The Kewpie's Dolls
by Kyle Roxbury
(GC-402)


Seeing the hunchback, the man automatically rose and fitted the key into the 
heavy door. They exchanged nods, the key turned and Raphael stepped into the 
apartment sitting room. 

He glanced up at a significant picture and nodded. The Kewpie would know he 
was obeying orders because there was the evil eye of the television lens 
hidden in the ornate frame of the picture. 

His long, big-knuckled fingers curled and relaxed. One hand went to his 
inner left thigh where his mule cock lay in long, thick awaiting. His 
private dream was to someday kill a white European or an American girl by 
thrusting his cock through the strained tissues of her cunt and coming in 
her bloody guts. Now he moved to the door of the bedroom ... his blood 
raced. 

She lay half under the silken sheet, her arms akimbo, her legs showing as 
tapered delights in slight parting. Her face in repose was disgustingly 
pretty to Raphael ... Saliva drooled from his deformed mouth. 

He wondered how best to start. 

 * * * 

INTRODUCTION
By Del Grayson, Ph.D. 

The Kewpie's Dolls is another of Mr. Kyle Roxbury's novels that bridge the 
past and present. This time the author has chosen to write of tyranny and 
slavery, which certainly are not new subjects; however, they do tend to be 
forms of human behavior that are not relegated to any particular period of 
history. Not only has the author chosen to write of tyranny and slavery, but 
also of sexual tyranny and slavery. The time is the present and Jan Arden, 
one of the wealthiest men in the world, has purchased two American school 
teachers on vacation in Europe. They have been brought to his palatial home 
on the Spanish Riviera. As the story progresses we see the development of 
the master and slave relationship, particularly in erotic terms. 

In his book Sexual Slavery, Carlson Wade defines a sexual slave as "an 
individual-adult male or female, young boy or girl-purchased by another 
individual for the purpose of providing erotic pleasure. Under these 
circumstances, the owner is master, the slave must submit to whatever 
debaucheries, perversions, abnormal acts that are demanded of him or her." 

Sexual slavery has existed since the dawn of mankind. There is hardly a 
people or civilization that has been without a captured or otherwise 
kept-in-bondage individual for the sole purposes of providing erotic 
gratification. 

The earliest written dictum on sexual slavery appears in the Bible: Exodus 
21:7-11. "When a man sells his daughter as a slave, she shall not go out as 
the male slaves do. If she does not please her master, who has designated 
her for himself, then he shall let her be redeemed; he shall have no right 
to sell her to a foreign people, since he has dealt faithlessly with her. If 
he designates her for his son, he shall deal with her as with a daughter. If 
he takes another wife to himself, he shall not diminish her food, her 
clothing, or her marital rights. And if he does not do these three things 
for her, she shall go out for nothing, without payment of money." 

The earliest times of the Bible were centered in the Middle East or ancient 
Arabia and consequently even today the word Arabia conjures up mental images 
of Sultans occupied with their harems of beautiful and curvaceous girls. 
However, the Arabs stole not only young girls but also young boys, who would 
bring high prices on the slave blocks in the markets or bazaars of Araby. 

The practice of sexual slavery was so prevalent that the prophet Mohammed 
found it necessary to prescribe rules regarding it in the Holy Koran. He 
wrote thus: 

"If you buy a slave-girl, do not forget that it is forbidden you to cohabit 
with non-nubile girls (pre-puberty age, about 12 or 13) before a delay of a 
minimum of one month, starting from the day of your acquisition. As for the 
others you will wait until they have had their menses, and in cases of any 
disturbance in health, you will wait the passing of three lunar months. 
Also, if you wish to sell a slave-girl you will leave off cohabiting with 
her at least a month before having her pass under the authority of another." 

Thus, it was that the wealthy were permitted their harems, and with their 
many slaves it was necessary to have an overseer, which brought eunuchs into 
being. The eunuchs were men who had been deprived of their reproductive 
organs. For certainly the masters or Sultans could not have a normal male 
guarding and watching over their female slaves. Therefore, it became 
necessary to have male slaves to guard the female sexual slaves. 

