped from the bed and leaped across the small room. She glanced 
quickly hack over her shoulder and saw the man doubled up in pain on the 
bed. She knew she didn't have much time before he would recover, so she 
grabbed her coat and slipped her feet into her high heel pumps and bolted 
out of the room, leaving the rest of her clothes in a pile on the floor. 
Pulling her coat on and buttoning it tight so that no one would know she had 
nothing on under it, Cynthia skipped down the hall and jumped into the 
elevator. 

CHAPTER TWO 

Cynthia Walters paced back and forth through her small apartment. Even the 
steaming hot shower had failed to take the chill of the night air from her 
skin. She had gone to bed hoping to find sleep because tomorrow was a work 
day, but Cynthia tossed and turned until her body was all wrapped in the 
sheets and blankets. She got up and took two sleeping pills, then crawled 
back into bed only to toss and turn some more. Now, in her bathrobe and 
slippers, she was restlessly pacing the three small rooms of her apartment. 

"Could he trace me here?" she asked aloud. Her voice echoed in the empty 
apartment, reminding her of how truly alone she was in the world. Of course 
not, she answered to herself. I had the presence of mind to grab my purse as 
I left, and there's nothing in my clothes to identify me or tell him where I 
live, she argued. Then she remembered seeing one of the men from the state 
department at the Shoreham, but she felt sure he hadn't recognized her. 
She'd only seen him a few times and she was certain he didn't know who she 
was. 

Cynthia remembered that the man had said he was from California and would be 
leaving Washington to return home the next day. Maybe she should call in and 
stay home sick until she was positive he was out of town. What in God's name 
possessed her to let him pick her up like a cheap whore in the first place? 
Knowing too well the answer to that question, she leaned against the wall in 
the living room and sobbed. 

"Dear God, what's the matter with me?" she moaned. 

She plopped down in a chair and nervously lighted her tenth cigarette since 
she had been secure in her apartment. Cynthia took two quick puffs and then 
stubbed it out in the ash try on the coffee table, stood up and began to 
pace the floor again. 

On moments like this, and Cynthia had had too many of them lately, she 
reviewed her life searching for some clue to her personality. A warmth 
flowed through her as she remembered her mother, that sweet, kind woman who 
believed the world and everyone in it was good. Those were wonderful times 
when she and her mother and father had gone to the lake boating and 
picnicking. Her father always pretended he was going to throw her in the 
lake, but he never did. He was so kind, so gentle, so fun-loving. He would 
pick her up and hold her over the side of the boat, then pull her close to 
him and kiss her forehead. 

And the time they all went to the football game together! How many hot dogs 
had she consumed? They kept warning she would be sick, but they bought her 
one every time the man went by. And she was sick, so terribly sick with an 
awful tummy ache the next day! 

And school. She was always so proud of her parents when they attended the 
social functions at school. They were such a handsome pair, and everybody 
looked at them with such envy. Cynthia used to walk between them, her hands 
locked in each of theirs. 

There had been problems. Like the time her father spent too much on a new 
set of golf clubs and the bank account was overdrawn. Her mother cried 
almost all night, complaining that she didn't know where the money would 
come from to pay the mortgage on the house. But they managed-they always 
did. Her father would borrow from the bank and pay back out of his salary, 
saying that if you weren't in debt you weren't a true American. 

Then that awful night. They were driving home from a party when the train 
hit their car. Cynthia remembered that she was waiting up for them, anxious 
to tell them that she had joined the Girl Scouts that afternoon. She fell 
asleep twice, and then the policeman woke her with a gentle shake of her 
shoulder. She was frightened to see that strange man in her room at night 
and she screamed. Another policeman came with her Uncle Bill in tow and they 
took her downstairs to the living room. 

Her parents never knew what hit them, they said. The bodies had been 
recovered and death was instantaneous. Thank God for that, Cynthia said to 
herself. 

That was the beginning of a long nightmare for her, one that would last 
until she found her real self. When she thought of her Uncle Bill, Cynthia 
clenched and unclenched her fists and bit her lower lip. God how she hated 
that man! Just the thought of him sent shivers through her, and she 
collapsed on the couch with her head buried in her hands. 

He was the only member of her family left and they told her she would have 
to live with him after her parents died. Cold sweat broke out on her 
forehead when she thought about him and what he had done to her. It was like 
a dream sequence turning into a horrible nightmare! She remembered the 
neighbors helping her pack up her things, her clothes going into all of her 
parent's suitcases and her toys being carefully packed in boxes. Nothing 
about the days of that awful week seemed real to Cynthia. She moved when 
people told her to, did what they wanted her to do, but it was like she 
wasn't there at all, like she was an outsider observing all that was going 
on around her. 

Uncle Bill's apartment was the penthouse on the tallest building in town. 
She used to love to go there and visit with her parents. She could sit by 
the window and look down on everything in Hartford. She giggled at the cars 
that looked like ants and the people who looked like specks of dust on the 
streets below. It was great fun to visit, but going to live with Uncle Bill 
scared her. She had heard her father remark about how worthless his brother 
was, how much money he had, how he scandalized the town with his romantic 
adventures, how he had a different woman living with him every week. 

Cynthia knew her uncle drank a lot. She'd seen him drunk many times when the 
family visited, and one Christmas he had so much to drink he got into an 
argument with her father and knocked him down in their own living room. She 
hated him for that, and then she was forced to live with him. 

From the very beginning her uncle had made it plain that he wasn't any 
happier about the arrangement than she was. He continually complained that 
he would have to rearrange his entire life, and he told her that she was to 
stay in her room at nights and not bother him. 

Two months, that was all it lasted-two brief, horror-filled months! Cynthia 
had tried, she really had! She'd been quiet in the apartment, stayed at 
school as late as she could, and intruded on his life as little as possible. 
But he was drinking more and more, and when he was drunk Cynthia was afraid 
of him. He became mean and belligerent when he was drinking, and he used 
foul language. Cynthia did her best to avoid him when he was like that. 

Her entire body began shuddering and tears rolled from her eyes as she 
remembered that night he came home late and barged into her room. He was 
drunk, reeking of liquor and stale cigarette smoke. The light from the 
living room framed him in the doorway as he stood there staring at her in 
bed. Cynthia came awake and sat bolt upright in the bed, pulling the covers 
up to her chin. She saw him hesitate and then start into the room. 

"No!" she screamed, recognizing a shadow of danger descending upon her. "No! 
Go away!" 

"You've ruined my life, you little bitch," he growled, "so you damned well 
can take care of my needs!" 

His large hand grabbed the covers and ripped them away from her grasp. His 
other hand shot out and grabbed the neckline of her nightgown. With one 
savage pull he ripped the gown from her body and threw it to the floor. She 
saw his hand tremble as his eyes swept over her budding body. Her breasts, 
already large and well-formed, heaved as fright sped through her. He watched 
them go up and down and then she saw his gaze sweep to the "V" where her 
legs met. Her hands shot down to cover the small pubic mound which was just 
growing its first covering of golden blonde hair, but he was too quick for 
her and grabbed her wrists in a steel grip, holding her hands high above her 
body while his eyes feasted on the young slit of her cunt. 

Cynthia's body shook on the couch as she remembered her uncle's hand 
shooting down between her legs, his fingers roughly exploring her virginal 
region. She could remember the glassy stare in his eyes as he began ripping 
his clothes off. His mouth was open, and she could still hear him panting. 
Then the sight of his swollen cock springing from his underpants frightened 
her and she screamed. He whipped his hand viciously across her face, the 
sting bringing tears flooding from her' young eyes. 

She sobbed as he ran his rough hands over her body, feeling, pinching and 
caressing her most secret parts. His hand between her legs was killing 
Cynthia, the rough fingers probing and pinching the soft flesh. She felt his 
finger press against her cunt opening, his nail digging into the firm fleshy 
interior as he invaded her bit by bit. She screamed and began crying 
hysterically, but it only seemed to egg him on. He took his giant cock in 
his hand and leaned down to rub its sticky tip against her soft nipples. 

Cynthia used all her strength to fight him violently, her arms and legs 
flailing against his hard body, but he climbed on top of her and pinned her 
arms down with his knees. Then, taking his cock in hand again, he began 
rubbing it in her face. He pushed the swollen blue tip into her eyes, ran it 
along her nose, pushed it against her lips, each move leaving a glistening, 
sticky trail of moisture on her helpless face. 

Then she heard his breathing increase in tempo, his foul, whisky-stained 
breath coming at her in deep gasps. He moved back and pushed her legs apart 
brutally, his fingers digging deep into her soft white thighs. He kneeled 
between her legs and began inching his inflated cock toward the small pink 
slit before him. She felt him touch her, then a pain shot through her body 
as he impaled her on his rigid cock with one mighty stroke. 

She cried out in anguish, but it was of no use. He couldn't hear her or see 
her in his blind lust. Bracing his feet against the end of the bed, he 
lunged at her with all his might. The searing, stabbing pain ran from the 
walls of her now extended and ravaged cunt, coursing through her body. She 
felt his heavy balls slap against her soft ass with each cutting stab he 
delivered to her cunt. His cock felt like it was lodged in her belly, 
ripping and tearing at all of her inner organs. 

He held her hands pinned to the bed beside her head and lowered his 
slobbering mouth to hers. She tried to bite his lip, and he repaid her with 
a vicious stab in her cunt. She felt his hot breath beating against her 
cheeks and the saliva from his mouth dripping onto her lips, and Cynthia's 
body went into convulsions. 

Cynthia remembered biting his lip one moment when his guard was down. He 
howled with pain and slapped her face as hard as he could three times. Not 
satisfied with the punishment he had already dealt her, he pulled his cock 
from her cunt and picked her body up and turned it over on the bed. 

"That's the last time you'll bite me, by God!" he muttered, as he grabbed 
her waist and lifted her tail high in the air. Positioning himself on his 
knees behind her exposed buttocks, he spread the cheeks of her ass until his 
target was plainly visible. Then, with no effort to make it easier on her, 
he pressed his cock against the tiny elastic ring that guarded the entrance 
of her anus. She screamed and flipped her head from side to side as she felt 
him expanding her asshole with his rigid rod. 

"This is what they call a hot enema, honey," he said laughing. "You'll love 
it." 

Cynthia felt the elastic ring pop as his surging cock pressed into her 
asshole. She had never known such pain before in her life. It surged through 
her body as if she had a hot branding iron shoved up her. She screamed and 
beat her fists against the bed, but he kept pressing harder and harder 
against her. Then the canal gave way with a slushing sound and she felt his 
prick ram up inside her, ripping and tearing against the young flesh as the 
shaft sank deeper and deeper inside the small brown hole. 

Now his hips worked like pile drivers, beating his pelvis unmercifully 
against her soft buttocks. She heard his balls slap hard against the lips of 
her cunt. The pain increased as her bleeding rectum was battered 
relentlessly by the lust-filled animal behind her. Then she felt the hot 
spurts of liquid shooting up her ass. His thick cum filled her tiny rectum 
and began flowing back along the rapidly deflating shaft of his cock. She 
felt it mix with her blood and run down her legs to make a puddle beneath 
her on the bed. 

When he pulled his cock out of her ass, Cynthia felt like he was pulling 
half of her internal organs with it. It scraped and ripped along the canal 
and then came out with the sound of a bottle popping its cork. 

The minute she was free of his cock, Cynthia made one mighty effort and spun 
around on the bed. Her hand shot up and she raked his face with her 
fingernails, digging deep into the skin tissue and leaving bright red trails 
of blood streaming down his face. He was stunned for a moment. His hand rose 
to his face and wiped away blood. With unbelieving eyes he looked at the 
fresh streaks of blood on his hand. 

"You dirty little bitch!" he grunted. "You no good, dirty little bitch!" 

He struggled with her for a moment and then climbed on top of her, placing 
his knees on her arms and sitting on her belly. She saw him take his limp 
cock in his hand and aim it at her. Before she realized what he was doing, a 
steaming hot stream of yellow liquid poured forth from the tiny hole in the 
head of his cock. It came directly at her face, covering her with a 
foul-smelling, sticky coat of urine. Using his cock like a water pistol, he 
sprayed every inch of her face and hair, then rose on his knees and began 
spraying her breasts, belly and finally her blood-ravaged cunt. Hours of 
heavy drinking had concentrated in his balls and he let what seemed to be a 
never-ending stream cover her entire body. 

Then he stood above her, waving his cock down at her. 

"That's what you're good for, honey," he laughed, "to piss on!" 

He stumbled off of the bed and through the door to the living room, 
whistling a tune as he bumped into furniture on his way to bed. Cynthia 
would remember that sleepless night as long as she lived. She sat huddled in 
the comer of her bed, sobbing and crying as her ravaged body and humiliated 
mind protested what had happened to her. 

She stood up and began pacing the floor of her small apartment again. 
Cynthia had promised herself she would never think of that night again. She 
had spent anguished weeks and lost countless hours of sleep thinking about 
that horrid hour when she was twelve years old. 

Cynthia knew it was an accident, yet she couldn't help feeling she'd had a 
hand in his death. She'd been in a semi state of shock the next afternoon 
when the policeman came to the apartment and had her dress to go to the 
hospital with him. How many times that night had she wished her uncle dead? 
And now the policeman was telling her that he had been hit by a car crossing 
the street. 

They rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. Her uncle died a few 
minutes after he was admitted to the emergency room. Cynthia went to pieces 
and became hysterical when the doctor told her. They had to put her in a 
room under sedation until she could recover enough to be moved. 

Try as she would, Cynthia could remember only bits and pieces through the 
thick haze of the next few weeks. Her uncle's estate went to her as the 
surviving heir, and provisions had been made for a guardian and a trust for 
her living and education. She moved in with her guardian and his wife, 
kindly old friends of the family, but Cynthia was listless. She had no 
interest in anything and she acted as if she was in a state of limbo. It was 
only after expending a great deal of patience that her guardian was able to 
get through to her, create an interest in school and a spark for living. 

The process was gradual, but little by little Cynthia came out of her shell. 
She took an interest in school and climbed quickly to the top of her class. 
She became assistant editor of the school newspaper and looked forward to 
college and a degree in journalism. 

Cynthia smiled as she thought back on those treasured, golden days of her 
life. For a period she knew complete security, was popular with her teachers 
and friends, and felt a marvelous empathy with her guardian and his wife. It 
wasn't like having a mother and father, but she did feel she had a home she 
could call her own. 

The smile vanished from her face and she began pacing back and forth again 
as she remembered when all her trouble started. It was in her third year of 
high school. Up until that point, Cynthia had dated very little, limiting 
herself to an occasional movie or a soda with a boy at the Hamburger Haven. 
Cynthia never felt comfortable with boys and she was always on her guard. 
She knew she wasn't wealthy, but "comfortably fixed," as her guardian put 
it, and she warned herself that she would have to take care that some boy 
didn't court her money instead of her. 

Whenever she was asked for a date, Cynthia begged off with one excuse or 
another. Then she realized that most of her girl friends had steady boys and 
she had none. Her best friend even asked her why she never dated! 

Cynthia walked into the tiny kitchen and began warming some milk in a pan. 
"If I don't get some sleep," she said aloud, "I'll look ghastly at the 
office tomorrow!" She watched the milk swirl in the pan as she stirred it to 
keep it from scalding, and she thought about Bob. He was her first serious 
date in high school. They went to a school dance together and then he drove 
her down to the little lover's lane all the kids used behind the school 
gymnasium. She liked Bob and they'd had a wonderful evening together, but 
when he tried to kr. her she froze and suddenly became hysterical 

"Poor Bob," she sighed, pouring the hot milk into a large glass and turning 
the stove off. He was dumbfounded and had to slap her to make her stop 
sobbing and crying. He never asked for another date, but he was just the 
first of many. It happened every time a boy tried to kiss her or even take 
her in his arms. At the beginning. Cynthia thought it was the boy, that for 
some unknown reason she felt repulsed by the boy. Then, as it continued on 
date after date, Cynthia knew that it was something within her. 

In college, she forced herself to let boys kiss her. Often she dug her 
fingernails into the palm of her hands until they bled in an effort to 
control her hysteria. It was fruitless, and on one occasion, Cynthia vomited 
in a boy's lap when he attempted to fondle her breast. His touch on her 
intimate region nauseated her and she lost control. After that Cynthia 
stopped dating. 

On her twenty-first birthday the trust reverted to Cynthia and she found 
herself a wealthy young lady. Money was not important to her, however, and 
she hardly changed a thing in her way of living. She took a small apartment 
near campus, but spent every weekend at her guardian's home. 

In her second year at college, Cynthia had a crush on one of her professors. 
He was the handsome young man brought in to teach political science, and 
Cynthia impulsively changed her major from journalism to political science. 

Cynthia smiled when she thought of how this one impulsive incident 
contributed to forging a career for her. She drank the warm milk slowly, 
pulling off her robe and climbing into bed. Cynthia's body began to relax as 
she fondly thought of her job at the state department and the thousand and 
one challenges it threw at her daily. She had been in Washington eight 
months now and she loved her work. Between them, the dean of women at her 
college and her guardian had managed to pull a few strings to land her the 
position in the government. At first she had doubted her ability, but now 
Cynthia was certain she would make this her life work. 

Her eyes snapped open and her hands gripped the sheets as the thought of the 
man kneeling on the bed clutching his groin in pain raced through her mind 
again. "No!" she said aloud, commanding herself to push the thought from her 
consciousness. 

"I had to try it," she pleaded with herself as the sleeping pills finally 
began to take effect and a great black cloud drifted through her mind. "I 
had to find out!" 

CHAPTER THREE 

Arlene could not understand why all these meetings had to take place over in 
the Left Bank section. With Paris traffic the way it was today one had to 
allow better than a half an hour to get anywhere the other side of the 
river. Using Rue de LaFayette, Arlene pushed the small Renault through the 
congested traffic. Two blocks before she reached the Opera House, Arlene 
made a left turn and began winding through the side streets where some of 
the smartest shops in Paris were just opening for the day's business. This 
was the long way, but in heavy traffic the fastest by far. Arlene was 
determined to avoid the Champs Elysees, which she knew would be an absolute 
mess at this hour. 

Skillfully gliding in and out, Arlene quickly worked her way to the Arc De 
Triomphe where she picked up Avenue Victor Hugo and headed south to cross 
the Seine below the Eiffel Tower. Traffic was much lighter in the southern 
district, and Ar lene made her way quickly to Rue de Vaugirard and up to Rue 
Genevieve where she parked the black Renault and walked to the entrance of 
the old four-story building in which Rene LeGrand lived. 

The concierge nodded to her as she climbed the stairs to the third floor. 
Why is it that all Communists feel they must appear to be middle-class, 
Arlene wondered? Rene's apartment was as luxurious as any in Paris, yet it 
was concealed within this old, broken-down building with no elevator! "It 
isn't civilized to live three flights up without an elevator," Arlene 
muttered, as she let herself into the apartment with her key. 

Arlene thought many of the intrigues the Communists engaged in were 
childish, but she carefully kept this to herself. After all, they employed 
her, paid her well for her services, and they held the power of life and 
death over her family in East Germany. 

At twenty-five, Arlene Richards, alias Arlene Brandt, was a striking 
brunette dressed in the highest fashion, who wore only real jewelry. She 
held a responsible position at the American embassy, had a beautiful 
furnished apartment, her own car, and a comfortable bank account. She was 
not the least bit interested in politics, local or international, and lived 
with only the thought of accumulating wealth and possessions to make her 
life even more comfortable. Arlene was realistic enough to know that she had 
but two assets: sex, and she would do or submit to anything they wished; and 
the ability to do exactly as she was told with no questions asked. Arlene 
used both of her assets to her best advantage. 

Four men were present in the large living room when Arlene entered. They 
nodded to her and continued their conversation. She glanced at Rene, who 
pointed to his empty coffee cup, and Arlene immediately put her puree down 
and picked up the silver coffee service and began making the rounds filling 
each cup. She went to the kitchen and put an assortment of sweet rolls on a 
silver tray and again made the rounds. Each of the men nodded in gratitude 
as he chose a roll, and the conversation continued. 

"To sum up, then, gentlemen," Rene said, "this new policy has a two-fold 
purpose. First, it is to embarrass the Americans through the wide open 
coverage of government scandals by their press. And secondly, we will gain 
perhaps some valuable intelligence as a residual profit in the aftermath." 

"You forget the prime goal, Rene," the heavy-set man near the window 
commented. Arlene glanced at him when she heard his heavy accent. He was 
obviously from Moscow, and Arlene suspected he was someone very important. 

"We must discredit the new secretary of state," the heavy-set man continued. 
"Moscow feels he can be dangerous to much of our overall planning." 

"Of course, of course," Rene responded. "I hadn't forgotten, comrade, I 
merely take it for granted that once these small scandals break, the 
secretary of state will be not only embarrassed, but thoroughly 
discredited." 

The men laughed and Arlene joined them by smiling graciously as she picked 
up the silver tray and returned it to the kitchen. Carlson St. John, one of 
the party's bright young men trained in the United States, leaned forward 
and addressed a question to the heavy-set man. 

"You realize, of course, comrade," he began "that I do not question the 
party's policy. I would, however, for my own information like to understand 
why we attack the State Department with sex scandals. In a way this all 
seems so petty and below us." 

"You're correct, of course, Comrade Carlson," the heavy-set man replied, 
"but you fail to understand world opinion, and especially the opinion of the 
average American citizen. Americans have never quite recovered from their 
Puritan heritage. While they enjoy sex, they shrink from any public display 
of sexual conduct. They also nurture the delightful belief that sexual 
conduct on the part of someone in a responsible position impairs his ability 
to perform his duties...." 

"They also feel that sex can turn a man into a traitor," Rene interrupted. 

"Precisely," the heavy-set man continued. "And in that they have built their 
own web for our intrigue. By making almost any form of sexual conduct a 
crime for people in responsible positions, they have made it possible for us 
to blackmail some of their top secrets from them. Unfortunately, however, we 
have received very little from these channels. The Americans grossly 
exaggerate the effectiveness of sexual blackmail." 

The heavy-set man stood up and walked to the window. Thrusting his hands 
into the pockets of his Italian silk suit, he uttered a long sigh. 

"We shall continue to work those channels, of course," he said, "but that, 
Comrade Carlson, is why we have instituted our new policy of creating sex 
scandals to embarrass the American State Department. Moscow was quite 
impressed by the chaos the Profumo case caused in London. And the Walter 
Jenkins affair certainly gave President Johnson some very uncomfortable 
moments, not to mention that marvelous Bobby Baker fiasco." 

"And with the coverage of the free press," Rene interrupted, "we continually 
point up how decadent the democratic societies are!" 

"Is all of this clear, Comrade Carlson?" the heavy-set man asked. 

"Yes," Carlson St. John replied. "But why don't we create a giant scandal 
like the Profumo case?" 

"Because, comrade," the heavy-set man replied, "that takes many years of 
planning work. By setting off a series of individual scandals one after the 
other, we achieve the same goal. In a matter of just a few months we will 
have the entire world believing that the United States Department employs 
nothing but homosexuals and sexual degenerates. The turmoil this will cause 
within the United States government will give us much additional time for 
our programs of world communization, and it will make every member of the 
State Department suspect in the eyes of the world." 

He returned to his seat and addressed his next question to Rene, dismissing 
Carlson St. John's question with a wave of his hand. 

"Have we new targets?" he asked Rene. 

"John Marks came in from Washington last night." Rene replied. "The 
Washington group was beginning on seven people this week, Two of them are 
under secretaries. We have reason to believe that the secretary of State's 
secretary might be a latent lesbian. She's in her forties and our file on 
her background shows it could be a possibility, so we're putting Gina, our 
best girl in Washington on her. Our easiest target, Harry Edwards, a crude, 
uneducated man who is acting as liaison between the State Department and the 
White House and received his appointment as a result of his political 
campaigning for the new President, is coming to Paris later this week. We'll 
handle him here, and we'll get him involved in some fantastic orgies. I'm 
putting Marie and Arlene on him. We also have a girl, Cynthia Walters, 
coming over here next week. She's young and new to the State Department, but 
she now holds an important position on the Cuban desk. We don't have much on 
her, but there's a chance Arlene can turn her into a Lesbian for a night or 
two. If so, maybe we can use her with the others to turn Mr. Harry Edwards 
inside out." 

Carlson St. John laughed. 

"It looks like Arlene will be a very busy sex machine this next week," he 
said. 

Arlene had been quietly listening to the entire conversation. She smiled at 
Carlson, knowing he had been dying to get into her pants for months, but she 
had resisted his every overture. Sex meant one thing to Arlene-money. And 
Carlson St. John was not powerful enough in the party yet to have money. 

"Yes, darling," she responded, "and a very rich girl the week after, no?" 

"Your party loyalty thrills me, Arlene," Rene replied. "Yes, you'll be paid 
well. If you can set both Mr. Edwards and Miss Walters where we want them, 
you'll get a ten thousand dollar bonus. How does that sound to your little 
gold-digging heart?" 

"Absolutely delicious. When do I start?" 

"Miss Walters arrives first. The day after tomorrow, in fact." 

CHAPTER FOUR 

Cynthia was both thrilled and apprehensive when her boss told her they were 
sending her to Paris. Even though she dealt with foreign countries daily in 
her work, Cynthia had never been outside the United States. Her mind was 
filled with worries about language, wardrobe and a thousand things, and the 
responsibility of dealing directly with the American Ambassador concerned 
her. Why weren't they sending someone with more experience, someone who was 
used to handling things like this? Mr. Clark, her superior, explained that 
it was merely a routine matter of briefing the ambassador on the current 
Cuban economic situation so that he would be aware of the State Department's 
suspicion that DeGaulle's attack on the dollar was helping to support an 
underground trade with Cuba by French businessmen. Cynthia was to go because 
her position on the Cuban desk would enable her to answer any questions the 
ambassador might have. 

Also, he said, she would be allowed ten days extra to see the sight and do 
as she pleased, and it didn't count against her vacation time. None of this 
made Cynthia feel any easier about her assignment. 

Her own inner turmoil was such that she was beginning to doubt her ability 
to hold down the responsible position she had. Several times she headed for 
Mr. Clark's office to request that he send someone else, but each time his 
secretary advised her he was in conference. Then, before she knew it, 
Cynthia was on a jet to Paris. 

"Cynthia Walters?" 

Cynthia quickly appraised the striking brunette approaching her. She was 
tall and slender, dressed in a gorgeous beige silk suit that emphasized her 
sculptured body and set off her raven black hair to best advantage, and was 
flashing a genuinely warm smile. She carried one of the Orly Airport visitor 
tickets in one hand and a copy of France-Soir under her arm. 

"Yes, I'm Cynthia Walters." 

"Well great! I'm Arlene Richards from the embassy. They seem to think I have 
some magic way of making Paris traffic disappear, so they sent me out to 
pick you up." 

"But, I thought...." Cynthia started to reply. 

"No buts about it, Cynthia," Arlene responded, linking her arm in Cynthia's 
and leading her to the escalator. "The ambassador has a firm policy of never 
leaving a visiting member of our government to the mercy of a Paris taxi 
driver. Come along, you can get a magnificent view of Orly from the 
observation deck. I checked with the men at baggage and it will be half an 
hour before they can clear you through." 

Cynthia found herself swept along with the beautiful, enthusiastic girl. 

"I thought my diplomatic passport would take care of all that," she said. 

"Oh, you won't have to pass customs. It's just that two big flights landed 
before yours and they're loaded at the baggage ramp. Anyway, it'll give us a 
moment to have a drink and become acquainted." 

Cynthia watched a blue and white Air France Boeing jet take off while Arlene 
pointed out the areas assigned to each of the international air lines using 
Orly. Then they went downstairs and took a small table in the bar. Arlene 
ordered a Dubonnet with Vodka and Cynthia said she would try the same. The 
girls told each other a capsulated version of their life story, and Cynthia 
found herself immediately warming to the pretty brunette. Arlene seemed so 
outgoing, so friendly yet competent. She laughed when Arlene told her some 
of the antics American tourists became involved in when they visited Paris, 
and how the embassy generally had to untangle the mess and get the tourist 
on a plane back to the states. 

Arlene bribed a porter to carry Cynthia's bags across the fifty feet of 
pavement to the parking lot. He kept telling her he wasn't supposed to, but 
she kept insisting. 

"If I get the car and come back here," she explained to Cynthia, "I'll have 
to fight like hell to get in that lane over there. And if I don't get in 
that lane over there, we can't make the turn for the road to Paris. One time 
the traffic was so bad I had to go south, and I went all the way to 
Milly-la-For-et before I could turn around!" 

The ride into Paris was filled with embassy gossip, and Cynthia marveled at 
how Arlene skillfully maneuvered the small black Renault through the heavy 
traffic and kept up a constant, interesting and humorous chatter all the 
time. She'd known Arlene for less than two hours, yet she felt that they 
were life-long friends. 

"And if you don't like your accommodations," Arlene said, "you can blame me. 
They had reservations for you at the Victoria. It's right off the Champs 
Elysees, but it's a dump decorated in something I'd call Early Western Auto. 
I changed you to a small hotel out on Rue Nicol, that's not too far from the 
Montmartre district you've heard so much about. It's a small hotel and very, 
very French." 

Cynthia's window faced north and she could see Sacre Coeur, its gleaming 
white basilica dominating the horizon. Two blocks above was the busy Rue de 
LaFayette and she watched the cars zoom by on their way to the central part 
of Paris. 

All of the apprehension she had felt about her trip vanished when she met 
Arlene. She still dreaded her interview with the ambassador, but Arlene said 
that was scheduled for Saturday, which was five days off. In the meantime, 
Cynthia was free to do as she pleased, and Arlene had offered to show her 
the sights of Paris. How wonderful it was to have a friend like Arlene! What 
would she have done in a strange city in a foreign country all alone? 

They went everywhere together, and when Arlene's duties at the embassy kept 
her away, she gave Cynthia a list of places near the hotel to visit. One 
afternoon they were driving along near the River Seine when Cynthia 
exclaimed, "Look, Arlene, there's a miniature version of the Statue of 
Liberty!" She pointed to a small island in the middle of the river. 

"Yes, darling," Arlene replied. "Mr. Eiffel...." 

"The man who designed the Eiffel Tower?" 

"One and the same. He also designed the frame for the Statue of Liberty the 
French gave to the United States. They made that miniature as a monument to 
be kept in Paris. Quaint, isn't it?" 

The two girls dined in sidewalk cafes, walked up and down the hill in 
Montmartre, visited art galleries and the famous designer stores for women's 
clothes. Arlene bought a street dress for two hundred and fifty dollars, and 
Cynthia wondered how she could afford such expensive clothes on her embassy 
salary. 

"I can't darling," Arlene explained. "I'm constantly in debt, but I do love 
clothes. My father left me a small estate, and that gives me a small income. 
I guess like most Americans I live from paycheck to paycheck." 

Cynthia splurged and bought a very expensive cocktail dress, remarking that 
she wanted something beautiful to remember Paris visit by. 

"I have it!" Arlene exclaimed, on their fourth day together. 

"What?" Cynthia answered. 

"How would you like to see Paris night life? I mean the real Paris night 
life, not the Lido and all those tourist traps. We'll go where all the 
Parisians go, and then we'll take in the Bohemian spots where the artists 
and musicians hang out." 

"I think I should warn you, Arlene," Cynthia said, "I'm not much of a 
drinker or high-liver. I'd love it, but maybe I'd be a drag on you." 

"Nonsense," she laughed. "We'll have a wonderful time together and you'll 
get a chance to see the Paris only the natives see. I'll pick you up at 
seven-I know a marvelous little spot for dinner. You'll love it!" 

CHAPTER FIVE 

Arlene waved brightly to the concierge as the two girls walked a little 
unsteadily down the hall and turned to enter the lift. Their arms were 
linked and they both were laughing. 

"This antique conveyance will carry us skyward so that you can see how an 
American in Paris really lives," Arlene giggled, pushing the button so that 
the lift started with a jerk. 

The sudden start threw Cynthia off balance and she had to lean against the 
iron railing to keep from falling. She had never had so much fun in her 
life, but the effects of the champagne were beginning to wear off. She felt 
a little giddy, but she was also experiencing the first dull throbs of what 
she knew would be a terrible headache. She smiled to herself knowing that 
Arlene would surely have some aspirin and that she would be able to catch it 
in time. The lift came to a halt with the same sudden jerk that heralded the 
beginning of their journey, and Cynthia again had to catch hold of the 
railing to keep from falling. The two girls looked at each other and 
giggled. 

Arlene led the way down a dark corridor and fumbled in her purse for her 
key. She pushed the door open and reached around the frame searching for the 
light switch. A loud click and the room was flooded with soft, indirect 
lighting. 

"Oooohhh!" Cynthia exclaimed, her eyes dancing over the warmly furnished 
living room. "How divine! It's so European, so warm!" 

"When in Paris, darling," Arlene responded, allowing her sentence to hang in 
mid-air. 

A large Oriental rug with shades of lime, burgundy and gray woven in the 
"tree of life" design was surrounded on one side by an eighteenth century 
love seat covered in a deep green silk, and on the other by a grouping of 
three antique chairs covered in a striking red damask. Heavy drapes of a 
lime green print covered one entire wall behind the grouping, giving the 
impression they opened on a ' panoramic view. 

"Oh," Cynthia exclaimed, "I'm dying to see your view!" 

"Go ahead, but you'll be disappointed. That ; window looks out on the brick 
wall of the building next door. I'm only on the second floor, darling, but I 
keep those drapes pulled to help me pretend I have a view." 

"Arlene, do you have some aspirin? I have the makings of a splitting 
headache." 

"In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom," Arlene replied, waving Cynthia to 
a door at the other side of the living room. "You go ahead and I'll fix us 
some good hot tea." 

Going down the narrow hall, Cynthia stopped for a moment to look at Arlene's 
bedroom. The large canopy bed fascinated her. It dominated the room with 
soft Afghan rugs on either side, and the spread was made of the same gay 
print material as the canopy. A petite dressing table with a large mirror 
was placed in one comer, and a large, antique chest of drawers sat on the 
wall directly opposite the end of the bed. 

Arlene certainly had excellent taste, Cynthia mused to herself as her eyes 
caressed the warm, cozy room. Cynthia couldn't get over her good fortune in 
having met Arlene. The past few days had been like an entirely new life for 
her. For the first time, Cynthia felt she had a friend she could depend on, 
someone she could lean on, someone she enjoyed being with. And the fun they 
had had that night! She had seen the Paris few tourists ever saw; the 
exciting, gay life she had read so much about. 

She opened the door to the linen closet, laughed at herself, and closed it 
to walk a few steps down the hall. Flipping on the light in the bathroom, 
she walked to the large mirror over the basin and looked at herself. She 
couldn't help smiling. Her soft blonde hair was tousled and needed brushing. 
Cynthia reached for her purse, then said, "To hell with it!" under her 
breath. 

"Did you find it?" came Arlene's voice from the other room. 

"Yes," Cynthia replied, as she opened the medicine cabinet and saw the 
familiar bottle of aspirin. 

Taking three of the white tablets from the bottle, she filled a glass with 
water and washed them down. As she was putting the glass back, Cynthia 
glanced in the mirror and saw Arlene come up behind her. Then she felt 
Arlene's hands slide onto her hips and she saw a suggestive smile cross the 
brunette's lips. Cynthia tried to pull away, but Arlene pressed closer, a 
hungry laugh gurgling in her throat. She held Cynthia tight as she tried to 
move. 

Her hands had remained on Cynthia's hips and she was standing very close to 
her, her body almost touching Cynthia's. "Oh, come on!" she whispered 
drunkenly. "Don't pretend you haven't been making eyes at me all evening." 
Arlene leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Cynthia felt her 
firm breasts pressing into her own, felt the animal heat of Arlene's body as 
she thrust herself insolently against her. 

Cynthia raised her hands and gripped Arlene's shoulders, easing her away, 
feeling her breath becoming uneven and fierce, despite her efforts to 
control it. Arlene moved her hands quickly around Cynthia's waist and 
interlaced her fingers, cuddling her into a tight, firm embrace. 

Cynthia started to push at Arlene's shoulder in earnest now, but Arlene 
clung to her and rubbed her breasts and thighs in cat-like movements against 
Cynthia's body. Beneath the sheath-like gown, her ripe bosom and the firm, 
taut skin of her belly pressed meaningfully into Cynthia's flesh. Cynthia 
could feel herself growing more and more aware of Arlene's voluptuous 
sexuality. 

"Please! Stop it, Arlene, you mustn't!" But Cynthia could already hear the 
breathy excitement in her voice and knew that Arlene had noticed it too. Her 
efforts to thrust the girl away were growing weaker every moment. 

"You're drunk, dear," Cynthia cried desperately. "You don't know what you're 
doing." 

"Don't I?" Arlene smiled directly into her face, those beautiful mischievous 
gray eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "I know exactly what I'm doing," 
she whispered, "and so do you!" 

She appeared to have sobered completely, Cynthia realized. Her words were no 
longer slurred and indistinct, her eyes had lost that glazed, drunken 
expression. They held Cynthia in an almost hypnotic stare, challenging and 
provocative. 

Cynthia stopped struggling. "That's better," Arlene murmured. "Now, tell me 
you don't like to feel me so close to you." There was a long pregnant pause 
during which Cynthia felt her cheeks going red and her will power slowly 
evaporating. 

"Say it," Arlene insisted softly. "Tell me you don't want my body against 
yours!" 

Cynthia looked at the moist red lips, at Arlene's slightly open mouth, the 
white, even teeth, the softness of her neck. Arlene had stopped rubbing 
herself into Cynthia's body, but she could feel those large, thrusting 
breasts pressing against her own. 

She started to take her hand away from Arlene's shoulders, but, without 
Cynthia realizing what was happening, the movement turned into a caress and 
she found that she was slipping the girl's dress straps down over her arms, 
her fingers pressing into the wonderfully soft skin and stroking the smooth, 
firm flesh. Slowly, so very, very slowly, Cynthia brought her hands down the 
girl's shoulders until the straps fell to Arlene's elbows. 

"That's better!" Arlene gently disengaged her hands from Cynthia's waist and 
pulled the dangling straps over her wrists. During the slow, sensuous 
semi-strip, Arlene's firm, straining breasts had spilled into view and now 
Cynthia could see the red semi-circles of Arlene's nipples sticking 
impudently out of her much lowered neckline. 

Arlene moved back a step and slowly revolved. "Unzip me, darling, I can't 
quite reach...." 

Cynthia took the zipper between her finger and thumb. She felt numb and 
dazed, in a state of incredulous, dream-like suspension. As she drew the 
zipper slowly down Arlene's back and saw that the girl wasn't wearing a 
brassiere, her eyes grew suddenly misty and heated, and the expanse of white 
flesh which she was revealing seemed to blur and melt into a lascivious, 
fluffy blanket. 

She lowered the zipper until Arlene's dress fell away from her back, 
revealing the girl's white bikini pants. Keeping her feet planted firmly on 
the floor, Arlene shook her body until the garment was shrugged to an untidy 
heap around her ankles. Then she stepped delicately out of the silky folds, 
stretching her body teasingly. 

Breathlessly, Cynthia feasted her eyes on the glamorous sight of the girl's 
stockinged legs, slowly letting her eyes travel up Arlene's thighs. The taut 
garter belt pulled the sheer stockings tightly over Arlene's thigh tops, 
drawing them up so that only a thin stretch of bare skin glistened between 
Arlene's panties and the tops of her stockings. 

The curve of Arlene's rounded buttocks, thrusting out of the flimsy and 
scanty briefs, excited her tremendously and Cynthia recalled suddenly and 
vividly the lingerie photographs which had always attracted her attention in 
the glossy magazines. 

She watched as Arlene began to turn around to face her once more. The girl 
was moving with a deliberate, provocative slowness. Her headache had 
magically disappeared, and Cynthia knew that the cure had been accomplished 
more by the traumatic release of her nervous tension rather than by the 
aspirin. 

And then Arlene was standing in front of her. Cynthia let slip the pretense 
of shocked surprise and openly feasted her eyes on Arlene's charms. Her eyes 
inched slowly and steadily over the exciting, practically naked body, 
beginning at Arlene's trim ankles and moving upward. She gazed upon the 
tight "V" swelling around the crotch of Arlene's panties, the white silk 
cutting deeply between her legs. 

Arlene's hips were gorgeously round and firm, making her waist appear even 
smaller and more narrow than it really was. Cynthia's eyes wandered higher, 
and came to rest on Arlene's high, firm breasts. 

So that Cynthia could admire them at their most sexy and flattering 
position, Arlene raised her arms and let her hands sweep her hair back on 
top of her head, causing her breasts to lift and be even more pointed. They 
were really beautiful, Cynthia thought, her eyes studying them greedily, 
hoping that Arlene wouldn't spoil the moment by speaking or moving. However, 
Arlene seemed perfectly content to stand still, hands raised and buried in 
her rich growth of hair, while Cynthia literally gloated on the feminine 
riches of her body. 

For several minutes the girls remained in this position. Cynthia scarcely 
dared to breathe for fear that she would break the spell. Then Arlene began 
to sensuously close the gap between them and Cynthia heard rather than felt 
the zipper give way on her own dress, and then she felt it slide down her 
legs to a heap on the floor. She felt Arlene's fingers tugging at the hooks 
on her bra and her own luscious breasts fell into view. She stood before 
Arlene clad only in her panties and stockings. 

Cynthia ran her tongue over her lips nervously, wondering what the next move 
would be. But Arlene stepped back to admire Cynthia's beautiful breasts, 
then suddenly put her arms possessively around Cynthia's waist. Her fingers 
pressed into the soft flesh just above her buttocks, and Cynthia quivered, 
both in fear and expectation. 

"That's much better," Arlene whispered. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? 
Isn't it, Cynthia." 

"Yes...." Cynthia heard herself saying. The sharp metal clips of Arlene's 
garter belt were digging into her thigh and she could feel the girl's loins 
thrusting into her own pubic mound. But even more thrilling than these 
points of contact was the highly erotic touching of their breasts. She 
glanced down quickly between their bodies. Arlene's high, pointed breasts 
were sticking into her own huge breasts which seemed even larger than usual. 

Their nipples had stiffened tremendously, the four red buttons growing 
longer and thicker as they rubbed sweetly together. 

Cynthia closed her eyes, her senses beginning to swim, and rested her face 
against Arlene's. Softly, the girl was stealing her hands beneath the ridge 
of Cynthia's panties. They drew the tight elastic up and she felt her bottom 
being gently massaged by Arlene's soothing probing fingers. 

Almost at once she felt a sharp desire to do the same thing, to fondle and 
rub the intimate flesh of the other girl's buttocks. The urge was too strong 
for her to resist, but, she thought with a smile, why should I resist it? 
Everything's completely out in the open now. Why shouldn't I do whatever I 
like with her? She's practically asked me to! 

Cynthia followed Arlene's lead, flattening her hands against the brunette's 
spine and slowly lowering them until her fingers slipped beneath the tight 
band of the girl's bikini briefs. She sucked in her breath as the incredibly 
hard, firm mounds of her buttocks came into electrifying contact with her 
fingers. She rubbed them firmly, her hands moving eagerly over the rich 
globes, at last giving full vent to her concealed desires. 

Subtly, Arlene began to writhe herself once more against Cynthia, grinding 
her hips in an easy, slow motion action so that her loins rubbed into her 
partner's. Scarcely aware of it at first, Cynthia was not quite sure what 
she should do. She then felt Arlene's buttocks tensing and untensing beneath 
her finders. The warm, yielding cheeks clenching as the girl increased the 
intensity of her rubbing. 

Tentatively, Cynthia imitated her. She urged her own loins forward, feeling 
an intense welling deep up in her vagina as the sheer intimacy of what they 
were doing came home to her. 

Holding each others buttocks, cupping a fleshy cheek in each hand, the girls 
writhed tightly together. Their bodies touched at every possible point, from 
their faces, down to their breasts and tummies, and further downward to 
their stockinged thighs, they clung as closely as they could. 

Until suddenly. Arlene whispered, "Let's go into the bedroom, darling, and 
get more comfortable." 

Cynthia took one hand out of Arlene's panties and kept the other resting 
firmly on the girl's right buttock. Arlene followed suit, and they moved 
slowly out of the bathroom and into the darkened bedroom, feeling the 
gentle, rhythmical wobbling of each others bottom as they walked. 

Arlene released her grip, on Cynthia's tail and said, "I'll close the 
windows and the drapes." When she returned from the windows, Cynthia was 
standing where she had left her. Arlene guided her to the bed and stretched 
her out full length, her arms at her side. The glow from the one light gave 
Cynthia's body a compelling fiery sheen. 

As Arlene moved toward her place on the bed, the light shone on her body. 
She resembled some kind of satanic she-devil or more like a high-priestess 
with her long brown hair hanging against her shoulders. 

Arlene wiggled across the bed until her hand was on Cynthia's waist. Then 
her fingers moved slowly upward until they reached the soft white breasts. 

Cynthia watched in fascination as Arlene's fingers began touching the smooth 
resilient surface. She began to tickle the breast with a soft, tentative 
stroking of her thumb. She kept the finger beneath Cynthia's nipple and drew 
it slowly up and down, constantly keeping the rising bud in maddening 
contact with her thumb. Cynthia squirmed despite herself. The caress was 
making her feel hot and feverish, not only in the region of her breast, but 
all the way down her body. 

Arlene moved a little closer to the girl, until her parted legs were clamped 
securely around Cynthia's thigh. Her forefinger joined her thumb in fondling 
the girl's nipple; and, together, they began to squeeze and tease at the 
tiny bud, pinching it firmly, then easing the pressure, then increasing it 
again. The palm of her hand moved pleasantly on the ripe mound of soft, 
pliable flesh, rolling the breast from side to side. 

The metal of Arlene's garter belt was pressing almost painfully into 
Cynthia's loins. Its raised steel clasp seemed to be caressing its wav 
between the lips of her cunt, pushing through the thin silk of her panties 
and working insolently against her clitoris. 

Cynthia could feel herself growing intensely excited by this unusual and 
stimulating pressure. She shifted her position so that she could bear down 
even harder on the metal clasp, beginning to rub her moist, pulsating slit 
up and down on it. 

This brought her face close to Arlene s breast. 

Cynthia, through hot and eager eyes, saw the other girl's nipple only a 
brief space from her mouth. She looked into Arlene's face, and saw her nod 
slowly and deliberately. 

"Kiss it, darling!" she urged, and the fierce yearning in Arlene's voice 
made Cynthia feel weak with passion and desire. "Suck it! Suck my tit!" she 
moaned. "Oh, Cynthia, please! Pet it. Bite it. Do anything you want!" 

Immediately, Cynthia sank her lips into the fullness of Arlene's breast. The 
warm flesh felt even softer against her mouth than it had looked. She 
quickly grasped her hand onto the globe, holding it steady while she sucked 
as much of the satin-smooth tit between her lips as possible. 

When she had her mouth completely full of Arlene's throbbing breasts, 
Cynthia started to suck on it. The firm and supple skin was quickly 
moistened by her saliva, her lips working in a frantic greedy sucking action 
on the proud and pink-tipped nipple. 

Cynthia's other hand searched for the other girl's far breast, and as it 
came within reach she began to rub and tease the nipple. After she had 
mouthed and sucked deeply on the breast buried between her lips for several 
long minutes, Cynthia let the gorgeous flesh escape. It slipped reluctantly 
from her ovaled mouth, a tiny bit at a time. 

But before the swelling red tit could steal completely from between her 
teeth, she quickly clamped them shut around it, biting angrily into the tiny 
hard bud and holding it tightly. Then, she curled her tongue up and began to 
dart its tip over the imprisoned nipple, licking at the stiff and tender 
morsel until Arlene was writhing back against the bed in ecstatic delight, 
her thighs twitching by Cynthia's legs. 

As if she were trying to revenge herself on the girl who was tormenting her 
without mercy, Arlene suddenly thrust her hand up between Cynthia's open 
thighs and started to rub her fingers urgently up and down the moist fleshy 
folds of the girl's cunt lips, the wet silk crotch band barring the way. 

Cynthia's first, instinctive reaction was to close her legs against this 
intimate and outrageous treatment. Then she smiled, despite her excitement; 
she remembered that they had abandoned both their moral scruples and their 
inhibitions and for the first time Cynthia felt like a woman. 

Implicitly both girls had agreed that their bodies were now each other's 
mutual property and could be handled as boldly and as intimately as their 
partner wished. 

She shuddered with a sudden trembling ecstasy as she realized what this 
meant. Every inch of Arlene's body, every single part of the girl's most 
private parts and secret regions were now hers to treat as the mood and the 
inspiration took her. 

And Arlene had the right to do exactly as she pleased with her body! 

CHAPTER SIX 

It no longer seemed wrong to Cynthia that she should desire the charms of 
another girl. How could it be wrong or perverted, she thought dreamily, as 
her fingers played daintily at one of Arlene's nipples, her teeth nibbling 
sweetly at the other. How could so blissful and wonderful an experience be 
sinful or evil? 

She gave the friendly, warm little breast a loving pinch, and felt Arlene 
work an exploring finger beneath the elastic of her panties by way of a 
reply. The girl quickly found the deep, wet slit of Cynthia's cunt and began 
slowly teasing the tip of her forefinger into it. 

Carefully, making sure that she took the longest possible time over the 
insertion, she pried the lips gently apart, then rubbed her knuckles in a 
preliminary caress up and down the naked open wound. 

Her thighs began to twitch with a life all their own. For the very first 
time, Cynthia felt another girl's fingers fondling her between her legs. She 
sucked harder on Arlene's nipple, breathlessly awaiting the moment when 
those slender female fingers would actually push their way remorselessly up 
inside her. 

Arlene, however, evidently intended to work her up to a fever pitch of 
desire before bringing her relief. The girl had found the ripe button of 
Cynthia's clitoris; nipping it lightly between her forefinger and thumb, she 
began to toy idly with the hardened, pink protuberance. 

Cynthia began to moan, the sounds muffled by Arlene's breast. Hoping to 
speed the penetration, she reluctantly left the girl's breast and stroked 
her hand down the body until her fingers could feel Arlene's panties resting 
silkily beneath them. 

Cynthia wriggled them under the tight waistband, pushing further downward 
over Arlene's flat belly. Her hand shook with excitement as they touched the 
soft, resilient hair of her pubic mound. Her fingers fondled a path through 
them and alighted upon the warm, wet opening to her vaginal slit. 

The soft, yielding lips which opened up like the petals of a rare, exquisite 
flower, made an effective contrast to the hardness of Arlene's mons veneris. 
The thick pubis had felt so firm and muscular beneath her fingers, Cynthia 
mused, as if it were capable of penetrating her cunt and fucking her with 
the satisfaction that no man could bring! 