Although all forms of slavery are repulsive today, many of the slaves did 
not feel that they were mistreated. In a time when famine and hunger 
prevailed, many young boys and girls sold themselves into slavery so that 
they might have a home, food and clothes. Also, many of the eunuchs became 
quite powerful. In Turkey, they commanded the military and acted as 
counselors to the Sultan; and in Persia many were crowned Shahs. 

The slaves of the Greeks, however, held even more respected positions than 
the eunuchs of the Sultans. The Greeks were idealists that achieved marvels 
of art, philosophy and political theory and as idealists their slaves were 
held with respect and also love. The sexual slave of the Greeks was expected 
to provide pleasure-heterosexual, homosexual, Lesbian-but the slave was 
expected to do this from bonds of devotion and love rather than from force. 
In Athens and other harbor towns, there were brothels or houses of 
accommodation in which slaves were to be had-both boy slaves and girl 
slaves. The slaves were not merely to be bought for money; they could be 
hired by contract for a long or short time. 

Inasmuch as the Greeks were devoted to the pursuit of beauty, the very young 
were highly prized for their young firm bodies. Each older person was 
expected to train the younger in the perfections of art-which also included 
the art of love. Consequently, homosexual liaisons of both sexes were the 
norm rather than the exception. Even today Greek love has a connotation of 
homosexual relations. 

Although many of the Greek slaves were captured people of other lands, they 
did not come close to the Romans, who perhaps captured more people than any 
other civilization. And the Romans were known to be quite cruel. Because of 
their cruelty to the slaves, the Romans were in constant fear of slave 
riots. This social situation of the Roman Empire became the source of many 
novels and one of the most famous of these was Spartacus, which was also a 
very successful motion picture. 

In the Christian era there have been no official institutions of sexual 
slavery. However, many marriages were agreed to when the children were as 
young as five years of age for political advantages, which was certainly 
tantamount to sexual slavery. Probably the most adept at this were the 
English kings and in particular Henry the II. At one time all his sons who 
were less than ten years of age were engaged to various princesses whose 
dowries included almost half of France. 

Among the poorer classes there was another form of slavery that in many 
cases represented sexual slavery. Until the abolishment of debtors' prisons 
in the late nineteenth century, people that had incurred debts and could not 
pay them were either sent to prison or they settled their debts in some 
other form. Quite often this form took the shape of indentured servants. By 
this a person that had incurred a debt might offer the sendees of a son or 
daughter for a number of years in order to settle the debt. When the master 
was unscrupulous, the indentured servant quite literally became a sexual 
slave. Although various contracts existed, the most common length span for 
an indentured servant was seven years. 

In 1619, true slaves that were bought and sold on the auction block were 
introduced into the United States. While the original purpose of slaves may 
have had an economic basis, it is certainly obvious that many a master 
consoled himself with the young Negresses. Apparently so many of the white 
masters dallied with the young Negro slave women that new words such as 
"quadroon" and "octoroon" came into being. Also, so many children with mixed 
coloring were born that many of the southern states passed legislation that 
defined a Negro by the amount of Negroid blood a person possessed. As an 
example, in Missouri a person with 1/32 Negroid blood is a Negro and this 
may be determined by a jury looking at the person and saying so. Certainly 
these young Negresses were sexual slaves in the true sense of the word. 

In the Western world the Civil War in the U.S. ended legalized slavery, but 
another form of slavery existed, known as "white-slavery," which simply 
meant enforced prostitution. The syndrome of "white-slavery" or "traffic in 
women and children" as it was later to be called, instituted world 
conventions as early as 1877. And it has continued up until the present time 
and is even included under the charter of the United Nations. 

Thus, we have The Kewpie's Dolls which is an interlude in the white-slavery 
market. This is an inner glimpse into a world-wide social problem and the 
masterminds that run it, and as such provides interesting and informative 
reading. As in his previous novels, Mr. Roxbury leans heavily on erotic 
realism. But how else could he give us this interesting look at a seldom 
talked about subject? 

-Del Grayson, Ph.D. 

* * * 

 CHAPTER ONE 

The Spanish Maestros who had built the huge hacienda on the Mediterranean 
edge of Estado Castellon, had thought the big room to be meant for a gran 
baile. The Barcelona architect who had drawn the plans and supervised the 
construction had been paid too many pesetas to be concerned. If the 
mysterious Americano wanted a room twenty meters square with vaulted 
ceilings and terrazzo floors of polished Italian marble and Turkish 
alabaster, quein sahe? 

All Jan Arden wanted was a room sixty-five feet square with high ceilings 
for air, polished stone floors for solidity, and a wall of Moorish arches so 
he could look across the Mediterranean sea to nowhere. It had to be right 
because he fully intended to spend the rest of his life in the room, and he 
had been thirty-eight when he made this decision. Now forty-eight, he had 
seldom left the room. 

He had left his special chair, privately dubbed "The Throne," only a few 
times. It was not quite a chair. It was a cabinetmakers dream, containing 
among suitable characteristics, the ability to be made into a luxurious bed 
at the flick of a switch on the many switched console. There was hot and 
cold running water piped to it and a concealed washbasin. There were 
telephones, so Jan could attend his many lucrative interests around the 
globe, a tape recording system, television, and some small controls that did 
many other strange things. It lacked a bathtub only because Jan never took a 
bath in the conventional sense. He weighed four hundred pounds and his bath 
was administered by two stolid-faced Spanish girls who had been taught, 
among many things, to wash his massive, pink and white and hairless body 
with soft cloths and water of the proper temperature. 

Aside from the items of expensive furniture from many exotic lands, there 
were some peculiar devices and contraptions in Jan's room. It had taken half 
of the ten years to develop them, through imagination, experience, and a 
peculiar sensuality of mind that only a man of Jan Arden's wealth could 
afford. He considered his single error in the construction of Castellon 
Vista to be the immobility of The Throne. To compensate, he had hired and 
trained a dozen Spanish mozos to do his fetching and carrying, and to look 
with typical Spanish indifference on the occasional fiestas privadas with no 
interest. Or so it seemed to Jan, who cared only for his own interest in 
things. 

He sat now, chewing voraciously on a leg of Spanish lamb, his ponderous face 
pushed to even fatter rounds by his gluttonous appetite. He listened to Juan 
Fernandez, capitan of the FELICIDAD, probably the dirtiest of the sardine 
fishermen to list its home port as Palma, Mallorca. Through snake eyes, 
almost lost in the pots of blubber above and below them, Jan scanned a 
photograph of two women, smiling Americans, obviously leaving the Queen 
Elizabeth Hotel lobby in Palma. One of them didn't impress Jan much. She 
seemed about thirty-something, large, full-bodied, but stern of face, almost 
forbidding. The other woman was also stem of face, but the smile broke it 
into another element; she looked serious, haughty, nearly intellectual. And 
she was sleek, even under the travel suit. Her ankles were slim and her 
calves were full, and the pull of her skirt showed good, tapered thighs, a 
flaring hip line, and above the slender waist, the bulge of large breasts, 
high and overly bound by a conservatively firm brassiere. She had mousy 
blonde hair and deep set eyes. Jan's cock jerked, but he made no sign that 
Captain Fernandez could discern. He tossed the tooth frayed lamb joint over 
his shoulder to the naked Spanish girl huddled on the Persian rug behind The 
Throne. She picked it up, bit hesitantly at the meat morsels and scratched 
her swollen, overly developed tits as she continued to observe the meeting 
between her master and the handsome sea captain. 

"Three hundred dollars," Jan said. 

"Five, senor." 

Jan raised his browless fat above the snake eyes. Normally, Fernandez nor 
anyone else altered a cash offer from him. "Why five?" 

"Eet was necesario that both women be taken. They were-how you say-no 
solamente." 

Jan grunted. His huge body was already singing with excited blood, and the 
difference between three hundred and five hundred to him was only a matter 
of spoiling one of his henchmen. He opened a secret compartment in a side 
segment of The Throne and took out a bundle of large denomination pesetas 
which he already knew amounted to five hundred American dollars, and tossed 
the packet to Fernandez. 

"When?" 

"Manana, senor." 

"Fuck that. Today. Within two hours, or the deal is off!" 

"But, senor! They are een my place een Palma! Two hours ees not possible. 
Manana, in the morning, ocho horas, by the Virgin!" 

"All right, tomorrow morning at eight o'clock." Then, to tease the Spaniard 
who was a devout Catholic despite his villainy, he added, "And if you can 
catch the Virgin, I'll go three hundred for her!" Fernandez crossed himself 
and blinked upward, then he grinned at Jan and picked up his money. 
"Muchisima gracias, senor!' 