She gasped, almost losing her hold on Arlene's nipple as the bizarre thought 
struck her. While her fingers slotted themselves into Arlene's wide-lipped 
cunt, Cynthia worked her thumb upward until it was able to caress the hard 
pubic mound again. 

Yes! Her fevered imagination had little difficulty in transforming the 
girl's particularly firm pubic mound into a reasonable approximation of a 
male organ. She petted it with her thumb, rubbing with harder and harder 
strokes, half expecting it to rise up away from Arlene's body and assume the 
shape of a penis. 

But she was unable to dwell for very long on this exciting fantasy, for her 
fingers had now slipped wetly up into Arlene's cunt and she felt, with a 
momentary shock, the thick, slippery juices seeping strongly from the girl's 
vagina. 

Almost simultaneously, Cynthia realized that her own loins were becoming wet 
with the fluids of her forbidden excitement. Arlene had been busily 
manipulating her clitoris to such an extent that she had, almost without 
knowing it, anointed the girl's fingers heavily with her moist secretions. 

Cynthia squeezed her middle forefingers tightly together and pushed them 
slowly but firmly into Arlene's warm, smooth orifice, making them tremble 
and shake so that the girl had the added enjoyment of an in and out motion 
even while Cynthia was still sliding them inside her. 

She was rewarded by feeling Arlene's fingers at long last slip hastily into 
her own cunt, and the relief and intense pleasure this gave her made Cynthia 
want to smother the girl with kisses! 

And why not? she suddenly thought. Why shouldn't I? Somehow, the mere act of 
putting her mouth on Arlene's and letting their lips meet in a long, moist 
kiss shocked Cynthia more than the far more intimate caresses they were alt 
present giving to each other. It was, she found, almost impossible to 
express her feelings about it. Somehow, she couldn't understand why kissing 
was a more unnatural practice than the most warm, voluptuous fondling, and 
Arlene was clearly expecting them to kiss each other. Arlene brought her 
free hand up to Cynthia's face and stroked her cheek gently. 

"Let's kiss properly," she whispered, cradling Cynthia's face in the palm, 
the fingers moving up to caress the woman's ear lobe. "Give me your mouth, 
darling." 

Cynthia allowed Arlene to draw their faces very close together. She trembled 
and felt herself stiffening as the girl pursed her warm, aching lips and 
brought them slowly into contact with hers. Her tongue stole out, intending 
to pass briefly over her lips-they were dry and parched-but Arlene quickly 
put out her tongue and ran it swiftly across Cynthia's. 

The wet, pulsing meeting of the tongues electrified her. She withdrew from 
Arlene sharply, trying to twist her mouth away from the girl's searching 
lips. 

Arlene held her chin firmly, forcing her to look into her eyes. 

"Kiss me!" she demanded fiercely. "Cynthia, you're going to kiss me!" 

Her lips quivering, Cynthia pleaded silently with her to excuse her from 
this ordeal. She begged her mutely not to insist. 

But Arlene, moving her fingers in a steady, throbbing rhythm inside 
Cynthia's eager, pulsating cunt, slipped her hand suddenly around her neck 
and pulled the resisting mouth against her own. With parted lips, she kissed 
Cynthia urgently and passionately, sucking, then rubbing her mouth on 
Cynthia's until, with a sob, she surrendered and began to return the kiss 
ardently. 

Their hungry lips worked fervently together, pushing and straining until 
Arlene once more brought her tongue in contact with Cynthia's. She thrust it 
almost between her teeth, forcing it into Cynthia's mouth and then running 
it with slow, deliberate possessiveness around her teeth and throat. 

Tentatively, Cynthia licked at the underside of Arlene's tongue. The wet, 
ultra-sensitive organ provoked a violent, throbbing reaction from her. 
Again, she felt that tremendous shock, as if she had darted her tongue 
against a live wire, but this time the sensation thrilled rather than 
terrified her. She was conscious of being immensely daring, unbelievably 
bold. 

Cynthia repeated the action, and kept her tongue in position beneath 
Arlene's. 

"Mmmm!" Arlene mumbled. Her tongue started to move faster around Cynthia's 
mouth, tapping at the roof, licking experimentally around the inside cheeks. 

At the same time, she pushed her fingers even more deeply up the tight, 
pulsating opening of Cynthia's cunt and started something which made her 
shudder with pleasure. It took her some minutes to realize that Arlene was 
using her fingernails, scratching firmly, insistently at the tender, 
vulnerable upper wall of her vagina. Then, a white, hot, searing pain 
exploded behind her eyes, she tore her mouth away from Arlene, a sharp cry 
of agony coming from her lips. Arlene hugged her with her free hand and 
whispered, "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry! Oh, Cynthia, I didn't mean to hurt 
you so much, darling. What can I say? What can I do, my precious?" 

Blinking away the hot tears which were streaming down her face, Cynthia 
suddenly realized that Arlene had done it on purpose. She had deliberately 
and savagely cut deeply into the aching rawness of her tender vagina with 
her long, sharp fingernails. 

A second later, she also realized why Arlene had done it. 

"Quickly, darling," Arlene crooned, "let me put my tongue inside you. I'll 
soothe it for you, I promise! There, there! It must feel so sore, my sweet, 
but I'll make all the hurt go away, darling, honestly." 

Babbling to Cynthia as if she were a child, Arlene gently withdrew her 
fingers from her vagina, and talking all the while, repositioned herself so 
that she was kneeling between Cynthia's aching thighs. 

The pain had subsided by now, but Cynthia was far too excited by the 
tongue-caressing she was about to receive, to tell her that she needn't 
bother. The prospect of having her cunt kissed and licked by this wonderful 
friend was worth a few moments of agony she had suffered, and Cynthia had 
never before been subjected to such a treatment. Just the thought of it was 
heavenly! 

"Let's take these off first, shall we?" Arlene was whispering, even though 
it wasn't really a question for she was already pulling the thin silk 
panties from Cynthia's soft, rounded hips. "I can't reach all of you with 
your panties on, darling!" 

She ducked her head quickly under Cynthia's legs, and the next moment 
Cynthia felt her thin briefs being pulled completely away from her loins. 
Arlene drew them down over her calves and feet and tossed them aside, then 
put her hands back on Cynthia's now quivering legs, caressing up the inside 
of her thighs. 

Then, firmly, Arlene parted Cynthia's legs again, resting them over her 
crouching shoulders and brought her face close to Cynthia's completely naked 
and throbbing cunt. 

Cynthia felt intensely embarrassed by the minute and detailed scrutinizing 
which Arlene was giving her open vagina. She wondered, almost with a stab of 
jealousy, how many other girls Arlene had inspected so intimately. 

Knowing that Arlene's face was pushed right up close to the warm, pulsating 
lips, she blushed with shame. To be so utterly immodest and open her legs to 
be ravished by another girl! She swallowed, her desire suddenly freezing as 
the sheer impact of what she was doing overcame her! 

But, almost as quickly as they had come, her feelings of guilt and dismay 
vanished because Cynthia was suddenly seized by a hot and exquisite thrill 
which surpassed any she had previously known. 

Arlene's tongue had licked dart-like up the entire length of her wet, moist 
slit, pushing persistently between the soft, hair-lined lips and slowly 
rubbing its velvet tip to the gently pulsating mouth of her vagina. So far, 
the girl's lips had not touched her. Arlene had thrust her tongue out as far 
as it would stretch, knowing that Cynthia would be far more excited by the 
caress of her tongue alone than by her lips-at least at this stage, anyway. 

But eventually, after a succession of slow and methodical probes, she 
decided to give Cynthia the full benefit of her mouth and lips. 

Cynthia felt Arlene's firm, soft fingers on the sensitive lips of her 
vagina, her tongue peeling them gently apart, pinching the swollen flesh 
softly and opening her cunt to its widest capacity. Then, she blew sweetly 
into the opening, sending a steady stream of warm air into Cynthia's warm, 
throbbing interior. 

Peering down at her seducer, Cynthia saw that Arlene's head was moving up 
and down. She felt the other girl's lips pursing tightly, then a tremendous 
jolt of pleasure flooded her body as her cunt was sucked in one long 
sensuous breath deep into Arlene's mouth. The feeling was so intense that 
Cynthia was convinced Arlene had drawn the whole of her loins inside out. 

Again and again she sucked, and with every intake of Arlene's breath, 
Cynthia was transported higher and higher into a state of sheer, ecstatic 
bliss! 

She realized dimly that Arlene was also fondling her buttocks, the long 
tapered fingers caressing the naked cheeks and occasionally stroking into 
the warm, moist divide. She could scarcely feel any sensation here or 
anywhere else in her body, for all she knew, she might be lying on a bed of 
nails. All that mattered, all that she was aware of, was the incredible wave 
of pleasure emanating from the deep, hot pulsing orifice between her thighs. 

She raised her buttocks from the cushions, lifting her wide open vagina more 
intensely up into Arlene's bobbing face. And Arlene supported her, cupping 
her flaccid white globes under her fingers while she licked and sucked with 
ever faster desperation between her legs. 

Arlene, though she had appeared quite sober during their sudden and very 
abandoned intimacies, was, in fact, still in a state of inebriation. She 
knew what she was doing, but the amount of alcohol she consumed during the 
evening had completely numbed her inhibitions. She felt totally amoral, 
wonderfully free from any kind of restraint. 

She was giving her voluptuous, sensual partner such pleasure! Cynthia was 
making strange gurgling noises of deeply aroused lust, writhing her hot, 
moist loins wildly in thrilling abandonment. 

She never knew it could be like this! Never in her wildest imagination had 
it been like this! Cynthia felt so utterly free, so limitless in her 
capacity for sexual pleasure. She knew that there was a limit; knew that she 
would soon reach a certain point where the feeling of ecstasy would explode 
in a final, throbbing, frantic orgasm, but Arlene was delaying that 
inevitable moment so beautifully, so cleverly. 

The joy she was experiencing threatened to overwhelm her completely. With 
every inward suck of Arlene's lips, she was lifted higher and higher toward 
a state of impossible, unattainable bliss. 

"Why couldn't I feel this with a man?" she asked herself, and then abandoned 
herself to complete, almost impossible pleasure. 

It's too much, too much! she wanted to cry, but her excitement grew more and 
more intense, shattering all her concepts of sexual fulfillment. 

It was almost without her consent that, ultimately, Cynthia reached the 
zenith of her lust and began to flood Arlene's mouth with the wet, sweet and 
pungent fluid of her fruits of love. 

Cynthia's cunt pulsed wildly against Arlene's mouth, her clitoris jerking 
and seething with excitement; Arlene kept her lips working rhythmically with 
Cynthia's wild untamed spasms of bliss until she was certain she had passed 
her climax. 

Relaxing slightly, she gave the inflamed, lavishly wet and still throbbing 
slit a final kiss and then, stretching her warm, soft, resilient body out 
along side Cynthia on the bed, she cuddled the still panting woman like a 
protective mother. 

Cynthia snuggled warmly up to her, her hands stealing around Arlene's waist, 
and in a matter of seconds had fallen into a deep contented sleep. 

Then, and only then, did the almost inaudible click, click of the camera 
cease to sound. 

CHAPTER SEVEN 

"Marvelous!" exclaimed Rene, looking at the large glossy photos one by one. 
"You're nothing less than fantastic, Arlene!" 

Next to money, Arlene loved praise best. She leaned back in the overstuffed 
chair in Rent's apartment and lighted a cigarette. That morning she had 
stood impatiently outside the door to Claude's improvised darkroom waiting 
for him to develop, process and enlarge the. photos he had made of Cynthia 
and her the night before. As soon as they were ready and dry, she brought 
them straight to Rene. She watched his face as he examined each photo, 
smiling as she saw him begin to react erotically to what he saw in the 
photos. 

"Christ," he muttered, "these are almost too good to be true!" 

The photo in his hands showed Cynthia spread eagled on the bed, her white 
thighs straining and her knees slightly raised. Her golden blonde hair was 
spread out on the pillow and her lips were pursed in an expression of animal 
desire. Arlene's raven black hair spilled over Cynthia's creamy white thighs 
as her hand dipped into the golden pubic mound. The high-speed camera had 
caught Arlene's tongue fully extended and in the process of licking 
Cynthia's clitoris. 

"How'd that blonde cunt taste?" Rene said. "It looks like you really swabbed 
her out!" 

"Delicious, darling, simply delicious!" Arlene answered. "It had what you 
might call an expensive taste." 

Rene laughed. He flipped to the next photo which portrayed the two girls 
locked in a soixante neuf embrace. Arlene was sitting on Cynthia's face and 
Rene could see her tongue dipping deep into Arlene's deep red cunt. He felt 
a stirring in his loins, his balls throbbing slightly, and his prick 
pressing against the material of his mohair slacks. 

"It looks like she swabbed your cunt out, too!" he remarked. 

"She did, darling, and with real enthusiasm. I really enjoyed it. I haven't 
had my cunt licked like that in quite some time!" 

Arlene looked at Rene's crotch and could see the bulge growing under his 
slacks. In over a year of working for him, she had never known him to become 
stimulated like this. She had always wondered what Rene would be like in 
bed, and it bothered her that he had never made any overtures to her. 

The last photo was the most graphic of all. Rene's breath drew in as he 
looked at the enlarged close-up of Arlene's crotch. He could almost count 
the shiny black pubic hairs. Cynthia's face was clearly defined in profile 
against Arlene's olive-tinted thigh. Her long, tapering fingers tipped in 
bright red were holding the lips of Arlene's cunt open wide, the firm folds 
of flesh strained against her probing fingertips. The dark pink slit 
graduated to a deep red at Arlene's cuntal opening, and Cynthia's bright red 
lips were parted wide, her white teeth gleaming in contrast, while her soft 
pink tongue lapped Arlene's erect clitoris. 

"Jesus!" muttered Rene, the ache in his groin growing more demanding. 
"Claude's new color technique is almost art. You might call this 'a study in 
red.." 

Arlene's eyes were fastened on the growing bulge in Rene's pants. It 
fascinated her. She could see his cock plainly outlined against his leg in 
his skintight slacks, and it hung half-way to his knee. There was a moist 
itch between her legs as Arlene remembered the ecstasy of Cynthia's tongue 
sinking deep into her cunt. This, combined with the magnificent instrument 
growing before her eyes, placed Arlene in a semi-trance. 

Rene lifted his eyes from the photo for a moment and saw Arlene squirming in 
her chair with her mouth opened in a wide "O". He felt his cock strain 
against his pants when he saw her gaze glued to his crotch. Rene had never 
believed in mixing business with pleasure, but the ache in his balls could 
only be satisfied by the striking brunette sitting across from him. 

As he watched, Arlene stood up and moved to ward him. When she reached him, 
she slowly dropped to her knees on the floor before him. Her skillful hands 
went immediately to the zipper on his slacks. She located it and pulled it 
down. Searching for a moment for the opening to his shorts, she used both 
hands inside his pants. He felt her warm fingers firmly grasp the shaft of 
his cock and begin pulling it out of his pants. Free of all restriction, it 
sprung straight out in front of him, the skin pulling back from the 
blue-tinted head. Arlene grasped the shaft firmly in one hand while she 
reached inside his pants and cupped his balls in her other. 

He looked down at her gorgeous black hair framing her light-olive face. Her 
eyes were glassy, as if she was hypnotized by his swollen member in front of 
her. He saw her tongue run the width of her mouth, leaving her ruby red lips 
moist and gleaming. Slowly, Arlene's head moved forward, her hand firmly 
gripping his inflated cock and pulling it slightly forward. He saw her 
tongue dart out of her mouth and then he felt its warm moistness run along 
the huge shaft of his cock. She kissed the pubic hair at the base and then 
ran her tongue along the entire shaft, up one side and down the other. 

When she had it wet from tip to base, Arlene ran her lips along the sides, 
caressing the swollen blue veins and leaving lipstick in long trails. She 
squeezed his balls, massaging them gently in her cupped hand. Then she 
pulled the skin back away from the head of his cock as far as it would go, 
the deep red ridge below the head glistening before her hungry eyes. With 
her tongue flattened out, she ran it completely around the ridge, licking it 
like a child would an ice cream cone. 

Rene felt his passion building. He'd had many girls suck his cock before, 
but never like this! Arlene made an art of it, and she had him aching to 
shove it into her mouth and down her throat. And she was driving him crazy 
with her hand on his balls. She knew just exactly the right amount of 
pressure to excite him without hurting him. He felt her index finger begin 
creeping up the crevice between the cheeks of his ass. With the tip of her 
finger she located the small brown opening to his anus and she began 
massaging it while she let her tongue race over his cock. 

Arlene was now concentrating on the head of his prick, her tongue pulling 
back and forth across the grainy surface in maddening strokes. The sweet, 
salty taste of his prick excited Arlene. Dropping her lower lip slightly, 
she slowly wrapped it around the bottom portion of the head of Rene's cock. 
Then she followed this with a gentle sucking movement of her tongue, pulling 
the head of his swollen prick between her lips. Very slowly, she sucked his 
cock into her mouth, pulling until his pubic hair ground against her lips 
and the head of his prick was pressing against the walls of her throat. She 
kept her mouth moist and ran her tongue over and around the hard prick, 
pulling and sucking relentlessly. 

Rene's pulse quickened as he watched his thick cock slide between her ruby 
red lips. Her tongue was driving him wild, and he reached down and took 
hunks of her hair in each of his hands to hold her head. Then, moving 
slightly forward, he began moving his hips in and out, pumping his cock deep 
into her throat with each thrust. 

Arlene now had her index finger sunk to the first joint in his asshole, and 
she urged his thrusting movements by shoving it farther up his narrow 
channel. When she felt his balls begin to throb, Arlene squeezed them harder 
and harder in an effort to make him fill her mouth with his hot cum. 

Thoroughly aroused and stimulated, Rene had other ideas. 

"I think you need something a little larger than Cynthia's tongue up that 
cunt!" he said, pulling her roughly to her feet. 

Cupping his hand behind her head, Rene pulled Arlene's face to his. Their 
lips crushed and their tongues met, sawing against one another in a wet 
embrace. Arlene's hand never released its grip on his swollen cock, even 
when he jerked it from her mouth and pulled her to her feet. While he held 
her in a hard kiss, her hand pulled the skin on his cock back and forth 
rapidly, stroking him like a man milks a cow. 

He reached behind her and pulled the zipper on her black silk dress down to 
the crest of her surging, pumping buttocks. Pulling the straps down from her 
shoulders, he forced the dress down her body. It hung on her hungry hand 
that still pumped his cock wildly, but she refused to give up her grip on 
his turgid member. With her free hand she undid his belt and began pulling 
his pants down. 

Rene broke away from her and began peeling his clothes off quickly, letting 
his pants and shorts fall in a heap on the floor. He watched her gracefully 
begin to strip. She let her dress drop to her waist, then wiggled and pushed 
it down over her ample, firm hips. When it circled her feet on the floor, 
she stepped out of it and kicked her shoes to one side. She bent down so 
that he could see the curves of her breasts bulging in her bra. Taking the 
edges of her slip in her hands, she pulled it up over her hips and then over 
her head, flinging it on the chair with one graceful sweep of her arm. 

She reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, leaning forward to pull the 
straps over her shoulders. Free, her firm breasts flowed in motion with her 
body, the glistening hard nipples staring at Rene. She unsnapped her garter 
belt and slipped her fingers under the elastic band on her sheer black 
panties. Crooking her fingers and wiggling her hips slightly, she pulled her 
panties down to her knees and then gave her whole body a shake so that they 
fell in a heap around her trim ankles. Then, hands on her hips, she spread 
her legs two feet apart and stood looking straight at Rene. 

The voluptuous body before him sent the blood racing through his veins. He 
stared at the gleaming black "V" where her legs met, and he could see the 
clear outline of the red slit of her cunt. She thrust her hips forward so he 
could see the lips part and the pink inner flesh beckon him. Then his eyes 
moved upward to her firm, molded breasts. 

Arlene saw his gaze and reached out and cupped her firm breasts in her 
hands, squeezing them so that the hard nipples almost popped at him. 

"Like?" she asked suggestively. 

"That's quite a set of tits!" he responded, moving forward and tweaking the 
tips of her nipples with his thumb and forefinger. "It seems we should have 
gotten around to this a long time ago." 

In answer, Arlene reached down and grasped his hard prick firmly in her hand 
and began pumping him slowly. Then she lowered her body to the floor once 
again and began kissing his cock. She planted countless little kisses along 
the shaft before she sucked the head of his cock between her lips and into 
her mouth. 

Rene stood there watching her hungrily eat his prick for a few moments, 
passion racing through him. Then he slowly lowered himself to the floor 
beside her, turning his body so that his head fell against her flat belly. 
Roughly, he pulled her legs apart and began fondling her wet cunt with 
probing fingers. He pulled the firm lips of her hot cunt open wide and gazed 
at the exposed pink flesh before him. Her clitoris was hard and the hairy 
sides of her cunt were sopping wet with the juices of her passion. Leaning 
forward, Rene ran his long, slender tongue along the inside of the lips of 
Arlene's wet pussy, teasing her with light touches against her clitoris as 
he let his tongue make the complete oval again and again. 

"Oooohhh!" she sighed, pulling his cock close to her moist lips again. 

She squirmed, bringing his tongue directly in front of her gaping red cunt. 
Then, contracting her cuntal muscles, she quickly pulled his unsuspecting 
tongue deep inside her vagina. 

"Aaahhh," she moaned. "That's it. Let me feel that tongue clear up to my 
throat. Lick my pussy! Lick it hard!" 

Her breath coming quicker and her breasts heaving, Arlene slipped her mouth 
around Rent's cock and began pulling on it with all her strength. Forming 
her mouth into a large "O", she held his cock between her thumb and 
forefinger and ran her mouth up and down over the swollen head and 
purple-veined shaft. She heard him moan and she felt his balls throbbing 
against her chin. Arlene wanted him to flood her mouth with hot cum, she 
wanted to feel it bum her throat and then spill over and run down her chin. 
She had his tongue caught in her hungry, grasping cunt, and she fondled it 
like it was the prick she had in her mouth by expanding and contracting her 
cuntal muscles. Just as she felt herself coming to relief, he jerked his 
cock out of her mouth and climbed on top of her. 

Arlene spread her legs and arched her hips, but Rene took her ankles in his 
hands and raised them high above his head. Then he bent them back so that 
they lowered to either side of her head. She was doubled up, her hot black 
cunt staring up at him like a hungry mouth to be fed. 

"I want you to feel this one, baby," he said. "I'm going to sink this cock 
so deep you'll burp on it!" 

Arlene reached down and took his surging cock in her hand. She guided it to 
her red slit and used it to rub against her clitoris, pulling it up and down 
between the lips of her cunt. Then she inserted the tip of his cock at the 
entrance of her vagina, and she felt the narrow channel expand to cover the 
swollen head and pull it inside her. 

Rene reared back and lunged at her, sinking the shaft of his cock so deep in 
her belly his balls flapped and slapped against her ass. 

"Aaaauuuggghhh!" she groaned, feeling the head of his hard prick bounce off 
her cervix. 

He pulled back until just the very tip of his cock was in the red opening, 
and then he lunged forward as hard as he could, sinking it even deeper than 
before. 

"Aaaauuughhh!" she groaned. "Deeper! Fuck me deeper!" 

Continuing this same pattern, Rene tortured her with long hard thrusts that 
made her feel he was nailing her body to the floor with his steel prick. He 
pulled back and gave her a dozen short strokes that sunk his cock only an 
inch up her cunt, then lunged forward with his hard, deep thrust. 

Arlene had turned into a wild animal, her head swaying back and forth on the 
floor, saliva dripping from the corners of her open mouth. 

"Fuck me, you bastard! Fuck me! Sink it all the way up my cunt and fuck me!" 

Rene pushed her heels down against the floor and raised her crotch an inch 
higher in the air for his attack. He lunged hard and sunk his cock deeper 
than ever before, his balls falling into the crack of her ass and rubbing 
against her asshole. His hips became brutal battering rams against her 

pelvis. Her jutting breasts pressed into his hairy chest as he pushed her 
harder into the carpet. 

"Fuck me! Fuck me!" she shouted. "Aaaauuuggghhh! I'm comming. I'm comming!!! 
Harder, you bastard, harder! Ooohhh!" 

Every muscle in her body went lax and melted into her explosive climax. Her 
arms flailed against his back. A loud "Whoosh" came from her rectum as every 
ounce of air was squeezed from her body, and then her hot cum flowed over 
Rene's prick, swirling out of her ravaged vagina to run down the cheeks of 
her ass and cover his hairy balls. 

Arlene expected him to release his hold and let her up, and then she 
realized that he hadn't come yet. She felt him loosen his grip on her ankles 
and slide his hands up her calves. Then he began pushing her legs back 
further, arching her body even more and bringing her buttocks high in the 
air. He was in effect making a ball out of her, with her tail the highest 
point in the air. She felt his hard cock pull back and slide out of her wet 
cunt, and she suddenly knew what he was going to do. 

"NO! Rene, no! Don't fuck my ass! I can't take that! NO!" 

Rene disregarded her anxious pleas and stared down at the small brown 
puckered target directly before him. He dipped his cock in her cunt and 
withdrew it dripping with her juice. Then he aimed it at the quivering 
asshole before him and pressed the head of his cock hard against it. It 
resisted, allowing only the very tip to penetrate its firm ring. He again 
dipped his cock in her wet cunt and withdrew it, running the dripping head 
quickly to her puckered anus. This time he was less gentle, inserting the 
head and pressing hard until he felt it pop in as the elastic ring gave way 
to his onslaught. 