"Rapido," Jan grunted, and dismissed him with a big fat hand that seemed to 
wipe the air clear of their deal. Then he licked his fingers free of lamb 
grease, and the Spanish girl was miraculously there with a damp cloth and a 
clean dry towel. Leaning some, he rewashed his thick middle finger in her 
vagina and made her lick it before he again wiped on the towel. She waited, 
in case he wanted to take other liberties with her lush body, but Jan 
settled back, holding the photograph of the two American women. He had ideas 
for the younger one, but none for her older companion. However, he thought, 
skinned out of the frumpish clothes, the two hundred dollar broad might 
inspire some ideas. He'd keep her on ice until he'd gotten his three hundred 
dollars out of the good-looking one. 

He smelled of sardines, body sweat well fermented and some other odors of 
filth, and for a Mallorca Spaniard, he was tall. He was also thick and hairy 
and muscled like his namesake, the bull. Toro stood, his ragged shirt open 
from throat to belly, his nostrils flared to the heave of his big chest. He 
was a mean man, even among men and women who had known him all of his 
thirty-odd years, and now he was in the grip of his two important hates. He 
lacked pesetas for more wine until Capitan Fernandez returned, and this 
shortage only added to the venom with which he stroked his huge, 
dark-skinned cock over the arrogant American girl, lying tied on the filthy 
floor pallet. She lay half on one hip because she was trying to protect her 
pantied hips from his hot gaze, and because her hands were severely tied 
behind her back. She had quit trying to speak through the gag tied hard 
around her face. Her eyes stared in pure panic as Toro shook his penis and 
swung his balls. 

He was sure such a dainty, coldly beautiful gringa had never seen a cock the 
equal of his; it had sent half the putas in Palma running for goose grease. 
Now he drew the thick foreskin back and his lust made him kneel, just above 
the girl's abruptly turned face. He put a dirty hand to her gray-blonde hair 
and turned her head back, her bound mouth barely three inches below the 
broad, blood-filled glans. He would spew on the gag, he decided. It would 
soak through the cloth and flavor her gringo lips, give her a taste of fine 
Spanish jism and teach her that Americana turistas did not own the world nor 
the services of every Spaniard she saw. Turn her into a gibbering idiota; he 
knew her kind, afraid of a man, afraid of life and supporting her arrogance 
by looking down at better people than she could ever be. Beauty, style, 
money, but no guts for a macho. 

Toro turned and looked at the other gringa similarly tied but facing the 
wall. An old one. Well, not old, but older than most women his capitan stole 
for The Kewpie, el hombre gordo, and of a violent tongue. It had been a 
pleasure for Toro to hold her big bottom to his groin while he silenced her 
mouth with the oily cloth. He turned back to the frightened one. His eyes 
followed her shape from slim, round throat, down over the significant 
fullness of her tits to the perfect hips, now excitingly revealed by her 
raised skirt. That had been as far as Toro had dared go. He had felt of her 
bare thighs, patted her twin rump curves and shuffled the chi-chis in their 
lacy net sacks. But had he availed his dirty fingers of more intimate 
exploration, of the shadowy area between her close-pressed thighs and the 
bare flesh under the brassiere, he would have risked a knife in the guts or 
a crushed skull. The Kewpie demanded untouched women. 

There had been one who Toro had dared to touch. She had been an English 
girl, meaty, youthfully solid and of a certain eye. He hadn't needed to 
speak her hated language. She had lain there on the pallet, her eyes 
talking, her lush body squirming. 

U had knelt and laid a hand to her belly and she had fuck-hunched at him. 
Still, he had not dared untie her knees and spread her trembling legs. He 
had thrust two fingers into her cunt and later, excited beyond control, he 
had turned her over so she could draw up her legs, presenting a pair of 
magnificent nates between which he had fingered and finally nudged his cock 
for an ecstatic come. She had, he thought, loved his big funky penis and 
hardly anything he chose to do to her, or could do because of her gag and 
tied extremities, had not set her bouncing and singing through the gag. He 
had spurted his sperm in several places, between her compressed English 
tits, between the cheeks of her ass and again on the dark vee of curly hair 
at her crotch by sitting astride her belly, his dirty ass to her face while 
he ran his convulsing cock down the front of her panties. He had meant to 
wash her, but Fernandez had returned too soon. Conveniently then, because 
his capitan was a man of sympatico, they had dropped her overboard at the 
anchorage under Castellon Vista and the salt water had removed most of his 
dried and yellowed come. But she had told The Kewpie. 

Toro had been severely beaten and deprived of his next two month's pay. The 
hot English girl had been sent to Gibraltar and sold to a whore master who 
dealt only with Algerians-mean, long-cocked and often, half-rotten with 
gonorrhea. No. The Kewpie wanted only untouched girls. They didn't have to 
be virgins, but they had to be untrammeled by sardine fishermen or the like. 

Now he was beginning to like his hand on the tumescent organ that sprang 
from his hairy groin like a sun-bleached bit of driftwood. She was squirming 
but it was terror, degradation, humility and the true revulsion of a virgin, 
mental if not physical. He put a hand to her tits, squeezing them through 
the blouse and brassiere. He sent his fingers lower, testing the taut belly, 
taut with fear. Then he patted and curled his hand around the cheek of her 
ass, daring to press slightly between the twin pillows, but not firmly. 

He was hot now. Holding her head, he let his prick drop to thump and saw 
across her nose and forehead. He tucked the monstrous head under her chin, 
stroking it until it swelled and jerked in soon-spurting. She was gripped 
with terror. Her eyes squeezed tightly closed, then opened, as if she were 
afraid to not see. Toro put the drooling eye of his cock to her left 
nostril. That would be good to do, he decided, except that his jism came 
like water from a pipe and she might drown from the spew as it shot up into 
her nose. He wanted desperately to come, but he held back, trying to think 
through his excitement of a novel if harmless place to evacuate his balls. 
Then he had an idea, one that stilled his masturbating hand and turned his 
hot eyes to the woman facing the wall. Why not? She was gratis. By no 
stretch of Toro's limited imagination could that one be of interest to The 
Kewpie. It had been necessary to take her too, or risk the Palma Policia. 

She had seen himself and his capitan and could recite their appearances. So 
they had struck her skull very hard and threw her into the old van, to bring 
her here with the pretty gringa until something better could be done with 
her. Toro thought he knew what the "something better" was. He came to his 
feet, his old pants half-falling. He held his cock and stepped his dirty 
bare feet from the trailing garment. Then he walked over to where the woman 
lay and knelt again. She really had a good ass, he thought. He raised her 
skirt, exhibiting her undergarments. A hated European corset and panties, 
with straps and snaps to the tops of long stockings. But low under the 
girdle and through the nylon film, he could see how the cheeks of her ass 
pressed and curled under. Thinking only a little of the consequences and a 
great deal about the demand tingling in the head of his cock, he fingered 
down her panties until he could see the thick fringe of dark brown hair that 
grew from her cunt-bump down around the lower scarlet of her sex and up the 
crack of her ass. He put a quivering finger between the plump cheeks and 
felt for her ass-hole. He found it; a hot pucker, soft and resilient. She 
did not move; he had hit her head very hard, he supposed. 

With a strong hand, he pushed her limp legs up, causing her ass to pull from 
under the edge of the elastic girdle and form two smooth, white moons, 
revealing the puckered rose to his squinting eyes. So bent, her body gave 
him a choice. He could plunge his cock low and send it plowing into her 
listless cunt, or he could fight the pucker, with spit and thrusting, and 
maybe get his organ up her bowel before he had his hovering come. He dropped 
forward and let his prick hang stiffly out and down as he aimed it for the 
pair of seductive apertures. The oozing eye touched the warm soft flesh. A 
raging thrill went through Toro. He-hated white women with a passion; he 
adored white pussy with all his lusty soul. Among his people, he was a 
moreno, and he resented any skin that was whiter than his coffee-hued hide. 
Then he remembered the arrogant beauty, and he looked at her. She had turned 
more toward him and the unconscious woman. Her eyes were the widest he had 
ever seen. She was gasping through her open mouth, moistening the gag, and 
the air that finally had to rush through her nostrils made a harsh 
wind-sound. He grinned, realizing that although he was not going to fuck 
her, she was suffering as if it was her lovely ass his prick was nudging and 
dimpling. He turned back to the listless body. His cock was pressed to her 
asshole. He took a breath and began a screwing in-pressure. It seemed to 
give, but it was only the outer flesh, not the pucker. He grunted and his 
muscular body tensed as he twisted his cock at the reluctant hole. It would 
go, he knew. He had rammed his prick in twenty Spanish assholes, from 
nine-year-old boys to sixty-year-old fisherwomen. All resisted, all finally 
gave way to The Toro, some screaming, some laughing, all panting with pain 
as his cock tore tender tissues, then sighing with delight as his furious 
fucking turned agony to ecstasy. Oh, it would go, he knew. The problem was 
his come, boiling in his balls and knotting the under muscle where his spine 
turned into his penis. 