"Owww!" Arlene groaned, as she felt the thick prick ram brutally into her 
rectum. "Don't Rene! Your cock is too big! I can't take it! Owww! 
Uuuuggghhh!" 

Rene enjoyed hearing her scream as he inched his large cock up her small 
ass. He jerked his hips, throwing his weight on her buttocks and wedging his 
cock a little farther up her. She beat his face and arms with her hands and 
moved like a wild woman to escape him, but he held her impaled on his cock. 

Then, tired of the game, he gave a mighty thrust with his hips and sank his 
cock all the way to its base. 

"Aaaauuuggghhh! You bastard!" Arlene screamed, as she felt his prick rip its 
way up her. The pain shot through her body like fire and she felt the walls 
of her rectum tear as he began a rapid fucking motion with his heavy balls 
beating against her ass. 

Rene looked down into her face and saw the tears welling in her eyes. This 
is one screwing she'll remember, he gloated to himself, as he increased the 
tempo of his strokes and dug his toenails into the carpet for added support. 
His prick was flying in and out of her tortured asshole, and Rene felt his 
excitement double as he watched the shaft racing through the tight brown 
circle that left tan streaks along the length of his ramming prick. 

Arlene became almost hysterical, crying and 

screaming as the pain engulfed her entire body. She beat against his back, 
ran her nails into his arms leaving little trails of blood running down his 
rippling muscles, and raked his back with her nails in a deep, three-tracked 
gash. Then she heard him groan and suddenly felt her rectum filled with hot 
cum. He flooded her and it began splashing all over her body as he used his 
cock like a plunger in her tortured ass. 

His final spurt sent far up her ass with a mighty thrust, Rene released her 
legs and allowed his body to fall to one side. Arlene surveyed her bruised 
thighs covered with a pink mixture of Rent's cum and her own blood with 
horror. 

"You dirty bastard!" she shrieked. 

With a savage lunge Rene grabbed her long black hair and whipped her head 
around. He pulled her face down until her lips touched his wet, deflated 
prick. 

"Now, clean that cock up with your tongue!" he commanded, giving her hair a 
vicious twist. 

Arlene looked at the foul-smelling prick before her with disgust. It was wet 
and slimy and covered with a light brown coating of shit from her ass. She 
gagged and thought she would throw up, but she forced herself to extend her 
tongue and begin licking it. The mixture of blood, shit and semen had a 
strong, pungent flavor that bit Arlene's tongue as she licked it clean, but 
she managed to finish. Rena released his grip on her hair and pushed her 
aside roughly. 

"Thanks loads!" she spit at him. 

"The next time you pull a man's cock out of his pants," he replied with a 
chuckle, "you'd better be sure you know what he likes!" 

Arlene crawled across the rug to the bathroom to repair her tom body. She 
poured a hot bath, soaking her sore anus by holding the cheeks of her 
buttocks apart and letting the steaming hot water swirl around inside her. 
Arlene was hurt physically, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that 
she had satisfied her sadistic employer and was that much more firmly 
entrenched in her job. The very thought of submitting to his sadistic 
desires again chilled Arlene, but she knew she would if he asked her to. 
There was nowhere else Arlene could make the money she made working for 
Rene. 

When she had dressed and returned to the living room, she found Rene all 
business. He had obviously showered and changed to fresh clothes, and he had 
a large grin on his face. 

"Well," he said, "it looks like we have Miss Cynthia Walters where we want 
her, doesn't it?" 

"If those photos don't prove she's a Lesbian," Arlene replied, "nothing 
will." 

"And what are your plans for Mr. Harry Edwards?" 

"A lovely orgy in full color with Miss Cynthia Walters and yours truly." 
Arlene replied. "Then you can feed them both to the lions and pay me ten 
thousand lovely dollars." 

"Think you can work it?" Rene asked. 

"I haven't failed you yet, have I?" 

"Think you could work in a Frenchman?" Rene asked. 

Arlene noticed a pleading tone in his voice and she liked that. Someday 
she'd make the bastard pay for what he had just done to her, but not yet. 
Before giving in to his request, she wanted to have him beg a little. 

"Who?" she asked. 

"Jean LeGrande, a member of DeGaulle's new brain-trust," Rene replied. "He's 
trying to get the old man to back down his attack on the dollar, and that 
doesn't suit our purposes at all. I need something nice and juicy on him, 
and I understand he has a decided weakness for unusual sex." 

"Just how unusual?" 

"Nothing you can't handle, baby," Rene replied. "Will he be in on what I'm 
doing with Edwards or Cynthia?" 

"No!" Rene responded quickly. "The less he knows the better! You play it by 
ear and cook up some story that you're breaking her in as a whore or 
something. Even tell him you're using a little blackmail if you want, but 
don't let him get any idea of what you're really up to. Just give him a good 
orgy and he'll buy anything." 

Arlene was silent for a moment, pretending to think it over. She knew she 
would do whatever Rene wanted, but she felt good making him sweat a little. 

"Well?" he asked. 

"Okay, but I'll have to arrange it my own way and in my own time. Can you 
make arrangements with Madame Cunard for a very private room with a special 
show using one of her youngest girls?" 

"Done. You say when." 

CHAPTER EIGHT 

Two days and two nights without a word from Arlene! Cynthia was tom between 
a heaven and hell of her own making. The first day she spent sitting in a 
chair in front of the window, staring emptily at the dome of the basilica in 
Montmartre, waiting for Arlene to call, yet dreading having to face her. 
What would she think of her after what they did to each other? 

More important yet, what did Cynthia think of herself? This is what tortured 
her mind all the first day. She was a Lesbian, a homosexual! Or was she? Did 
one night, one marvelous flight into sensual heaven make her a Lesbian? 
Cynthia argued with herself, taking first one side and then the other. Did 
she freeze up with men because she was a Lesbian? If so, what made her that 
way? Was someone born a homosexual? Of course not, she told herself. She'd 
read all about how people become homosexuals because of some psychological 
quirk in their personality. Did she have such a quirk? 

She began pacing the small hotel room, wringing her hands and thoughtlessly 
pulling on a scarf she wore. Once, she flung her body on the bed and broke 
down and cried, her sobs falling on empty ears. "Why? WHY? WHY?" she 
screamed, beating her fists helplessly against the hard pillow. 

Then she gained control of herself and sat by the window trying to reason 
her situation out. She'd seen the ambassador and the interview had been 
frightful! She stuttered and stammered during her brief summary of the Cuban 
economic situation, and when he asked her several questions she froze, 
unable to give him an intelligent answer even though she had all the facts 
in her head. It was only because he was so understanding and coaxed the 
information out of her, that Cynthia had been able to finish the interview. 

Her first reaction after the interview was to pack her bags and take the 
first jet back to Washington, but then she thought of Arlene. Arlene had 
said she would call and Cynthia couldn't bring herself to leave Paris 
without seeing Arlene again. Was she in love with the striking brunette? Of 
course not, she told herself! She had found something with Arlene she had 
never known with another human being, but they lived in two different 
worlds, separated by a wide ocean. She could love Arlene, but she couldn't 
be in love with Arlene. 

"Why is life so damned complicated?" she said aloud, resting her chin in her 
hand. She had come to Paris with the hope of finding a solution to her 
problems. Now she had a new problem, one that could change the entire course 
of her life. Cynthia knew that if she became a Lesbian she would have to 
resign immediately from her position at the state department. If word leaked 
out it would not only disgrace her, it would discredit her superiors and 
embarrass her country in the eyes of the world. 

For a moment Cynthia's mind argued that all that was ridiculously unfair, 
but she quickly cast that aside with the thought that it was the way things 
were and she could do nothing to alter that. 

The question is, she said to herself, am I really a homosexual? Cynthia 
thought back to that night of bliss with Arlene, how she had melted in 
Arlene's arms and climbed to heights previously unknown to her when Arlene's 
tongue slipped between the lips of her vagina. She remembered the sweet 
taste of Arlene's firm breast, the exciting, salty taste of her cunt. 

A tingle ran through Cynthia's body. She felt the tips of her nipples 
pressing against her bra, and she moved in the chair to let her thighs rub 
together to ease the ache that suddenly shot through her groin. 
Accidentally, her arm brushed against her breast, and a warm glow ran 
through her. Her hand crept down to her lap and pressed against her pubic 
mound. 

Cynthia stood up and pulled her skirt over her head. Dropping her blouse on 
the floor, she crossed the room and quickly put the night-latch on the door. 
Then, pulling her panties down and stepping out of them, Cynthia unsnapped 
her bra and let it drop to the floor. She stretched out on the bed and 
allowed her hands to roam her body. Cupping her breast in one hand, she 
caressed the now taut nipple with her other hand. She closed her eyes and 
imagined her fingers were Arlene's lips, pulling her nipple gently into her 
hot mouth. 

Fingers extended, Cynthia's hand moved slowly across her flat belly and 
dipped into the soft, silky covering of her mound. Her index finger 
continued forward, parting the lips of her cunt and probing deep into the 
warm flesh. She made contact with her clitoris, gently playing it back and 
forth and pretending Arlene's head was between her thighs. She could see 
Arlene's dark eyes dancing with fire as her tongue dipped in and out of her 
cunt. 

"Aaaaaahhhhh! she moaned, as her fingers took her to release. 

Her body limp and her eyes staring at the ceiling, Cynthia was certain of 
one thing whatever she might be with others, she was a full lesbian with 
Arlene Richards! 

On the second day she arose early and dressed to go out. Surely Arlene would 
call this morning, she assured herself. In a gay mood, she ordered ham and 
eggs from Room Service and devoured them almost the moment the boy left the 
room. Then, by eleven o'clock with no word from Arlene, she was again 
depressed and nervous. 

"This is absurd," she said, crossing the room and taking her coat from the 
closet. "I can't spend my only days in Paris sitting in a hotel room." She 
started to pull her coat on, then put it back on a hanger in the closet. 
Cynthia couldn't chance missing Arlene's call, and she was certain Arlene 
would call. 

At three in the afternoon, Cynthia called the embassy and asked for Arlene. 
The polite voice at the other end of the line advised her that Miss Richards 
was out and not expected back that afternoon. Cynthia hung up, more dejected 
than ever, at a complete loss to understand why Arlene hadn't called her. 

By the time the sun set, Cynthia had made up her mind. She called the 
concierge and asked him to inquire about getting her space on the first jet 
to New York or Washington the next day. Her heart jumped when the phone rang 
a few minutes later. She raced across the room and breathlessly picked up 
the receiver. Her face fell when the concierge's voice announced that all 
flights to New York and Washington were booked for the next day. He told her 
the best he could do was get her space on a flight leaving at five in the 
afternoon of the following day. 

"Yes, yes," she said into the phone, "that will be all right. Thank you for 
all your trouble." 

She took a hot bath to relax her nerves and then stretched out on the bed. 
Cynthia had only slept in fits and spurts the night before, and she was 
exhausted. She was just drifting off into a troubled rest when the phone 
rang. She turned over and reached for the receiver. 

"Arlene!" she almost shouted, sitting bolt upright on the bed when she heard 
the familiar voice at the other end of the line. 

"Yes, darling," Arlene's soft voice came back. 

"I'm sorry I haven't called you sooner, but I've had some pretty serious 
trouble." 

"You're not hurt?" Cynthia asked anxiously. "You haven't been in a car 
accident, have you?" 

"Nothing like that at all," Arlene said in a reassuring voice. "It's quite a 
long story. Do you have a minute, or were you about to go out?" 

"Arlene," Cynthia said, a slight edge creeping into her voice, "you know 
I've been waiting for your call." 

"I am sorry about that, darling. I truly am," Arlene said, "but, you see, I 
didn't want to bother or worry you unless I had to. You see, about a year 
ago I became involved in an affair with a man named Frank, a perfect bastard 
who works for one of the American wire services here in the Paris office." 

"I don't see," Cynthia interrupted. 

"You will, darling, just be patient," Arlene continued. "It only lasted a 
few months, but Frank thought he owned me body and soul. You know how some 
men are. Well, when I broke it off he was terribly jealous and upset. He 
said he had left his wife for me. Of course I didn't know he even had a 
wife; why any woman would marry that man is beyond me. Anyway, he kept 
threatening that he would get even with me for ruining his life...." 

"Has he threatened you?" Cynthia asked. 

"I'm getting to that, darling. It seems he had some insane idea I was in 
love with someone else and he somehow managed to bribe the concierge of my 
apartment house to let him rig up some sort of a camera affair in my 
bedroom. I suppose his idea was to catch me in bed with some man and take 
photos of us." 

"How ghastly!" Cynthia said. 

"Well, it's worse than that, darling. It's a disaster! He came to me 
yesterday morning with a handful of photos. They were all done in color and 
enlarged so there could be no mistake what was going on in my bed." 

"Oh no! How could he!" Cynthia exclaimed. "And now I suppose he's 
blackmailing you and the other man." 

"It wasn't a man, darling," Arlene said softly. "Who was it?" 

"You and me, and we were doing all those marvelous things to each other." 

There was a dead silence on the line. 

"Cynthia? Cynthia, are you there?" Arlene asked anxiously. 

"Yes, I'm here," her voice came back, obviously shaken. 

"You see," said Arlene, "that's why I didn't want to worry you until I just 
had to." 

"What does he want, Arlene?" Cynthia asked, almost afraid to hear the 
answer. 

"It's not as bad as all that, darling," Arlene replied. "I've been talking 
to him for two days now and I can't really promise anything but I think 
maybe we can work it out. At first he was threatening to turn them over to 
his friends on the wire service and send copies to your boss and to the 
ambassador here." 

"Oh, God!" Cynthia exclaimed, seeing the scandal something like that would 
cause. 

"Right now I have him in a little more cooperative mood," Arlene's voice 
continued. "If we cooperate with him, do whatever he wants us to do, I think 
we can get the photos and the negatives and that will be the end of it. I'm 
afraid we'll have to put up with some brutish men for a few hours, but that 
will be better than losing our jobs and making headlines, won't it?" 

"You mean," Cynthia stammered, horrified at the thought, "you mean go to bed 
with them?" 

"I really don't know, darling, but it could come to that. I don't know about 
you, but I'd do almost anything to keep this between us. What happened to us 
was something beautiful, something I want to cherish, but I wouldn't want it 
dragged through the newspapers. Look at what they did to Walter Jenkins. 
Wasn't that just ghastly?" 

Cynthia was silent. Her shoulders drooped and she could feel her stomach 
working its way up into her throat. Her whole life ruined! She'd never be 
able to face people again. She'd kill herself first. And her name in 
headlines around the world. God! All that for one night of happiness! How 
cruel could life be? She sobbed and Arlene heard the sharp intake of breath 
at the other end of the line. 

Arlene smiled. She knew she had Cynthia exactly where she wanted her. Now 
was the time to seal off all avenues of escape. 

"Darling," she whispered. 

"Yes," Cynthia replied, a catch noticeable in her voice. 

"I know how awful this is for you, and believe me I wouldn't have gotten you 
into this mess for anything in the world. I feel just terrible about it. If 
he breaks this to his friends on the papers, we're both ruined. I've tried 
to handle him by myself without involving you. I've pleaded with him, 
offered to be his slave, anything, but he insists on both of us. I need your 
help Cynthia. I'm in debt and this will ruin me! You know I wouldn't ask if 
I didn't truly need your help. I know you feel the same way about me I feel 
about you, so I'm sure you'll help me because of what we have together. 
Won't you?" 

"I want to kill myself, Arlene, just go out and kill myself," Cynthia 
sobbed. 

"I know how you feel, darling," Arlene whispered, in a soothing tone. "I 
feel the same way. You know that, don't you?" 

"Of course, Arlene," Cynthia answered in a contrite voice. "I'm sorry. I've 
been selfish, thinking only of myself and my own mixed-up life. I know this 
must be terrible for you." 

"That's better, darling," Arlene said. "I knew you'd help me, and it will 
only be for a few hours. Anybody can live through a few hours! Now, 
remember, do anything they want. If we hesitate or seem like we're holding 
out, I'm sure Frank would be mean enough to make trouble for both of us." 

"I'll try, Arlene, but I can't guarantee anything." 

"Just try, darling, that will be enough. Be ready in about an hour. We'll 
pick you up at the hotel." 

"Tonight?" 

"Of course, silly, tonight. In about an hour." Cynthia held the phone to her 
ear moments after Arlene hung up, her mind unable to comprehend how all of 
this had happened to her. 

CHAPTER NINE 

"Go along with anything they want," rang through Cynthia's mind. It sounded 
so sinister, so ugly. She had tried to talk to Arlene ever since the three 
of them had picked her up, but with the two men present she was afraid to 
say anything that might compromise Arlene. God, she said to herself, how did 
I ever get into anything like this? And what is this special show Arlene 
seemed so mysterious about? 

The car crossed the Seine and wound down by the Palais de Luxembourg. 
Cynthia saw that they were on the Boulevard St. Michel, but they soon turned 
off and began winding through narrow streets. Cynthia knew she was somewhere 
in the south part of Paris, in the Left Bank area, but that was the best she 
could do. 

They drove through a large iron gate and down a short ramp to a small 
parking area beneath an old building. When the door opened and the dome 
light came on, Cynthia had her first real look at the two men in the front 
sea. She had to catch herself from crying out. The man in front of her was 
Harry Edwards! She'd have known his face anywhere! The short, pudgy features 
under his blond crew-cut hair and those eyes that always seemed to be 
darting everywhere except at the person he was talking to made Harry Edwards 
stand out in a crowd. Cynthia remembered what some of the girls at the 
office had told her about how crude he was, how he always made dirty remarks 
and tried to feel their breasts or tails. He was the laughing stock of the 
state department, but he had an ear in the White House so everyone treated 
him with respect. 

Now Cynthia was certain she would lose her job. What was he doing here? 
Arlene must have realized Harry Edwards would know her-or would he? She'd 
never actually met him. And there were so many girls in the State 
Department, how would he remember her? Well, she said to herself, it was too 
late to worry about it now. 

Cynthia didn't recognize the other man, the one introduced as Jean. He was 
tall, quite handsome in a rugged manner, and obviously French. He spoke very 
little, but Cynthia heard distinct traces of a light French accent in his 
voice. 

They went through a dark doorway and down a short corridor into a large, 
elegantly furnished living room. Gilt framed mirrors covered most of the 
walls and lights from heavy chandeliers sent soft reflections back and forth 
across the long room. Cynthia noticed that the motif was very French, the 
furniture and drapes done in shades of burgundy and pearl grays, and the 
several tables scattered through the room were of a dark mahogany edged in 
gold. A number of young girls in very provocative, low-cut dresses were 
lounging about the room, but Jean led the three of them straight through the 
room and up a wide staircase without hesitation. 

They entered a small living room at the top of the stairs. It was dimly 
lighted and pleasantly furnished with several love seats facing a small 
stage with the curtains drawn. A butler entered carrying a tray with four 
liqueur glasses and began passing among them. Cynthia watched Harry Edwards 
take a glass from the tray and raise it to his mouth. 

"Take it easy," Jean warned. "That's absinthe, the liqueur of the gods, and 
you must sip it slowly to appreciate it." 

Cynthia started to refuse and caught Arlene's look. She picked her glass 
from the tray and took a dainty sip of the green liquid. Her first reaction 
was the smell. It had a strong odor, but she liked it and wondered what it 
reminded her of. Then the bitter flavor permeated her mouth. It was very 
strong, but Cynthia had to admit she found it very pleasing. 

"That'll put lead in your pencil," Harry said, "and I'm going to need a good 
stiff cock tonight, aren't I, Arlene baby?" 

Arlene smiled and walked to one of the love seats and sat down. Harry kept 
up a running line of crude remarks and Cynthia found she absolutely detested 
the man. Jean, on the other hand, was being the perfect gentleman, and 
Cynthia appreciated that. When he sat down on the other love seat, she 
immediately followed and sat beside him. The thought of even being close to 
Harry Edwards the way he was acting was too much for her. 

Cynthia's head was reeling from the strong absinthe, but they forced another 
glass on her. 

"Go ahead," Arlene urged. "It'll make you enjoy the evening more if your 
head is a little giddy." 

Cynthia started to decline, but when she saw Arlene's stem look she decided 
that she might as well go along with what they wanted. If she could only 
talk to Arlene alone and find out what she had to do to get those 
photographs! 

She felt giddy and light, and once, when she tilted her head back to laugh 
at something Jean said, the room seemed to whirl about her. Jean started a 
light banter with her, telling her the horrors of Paris traffic, how the 
prices had gone so high he didn't know how the average person could live 
there any more, and about how much he liked American girls. Under other 
circumstances, Cynthia thought, I could really like him. He's so nice, so 
much a gentleman, and so attractive in his own way. 

Cynthia looked over at Arlene and the gross little man next to her. She 
remembered Arlene's tongue working deep into her cunt and the memory sent a 
shiver running through her body. How could she sit there with that horse's 
ass? Cynthia noticed Harry's hand running up and down Arlene's thigh, his 
fingers nearly touching her crotch each time they passed. Why doesn't she 
slap him, put him in his place, Cynthia wondered? 

Jean put his arm on her shoulder and pulled her closer to him on the love 
seat. She could feel the pressure of his leg against her thigh, but the 
absinthe had worked well and dulled her apprehensions about being there. In 
a way it felt good, and Cynthia reasoned that no harm could come with Arlene 
in the room. A totally pleasant feeling began seeping through Cynthia's 
body. She leaned back against Jean's arm and turned her head to smile at 
him. 

Jean smiled back, squeezed her shoulder lightly and nodded toward the stage. 
The curtains were opening slowly and a young innocent-looking French girl 
appeared by the bed. She could not have been over seventeen, and was the 
most lovely thing Cynthia had ever seen. She had a pensive look on her face 
that mirrored deep sadness. It touched Cynthia deeply. At that moment 
Cynthia identified with the girl and was wholly absorbed in what she was 
doing. Her emotions seemed bound to those of the lonely creature, and she 
felt the welling of tears of sympathy as often occurred when watching an 
exceptionally sad scene in a movie. 

The young girl picked up a framed photograph from the dressing table, gazed 
fervently at it, and then clasped it to her full breasts, which were tightly 
caressed by the clinging, jersey dress she wore. She placed the picture 
lovingly on her satin pillow and began to undress. 

She slipped the long gown slowly upward, exposing the arched calves-then the 
full, well-rounded thighs. The long black stockings, attached to a black 
lace garter belt contrasted sharply with the creamy ivory of her thighs. 

Jean and Harry Edwards drew in their breaths approvingly as the dress crept 
over the girl's head and fell to the floor. Her body was gleaming perfection 
as she paused for a moment. Then quickly she unfastened her bra and her 
high, full-rounded breasts came into view. The stage lights danced on her 
quivering nipples which quickly became taut as the girl stretched her arms 
over her head and pirouetted, tossing her blue-black hair across her 
alluring shoulders. 

She was almost naked, now, in just high heels, long, black stockings and the 
black garter belt covered by sheer bikini panties. She turned and bent over 
slowly, her back to the audience; drew the silk panties tantalizingly down 
over her curved hips and buttocks-brushing them sensuously against her 
smooth thighs and calves, and discarded them at her feet by the dress. She 
stretched languidly and teasingly turned to the front. All her delicious 
nudity was exposed now-from her high rounded breasts-to the soft dark 
triangle of her womanhood. 

Cynthia shifted nervously next to Jean. She had never expected anything like 
this. This exposed all the girl had to offer and she was making no attempt 
to hide it either. 

The girl lay back on the bed now, the picture of her absent lover in her 
hands, looking at it with a deep longing that could mean only one thing. 

She was aroused and needed release! 

Cynthia almost gasped aloud as the girl's free hand massaged her own breasts 
in tiny teasing circles, tweaking the soft nipples into sudden throbbing 
hardness. Her legs scissored open and closed slowly, exposing the thin slit 
of her vagina, nestled teasingly in the soft dark hair between her thighs. 
Her feet were pointing directly at the heavily breathing audience watching 
the girl slowly work her self into a burning passion. He buttocks twisted 
against the mattress as though she were trying to bury herself in it. Sheer, 
wanton desire reflected in her eyes. It seemed so real, Cynthia couldn't 
understand how the girl could act such a part unless she really felt it. She 
squirmed her own buttocks nervously, feeling the edge of the cushion brush 
electrically against the soft welling of her vulva. She jumped at the 
unexpected contact and the more unexpected shock it had brought. Her breath 
quickened. 

While everyone concentrated on the girl on the stage, Cynthia reached for 
another glass of the strong absinthe. She downed the liquid quickly, 
attempting to cool some of the warmth the girl's passion had transmitted to 
her own body. 

However, this drink heightened the feeling from the first one. She didn't 
feel she was the same person she had been a moment ago. She was someone else 
and it frightened her a bit, but she couldn't think about it now. The heat 
and excitement of the room was beginning to stimulate her hotly against her 
will. She squirmed down against the couch again, feeling the round edge of 
the cushion push dress and panties into her crevice; she rubbed herself 
gently against it, working the corner of the cushion between the moist lips 
of her vulva. Her body rocked on it in almost indiscernible rhythm-in 
concert with the writhing girl on the stage. She could feel the wetness 
spread between her thighs and she spread them slightly to gain greater 
contact with the cushion. The roughness brushed soothingly against her tiny, 
rising clitoris through the sheer panties. 

She looked guiltily out of the comer of her eye at Arlene and Harry next to 
her to make sure they hadn't noticed; but they were so engrossed that they 
had paid no attention. Arlene lay back against Harry, dragging heavily on a 
cigarette, and Harry had his hands inside her bodice. Cynthia could see it 
move tantalizingly under the thin material covering her breasts. Her dress 
had slipped up so that the white thighs were visible above the stockings 
tops; her legs were slightly spread. In the dim light Cynthia could see the 
white band of her panties between them. Arlene seemed unaware of the 
exposure. Her mouth was open in intoxicated rapture as both watched the 
stage intently in expectation. 

Cynthia leaned against the back of the couch, careful not to break contact 
with the edge of the cushion pressed into the crevice between her fevered 
thighs and found Jean's arm behind her waiting. Without thought, she relaxed 
against it and made no protest when his hand came to rest heavily on her 
left breast. 

His arm feels good, she thought to herself, and it doesn't mean anything. 
The musky scent of Jean's cologne filled her nostrils, stimulating her more. 
It had a rich, suggestive odor that caused her to snuggle closer as the 
excitement of forbidden naughtiness rippled through her. 

It seemed an eternity since she had last looked at the stage, but it was 
only moments. The girl on the bed writhed more lasciviously now as though 
being attacked by some unseen lover. She had placed the picture on the 
bedside table and both her hands were running over her body as though out of 
control, her fingertips dancing over the flat, ivory belly and coming to 
rest together at the "V" of her soft, down-covered crotch. She groaned at 
the sudden contact of her hands with the moist slit between her thighs and 
pulled her knees up, her toes on the mattress. Then, she straightened the 
legs like two beautifully carved ivory columns above the bed; with a deeper 
groan, she let them fall wide apart exposing to the excited onlookers the 
moist, glistening furrow between. Her fingers crawled to the hair-covered 
lips and spread them slowly apart until the wet pinkness was fully visible 
and the mouth-like orifice opened hungrily. The half moons of her rounded 
buttocks shone in the stage light, divided by the hot avid crevice between 
them. Her tiny anus nestled mysterious and inviting below the swollen and 
agitated lips. 

Cynthia gasped in disbelief as the girl slowly inserted a middle finger into 
the glistening pink, stroking the tiny bud like clitoris. Jean's hand 
squeezed her breast tighter as she heard and felt his breathing becoming 
heavier. She was afraid to look at him; was hypnotized into immobility as 
the sensuous movements of the girl on the bed in creased and her probing 
fingers worked themselves inside the pink edges of her contracting cunt, 
slowly widening the lips. She slipped her index finger in and out smoothly 
between the lubricated lips. Her legs jack-knifed back, knees against her 
breasts and the soft rounded buttocks rose and fell in response to the 
inquiring finger. The girl's flaccid muscles tightened as she joined two 
fingers with the first and clenching her teeth, pushed all three into the 
hungry pink folds. They disappeared with a soft sucking noise and a soft 
moan of pleasure purred from the girl's lips. 

Cynthia tensed in momentary shock at this in dignity and only Jean's firm 
grip on her now throbbing breast kept her from running from the room. She 
sensed that she had better go, before it was too late and her own excitement 
ran away from her. 

This desire lasted only a moment before the effect of the absinthe lulled 
her again. She waited in anticipation and nervous fear of her own emotions 
to see what would happen next. Cynthia felt too closely identified with the 
girl writhing in desire before her and knew there was a danger point from 
which there was no turning back. She took another sip of absinthe. The warm 
liquid oozed down her throat relaxing and easing her mind of fear at the 
passion raging through her own body. She snuggled back again against Jean, 
somehow determined to keep her guard up. 

The girl on the bed had become possessed. Her eyes and teeth were clenched 
as she writhed beneath her own driving fingers in uncontrollable passion. 
The rapid rhythm drove grunts of pleasure from deep in her throat as the 
fingers sunk into the tight, pink openings, making moist, sucking sounds as 
she withdrew them to push them in again. Her face was red-straining for 
climax. She groaned in frustration as her own fingers thrust harder and 
deeper. They were not enough. Her head rolled from side to side on the 
pillow, her long dark hair flying in frustration at the inability to bring 
herself to climax. Still she tried, her hand beating a wild staccato against 
the spread, straining buttocks, the grunts faster and louder with each 
passing second. 

Cynthia gasped and grabbed Jean's arm tightly as a giant cat came on the 
stage. It was the biggest thing Cynthia had ever seen, and through her 
mist-clouded mind she tried to remember what it was. She knew she'd seen 
animals like it in the zoo. Was it a tiger? No, a tiger had stripes. Was it 
a leopard? No, a leopard had spots. It wasn't a lion because Cynthia knew a 
lion had a big furry collar. Jaguar? Cynthia wasn't certain, but it was 
something like a jaguar. 

On the stage the young girl's eyes widened in terror. She jerked the back of 
her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming, and Cynthia saw the girl's 
teeth dig into the back of her hand. She tried to lower her legs to jump off 
the bed and run, but the animal let out a fierce, menacing growl from deep 
in its throat and the girl froze in her position of masturbation, her eyes 
the size of saucers and the young flesh on her thighs trembling. 

She didn't dare move as the huge animal hovered and growled over her, its 
fang-like teeth gleaming and its huge flat, pink tongue lapping over its 
shiny black nose. She drew her knees up to protect her face, the movement 
leaving her young down-covered crotch fully exposed to the beast. The terror 
in her eyes was unmistakable. The animal moved closer to the girl, its 
nostrils flared as it sniffed her damp crotch. The panting, sniffing head 
was just inches from the pink slit of her cunt. 

"Oh, God!" Cynthia said, in a horrified stage whisper to Jean. "What is that 
beast going to do to the poor girl?" 

"Watch and you will see," he answered in her ear. "It will be very exciting, 
but don't worry. The beast is well-trained. The girl must be new and Madame 
Cunard hasn't told her what is to happen so she will make it all the more 
enjoyable for us. Don't fear, the girl will not be hurt." 

For the first time Cynthia noticed that the beast's paws were encased in red 
velvet padding, its claws completely covered so it could not harm the girl. 
Cynthia knew she should get up and leave, flee while she still had time, but 
she had promised herself she would see it through for both her and Arlene's 
sake. Besides, the sight of the helpless girl lying-shaking and trembling 
all over with fear beneath the growling beast, fascinated her, sent 
curiously exciting shivers running through her. The obscene thought of 
seeing the beast rape the helpless girl both frightened and thrilled 
Cynthia. Goose pimples raised on her skin as she watched the girl quake 
before the giant cat. 

Have I turned into a perverted beast myself, Cynthia wondered? What's the 
matter with me? I should run and scream for the police, but instead there is 
a tingling between my thighs! She felt Jean's finger begin massaging her 
taut nipple and a warmth spread through her. She'd never felt like this with 
a man before. What was it? Cynthia reached for her glass and took another 
sip of the green liquid. She tried to remember what she had heard about 
absinthe, but the pleasant warmth in her body eased all memory. 

Cynthia's conscience nagged her. She knew she must leave, get up and run 
away. Twice she resolved to do just that, but she couldn't make her body 
obey. She was on dangerous ground, and she knew it. Was it right to compound 
one sin with another? Wouldn't she be getting in even deeper than she was 
already? She looked over at Arlene and Harry and almost gasped out loud. 
Arlene had Harry's prick out of his pants and was playing with it while they 
watched the girl and the beast on the stage! How could she? For a moment her 
eyes couldn't leave the monstrous cock in Arlene's hand. It was the largest, 
thickest thing she had ever seen! She couldn't believe such a small man 
could have something that big between his legs! It was so long, and so very, 
very thick. She felt a stab of pain race through her body at the very 
thought of having something like that up her vagina. 

The constant pressure of Jean's fingers on her breast made Cynthia's breath 
come quicker. She squirmed tighter into the seat to force more pressure on 
her vulva and ease the ache that was growing there. An evil thought passed 
through her mind. She wanted to see the defenseless girl ravished by the 
beast on the stage. She squirmed again, rubbing the pink lips of her cunt 
against the smooth silk fabric of the seat; a tingling shock ran through her 
loins and made her warm glow increase as Jean continued to work her taut 
nipple between his fingers. 

Cynthia looked back to the stage. The giant cat had dipped its head down 
between the girl's widely spread thighs. Its nose was almost touching the 
soft black hair covering the pink lips of her cunt. The beast sniffed and 
the girl trembled. Cynthia saw its huge tail slowly wagging back and forth, 
and she imagined that the beast felt he had found a bitch in heat. He dipped 
his head and shoved his cold, wet nose against her puckered anus and she 
gasped. Cynthia saw the girl's muscles tense as the beast darted its large 
flat tongue out and began lapping the crevice of the helpless girl's ass. 

The girl tried to squirm away, but the beast let out a low growl that warned 
her not to move. She froze, her legs high in the air and her crotch exposed 
to the beast's hungry mouth. He began to greedily lap the crevice of her ass 
and then let his tongue slap up against the tender pink lips of her cunt. 
His great flat tongue ran through the soft, hair-covered swelling like a 
knife through soft butter. It flicked relentlessly through the cuntal 
opening, landing on the small bud-like clitoris and caused the girl to groan 
with deep pleasure. 

As terrified as the girl was, she responded to the beast's lapping her 
sensitive cunt. She began to squirm, then jerked spasmodically, a low groan 
of pleasure building steadily within her throat. The dark yellow fur on the 
beast's head rubbed against her exposed thighs, giving her a pleasant 
sensation, and the stiff whiskers that stood straight out at the sides of 
the beast's nose tickled her soft flesh. 

Cynthia gave herself over to the sight on the stage in front of her. She 
wallowed in the sensual atmosphere of doing something one shouldn't be 
doing, but didn't care. She had so identified with the helpless girl on the 
stage she felt the animal's tongue lapping between her own legs, running up 
and down the length of her own cunt. She, too, had become an animal, an 
animal filled with a sexual lust she had never before known. 

Cynthia tried to control her squirming body as she heard the girl's 
terrified moans turn into soft mews of great pleasure as the beast licked 
her cunt with his great slapping tongue. The girl reached down and grabbed 
the great animal's ears, pulling his head closer into her cunt. She threw 
her legs high over her head as he thrust his wide tongue deep into her cunt. 
It was obvious the girl was torn between her fear of the animal and the 
slithering, thick tongue that was sending fantastic pleasure through her 
helpless body. 

The beast's tail was swishing back and forth rapidly, indicating his growing 
excitement as he lapped the luscious pink cunt before him. He ravished her 
crotch without mercy, dipping his tongue deep up her slit to pull her juices 
into his hungry mouth. The girl shrieked with pleasure, pulling the animal's 
ears and wiggling her buttocks to bring her vagina closer and closer to his 
hungry mouth. Cynthia heard her plead with the dumb animal, encouraging him 
to sink his tongue deeper and deeper into her cunt. 

"Jesus, look at that pussy eat pussy!" said Harry Edwards in a loud voice, 
laughing at his own crude joke. 

The sound of his voice distracted Cynthia's attention from the stage 
momentarily. She looked over at the other love seat and gasped at what she 
saw. Arlene had her legs spread out wide, her dress pulled up over her hips. 
Harry's hand was inside her black lace panties, his middle finger obviously 
sunk deep into Arlene's gaping hot cunt. Arlene had his huge thick cock in 
her hand and was moving the skin up and down over the bluish head with hard 
fast strokes. Her mouth was open as she gaped at the scene of the girl being 
ravished by the wild, lust-filled beast. Harry's other hand had managed to 
pull Arlene's left breast out of her dress and he was milking it obscenely 
as he watched the spectacle on the stage. 

Arlene, oblivious to everything and everyone, was grinding her crotch 
against Harry's hand, lewdly screwing the finger that speared her wet cunt. 

Cynthia was repelled by what she saw, yet strangely excited. 

CHAPTER TEN 

Pushing its way through the hazy mist covering her mind, Cynthia's 
conscience rang a warning bell. She had to leave, had to flee those wild, 
abandoned people before it was too late; before she, too, became a 
lust-filled beast with no concept of what was right or wrong. These people 
were all sick, degenerated, sex crazed! She couldn't stay here, couldn't go 
one minute longer like this! What worried her most was the tremendous ache 
between the lips of her vulva. Was she as bad as the rest of them? She 
commanded her legs to move, but her body would not obey. She looked at the 
stage and saw the huge cat driven by a wild lust lapping the poor girl's 
open cunt, its tongue flapping wildly up over her young belly and enslaving 
her in a wild animal-like passion. The beast lifted his head from the 
squirming girl's crotch to let its tongue lap over her belly and then drop 
hard against her swollen clitoris. She moaned and groaned, now a total slave 
to the animal's passion. 

The helpless girl pulled her legs back farther, raising her pale buttocks 
before the beast's hungry mouth. He slid his wide tongue down in the crevice 
between her buttocks and the girl used her hands to spread the white globes 
as far apart as they would go and completely expose the puckered anus 
quivering before him. The beast began lapping his tongue up and down her 
ass, pressing the tip hard into the tiny brown starfish each time it passed. 
The girl used her two index fingers to open and spread the opening to her 
asshole, and the huge cat pressed its wide tongue slowly into the brown 
opening. She wiggled and squirmed as she felt the wet tongue work its way up 
her narrow canal, moans now coming from deep within her throat. 

Cynthia lost all resolve and pushed her conscience back. She could feel the 
warm tongue lashing through her own intimate regions and she squirmed down 
into the seat more to press as much of her vulva as she could against the 
soft, silky material. She inwardly cursed herself for giving into these 
desires, but she was helpless. The feel of Jean's hands on her breasts both 
thrilled and frightened her. Cynthia made one feeble effort to dislodge 
Jean's hand, but he held firm and continued massaging and teasing her 
now-tortured nipple. When one of Jean's hands dropped to Cynthia's lap, she 
placed her own hand on top of it and pressed it firmly so that she could 
feel his palm digging into her pubic mound. 

She stared in disbelief at the stage. The huge animal was now pressing its 
large nose between the girl's buttocks and the mattress, trying to lift the 
girl's crotch from the bed. Cynthia cringed when she looked between the wild 
animal's legs and saw a long pink prick beginning to surge forth from its 
furry sheath. It was long and tapered, the pink shaft crooked slightly 
downward and dripping with heavy white liquid. It was obvious what the beast 
wanted, and the girl indicated her willing obedience by turning over and 
rising to her knees. She bent forward and spread her buttocks wide. 

The girl was like an animal, on all fours with her ass spread wide toward 
the audience and her pink and red cunt opened wide and fully exposed to the 
wild animal. The beast came up behind her and placed its paws on her back. 
Suddenly, Cynthia realized why the animal's paws were encased in the heavy 
velvet. The girl's back would be ripped to shreds if his claws were bare! 

Cynthia saw the animal's prick, which had only extended a few inches 
previously, now come fully out of the furry sheath. She drew her breath in 
when she realized how long and thick it was. The long tapered end was 
dripping fluid on the girl's thighs as the animal waved its giant cock 
around her buttocks seeking entry to the hot cunt he had lapped with his 
hungry tongue. Finding its mark, the beast lurched forward. Cynthia watched 
the pink shaft slowly sink into the girl's pussy. The girl's hands beat 
against the mattress as the beast fell on her body and relentlessly shoved 
his swollen prick up her gaping cunt. 

Cynthia's identification was complete. As she watched, she could actually 
feel the heavy cock burying itself deep into her own belly. She felt the 
walls of her cunt expand to take the long driving shaft deep into her 
vagina. And when Jean slipped his hand down and pulled the hem of her skirt 
up, she made no move to protest. 

Cynthia felt as though she was on fire. Beads of perspiration broke out on 
her forehead and she felt a trickle of sweat run down the valley between her 
oversized breasts which Jean had teased to full attention. Her entire body 
was wet and on fire. A tiny trickle of sweat ran from her navel to the 
golden hair on her cunt, moistening even more the hot lips of her pussy. 
Cynthia felt that the beast was ravishing her instead of the girl on the 
stage. For a moment a wild thought ran through her head. She wanted to leap 
on the stage and push the young girl aside so she could place herself under 
the beast's wild, slashing prick! 

Jean pulled Cynthia's skirt up around her waist and began wedging his 
slender fingers between her tightly clasped thighs. A warning bell, this 
time much less distinct, rang in Cynthia's lust-filled mind. Now was the 
time she had to leave if she was ever going to. In another moment she would 
be like Arlene, her legs spread wide on the couch and a strange man's hands 
playing with her hungry cunt. Her effort was ridiculously feeble and Jean 
laughed softly at her. He pressed his fingers down between her thighs and 
whispered in her ear. 

"Open your legs, Cynthia," he said softly. "Open them and let me ease your 
pain." 

Cynthia's nerves were shattered; her will to resist now only a dim flame 
deep inside her. The lips of her cunt rubbed against the seat as she 
squirmed, and a fire burned between her legs that she could not control. 

Something else was nagging Cynthia. She was responding to what Jean was 
doing to her. She was excited seeing the huge male organ of the wild animal 
on the stage. Were these homosexual reactions? Maybe she wasn't a homosexual 
after all! But, then, what was she? What made her act like these horrible 
people around her? Why was she pulsating with the crazy desire to be raped 
by the wild beast? Could she stop now? Should she stop now? What would it 
prove if she turned into a lust-filled beast herself? The tiny voice, now 
only a whisper, told her to jump up and demand that they take her back to 
her hotel. Cynthia desperately wanted to obey that voice, but she couldn't. 
The fire within her had to be quenched. 

Jean managed to slip his fingers deep between her thighs and was now 
pressing them open. Cynthia reasoned that she was safe as long as the others 
were there in the room. He couldn't do a thing to her while Arlene was there 
to take care of her, so why not let him play with her burning crotch? She 
would stay until the show was over and then demand that they take her back 
to the hotel. 

Cynthia let her eyes go back to the stage as she released some of the 
tension in her thighs and let Jean's hand force them wide apart. The wild 
beast was completely covering the helpless girl's body now, its pink prick 
slashing deep into her ravaged cunt. Saliva was drooling from its mouth onto 
the girl's back, leaving trails as it ran in rivers to the mattress below. 
Cynthia couldn't understand the French words, but she knew the girl was 
shouting lewd encouragement to the beast as it wildly threw its long shaft 
up her cunt. The scene before her was the most exciting thing she had ever 
witnessed. 

Then a loud moan from the other side of the room drew Cynthia's attention 
from the stage. She looked over and saw Arlene wildly running the top part 
of Harry's huge cock in and out of her mouth while he savagely fucked her 
gaping cunt with two fingers. Arlene had her fingers wrapped around the base 
of Harry's monstrous weapon, and Cynthia gasped when she realized that 
Arlene's long, slender fingers did not meet! His cock was that thick! Arlene 
was acting like a hungry child gobbling a candy stick, her lips crushing and 
chewing the cudgel in her hand. As Cynthia watched, Harry's cock slipped out 
of Arlene's mouth with a slushing sound as the suction broke. Arlene's 
tongue darted out of her mouth and began lapping the end of his inflated 
prick like it were made of sugar. 

Dropping her eyes, Cynthia saw Harry's hand fucking Arlene's wide open cunt. 
His knuckles dug deep between the pink lips of her pussy as he rammed two 
fingers deep up her. Arlene's thighs were now covered with thin trails of 
her cum. It hung in drops to her olive skin and ran down her sheer 
stockings. It amazed Cynthia that Arlene could possibly enjoy anything as 
disgusting as that unbelievably huge cock of Harry's. 

Then she felt Jean's hand begin moving up her inner thigh, and she 
shamelessly scooted down in the seat to hurry his progress to her hungry 
vulva. He let two of his fingers trail softly over the material of her white 
panties, tracing the lines of the lips of her cunt and pressing only very 
gently against her already erect clitoris. The contact was electric, sending 
shock-waves through Cynthia's passion-hungry body. She wanted him to grab 
her pussy, pull and tug on it, ram his fingers up her hungry cunt, but Jean 
teased her with light, devilishly exciting strokes that made her breath come 
in great pants. 

God, she screamed to herself in anguish, I have to get out of here! They've 
reduced me to a molten lump of sex-hungry flesh! I can't stand it! I want 
that cat's long, pink prick deep inside my belly! I want Jean to rape 
me-God! What's happened to me? 

Grunts were now coming deep from the animal's throat as he plunged his hard 
prick up the girl's cunt on the stage. Cynthia could see the rippling 
muscles in his hind quarters as he pushed hard against the girl's body. She 
had fallen part way to the bed under the animal's great weight, but now her 
passion forced her to raise her body with great effort so that the giant cat 
had easier access to her crotch. He immediately lunged harder, sinking his 
pink shaft even deeper inside her belly. 

"Aaaauuuggghhh!" she moaned, as the long prick slashed deep inside her. 

Cynthia could see directly between the beasts hairy hind legs. The girl's 
bright pink flesh between the lips of her cunt glistened with the large 
drops of moisture from the beast as the lights on the stage caught her 
pussy. The beast's tail was high in the air and Cynthia could see its anus 
pucker and contract as it plunged deeper and deeper inside the defenseless 
girl's belly with its tapered cock. 

She felt Jean's hand become more demanding on her own crotch and she 
slithered forward in the seat to press hard against his probing fingers. 
Then she felt his other hand beneath her tail, gently pushing upward and she 
lifted her buttocks from the love seat. Jean's fingers fumbled with the 
elastic around her white panties, so she helped him by sliding her fingers 
under the material and slipped the panties down. He pulled them to her knees 
and then pressed his hand on her flat belly to lower her back to the seat. 
Cynthia sat down and her body suddenly jerked when she realized that he had 
placed his hand under her tail and she had impaled herself on his stiff 
finger when she lowered her body. 

Cynthia started to protest, started to raise her body and dislodge his stiff 
finger from her cunt, but the exciting feeling of being almost helplessly 
impaled like that thrilled her and she didn't move. Jean's thumb moved up 
and began pressing her clitoris and Cynthia's crotch was on fire. She 
quickly glanced over at the other couple. She was so embarrassed at her 
position, yet she wanted to continue if Arlene hadn't noticed the obscene 
things she was letting Jean do to her. 

Arlene was lost to everything in the room, even the spectacle on the stage 
before her. Cynthia was amazed to see that Arlene had somehow managed to get 
Harry's entire cock in her mouth. She saw the striking brunette's throat 
bulge with the heavy cock working its way down into her depths. Arlene's 
eyes were glazed, her cheeks puffed, her lips swollen from being spread wide 
enough to encircle the thick heavy prick in her mouth. Harry Edwards had his 
legs spread wide and his pants obscenely open with his hairy balls hanging 
over the "V." His eyes were glued to the girl being ravished on the stage, 
his mouth open and dripping saliva as he watched. 

What Cynthia saw Arlene doing excited and disgusted her. She wondered how it 
would be to have something that large rammed into your mouth and crushing 
against the walls of your throat. 

"Bounce up and down on my finger," Jean whispered to Cynthia. "You feel a 
fucking while you watch the girl fucked up there!" 

Her mind repelled by the lewd suggestion, Cynthia was amazed to see her body 
obediently obey his wish. Her hips began to move so that she was bouncing 
lightly up and down on the seat. Each stroke sent his finger racing up into 
her cunt, her secretions making it looser and looser. Cynthia hated her body 
for betraying her like that, and she hated herself for not being able to 
control her animal desires. 

Watching the beast fuck the helpless girl, Cynthia set up a rhythm in her 
body to match stroke for stroke the ravishment the girl was receiving. In 
her mind, Cynthia was the girl, and Jean's finger was the beast's prick 
racing in and out of her cunt with relentless lust. 

Cynthia opened her mouth wide and began licking her lips as she bounced up 
and down on Jean's finger. 

"Aaaahh!" she sighed loudly, when Jean moved his hand and inserted a second 
finger up her cunt. She felt the walls of her vagina expand to receive the 
two fingers and her hips thrust harder and harder against his hand as she 
matched the increasing tempo of the beast on the stage. 

"Yiiiiii!" screamed the girl on the stage as she entered the beginning 
throes of orgasm and arched her body to screw her buttocks greedily against 
the wild animal. She, herself, became a wild animal, her ass bucking hard 
against the huge cat's flailing hind quarters and her eyes rolling madly 
about in their sockets. The beast's wide tongue hung from the side of its 
open mouth and saliva dripped down the girl's bucking back. 

"Aaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhh!" she screamed as she slammed back in a wild buckling 
movement to impale herself completely on the beast's rampaging cock. 

Cynthia could see the sperm splash from the girl's jerking cunt. It came out 
in wild spurts, flowing around the beast's cock and then running down the 
crevice of the girl's ass to the mattress below. The girl's ass glistened in 
the harsh stage light, the white skin covered with a thick running coat of 
hot white liquid. 

Suddenly her own body began to jerk spasmodically as she bounced up and down 
on Jean's fingers that impaled her cunt. Cynthia lost all control of 
herself, sweat pouring down her body in tiny streams and her muscles tensed 
and trembled like jelly. 

"Ohhhh!" she moaned as she felt her release come. Hot cum flowed from her in 
a giant river. It covered Jean's hand and fell to the silk material of the 
love seat below. Cynthia sat down on his fingers as hard as she could, 
impaling herself as deeply as possible while she continued to pour out her 
clear thick liquid. She felt it ooze out of his hand and cover her thighs. 

The girl on the stage had fainted from her orgiastic climax, her body going 
limp beneath the giant beast. Cynthia saw him pull back, his long cock 
oozing from the girl's ravished cunt and retracting into its furry sheath 
once more. The beast, in some mysterious animal act of appreciation, leaned 
down and began licking the unconscious girl's crotch. 

Cynthia's eyes glistened with a heavy film and everything blurred for a 
moment. Unable to control herself, she began sobbing softly. Jean lifted her 
body slightly and withdrew his hand. Cynthia's body fell back on the love 
seat, her tail oozing into the sticky puddle of cum she had left on the 
seat. 