Then he put his finger down, and for a moment, dallied the pucker into moist 
openness. It felt good, the tip of his finger turning and feeling the soft 
flesh of her rectum. He fucked the hole with his grubby forefinger, 
distending the pucker into a flaccid ring. Then he put his prick back to the 
prepared ring and just shoved a full ten centimeters of his throbbing pole 
into the defenseless tunnel. He gasped as his cock stuck, and a moment 
later, the restrained come let loose with a tremendous pressure. He rammed, 
and the full length of his prick followed the slippery come and his balls 
slapped to her ass. Grunting and cursing, Toro waited only until his juice 
ceased to spew and the head of his cock was soothed by the sticky heat of 
his jism and her disturbed shit, then he began fucking for a second climax, 
his mind satisfied, his prick happy, and the girl to his left forgotten. 

As he rammed, Gail Brown urinated because her painfully tied body and her 
senses had lost all respect for her outraged morality. She forgot her aches, 
forgot that her full-lipped mouth was so horribly mashed that the swelling 
was crowding her perfect teeth. Her tongue was also unmanageable. It kept 
beating at the evil-tasting gag, in rhythm now to the way the dirty seaman's 
body was pounding down and into Trina Salisman's frightfully stretched 
rectum. Gail could see every detail, her eyes long ago having gotten 
accustomed to the half light of the waterfront structure. 

She had never seen a male penis before in her life, only out-of-proportion 
drawings in hygiene manuals and biology texts. Foreskin was a descriptive 
word concerning the prepuce; that it came in thick rolls, amazingly elastic 
and laced with dark blue veins was a shock. No biology book had dared to 
describe the Spaniard's penis. It was long, nearly a foot, she thought, and 
thick as her wrist and the shape of the flaring head had been so sensually 
intimate Gail had spent a moment of secret admiration for the pulsing, black 
red helmet. The great sac, hairy as an animal's, full of egg forms and what 
seemed to Gail to be fluid in huge quantities, was erotically frightening in 
a mystical way. The huge ugly seaman had terrified her in his obvious 
resentment of her nationality. His penis had chilled her by its size and 
ill-smelling threat. But the big sac of testicles somehow held a new and 
more specific threat. The great penis could thrust and maim as it was doing 
to Trina's rectum and it could demoralize, as it was slightly affecting 
Gail, but the huge sac and its deadly contents were symbols of procreation, 
of destiny, and of a woman's weakness as Gail understood it. 

What had happened she didn't know, from the moment when a soft but insistent 
something dropped her into blackness hardly a few feet from their hotel, 
until she wakened with the filthy Spaniard standing over her, his penis 
erect and the look of unholy hate upon his face. She was thoroughly tied and 
the gag almost choked her it was so tight. Her skirt was well up, but she 
felt that she had not been molested except by the man's cautious hands and 
the threat of his naked instrument as he masturbated it over her face. Now, 
she saw that Trina was not as mercifully spared. 

A raging heat went through Gail as she saw the thick, oddly tubed shape 
slithering in and out of her friend's rectum. Such an act was beyond Gail's 
understanding, though she knew it was named sodomy and was an abomination 
throughout the centuries and a massive crime in the United States. Further, 
she couldn't say what it was, though the ugly Spaniard seemed to be in the 
throes of furious ecstasy. He grunted and shoved, spreading the cheeks of 
Trina's bottom, sending the slack flesh following in until it appeared to be 
tucked in neatly. Then the shape of rape changed as the Spaniard drew back 
and back, baring his throbbing penis in full, with only the glans gripped 
within poor Trina's anus. The rounds of her bottom were foul with excretion, 
pumped from her bowel by the ruthless tube of lust. 