The curtains began closing and the stage lights dimmed. Cynthia vaguely saw 
someone come on stage and lead the satiated animal off. Suddenly it dawned 
on her that they would soon turn the lights in the room up. She saw her 
sprawled body, her legs spread wide and her panties around her knees, and 
Cynthia reacted instinctively. She quickly sat up and pulled her panties up, 
lifting her buttocks to get them up around her waist. Then she pulled her 
slip and skirt down, straightening them as best she could without standing 
up. 

She heard the rustle of clothes from the other love seat, but Cynthia 
couldn't bring herself to look over at Arlene and Harry Edwards. She was so 
embarrassed, so horrified that they might have seen her so abandoned to her 
animal lust, that all she could do was stare straight ahead. 

By the time the lights came up, Cynthia's mind was firm in her resolve to 
leave this horrid place. She stood up and looked over at Arlene, who was 
still straightening her dress. She gasped when she saw that Harry Edwards 
had not even bothered to put his prick back in his pants. 

"Come on girls," he said crudely, "let's get these clothes off and do some 
real fucking. I've got a pair of sore nuts after that great performance!" 

"Arlene," Cynthia said, the desperate tone in her voice unmistakable to all 
in the room, "let's go to the powder room, shall we?" 

"That's a good idea," Arlene answered, realizing that Cynthia would have to 
be threatened if the rest of her plan was to work. "Come on, darling, it's 
just down the hall." 

CHAPTER ELEVEN 

"I just can't do it!" Cynthia sobbed to Arlene, once they were safely in the 
restroom. "I can't take another minute of it, no matter what they do to me!" 
She dropped her head on her hands on top of the dressing table and began 
crying hysterically. 

Arlene looked down on the trembling blonde with a cold, mean look. You'll do 
it, darling, she said to herself, and when you feel that tree trunk of 
Harry's rip your cunt open you'll have good reason to cry, believe me! 

"I know, darling," she cooed, changing her expression and running her hand 
over Cynthia's shoulder softly. "Go ahead and cry. It's just ghastly! 
They're such beasts, such miserable bastards! The things I had to do to that 
Harry Edwards! God, how I hate that man!" 

This much was certainly true. Arlene's mouth still ached from stretching 
wide enough to take his horrible cock inside. I'm certainly going to earn my 
money with him, she thought! 

"And every time I think that I got you into this awful mess," she continued, 
soothing Cynthia's neck muscles with her skillful fingers, "I could just 
kill myself. It tore my heart out to see you with that Jean in there! I 
don't care what they do to me. If there was only some way I could get them 
to take me as their slave and let you go!" 

Cynthia sat up, pulling Kleenex from the box and making an effort to repair 
her tear and sweat-stained make-up. She wiped her eyes and tensed her 
muscles to control her sobbing. 

"Arlene," she said, in a voice that was breaking with emotion, "I have 
money, plenty of money. Couldn't I buy our way out? Would they take money 
and give us those awful photos?" 

Arlene turned away to hide the look of greed she knew must have registered 
on her face. Maybe there was some way she could take Cynthia's money! It 
would be like a bonus, but she had to be careful not to let this interfere 
with her job for Rene. It would have to be after the orgy, after they had 
their blackmail photos of Harry Edwards and Jean LeGrande. She knew she 
would be able to work something out. 

"I couldn't let you do that, darling," she replied, straightening her hair 
in the mirror. "Anyway, I've already tried to buy Frank out. I offered him 
my entire estate, but he wasn't the least bit interested. I'm afraid money 
won't do it. At least, not now." Arlene put her comb down and crossed over 
to embrace Cynthia's shoulders. 

"Look," she continued in a soothing voice, "I wouldn't blame you one bit if 
you walked out on me right now. I feel the same way you do. This is 
perfectly terrible, and every time I think that it's because of me you have 
to go through this, I want to cry. Darling, if you just can't take it, I'll 
walk out with you." 

Arlene backed away from Cynthia and deepened her voice to let her next words 
sink in. 

"Let Frank give those pictures to the newspapers with their dirty minds!" 
she said. "Let him send copies to the ambassador and to Washington! Let him 
post them on billboards all over the world for all I care! You and I can 
find some quiet place where people won't care who we are or what we do. 
Maybe in one of those little countries in South America or even in Africa." 

She stopped and let a deep sob wrack her body. "Just say the word, Cynthia, 
and we'll go," she sniffed, hoping she wasn't being over-dramatic and 
hamming it up. 

Cynthia rushed to her and threw her arms around Arlene, patting her back and 
burying her head in the crook of her neck. 

"Oh, Arlene!" she sobbed. "What will we do?" 

"I don't know, darling. I just don't know." 

"Arlene," Cynthia said, soothing her suddenly distraught friend. "What will 
they do to us if we go back in there?" 

"You know how men are, Cynthia. They'll make us do all sorts of horrid 
things to them, and they'll use our bodies in every way they can dream up. 
Until you came in here I had myself steeled to go through anything with 
them. I told myself it would be another hour or two and then it would be all 
over. I knew I could take anything for an hour or two, anything at all, if I 
could get those photos back and get out of this mess. I told myself I would 
be as vile and debased as they were. I was even determined to shock them by 
getting lower in the gutter than they are. If that would make them happy and 
make them let us alone, I wouldn't mind it." 

Cynthia braced her shoulders and walked across the room to the basin. She 
said nothing, splashing cold water on her face to assure herself she wasn't 
in the middle of some terrible nightmare. 

"I suppose any human can live through an hour or two," she said, drying 
herself. 

Arlene smiled to herself and walked over to Cynthia. 

"Darling, I can't ask you to go through this just for me," she said. 

"I can do it if you can, Arlene," Cynthia sighed. 

"Maybe it won't be too hard on us," Arlene said. "Harry said they hired two 
fourteen-year-old girls and a young boy to make a party out of it. Maybe we 
won't have to endure too much, darling." 

Cynthia turned to face Arlene and looked straight into her eyes. 

"When this is over, we'll be free of everything? Frank will give you the 
photos and the negatives?" 

Arlene returned her frank gaze. 

"He promised he would give them to me in the morning, just as soon as Harry 
and Jean report back to him that we cooperated in every way. Don't worry, 
darling, this is all we'll have to do." 

Arlene placed her hands on Cynthia's shoulders and gazed deeply into her 
pale blue eyes. She had the blonde where she wanted her, but she wanted to 
lay the groundwork for whatever scheme she used to get Cynthia's money. 
Slowly, Arlene pulled Cynthia close to her. Cynthia felt herself melting 
under Arlene's warmth. Then Arlene cupped her face in her hands and pressed 
her lips to Cynthia's. Cynthia opened her mouth and felt passion run through 
her as Arlene's tongue darted inside. 

Arlene lowered her hand and began caressing Cynthia's breast, kneading the 
large soft globe and teasing the taut nipple with her thumb. She leaned into 
Cynthia's body, pressing her pelvis against Cynthia's and rubbing her 
breasts against her own. 

"And after this, darling," she whispered in Cynthia's ear, "I want you 
again. Like we were the other night, only I want to sleep the whole night 
through with my head buried between your heavenly thighs." 

"Oh, darling," Cynthia sighed. 

She reached out and cupped Arlene's firm breast in her hand and began 
squeezing it as their lips locked in a wet embrace. 

"Not now, darling," Arlene said, pushing Cynthia away from her. "First, we 
have to become low whores for an hour or two. Then we'll have our whole 
lives before us, and nobody will ever be able to break us up!" 

CHAPTER TWELVE 

Arlene led Cynthia down the hall to a different room and they walked in arm 
in arm. Cynthia saw that this was an even smaller room with no furniture 
whatsoever. Except for a thick carpet at the entrance, the floor was covered 
with a giant, thick mattress covered with sparkling white sheets. Cynthia 
could tell from the way the sheets gleamed in the light that they were made 
of a fine grade of heavy satin. She thought that the vast expanse of white 
made the room seem very stark and wondered why they hadn't chosen a soft 
pastel color for the sheets. Cynthia had no suspicion that this room was 
specially designed for photography, nor did she guess that the stereo music 
filtering into the room was expressly used to cover the noise of the various 
cameras which would be used. 

Harry and Jean were standing with some young children near the entrance. 
Cynthia looked at the girls in amazement. These couldn't be whores! Arlene 
had said they were fourteen, but Cynthia was positive they couldn't be over 
eleven! And the boy! He looked no more than twelve at the most! Were these 
men really going to do those horrible things to these young children? 

Jean, as always the perfect gentleman, smiled and introduced the children. 

"Ah," he said. "Cynthia, let me introduce you to Marie, a most delightful 
child." 

Cynthia took the extended hand of the slender young brunette. The girl was 
not over five feet tall, and she wore a sheer robe that made no effort to 
conceal her budding body. Cynthia could see the thin lips of Marie's vagina 
with a hint of pubic hair beginning to form on the sides. Her breasts were 
tiny, but perfectly formed. Her face had the young gamin look that so 
excited men the world over, and Cynthia could see why she was chosen for a 
party like this. Her entire appearance was sensual. Marie looked at 
Cynthia's body shamelessly, appraising the size of Cynthia's large breasts 
with admiration. 

"And this is Paulette," Jean continued, indicating the slightly large girl 
with light auburn hair. 

Paulette came forward and took Cynthia's hand in a firm clasp. This girl may 
be fat one day, Cynthia thought, but right now she has a delightfully chubby 
body, almost voluptuous. Paulette's tiny bikini hid none of her body. The 
triangle between her legs was designed so the fabric creased lewdly into her 
slit and outlined her young cunt. The top had small circles cut in the 
fabric to allow her tiny nipples to stick straight out. Paulette's chubby 
build made her breasts seem exceptionally large for her body, and this added 
to her overall desirability. Paulette, the more brazen of the two girls, 
reached up and cupped Cynthia's breast in her hand, squeezing it admiringly. 

Cynthia was shocked, but before he could move to push the girl away, Jean 
came up with the young boy in tow. 

"And this is Jacques," he said. 

Jacques put his hand out and Cynthia took it. Before she realized what he 
was doing, Jacques pulled Cynthia's hand down to his crotch and placed it on 
his already erect penis. 

"You like, lady?" he said, and everyone laughed. 

Cynthia blushed. She couldn't believe that the large, hard cock in her hand 
belonged to that small boy! It seemed impossible! 

"When he gets a little older," Harry remarked, "that boy's going to be a 
real stud!" 

Cynthia pulled her hand away and tried to smile with the rest. Just then, 
the same butler appeared with a tray filled with glasses. She quickly 
reached for one of the small glasses filled with the now familiar green 
liquid and took a long gulp. She had told Arlene she would go through with 
this, but she didn't know if she could do it. The strong absinthe bit her 
throat and burned its way to her stomach. She quickly finished the glass and 
felt a warm glow begin to seep through her body. 

Were these people for real? Was this just some terrible nightmare? She 
wouldn't believe that human beings could be this low, this debased. How 
could these children be like this? Why? What made them do things like this? 
My God, she said to herself, this just can't be real! 

She noticed that the children all refused the liqueur and she quickly 
replaced her empty glass with a full one as the butler left the room. 

"Say," Harry commented. "Don't get bombed out on that stuff, it's dynamite! 
We're going to have us a real ball, baby, and we want you awake to give us a 
good time!" 

Cynthia blushed and took a quick sip of the strong liqueur. 

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm fine. I was just thirsty, and I love 
absinthe." 

She watched Harry pull Paulette close to him and begin tweaking her nipples 
protruding through the holes in her bikini bra. Paulette laughed and 
immediately reached down to Harry's crotch to begin fondling his giant 
prick. She exclaimed breathlessly when she had it in her hand under the 
material of his slacks and said something in rapid French to Marie. Marie 
went running over and fell to her knees on the mattress in front of Harry. 
The two young girls quickly unzipped his pants and reached in with their 
tiny hands. When they withdrew his oversized cock and held it in all four 
hands, their eyes became as big as saucers. 

"Oooooo-La la!" they said together, fondling it and holding it out for 
everyone to see. 

Marie kissed it on one side and Paulette quickly followed suit and placed 
her lips on the other side of the huge shaft. They giggled and laughed, 
running their lips up and down the long shaft of Harry's cock. He was 
obviously pleased and reached down and patted their heads as they licked and 
fondled his mighty weapon. 

It disgusted Cynthia to watch him stand there like a king with the two 
children on their knees before him playing with his cock and kissing it like 
it was some sacred object. She turned away and gasped out loud when she saw 
Arlene. The striking brunette was standing with her legs spread wide apart. 
Her panties were on the floor near her and she was holding her dress up 
around her waist. Jacques, the young boy, was kneeling between her legs with 
his face buried in her cunt. Cynthia could see that he obviously had his 
finger buried in Arlene's asshole, and she was shocked at the way Arlene was 
so blatantly enjoying what he was doing to her. Her mouth was open and her 
tongue darted across her lips as she looked down and watched him lick her 
pussy. 

Cynthia raised her glass to her mouth and finished half of the absinthe in 
one gulp. When she opened them again, she saw Jean walk to the door at the 
entrance to the room and close it. He bolted it and then turned to her with 
a warm, understanding smile. 

"I think it's time we all took our clothes off and relaxed," he said, in a 
voice that carried through the room. 

"Good idea," Harry's voice boomed. "Let's let the kids undress us." 

Jean translated this to the three children and they immediately got to their 
feet and took what little clothing they had on off. Then Marie and Paulette 
went to Arlene and began undressing her. 

As they removed her dress, Marie reached up between Arlene's legs and began 
running her young fingers between the firm lips of Arlene's cunt. Paulette, 
meanwhile, unsnapped Arlene's bra and pulled it off, freeing her firm 
breasts. She quickly came around in front of Arlene and cupped a breast in 
her hand and fed it to her pursed mouth. Jacques got behind Arlene and began 
rolling her stockings down. When he had them to her ankles, he reached up 
and pulled the firm cheeks of her buttocks apart and slowly brought his face 
between them. Cynthia saw his pink tongue dart out and aim at Arlene's anus. 

Cynthia was amazed at how Arlene could stand there, hands on her hips, while 
the three children fondled, licked and sucked her. She saw Arlene close her 
eyes and tilt her head back. Her body trembled. 

"God, that's good!" she sighed. 

"Okay kids," Harry said. "Now get Jean's clothes off. Arlene can jerk 
herself off if she's that hot!" 

Jean translated and the three children moved to him. The girls pulled his 
pants down and then slipped his shorts off while Jacques unbuttoned his 
shirt and helped him pull it off. Jean stepped out of his pants and the 
girls giggled as they reached out and began fondling his erect penis. Marie 
bent down and started licking it while Paulette said something in French to 
Jacques and then knelt down and let her tongue cover Jean's balls with long 
wet strokes. 

Jacques came up behind Jean and whispered something in his ear. Jean nodded 
his head and Jacques positioned himself behind the Frenchman. He spread the 
cheeks of Jean's ass and guided his erect penis to Jean's tight anus. 
Standing on his toes, Jacques squirmed his hips and thrust forward as hard 
as he could. 

Cynthia saw his hard cock wedge itself in Jean's asshole and then slide 
upward. She had read about things like this, but she had never suspected 
that Jean was a homosexual. Harry's crude voice interrupted her thoughts. 

"Say," he boomed, "I heard some of you Frenchmen went both ways! I may let 
the little stud take a crack at my ass before we're through here. That looks 
like fun!" 

Arlene smiled. You do just that Mr. Harry Big Shot, she said to herself. 
We'd love some good color photos of that! Arlene watched Jacques fuck Jean's 
ass for a moment and then turned to Cynthia. She was frustrated. Those 
damned kids had worked her up before she realized it, and she had an ache 
deep within her vagina. She looked into Cynthia's eyes for a moment and a 
longing to have Cynthia's head between her thighs swept through her. She 
started to move toward Cynthia, then stopped. This was Harry Edwards' show 
and she had better let him run it to his own taste. 

Turning from Cynthia, Arlene saw that Harry couldn't wait, and was quickly 
pulling his clothes off and tossing them to the side of the room. She 
shuddered when she saw his giant cock standing straight out from his body, 
its blue veins bulging with excitement and its head already moist. Arlene 
made a mental note to be sure that Cynthia had a good measure of that cock 
before the evening was over. 

Cynthia was almost in a state of panic. Her gaze was riveted on Jean, the 
two girls kissing his cock and balls while Jacques obscenely fucked him from 
behind. She had never believed anything like that could happen, and the 
sight both terrified and thrilled her. From where she stood she could see 
the young boy's long cock sliding in and between the cheeks of Jean's ass. 
It was like two animals rutting, and Cynthia couldn't take her eyes from the 
scene. 

Out of the comer of her eye, Cynthia saw Harry Edwards walk up to Arlene and 
Place his hands on her shoulders. He pushed her roughly to her knees and 
jerked his hips so that his huge cudgel was directly in her face. Cynthia 
turned to watch as Arlene took the giant cock in both hands and wrapped her 
lips around the tip. 

"Suck it!" he commanded, grabbing her long black hair and pulling her face 
to his crotch. Cynthia saw her cheeks expand as the heavy, thick cock was 
thrust deep into her mouth. 

Suddenly Cynthia had an overwhelming urge to run screaming from the room. 
She was with a bunch of insane people and she didn't belong there! If she 
didn't run now she would be as insane as they were! Her mind screamed at her 
body to move. It was only a few feet to the door and freedom. She found her 
feet were rooted to the floor. Try as she would, Cynthia was unable to move. 
Then the absinthe began taking hold on her mind. She became dizzy and had to 
steady herself from falling. The figures in the room all blurred, becoming 
fuzzy and covered with a purple mist. 

"Hey!" Harry's voice cut through the room and broke the haze surrounding 
Cynthia's brain. "The blonde cunt is the only one with any clothes on! You 
kids get her stripped, you hear!" 

Jean reluctantly gave up the three children and translated Harry's desire. 
The two girls left immediately and approached Cynthia, but Jacques refused 
to give up Jean's asshole. He pleaded with Jean to get down on the mattress 
on his knees and let him take him dog-style. Jean gave in and went down on 
his knees, bending forward on his hands. Jacques got behind him and fell on 
him like an animal, sinking his cock up Jean's ass in one swift lunge and 
plunging in and out as fast as he could. 

Cynthia saw the two girls coming, and wanted to run, but she was still 
unable to move. Marie reached her first and began unzipping her dress from 
behind. She let her young hands linger on Cynthia's back and began stroking 
her in a soft caress. Cynthia felt an ache growing between her legs and 
cursed herself for the weakness of her flesh. Paulette came up and reached 
down to lift Cynthia's dress over her head. Cynthia automatically lifted her 
arms and bent forward. Marie and Paulette laughed as they pulled the dress 
over her head and down her arms. Marie immediately unsnapped Cynthia's bra 
and pulled it off, her hands quickly cupping Cynthia's large breasts and her 
thumbs and forefingers tweaking the soft nipples. 

Paulette unsnapped her garter belt and rolled Cynthia's stockings down. Then 
she slipped her slender fingers under the elastic of Cynthia's white panties 
and slowly pulled them down. She got down on the mattress and helped Cynthia 
take her shoes off by lifting her feet one by one. When Cynthia was 
completely nude, Paulette reached up to her golden crotch and inserted her 
younger fingers between the lips of Cynthia's cunt. She immediately found 
the clitoris and began massaging it. 

"Hey," Harry boomed. "The blonde cunt likes girls, so let's see what these 
two can do to her! With Jacques there banging old Jean's asshole, Arlene and 
I'll have a real show going for us." 

Jean managed to grunt three words to the young girls and together they 
pulled Cynthia down to the mattress. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

Clint Addison made his way through the corridors of the office complex of 
the American Embassy and opened the door to the three-room suite occupied by 
"The Agency." It was late and all the other offices were dark and quiet, but 
"The Agency" kept odd hours. His chief, fifty-two-year-old Hal Simmons, 
waved him into the inner office. 

"How'd it go?" Simmons asked, leaning back in his chair and re-lighting his 
pipe. 

"They're in a whorehouse-Madame Cunard's, to be exact," Addison replied, 
dropping into the chair in front of Simmons' desk. "I wasn't sure you'd okay 
a 'night in a whorehouse' item on the expense report, so I left them there." 

"You're right," Simmons smiled. 

"What?" 

"I wouldn't have okayed it." 

"Anyway," Addison continued, "Arlene Richards spent two hours with Rene this 
afternoon, and our friend from Moscow was there. I guess that about ties 
that up. You want me to make an appointment for you with the ambassador 
tomorrow so we can get her out of here?" 

Hal Simmons leaned forward and went through some dispatches on his desk. He 
appeared to be searching for something, but Clint Addison knew that this was 
the chief's way of delaying for a moment while he thought something out. 

"I think not, Clint," Simmons said, after a moment or two. "I think we'll 
just leave Miss Richards, or more correctly, Miss Brandt, where she is for a 
while. She may prove useful, or she may lead us to something." 

Clint stood up, a concerned look on his face and his irritation indicated by 
his lighting one of his care cigarettes. Clint seldom smoked, and when he 
did it was a sign he was troubled. 

"What about security?" he asked. "Shouldn't we brief the ambassador on what 
we know?" 

"I don't think that will be necessary, Clint," Simmons replied with a 
chuckle. "After all, the ambassador is just a political appointee, not a 
professional like us. And Miss Brandt's duties here don't involve her in any 
real security clearances." Hal Simmons, unable to get a decent draw on his 
pipe, took a small knife and scraped the bowl out into an ash tray. He 
calmly opened a pouch and filled his pipe with a rare blend of expensive 
tobacco, lighted it with his silver Dunhill pipe lighter and leaned back 
again. 

"Sit down, Clint," he said. "Let's go over this briefly. Just what do you 
think they're up to?" 

"It seems obvious to me," Clint responded. "They're using the Brandt girl as 
a sex machine to get to any of our people they can. Harry Edwards is a 
natural, and it looks like they've picked on Jean Le Grande to embarrass the 
French government. I'll admit I don't immediately see the connection with 
Cynthia Walters." 

"She's another target, Clint," Simmons said. "I'm fairly sure of that. A 
naive, emotionally disturbed girl they've chosen to expose as a sexual 
degenerate. Right now, I'm not too concerned with Miss Walters. Harry 
Edwards is a true horse's ass, but his link with the White House makes him a 
prime target for the Communists." 

"You think they'll try to blackmail him into giving them top secret 
material?" Clint asked. 

"They might. And then again they might just want to expose him and embarrass 
the White House. That, of course, is the President's worry, and it couldn't 
happen to a nicer man. But, if our friend tries to turn over intelligence 
material, we'll have to step in and stop it." 

Hal Simmons went through several dispatches he had in his hand and gave one 
to Clint Addison across the table." 

"We've had a real break in Washington, Clint," he continued. "The Agency 
picked up a Gina Collins on a tip from the secretary to the Secretary of 
State. She's a Communist agent and she admits she was assigned to seduce the 
Secretary's secretary into a Lesbian affair. Under pressure, Miss Collins 
became quite talkative and gave us the names and assignments of two of her 
fellow agents." 

Clint quickly read the report. 

"It looks like the new Communist policy is sex," he commented. 

"Exactly!" replied Simmons. "And that's why I want Miss Brandt left alone at 
present. I also want to know everything there is to know about her. Is she a 
true believer, or can she be bought? Could she be turned into a double 
agent, and could she be trusted? Can we get her parents out of East Germany? 
Everything. Put Marsha on it. She's good at digging up facts on another 
woman. I have a feeling they may want to send Miss Brandt over to Washington 
to replace Miss Collins. If I'm right, we'll have a request for transfer 
soon from Miss Arlene Richards." 

Clint Addison stood up and moved around the desk toward the door. 

"Shall I advise French Intelligence about Jean LeGrande?" he asked. 

Hal Simmons rubbed his chin and placed his pipe in the ash tray. 

"Let me think that one over, Clint. You couldn't exactly say they've helped 
us lately. I'll let you knew in the morning. Meanwhile, get me all you can 
on Cynthia Walters. Request a wire of her personnel file from Washington. I 
just had some second thoughts about Miss Walters, and there's an outside 
chance she may be useful to us." 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

The absinthe had dulled Cynthia's sense of control and she lost her balance 
when Marie and Paulette began pulling her to the mattress. She fell and the 
two girls fell with her, all three rolling on top of one another. The two 
young girls giggled and Cynthia had to smile at them. They were so young, so 
full of love of life. The feel of their young flesh against hers thrilled 
Cynthia. In their tumble, Cynthia's hand accidentally bushed against Marie's 
immature breast, and the feel of the soft, pliant nipple against the tips of 
her fingers sent a tiny, electric shock through Cynthia's body. 

When she opened her eyes, Cynthia saw Marie's gamin face next to her own. 
The young girl's eyes sparkled and her thin lips were parted in a merry 
smile. Her pearl-white teeth framed against the pale pink lips made her 
mouth inviting. Marie put her hand out and caressed Cynthia's cheek, then 
held it as she moved her face forward and pressed her lips against Cynthia's 
full mouth. Cynthia tried to push her away, but Marie was half on top of her 
working her lips feverishly against Cynthia's. 

Cynthia felt her young tongue begin running back and forth across her lips 
and a dull ache spread through her body. My God, she said to herself, I 
can't let this child make love to me! I can't become aroused and want sex 
with a young girl like this! Her body betrayed her again, however, and when 
Marie's tongue darted between her lips into her mouth, Cynthia responded 
with her own tongue. Marie's mouth was voracious, chewing, nibbling, licking 
Cynthia's mouth with a hunger Cynthia hadn't experienced even with Arlene! 

She threw her arms around Marie's tiny body and locked her in a hungry 
embrace. And then she felt hands on her thighs, fingers kneading the flesh 
and pulled her legs apart. Cynthia looked down and managed to see Paulette 
kneeling between her thighs. Paulette looked her straight in the eye, a wide 
smile breaking on her face and she let her young fingers trace tiny trails 
across and up and down Cynthia's legs while Marie greedily fed on Cynthia's 
lips and tongue. 

Then, as Cynthia watched, Paulette bent her head down and began trailing the 
tip of her young tongue along the inside of Cynthia's thighs. The moist 
touch sent a fire racing to Cynthia's crotch, but Paulette was just teasing 
her. She ran her tongue along one thigh and then along the other, never once 
letting it touch the golden covered pink lips of Cynthia's cunt. Cynthia's 
body began to quiver. She wanted Paulette to spread the lips of her cunt and 
lick her! Oh, God, she cried inside, how can I be like this, Marie's mouth 
had become too demanding and Cynthia had to concentrate on the wet, exciting 
kiss they were locked in. She held Marie tight, but the young French girl 
managed to free her arm and hand lower it to Cynthia's heavy white globe. 
Marie's fingers kneaded and massaged the heavy breast, then began teasing 
the now taut nipple with light caresses. 

All of Cynthia's defenses were gone now. She abandoned herself to the 
fantastic pleasure these two young girls were giving her body. She let her 
hand run down Marie's young back, her fingers firmly rippling the young 
flesh. Cynthia cupped Marie's small, firm cheeks in her hand and massaged 
the young buttocks. Then her fingers slipped into the small crevice and 
slithered down past the small puckered anus to the opening of the thin lips 
of the girl's young cunt. Just traces of fine, silky hair were beginning to 
cover the long slit and Cynthia let her fingers rub the downy silk in a 
tickling motion for a moment. Marie squirmed, spreading her thighs and 
opening slightly the lips of her young cunt. Cynthia could resist no longer. 
She pulled the thin lips apart and let her finger trail up and down the 
length of the slit. Cynthia noticed that Marie's cunt was already moist, a 
sign that she was truly aroused by their embrace. Carefully, she let her 
finger dip into the warm hole, and then she began working it up inside the 
young French girl's belly. 

Paulette, using both hands, spread the heavy lips of Cynthia's pussy open 
wide. She sat there staring at the wet pink flesh, her tongue running back 
and forth across her lips. With one finger she located the erect bud of 
Cynthia's clitoris and tweaked it back and forth. The effect was immediate. 
Cynthia's body arched slightly and her hips thrust forward. Paulette smiled 
and bent down, her tongue darting out and running the length of Cynthia's 
wide open cunt. She let it trail along the insides of Cynthia's vulva and 
then along the outside, teasing the blonde with small kisses as she moved 
her mouth around the gaping pussy. When she reached Cynthia's clitoris, 
Paulette sucked it into her mouth with a wet kiss. She scraped her teeth 
against the edges of Cynthia's sensitive bud and then used her tongue like 
the wings of an impatient butterfly, flitting against it in a barrage of 
maddening strokes. She giggled as she saw Cynthia's cuntal opening expand 
and contract rapidly like a hungry child searching for something to fill its 
mouth. 

Cynthia was on fire. Paulette's tongue was driving her out of her mind. She 
wanted to capture it and suck it up inside her belly, let it lick the walls 
of her raging vagina, but Paulette was teasing and loving her too 
skillfully. It was the child who was in control, and Cynthia was at her 
mercy. 

Marie broke their embrace and quickly dropped her head to Cynthia's chest. 
She took a breast in each hand and kneaded them almost cruelly. She pinched 
Cynthia's nipples hard and smiled when the blonde woman winced in pain. 
Cynthia was about to say something when Marie formed her thin lips into a 
large "O" and dipped her head to capture the ripe bud of Cynthia's taut 
nipple in her hungry, greedy mouth. She cupped her hand just below the 
nipple and squeezed so that the tip of Cynthia's large breast came to a 
point in her mouth. Her young tongue, trained for months for this, ran 
across the crease at the top of Cynthia's nipple while her lips and teeth 
sucked and pulled the extended point her cupped hand had forced at the top 
of the creamy white breast. 

Paulette new began licking Cynthia's cunt in earnest. Her tongue became firm 
and she used long sweeping strokes that began at the clitoris and ran to the 
puckered anus between Cynthia's full buttocks. Cynthia's crotch was jerking 
spasmodically, and Paulette knew she wasn't far from climax. She formed her 
tongue into a "U" and sunk it deep inside the gaping red hole of Cynthia's 
vagina, imitating a man's penis with rapid swirling strokes in and out. 

Cynthia's arm shot out and grabbed Marie's waist. Her hunger was so complete 
now it had to be satisfied. She pulled Marie's body upward and Marie 
instantly grasped what the woman wanted. She moved up and placed herself in 
a kneeling position straddling Cynthia's weaving head, then lowered her body 
until her young cunt was directly over Cynthia's hungry mouth. Never once 
did she let Cynthia's tortured breast leave her greedy mouth as she changed 
positions. 

Cynthia looked up at the small cunt above her and felt a hunger she had 
never known before. She reached up and pulled the thin lips apart with her 
fingers and then pressed the young girl's body downward so that the pink 
flesh of her pussy covered Cynthia's mouth. Her tongue shot out of her mouth 
and she greedily began licking the moist, salty flesh. She let her tongue 
run back and forth across the tiny anus tucked between Marie's young cheeks, 
and then hardened it and dipped up inside the child's vagina. 

Arlene had both hands on Harry's huge cock and was masturbating him slowly 
while they watched Cynthia and the two young girls. The sight was driving 
her crazy! Her loins ached to have Paulette's head buried in her crotch, and 
she kept running her tongue back and forth across her lips, the imaginary 
taste of Marie's young cunt permeating her mouth. 

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Harry Edwards, his own pulse racing from what he 
was watching. "Look at those girls work that blonde over! You want them to 
give you the same treatment, baby?" he asked Arlene, reaching out and 
squeezing her breast hard. 

"It does look yummy," she replied. "I wouldn't mind a little of that at 
all!" 

"Okay, Arlene baby, as soon as they're through gobbling her up, you take 
them both on for a while. I have some plans for that blonde cunt, and 
Jacques is going to give me a hand." 

Arlene smiled. Cynthia would get her share of this tree stump she had in her 
hands, and that would do the simple blonde some good! 

"Oooohhh!" moaned Cynthia, as Paulette suddenly jammed three fingers up her 
cunt and began screwing her wildly while she licked her clitoris at the same 
time. She could hold back no longer, and she let herself go into a series of 
convulsive spasms as her body went through the beginning stages of a giant 
orgasm. 

Marie saw Cynthia's body begin to melt. She began biting the nipple and 
breast in her hand hard, leaving white teeth marks in the skin. With her 
other hand she began pinching the nipple on Cynthia's other breast while she 
ground her crotch hard into Cynthia's face. Squirming a bit, Marie managed 
to lodge Cynthia's nose up her cunt and she rode it like a horse, bobbing up 
and down and sliding from side to side. Cynthia caught her tiny clitoris in 
her mouth and sucked hard. 

"Auuuuggggghhhhh," Cynthia groaned, as the two girls increased their tempo 
and pushed her higher and higher up the ladder of pleasure. She bit Marie's 
small clitoris gently and this triggered Marie's orgasm. 

"Aaaahhh!" the young girl screamed, grinding her crotch almost brutally 
against Cynthia's mouth and nose. Cynthia was surprised to feel a flood of 
clear liquid come rushing from the young girl's cunt. It filled her mouth 
and ran down the cheeks of her flushed face. She cupped her mouth to catch 
all the sweet young juice she could. And then her own dam broke. 

"Oooohhh!" Cynthia groaned, as skyrockets went off before her eyes and her 
body strained against Paulette's young fingers. Paulette gave her three 
quick strokes and then quickly bent down to lick her cum as it flowed in 
rivers from her gaping cunt. Her tongue lapped greedily, catching all it 
could and pulling it into her mouth. She raised her young face and smiled at 
Cynthia, cum dripping from the corners of her mouth and running down her 
chin. 

Marie slowly lifted her young body and fell over to Cynthia's side, the two 
of them physically exhausted. 

"That was quite a show, baby," Harry's voice boomed down at Cynthia, 
breaking her blissful relaxation and rest. 

She opened her eyes and saw him standing above her, his huge cock sticking 
straight out from his body and his hairy balls hanging obscenely down. Her 
body gave an involuntary shudder when she saw the mean, lewd look on his 
face. She watched with disgust as Harry reached down with his hand and began 
stroking his long, thick rod above her. 

"Yessir," he said, "that was quite some show. But now I think you need a man 
to show you what sex is really all about." 

He signaled the girls with a wave of his hand. 

"You kids go over there and give that brunette the same treatment. Tell them 
to eat Arlene until she begs them to stop," he said, turning to Jean who was 
stretched out relaxing after his bout with young Jacques. 

The two young girls rose and moved slowly across the room to where Arlene 
was lying on her side propped up by her arm. Her other hand was buried 
between her legs, her fingers slowly massaging her clitoris in anticipation 
of what she would have the two young girls do to her. 

Harry Edwards dropped to his knees beside Cynthia's prone body. He raised 
his heavy cock and let it drop hard across Cynthia's lips. It made a loud 
slapping noise and Cynthia moaned as her bruised lips bit into her teeth. 
Harry laughed. 

"Let's see what you can do with a real man's cock, baby. Lick it!" he 
commanded in a harsh voice. 

Panic mixed with nausea gripped Cynthia. The pungent odor of Harry's wet 
cock filled her nostrils and turned her stomach. She felt her lips pressing 
hard against her teeth from the tremendous pressure of his heavy cock laying 
on her mouth. His hairy balls were hanging down her neck, scraping her 
tender skin as Harry jerked his hips in short strokes to bounce them against 
her body. 

"Lick that prick, I said!" he snarled. 

Cynthia knew she had gone to far to back out now. It was only justice in her 
mind that she pay for the awful pleasure she had received from the two young 
girls. She told herself this was God's revenge for the ghastly things she 
had done against the order of nature. She reached up with her hand and 
grasped the shaft of Harry's cock. Holding it less than an inch away from 
her mouth, she began letting her tongue run along the salty shaft. 

"That's better," Harry said. "Hey, Jacques, come over here and stick that 
stud's cock of yours up this cunt. I want it good and warmed up when I sink 
this baby of mine in it!" 

Jean explained to the boy what Harry wanted and Jacques came over and placed 
himself between Cynthia's legs. He reached down and took his prick in one 
hand to fondle it to erection, while he used his other hand to open 
Cynthia's cunt before his eyes. She was wet from her orgiastic climax with 
the girls, and Jacques' hand slipped several times. Before long, he was 
excited and erect. He braced himself on his knees and guided his long cock 
to the wet lips of Cynthia's pussy. 

"That's it, boy!" Harry urged. "Pour the meat to her!" 

Cynthia was using her tongue in long strokes along the shaft of Harry's 
penis, cupping his balls in her hand and squeezing them as she covered his 
prick with her saliva. A strange feeling had flooded her mind. She was no 
longer in possession of her body. It now belonged to these people and they 
could do their will with it. She had no feeling and a dim, black cloud 
seemed to engulf her. It was like being asleep and Cynthia was only vaguely 
aware of what was going on around her. 

Suddenly a pain ripped into her belly and brought her out of her 
semi-conscious state. Her eyes dilated as she felt the hard penis rip into 
her vagina and bounce off her cervix. 

"Uuuuggghhh!" she moaned, as the pain raced through her body. 

"Shut up!" Harry snarled. "Take this cock in your mouth, that'll keep you 
quiet. Suck it, I said!" 

Harry took her jaw in one hand and her nose in the other, prying her mouth 
open as he forced the tip of his huge cock between her lips. Jacques was 
surprised to find Cynthia's cunt dry inside, and he warmed to his task by 
delivering punishingly hard strokes deep inside her belly. Harry moved his 
leg over her body so he was straddling her and then lunged his cock deep 
into her throat. 

Cynthia felt the panic sweep through her. Harry's cock was lodged in her 
throat, forcing her to breath through her nose. His balls were bouncing off 
her chin as he lunged with short, hard thrusts into her mouth, and the wiry 
hair was scraping the sensitive skin on her chin raw. She couldn't move, 
impaled on two hard pricks and held to the floor by two muscular bodies. Her 
arms flew up, flailing Harry's face and chest. He laughed and pinned them to 
her sides. In her panic, Cynthia did the only thing her mind could conceive. 
She sunk her teeth hard into Harry's huge cock. 

"Owwwww!" he screamed, pulling his cock quickly from her mouth. He inspected 
the shaft to see if she had drawn blood, then slapped her hard across the 
face. "Okay, baby, that's the way we'll play then!" 

He motioned Jacques away and placed himself between her legs. With sign 
language, Harry imparted to Jacques that he wanted the young boy to hold her 
legs high in the air. Jacques grabbed Cynthia's ankles and lifted them above 
her head and held them there while Harry guided his monstrous cudgel to the 
fully exposed blonde cunt before him. 

"Uuuuggghhh!" Cynthia groaned as she felt him insert the tip of his cock in 
her vagina. She felt the walls tear and give before the heavy, thick member 
pressing into their interior. Although he was now just a hazy outline, 
Cynthia saw Harry rear back and lunge forward, using his giant prick as a 
lance to spear her belly. It ripped into her like a nail driven by a heavy 
blow from a' large hammer, tearing the thin membranes and bruising her 
internal organs as it forced its way up inside her. 

"Aaaauuuggghhh!" she screamed, her voice slicing through the room like a 
knife. 

"Oh, no, baby," Harry snarled. "That's just half way home. I'm going to ram 
this until my balls sink into your asshole! Hold her legs tight, Jacques I'm 
going all the way this time!" 

He pressed his hairy belly against the undersides of her legs and gripped 
her waist in a firm hold. Digging his tees into the mattress, Harry let his 
body fall on the helpless blonde as he shoved unmercifully into her crotch. 

The pain running through her body took Cynthia back to that night in her 
childhood. Suddenly she became a mad woman and sent an ear piercing scream 
through the room. Her hands flew out at her tormentors, fingernails 
searching for flesh to dig into. Her right hand caught Harry's chest and she 
dug her nails deep beneath the skin and ripped with a slashing movement of 
her arm. Blood flowed immediately, dark red drops covering her body. Her 
other hand hit Jacques' leg and she managed to dig the nail on her index 
finger just below the surface of his taut young skin. He screamed and let 
her ankles go as blood began running down his leg. 

Harry Edwards was in a rage. He called Arlene and the two girls over to help 
him. Jean brought a towel and tried wiping the blood off of Harry's chest, 
but he waved the Frenchman aside. 

"We're going to give this bitch a lesson she'll never forget," he growled. 
"I want her on her hands and knees, bent over!" 

Jacques, Arlene and the two girls quickly grabbed Cynthia and flipped her 
over. The girls each pinned one of Cynthia's arms to the mattress while 
Arlene and Jacques grabbed her waist and struggled with her body until they 
had her in a kneeling position. 

"You hold her there, Jacques," Harry growled, "and you spread those cheeks 
of her lily-white ass, Arlene, baby. I'm going to ream her out a brand new 
asshole!" 

Arlene leaned over Cynthia's body facing Harry. She let her long, slender 
fingers slide down to the crevice of Cynthia's buttocks, massaging the flesh 
as she went. She looked at Harry on his knees, his rigid cock standing out 
like a thick club, and smiled inwardly. This would keep Cynthia in line, she 
told herself! Unable to resist the temptation, Arlene let her finger slide 
down to the tightly puckered anus between Cynthia's white cheeks. With a 
quick flick, she dug her finger inside the tight hole. 

"Uuuuggghhh!" moaned Cynthia, a pain jabbing through her rectum at the 
foreign invasion. 

"That's nothing, baby, you just wait," Harry muttered, stroking his cock in 
anticipation of sinking it deep inside the blonde's ass. "Arlene, baby, you 
lick her ass and get it wet enough so I can get this in." 

Arlene dropped her head between the straining cheeks and flicked her tongue 
around the tight little opening. She formed her tongue into a pointed "U" 
and pressed the tip hard against the 

'brown hole before her. She felt it slowly expand and give enough to allow 
the tip of her tongue to pop inside the elastic ring. Manufacturing saliva 
quickly in her mouth, Arlene pushed her tongue far up Cynthia's ass. 

Cynthia's body was taut, tied up in knots. Marie and Paulette were holding 
her arms pinned to the mattress and Cynthia couldn't move. Her shoulders 
ached from the unnatural position and her head was pressed to one side. All 
she could see was Paulette kneeling on the lower part of her arm. As she 
watched, Jean came up and knelt down in front of Paulette. She gaily reached 
out for his limp penis and began fondling it. Cynthia saw it jump to 
election almost immediately, then watched Paulette bend down and take it in 
her small mouth. 

Almost unbelievable, Cynthia felt herself become aroused. The sight of 
Jean's full cock sliding in and out between the young girl's lips made her 
tingle with excitement. Then she felt Arlene's cool, wet tongue slide into 
her ass and Cynthia began to squirm with a fire building inside her. 

It was short lived. Arlene reached back and took Harry's heavy cock in her 
hand to guide it to the small brown hole between Cynthia's cheeks. She 
smiled and kept her face close to the contact so that she could watch Harry 
rip into the blonde. Pulling the foreskin back, Arlene set the tip of 
Harry's prick against Cynthia's asshole. Pulling, she urged him to press 
hard until she saw the elastic ring begin to give. Just the point was inside 
now, but Harry began pushing hard with his hips. 

"Yiiiiiiii!" screamed Cynthia as the elastic ring broke and she felt Harry's 
cock ram up inside her. Her knees buckled, but Arlene and Jacques held her 
up so that Harry could keep ramming into her. Cynthia felt as if a huge, 
sharp knife had just cut her into two people. 

Arlene watched the brown-streaked shaft pull back and lunge hard into the 
flesh of the helpless girl. Harry's balls swung like pendulums, slapping 
loudly against the cheeks of Cynthia's ass as he used his hips like giant 
pistons against her. Arlene saw a glazed stare come into his eyes as he 
began fucking the ravaged asshole wildly. A thin coat of pink blood covered 
the entire length of his cock now, but Arlene knew it was too late to stop 
him. The sadistic side of his personality now had command of his body and he 
would go on to completion. 

"Aaaaayyyyiiiiiiii." 

Cynthia's scream sliced through the room as Harry battered against her. Jean 
covered his ears and pulled away from Paulette who had been sucking his 
cock. The girls stopped laughing and looked with compassion on the woman 
they held prisoner. Jacques turned his head to avert his gaze from the 
torture Harry was inflicting on the defenseless girl's ass. 

His exertions opened the deep wounds on his chest and blood was flowing from 
Harry. It splashed down and covered Cynthia's buttocks with large red 
splatters. Several drops flew out and landed on Arlene's chin and she turned 
away in disgust. Marie and Paulette were now frightened. They quickly moved 
away from the spectacle, leaving Cynthia's hands free. Cynthia raised her 
body with a mighty effort, but Harry saw what was happening. He grabbed her 
waist and suddenly came to his feet with Cynthia's body impaled on his huge 
cock. 

"Now let's fuck, you bitch!" he screamed in a fury, jerking his hips with 
each step as he walked the impaled girl around the room with her feet off 
the floor. Blood began streaming down Cynthia's back, down her belly and 
over her thighs. She fainted. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

It was one of those unexpected rains that sent Parisians scurrying for 
shelter. People were huddled at street comers, sharing the shelter of a 
newspaper held above their heads, and traffic, as usual, was snarled. Every 
driver was frustrated. What had begun as a beautiful, sunny day, suddenly 
turned into a downpour. Horns honked, voices screamed curses from cracked 
car windows and tires screeched as brakes were hastily applied. Paris was 
glum. 

The mood matched the weather in Rent's apartment. Six men, brows knitted and 
sleeves rolled up, chain-smoked and argued. They had all arrived within the 
last thirty minutes in answer to Rent's urgent summons. 

"Where in the hell is Arlene?" the man called Walter asked. "I could use 
some coffee and a sweet roll!" 

"That's another problem, gentlemen," Rene replied. "It seems there was a 
little accident at Madame Cunard's last night, or rather this morning," he 
said looking at his watch. "It should be all over Paris and the world within 
an hour or two." 

"What happened?" asked the heavy-set man from Moscow who had just arrived. 

"It seems Jean LeGrande went crazy for a moment and brutally murdered Harry 
Edwards," Rene replied, crossing the room and taking another cigarette from 
the marble box on the coffee table. "Good God!" said Walter. "Are we 
involved?" 

"Yes and no," Rene replied. 

"Explain!" came the curt command from the man from Moscow. 

"We engineered the orgy as a part of our embarrassing the U.S. State 
Department policy," Rene said. "It was Arlene's party and she had Cynthia 
Walters, an employee of the state department in Washington, along. I don't 
have all the lurid details yet, but Miss Walters is in a state of shock and 
Harry Edwards is dead with his neck broken. Arlene is with Miss Walters in a 
private hospital and will get here as quickly as she can. Madame Cunard, of 
course, is covering all traces of the orgy and Edward's body will be found 
in the Seine. Unfortunately, LeGrande went to the police and confessed the 
killing. The police haven't been able to make much sense out of him yet, and 
one of our men is there now. LeGrande will not live to tell them anything. 
So, yes we engineered it, and no, we won't be involved." 

"What about the Walters girl?" the heavy-set man asked. 

Rene walked across the room and stood by the window gazing down at the 
snarled traffic below. The rain pelted against the window, leaving little 
drops that formed together to break and run in a stream down the pane. He 
dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. 

"We can handle that," he said. "We've probably lost all the value of what we 
had set her up for, but we can handle her. If worse comes to worse, she'll 
just conveniently disappear." 

"Anything else?" the heavy-set man asked. 

"Yes, comrade. Before you got here I was explaining to the other comrades 
about the communiqu' I received from Washington early this morning. It 
seemed the C.I.A. dealt us a bad blow yesterday in Washington. They picked 
up Gina Collins and two other agents. We're not sure, but it looks like 
Comrade Gina did some talking." 

The heavy-set man stood up quickly, nervously snapping his short, stubby 
fingers. 

"Did you send this on to Moscow?" 

"The original went to Moscow. What I received was a routine copy," Rene 
replied. 

"And have you talked to Moscow?" asked the nervous fat man. 

"Not yet," Rene answered. "I've left word we want to talk and Comrade Karl 
is standing by on the radio in the next room. They haven't responded yet." 

Walter stood and walked to the window beside Rene. 

"Comrades, is there any way we may gain some benefit out of the Harry 
Edwards murder?" he asked. "It would seem to me to be a tailor-made 
opportunity for some excellent propaganda." 

Rene moved away from the window, borrowing a cigarette from Walter as he 
passed. 

"Unfortunately, Comrade Walter," Rene replied, "whatever we do in that 
direction embarrasses the DeGaulle cabinet. At the present moment we do not 
want to embarrass DeGaulle, so that takes care of that." 

"Then what in the hell were we doing with LeGrande at the orgy in the first 
place?" Walter asked. 

Rene smiled and walked over to pat Walter on the back. 

"That?" he said. "Oh, we wanted to have some little photos to hold over 
LeGrande's head. We thought they might be useful some time in the future to 
help set policy." 

The door opened and Comrade Karl stuck his head into the room, beckoning to 
the heavy-set man, who immediately left the room. Rene sat down on the long 
couch and chatted with several of the men, putting one cigarette out and 
lighting another immediately. The conversation droned on with proposals and 
counter-proposals until the heavy-set man returned a few minutes later. 

"Comrades!" his voice boomed. "Comrades, please! I've just talked to 
Moscow." 

Everyone fell silent and turned to listen to what he was about to say. 

"Moscow wants us to remain out of the LeGrande affair, but they approve his 
removal you've already ordered, Rene. Our agents who have been exposed are 
to be replaced and the program is to continue as planned." 

There were some grumbles in the room, but no one dared speak openly against 
orders from Moscow. Walter stood up and walked over to Rene. 

"I suggest we send Arlene to Washington to replace Gina Collins," he said. 
"That will also conveniently get her out of Paris in case anything should 
break on the affair at Madame Cunard's." Rene looked at Walter for a moment, 
considering his suggestion and weighing the possibilities in his mind. 

"I think that would be a mistake," he replied at last. "If Arlene put in for 
a transfer with the American Embassy now, the C.I.A. would spot her as our 
agent in a minute. We must remember that they expect us to replace Gina, and 
they'll be watching for something like this. If we send Arlene to Washington 
now, we compromise her, and I hardly think we can afford to do that." 

"I agree!" said the heavy-set man. "Agents like Gina and Arlene are too hard 
to come by. Whores we can hire, but a whore with sense, and a whore who can 
travel with top-level government people, is a rare commodity. No, we cannot 
compromise Arlene under any circumstances. Isn't there someone in Washington 
now who can take Gina's place?" 

"They want someone from outside," Rene replied. "Someone the C.I.A. has no 
file on." 

Names flew back and forth across the room and the men argued how the new 
policy would be implemented. After almost two hours of conversation, Rene 
walked over and opened the window to clear some of the smoke from the room. 

"Comrades," he said, turning back to the men huddled around the coffee 
table, "we've reached an impasse. I suggest we adjourn until this evening. 
Perhaps I can come up with some solutions to our problem as I work out the 
daily routine business. In any event. Arlene will surely be here this 
evening and we'll know more than we do now." 