Then the detail of Trina's disgusting rape ceased to register as Gail 
watched the erotic scene. A brutal man, a bare bottomed, unconscious woman; 
she knew the word from school mates and the doors of toilet rooms-the man 
was fucking Trina in the ass with a massive prick. She wanted to close her 
eyes and couldn't. The Spaniard's dark skin was strangely exotic. His 
muscles bulged and strained as he rooted into Trina. Her bare bottom was 
also exciting, not in itself because Gail had seen it several times during 
their three weeks of travel together, but in bent offering to the 
penetration, the lust. There was a kind of struggle in the man's hunching, a 
frantic, dedicated fury that made something almost beautiful out of his 
contorted face and grasping hands. The manner in which Trina's body jerked 
and rolled as he twisted and screwed his member into her body was 
significantly primitive, earthy, almost esthetic in its brutality. 

Gail shuddered. The fate she had somehow escaped was worse than death, but 
if there was any pleasure in it for the woman, as there seemed to be for the 
man, then she almost felt sorry for Trina's lack of awareness. The man was 
sweating. Among the waterfront smells, his body odor came to Gail's 
sensitive nostrils. She could smell the churned brown from Trina's body. It 
was strongly offensive, but being able to see how and why it was being 
dragged and smeared, the odor was somehow sensual. Again Gail quivered at 
her bold assessment of the ugliness. No, no, she thought. It was violent, 
criminal, immoral, but it was not ugly. 

She watched as the man began to rear higher and ram harder, nearly jolting 
Trina to the wall at her head. Gail frowned as best she could. The man 
seemed terribly intent, almost blind in his frenzy. She supposed he was 
going to have orgasm, odd word, in Trina's bottom, but why it should turn 
him into a frantic animal she did not understand. It had said in the biology 
book that the male orgasm was a climax induced by continual and strenuous 
friction of penile nerves, and that it constituted a nervous spasm which 
triggered the seminal vesicles, located in his lower body, to expel its 
semen in forceful spurts, sending the vital fluid through the male urethral 
tube to be deposited in the female vulva, close to the cervix of the 
receptive womb. 

A doubt went through Gail as she saw the man burrow deep in Trina's 
backside, grunt and jerk, his tight bottom tensing and relaxing as some 
monumental inner stress was released. It didn't seem to Gail like a nervous 
spasm at all. It seemed as if a great dam bursting in the man had driven him 
deeper and deeper, to deposit his sperm in huge ripples high in her friend's 
poor bowel. And if the book said the fluid came from his seminal vesicles, 
the book had to be lax in its diagram, because she could plainly see the big 
rubbery sac of testicles gather and knot and after a half minute of this, 
the sack hung listlessly and obviously partially emptied of its horrendous 
contents. She urinated a few drops more, her belly suddenly paining with 
strain. She squirmed as the fire between her legs became unbearable. Her 
shoulders ached from her half-twisted arms and her feet were numbing from 
the tight ties around her knees. But for a moment, she could only feel the 
heat in her belly and the violin strings that sang unreasonably just above 
her sex aperture. Cunt. 

Then she saw the Spaniard was coming back to life, rising over Trina, slowly 
dragging from her ravaged behind the long, now pliable tube of his penis. 
The flesh dragged out with it, the foreskin rippled from the anal ring, then 
the man hesitated as if he could not remove the remainder. He humped and the 
huge acorn, black-red-brown, popped lewdly from the sphincter ani. A last 
spoonful of thick gray gushed from the anus stripping head. For an instant, 
Gail had full view of the gaping rectum and the drooling penis and had her 
mouth not been firmly closed with the gag, she would have shrieked because 
the fire between her legs and the violin strings all exploded at once and 
her belly was shaken mightily by a hideously delightful thumping. It blinded 
her and sent shivers of ecstasy running up and down her tortured belly. She 
closed her eyes and wept as best she could; once or twice when she was a 
teen-ager, she had done it to herself, and once, she had let a boy do it for 
her through her panties. Now, she wept in self-contempt as she had the 
fourth orgasm of her twenty-one years, watching a brute-rapist practice 
sodomy in the backside of her best friend. 