Some nodded and some grunted their approval, and all of the men began 
straightening their ties and pulling on their coats. Rene walked over to the 
heavy-set man and asked him to stay after the others left. He nodded and 
shook hands as the others left at five minute intervals. Rene took a hot 
shower while the men were clearing the apartment, and when he returned to 
the living room he found Arlene calmly describing the events of the night 
before to the heavy-set man. 

Rene was surprised at Arlene's appearance. He had never seen her look quite 
so bad before. Her hair was disheveled, her cocktail dress-so out of place 
on a rainy morning-was wrinkled and stained, and her make-up was streaked 
with large circles under her eyes. She saw him appraising her. 

"I've just been telling the comrade," she remarked to Rene, "that I had one 
hell of an evening last night." 

"So I heard," Rene replied. "How is Miss Walters?" 

"I can't really say," Arlene sighed. "I've been with her at the hospital for 
hours. She's in a state of shock, doesn't recognize me or anybody, doesn't 
know her name, has no idea what happened to her. A total blank-out. The 
doctors had her in surgery for over an hour...." 

"Surgery!" interrupted Rene. 

"Our friend Harry Edwards buggered her and ripped her tail up pretty badly. 
That's what started the whole thing between him and LeGrande. They were at 
each other before I could get to them. By the time I made it across the 
room, Edwards was dead. It's been a mess!" 

"Is it safe to leave Miss Walters?" the heavy-set man asked. 

"I think so. She's out cold now and the doctor said she probably won't 
regain consciousness for a couple of hours. Anyway, I don't think she really 
knows what happened last night. She passed out before Jean went berserk." 

The heavy-set man began asking Arlene a series of questions about Cynthia's 
behavior and mental condition. Arlene showed obvious annoyance, but answered 
dutifully as best she could. She could see no reason for the questions, and 
she had her own ideas about handling Cynthia. Arlene had worked out a tiny 
plot to get Cynthia's money, after which she intended to have her liquidated 
by the party as a security risk. 

"Look, kids," Arlene said, with an exaggerated sigh, "if you don't mind, I 
think I'll get home, take a shower, change into something decent and then go 
back to the hospital. It's been a long night!" 

"You've done well, Comrade Arlene," said the heavy-set man. "Get some rest; 
you look tired. It won't be necessary for you to return to the hospital. 
Rene and I will make arrangements to have Miss Walters moved to a place 
where we can keep a closer watch on her health." 

"Oh, I don't mind," Arlene has hastily. 

"I said it would not be necessary for you to return to the hospital, 
comrade!" 

Arlene wanted to protest, but she knew better. The man from Moscow never 
argued-he ordered. 

"Very well," she said, leaving the room as quickly as she could. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

"The Agency" was busier than usual that morning. In fact, Betty Reed, 
secretary-receptionist whose main duty it was to keep embassy visitors from 
getting beyond the front office of the suite and to answer incoming calls, 
had never seen quite so much activity. Hal Simmons, her chief, had arrived 
before seven a.m., an unusual event in itself. Even more unusual, Hal 
Simmons had left the office and returned twice already. Betty knew he 
seldom, if ever, left his office once he was installed behind his long desk. 

And the agents had been coming and going like they were on a fire drill. 
Betty could barely connect one telephone call before another button lighted 
up. Yes, she sighed to herself, something big must be in the wind. Maybe 
they'll pull Grace in to help me like they did during that crisis last year, 
she said to herself. Betty decided to suggest just that to her boss when he 
passed. 

"No, Betty," he replied, heading for his office. "I think the crisis has 
passed now. I'm sure we'll all calm down fairly soon and you'll be able to 
handle it alone. Call the cable room and see if Clint is up there, will 
you?" 

"You want Clint down here?" she asked. 

"No, if he's there connect me with him on the house phone." 

Clint Addison stepped through the door at just that moment. He nodded to 
Betty as he hurried into Simmons' office. Hal Simmons was just picking up 
his pipe when Clint walked in and leaned over the desk. 

"Well?" Simmons asked. 

"They just pulled Harry Edwards out of the Seine. Broken neck, but he'd been 
ripped up pretty badly on the chest. They think it might have been a woman's 
fingernails, but they're satisfied with LeGrande's confession." 

"Are you?" Hal said, now filling his pipe from the pouch on his desk. 

"I think so. It all adds up. We know they were both at Madame Cunard's," 
Clint said, folding his tall body into the chair opposite Hal Simmons. 

"Do the police know that?" 

"No. They've bought LeGrande's story about being in a bar on the Left Bank. 
At least for now," Clint replied. "Have you had any word on Cynthia 
Walters?" 

"George found her in a private hospital a few hours ago. I've been down 
there to see her, but I'm not sure yet," Simmons said. 

"Not sure about her?" Clint said, unable to understand his chief's meaning. 

"I beg your pardon, Clint," Simmons said smiling. "I'm afraid this is one of 
those rare moments when my brain is outdistancing my tongue. Actually, I'm 
trying to out-think our friend Rene. Yesterday I felt sure he would replace 
Gina Collins with Arlene Richards, but now I think that would be a little 
too obvious. Arlene may well be one of their best agents, and Rene is too 
smart to take a chance on letting her be compromised." 

"What does this have to do with Miss Walters?" Clint asked. 

"Well," Simmons replied, leaning back in his chair, "they may try to send a 
fresh face to Washington, or use somebody who is already in a government 
position in Washington, like Miss Walters." 

"You think they could convert her into a Communist agent?" 

"It's possible, Clint. Just possible. They might try to use this sex thing 
and hold it over her head, and they might try to convince her she was 
responsible for the death of Harry Edwards. All this is supposition on my 
part, of course. I'm just trying to touch all the bases...." 

The phone on Hal Simmons' desk buzzed and he leaned forward to answer it. 
Clint watched his superior's reaction to the message he was receiving. Hal's 
side of the conversation was limited to just a few words. "When? Uh huh. ... 
How? What do they think? What do you think? Okay, keep me posted." Clint 
watched his boss lean back and scratch his chin before he commented on the 
conversation. 

"Jean LeGrande is dead," he said. 

"How?" Clint muttered in disbelief. 

"The police say it was suicide, but our man there thinks LeGrande was 
poisoned by our Russian friends, probably to keep him quiet. The story going 
out is that he was overwhelmed with guilt after the slaying of Harry 
Edwards. The press and public will buy it, so we'll leave it alone for now. 
In fact, it's probably better for everyone concerned, except Mr. LeGrande, 
of course. The case will die down quickly now, instead of being dragged out 
in the headlines through a long trial and all." 

Clint let a long sigh escape from his lips. 

"I suppose we should have seen all this coming," he said. "Maybe we could 
have done something." 

"I doubt it, Clint. This is what the French call 'a crime of passion.' Our 
Russian friends had no idea this would happen, and neither did we. I'm 
afraid, though, that we will have to work fast if we are to control the 
future. I have a very strong hunch Miss Cynthia Walters could be the key to 
the future. Did you get her personnel record from Washington?" 

Clint reached into a folder he had brought with him and extracted a 
four-page cable report. He stood up and handed it to his superior. 

"It came in early this morning." 

"Have you read it?" Simmons asked. 

"Yes, I went over it thoroughly before I came down here. You want a brief 
summary?" 

Simmons nodded and Clint highlighted Cynthia's life. He covered as much as 
he could as briefly as he could, and then Hal Simmons began asking 
questions. 

"Any evidence of political instability anywhere?" 

"None I could see, sir," Clint replied. 

"Has she ever taken an active interest in politics at all?" 

"No record of it. Not even a political donation on her tax reports." 

"Love life?" 

Clint smiled and walked to the window overlooking the embassy garden. The 
rain was still coming down and the leaves of the bushes bent to the ground 
under the weight of the water. 

"Unfortunately the report is not deep enough for much in that department," 
Clint said. "In fact, there's not much at all there. She had a few dates 
with men in the State Department, but it doesn't look like these went beyond 
the casual stage. Of course, you and I know about the affair with Arlene 
here, but there's no hint of Lesbianism in the report. The reports on her 
work are good, but they do note evidence of emotional instability...." 

"Is she patriotic?" Simmons cut in. 

"I'd say yes," Clint replied, "but you have to read between the lines to get 
it. Maybe it's only a hunch on my part, but I'd say she likes her country 
and feels responsible to it. For a girl her age, she's certainly done an 
excellent job on the Cuban Desk." 

"Is she dependable? Does she show up at work on time, that sort of thing?" 

"Yes, her attendance record is excellent, and she's always on time. Takes 
only half an hour for lunch most of the time, and sometimes eats at her desk 
while she continues working," Clint responded. 

"Perhaps I'd better tell you what I have in mind, Clint," Simmons said. 
"There isn't much time, and I can't read and digest that report before I 
make a decision. I think they may try to use Cynthia Walters as an agent, 
perhaps in this sex campaign of theirs. What I'm wondering is if we can 
trump their ace. Can we make a double agent out of Cynthia Walters?" 

"It would be one hell of a gamble, boss," Clint said. 

"The point is, Clint, we have nothing to lose. If she goes for us fine. If 
she doesn't, we ease her out of the government on sex charges. Either way, 
we win." 

"Wouldn't we be better off with Arlene Richards?" 

"No, Clint, I don't think so. Remember, anyone we can buy, someone else can 
buy away from us. When money is the only consideration, loyalty can be very 
expensive. And you're never sure if you're winning or losing. Besides, I'm 
almost positive that Rene will not move Arlene out of Paris. At least not 
now. And it suits me to have her right here where we can keep an eye on her. 
She's proven to me by the way she handled all of this that she's a pretty 
damned smooth operator. And she's cool, too." 

"You can say that again," Clint replied with a low whistle. 

Hal Simmons stood up and paced behind his desk slowly, his eyes distant in 
thought and his hands behind his back. Clint watched him. He picked up his 
pipe and absently tried to light it, then set it back down in the ash tray. 
Finally he turned to Clint, his face registering the fact that he had made 
his decision. 

"Clint," he said, "unless I miss my guess, Rene will try to move Cynthia 
Walters to some place they can keep a close watch on her. He'll do it as 
quickly as he can. I need about two hours with her providing she's 
reasonably conscious and out of her shock enough to understand what I want 
to say to her. I want you to buy me those two hours." 

"What do you want me to do, kidnap Rene and the whole damned group?" 

"Not quite," Simmons smiled back, "but you could arrange to keep them as 
busy as hell for the rest of this morning, and maybe for a couple of hours 
this afternoon. You've got friends at the police department. How about a 
dope raid with some planted evidence, or a complaint on their radio 
equipment disturbing neighbors. Anything with lots of policemen that will 
keep them occupied." 

Clint headed for the door with Hal Simmons right behind him. 

"I think I can work out something on an illegal transmitter," he said over 
his shoulder. "It won't look quite so trumped up, but they'll be suspicious 
anyway." 

"That's all right, just as long as you keep them occupied." 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

Cynthia's mind was a whirling, swirling bowl of madness. Faces rushed at her 
one after the other, each one someone she vaguely recognized, but each one 
glaring at her with eyes that burned right through her body. She felt that 
the sheets were on fire, smoldering holes left where those multitude eyes 
bored through her. 

For a while she swam in a lovely red pool. The water was red and warm, 
comforting and cool at the same time, but then someone jumped into the water 
and splashed it all over her face. She felt she would drown, until a hand 
that had no arm or body reached down and pulled her to safety. 

Blackness was comforting to Cynthia's tortured mind. She floated through 
space, weightless and supported by a soft black cloud that covered her, 
warmed her, made her feel secure. Of course she had no body. Cynthia didn't 
know where her body was. All she could see of herself was a misty sub stance 
that floated, nestled in the black cloud. She laughed to herself when she 
saw herself change form and shape constantly in a rolling, swirling mist. 

The first time she opened her eyes it was terrible! Everything was white and 
the light sent pain through her eyes to her brain. A strange man in white 
with a shiny circle on his forehead was leaning over her. He had no face and 
Cynthia laughed because she had no body. And there was that strange girl 
with the black hair who kept trying to whisper to her. The girl had no face 
and no arms. 

The second time she opened her eyes was when she saw the large green bugs 
climbing up the white walls. They were big and terrifying, their long legs 
moving slowly, relentlessly upward as they climbed the wall toward the 
ceiling. Some of the green bugs were on the sheet, coming at her, but 
Cynthia couldn't protect herself. She had no hands, nor arms, nothing to 
brush them away! Suddenly she smiled, remembering she could become a mist 
and float away from them, float to her black cloud and safety. 

Then came pain. Her entire body was sore, and there was a dull ache down 
between her buttocks. All of a sudden it dawned on Cynthia that she had her 
body once again. She didn't want it! Her body meant pain, and she didn't 
want pain. She fought to return to a mist and flee to her cloud of black, 
but she found she was once again connected to her body and could not leave 
it. 

When she opened her eyes, Cynthia found herself in a strange room. At first 
the room blurred and Cynthia had to blink her eyes several times before 
everything cleared. She saw three men, two in white uniforms and one in a 
gray business suit. The men were all strangers. 

"Where am I?" she asked. 

"You've had a small accident and you're in a hospital, but you'll be fine 
now," one of the men in white said. "What is your name?" 

"Cynthia Walters," she replied. "I work for the United States government. Am 
I still in Paris?" 

The two men in white nodded to each other and then turned to the man in the 
business suit. "I think she'll be fine now, sir. We'll leave you alone with 
her. If you need anything, just stick your head out in the hall and call a 
nurse." 

"Thank you," Hal Simmons replied. 

The doctors left, and Hal turned to Cynthia. He pulled a chair up close to 
the bed and began speaking to her in a soft voice. 

"Well, Cynthia, you've had quite a time for yourself. Just how much do you 
remember about what happened?" 

Cynthia was quiet for a moment and then tears began welling in her eyes. She 
sobbed softly. 

"Are you the police?" she asked. 

"No, Cynthia, and nothing at all is going to happen to you. You're perfectly 
safe now, and I want you to believe I'm here to help you. You remember 
pretty much what happened, do you?" 

"Yes," she said. "Oh, God, how could I have done those terrible things!" 

"You can't entirely blame yourself, Cynthia," Hal Simmons said. "Perhaps I 
had better explain some things you don't know...." 

Carefully, Hal Simmons took Cynthia through the entire story of who Arlene 
Richards was, why she had met Cynthia at the airport and why she had been 
assigned to seduce her, and then described the new Communist policy of using 
sex to embarrass the United States government. 

"Then it was all deliberate!" she exclaimed. 

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Cynthia. You needn't feel too badly. You weren't the 
first to be taken in by them, and you won't be the last, I'm afraid." 

"And Harry Edwards was taken in, too!" she said. 

Hal Simmons knew he was now on dangerous ground. Cynthia obviously did not 
know about the death of Harry Edwards or Jean LeGrande. Although she seemed 
to be out of shock, this could throw her back in. Hal hesitated for a 
moment. Time was short and he would just have to chance her reaction. 
Phrasing it as carefully as he possibly could, he told her about the murder 
and the subsequent death of Jean LeGrande. He emphasized that the Communists 
had poisoned LeGrande to silence him. During his description of these 
various events, Hal Simmons watched Cynthia carefully. He was pleased to see 
that her reaction was not too severe. She seemed to accept it all better 
than he had expected. 

"I must have fainted before all this happened," she said, "but it doesn't 
surprise me too much. The whole thing was insane, and something horrible was 
bound to happen." 

Simmons was further surprised by Cynthia's rapid transformation. She 
suddenly became very logical and business-like. 

"You must be from the C.I.A., or something like that," she said. 

"Let's say I work for the government," Hal replied. 

"What's going to happen to me now?" she asked. "And what do you want of me? 
You must have some reason for being here with me now. I can't tell you 
anything about the Communist's plans because I don't know anything, but you 
must know that. Just what will happen to me?" 

Hal quietly explained what he thought Rene and the group might try to do 
with Cynthia. He told her they would try to fix the blame for Harry's death 
on her, at least as far as she was concerned, and then play on her guilt to 
have her do their will. Once he had covered all the possible tactics they 
might use, he suggested his plan to her. She listened quietly, looking him 
straight in the eye and watching his facial expressions as he spoke. 

"You crucify people for sexual behavior," she said, when he had finished, 
"and yet you want me to become a whore for you. How can it be right on one 
hand and wrong on the other?" 

"I'm not sure they will want you to use sex, Cynthia," he replied. "It may 
be that they will simply want you to pass on information." 

"But if they want me to be a whore, you want me to go along with it!" she 
replied. "Don't misunderstand; I see your side clearly. It just seems 
ironical to me that you and the others like you condemn with one breath and 
condone with the next. You. say the Communists are terrible to use sex like 
this, yet you're perfectly willing to do the very same thing." 

She turned and stared at the wall, her face blank of any expression. Hal 
Simmons watched her closely. He had seriously underestimated the 
intelligence and depth of the personality he was dealing with, yet he lacked 
the words to explain this to her. Her questions bothered him, and he knew 
her words would ring in his ears for some time to come. 

"Do you know what it is like?" she said, turning back to stare into his 
eyes. "Of course not. I'm sorry. You have your work and you do what you can 
with the job they give you. And perhaps you understand yourself. That's 
important. You see, I'm still searching for myself. I don't know who I am or 
why I'm here, but that wouldn't make sense to you. I know the difference 
between right and wrong-or at least I think I do-but I suddenly found myself 
liking what I knew was wrong." 

She turned her head so that he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. 

"Oh, what's the use," she sighed, "you wouldn't understand any of this, and 
I'm not sure I do." 

"I think it does make sense, if that's any consolation to you," Hal Simmons 
said. "Our values in this world can't be rigid, and I suspect there are very 
few of us who truly understand ourselves." 

He stood up and walked to the small window. It was raining only lightly now, 
more of a mist than a true rain. The sky was gray, but light spots here and 
there promised that the sun might work its way through before the day was 
over. 

"You want me to be a spy-or a counterspy, or something-but what if I am a 
homosexual? Had you considered that?" she asked. 

"What you are doesn't really matter, Cynthia," he replied. "It's what you do 
that counts. And perhaps you won't torture yourself needlessly as you search 
for your true self this way." 

Arlene was furious that they had interfered with her plans for Cynthia. She 
was nervous from physical exhaustion and cursed Rene and his fat friend all 
the way home. Weighing one against the other, however, Arlene realized that 
she could not afford to endanger her relationship with the communists over 
the promise of a few thousand dollars. No, she would have to let Cynthia's 
money go, even though it seemed within such easy reach. 

The incident, however, did cause Arlene to think seriously for the first 
time about the offer the Red Chinese had made her. It would be dangerous, 
very dangerous. If Rene or any of the others had the slightest suspicion she 
was working against them for the Chinese, they'd surely liquidate her 
without a second thought. Mr. Sung had said they would more than double her 
income, and Arlene liked the thought of that. After all, she asked herself, 
how long can I keep this up? As soon as I lose my sex appeal, they'll be 
through with me anyway. 

She made a mental note to call Mr. Sung and take him up on his offer to talk 
it over. Would they expect her to go to bed with them? Arlene wasn't sure 
how she felt about sex with an Oriental, but after all, their money was the 
same as anybody else's. 

Arlene soaked for an hour in a hot tub, changing the water every fifteen 
minutes. Her body was sore and her muscles tense. The bath relaxed her and 
she caught herself nodding several times. "Four hours sleep will revive me," 
she said aloud, as she dried her body and headed for her bedroom. 

She awoke the next day, and the clock beside her bed registered noon. "My 
God," she said, "I've slept almost twenty-four hours!" She jumped up, took a 
quick shower, dressed in an expensive silk suit and head for Rene's 
apartment. 

Finding the apartment empty, Arlene headed straight for the kitchen and 
looked for the plastic envelope under the ice tray where she always received 
her messages. There was an envelope marked Arlene, which bore the cryptic 
message that Rene would be out of town for several days. 

Arlene was furious with herself for having slept through what might have 
been something important. For one thing, Rene owed her ten thousand dollars! 
She was fairly certain he hadn't skipped out on her, but she was still 
annoyed that she had missed him. She turned the ice tray around, indicating 
she had received the message, and drove straight to the embassy. On her way 
there, Arlene prepared her story for where she had been for the past 
thirty-six hours. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

The door opened slowly and Cynthia stood framed in the light from the hall. 
She looked stunning in her new designer suit, a dark blue crepe that 'set 
her hair off in a golden radiance. Arlene couldn't believe it was the same 
blood-stained girl she had carried to the hospital a week before. 

Arlene stood up, her pale yellow robe falling open almost to her waist and 
revealing that she wore nothing under it, and spread her arms wide. 

"Darling!" she cried. "You look absolutely devastating!" 

Cynthia stood in the doorway looking at Arlene. Although she had prepared 
herself for this meeting, lecturing herself that she would never let Arlene 
know how much she hated her, it was difficult to keep a straight face. She 
forced herself to smile, remembering that this was undoubtedly a test she 
must pass. Rene and another man had picked her up at the hospital and rushed 
her to a private nursing home. And even though she had been prepared for 
everything, it had taken every ounce of her acting ability to act and react 
to the things they told her. She congratulated herself that she had played 
her part well, that she had reluctantly let them draw her into their web. 
Playing the part was important to Cynthia. At the moment, it was all she had 
left between sanity and insanity. And now she had to face Arlene. They had 
her booked on a flight back to Washington the next morning, but they were 
"certain" she would want to see Arlene before she left Paris. 

With only the briefest hesitation, Cynthia ran across the room and threw her 
arms around Arlene. 

"Arlene," she cried, "I've been so worried about you! They wouldn't tell me 
anything, and I didn't know if you were dead, and I didn't know if I would 
ever see you again...." 

"Slow down, darling," Arlene said, patting her back and squeezing the full, 
lush body close to hers. "You're going a mile a minute! Now, come on and sit 
down and tell me everything. I've been just frantic with worry about you, 
too!" 

Arlene resented Cynthia, but she was careful not to let her emotions show. 
Rene had kept Cynthia out of town for three days, then calmly announced that 
she was becoming one of their agents. He was very uncommunicative about 
Cynthia and what had happened to change her so quickly. It was the first 
time Arlene had been left out of Rene's confidence, and she bitterly 
resented that. Even more important, Rene had been stalling her payment of 
ten thousand dollars. He told her the money had been used to pay off some 
French officials about some illegal transmitter and that more money would be 
coming in a few days. And now this assignment to make love to Cynthia while 
he watched from behind the two-way mirror and listened on the monitor they 
had installed in the room. He said it was to test Cynthia, but Arlene felt 
certain that it was more for his own perverted enjoyment than any test. 

"Well," Cynthia said, "I suppose Rene has told you they forced me to join 
you." 

"Forced you?" Arlene said. 

"Well, I didn't have much choice, did I? With the photos they have of you 
and me, and the ones of my part in that orgy with Jean and Harry, they can 
ruin me any time they want." 

Cynthia stood up and pulled the jacket to her suit off and carefully placed 
it on the back of the couch. She wore a very sheer nylon blouse under the 
jacket and her heavy breasts were plainly visible. She wore no bra. 

"And, to be honest, Arlene," she continued, "I liked most of the things we 
did. Of course I couldn't stand Harry Edwards, but I doubt any girl could. 
He was a real bastard." 

"Amen," sighed Arlene, remembering Harry and his crude manners. 

"So, if I'm caught," Cynthia continued, "and I stand to be ruined, why not 
join? I don't owe my country anything, and Rene has promised me good money. 
I probably won't like some of the things I'll have to do, but I'd rather 
live like you do than land in some jail or spend the rest of my life having 
people look at me like I was some kind of a sexual freak." 

Arlene stood up, letting her robe fall completely open so that her firm 
breasts and the black "V" of her crotch were plainly visible. Cynthia stared 
at Arlene's body and felt a quickening of her pulse. My God, she said to 
herself, I'm supposed to be acting! She looked at the heavy black hair at 
the joining of Arlene's legs and could plainly see the pink lips of her 
cunt. She felt a quiver between her own legs and cursed the weakness of her 
flesh. 

Arlene spread her arms and Cynthia moved slowly forward until they folded 
around her. 

"There's one thing I have to tell you, Arlene," Cynthia said. 

"What, darling?" 

"I never experienced a true orgasm before I met you. I don't know if I'm a 
Lesbian or not, but I know that I can't be near you without wanting you." 

Arlene smiled and leaned forward, crushing her lips against Cynthia's in a 
tight embrace. She felt Cynthia's tongue run along her lips and then force 
it's way into her mouth. 

Cynthia wanted to scream. She had prepared herself for this moment, 
convincing herself to be able to act her way through it no matter how 
repulsive the contact might be. And now, when the moment finally arrived, 
Cynthia found herself mad with desire for the brunette who had betrayed her 
and ruined her life. All hate, all resentment were gone. All Cynthia felt 
was a passionate desire to have Arlene's body against her own, their lips 
greedily exploring each other! The lie she had practiced over and over again 
about wanting Arlene was true! 

She felt Arlene's firm breasts pressing against her own, the sheer nylon 
giving way as their nipples ground into one another. Slowly, Cynthia's hand 
dropped to Arlene's waist. Then she let it slip to the soft furry region 
that excited her so. She felt Arlene's legs part as she slipped her hungry 
fingers between the brunette's thighs. 

Cynthia fell to her knees on the floor and pulled Arlene's thighs apart. 
Arlene bent her knees slightly, opening her crotch wide before Cynthia's 
mouth and smiled as she felt the blonde's hot tongue slip between the lips 
of her cunt. 


THE END