The terror was still there when the man stood up, using a dirty rag to wipe 
his huge penis clean of foul. He stood, fingering the flaccid organ in 
satisfaction. Then he glanced at Gail and left the dingy room, shuffling his 
flesh back into his pants and tying the rope that secured them to his lean 
waist. 

Stunned by illicit thoughts and pique that she had not been as attractive to 
the rapist as had been Trina, her senior by fourteen years, Gail trembled in 
mixed agonies. The orgasm had been involuntary, induced by what she did not 
understand. She was not to blame. Watching the thick gray-brown ooze coming 
from Trina's still unclosed anus, she took no blame for that, either. The 
entire, completely inexplicable nightmare was enough to contemplate. Gail 
closed her eyes and tried to remember how they had come to this despicable 
helplessness. All her mind could generate were continuous pictures of the 
huge penis as it plunged and cavorted in Trina Salisman's bottom. Gail 
opened her eyes to dispel the ugly, immoral vision. And to her surprise, 
Trina was stirring. Her lashed hands worked, the fingers wriggled. Then the 
second surprise. 

"Gail?" came a garbled call. 

"Um-mm-mm!" 

"You all right honey? Has he gone?" 

"Um-umm!" 

"Good, the beast! But in his passion, he loosened my gag." A moment of 
struggle. "My head! What has happened to us?" 

"Umm-mm!" 

"Oh." Trina made a tremendous effort to turn over, facing Gail. It was then 
that Gail saw how the gag had been displaced, and how the front of Trina's 
travel suit and blouse were tom open. One big breast hung loose, white, 
bulbous and firmly nippled. The other was half buried in the disturbed 
garments. And Gail also saw how the Spaniard had dragged her friend's skirt 
up and dislodged her panties. The firm white thighs junctured with the soft 
round of Trina's belly and she was covered with finger welts and shiny spots 
of wet. 

"Oh, Gail! You poor thing! Did he do-do anything to you?" 

Gail could shake her head and did. The strange hypnotism with voyeurism had 
passed, and her eyes welled with tears of fright and despair. Trina tried to 
worm her way closer, her knees and elbows thumping on the dirty board floor. 
Finally, she was closer, but no nearer to helping either one of them. 

"Did you see, Gail?" she asked. 

Nod, slowly. 

"I couldn't help it," Trina said in a low voice. "I knew he might kill me if 
I squirmed and humped to get away. It was-was terrible! I think he hurt me 
very badly. I'm sick at my stomach. Now I know what r-rape really is! Oh, 
the beast, the animal! But he's gone, now, and I hope God strikes him 
d-dead! Oh, Gail, what have they done to us? Worse, what are they going to 
do to us now?" 

"Um-hmm." 

Trina's eyes closed. "Two innocent schoolteachers, captured by white 
slavers, I'm sure! I've read about such things. Well, if we ever get our 
hands free, we'll fight! White slaves! In a Mediterranean house of 
prostitution. With Italians and Spaniards and Gr-Greeks and Africans! Oh 
God, save us, please!" 

Gail couldn't even hum through her gag. She quivered in self-pity, then in 
monstrous sympathy for her badly raped friend. To her, it all seemed 
grotesquely impossible,, like some bad dream where she ran naked through 
Grand Central Station and huge dogs with rampant penile structures howled 
and chased after her. But as much as she hoped it were a nightmare, she knew 
it was not. Trina's breath was too heavy and the odor of her ravaged behind 
filled the ugly hut. Please, death. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Dawn came at five-forty-seven and within minutes, Jan was sitting upright on 
the bed, returned to a chair, and his two Spanish scrub brushes were working 
on him with soft, American wash cloths and lavender soap. He lay back in the 
chair, watching Consuela scrub his rotund belly, running the cloth under his 
nearly feminine breasts and through the deep wrinkles. Hortensia was washing 
up from his thick legs. By training, they would meet at his groin, a mass of 
fat rolls of intriguing shape, one of which seemed drilled so that his big 
cock and the small sac of balls could spout from his ponderous belly. His 
cock was already half hard, but not from their ministrations, though they 
were permitted to do anything their twenty years inclined them to try. He 
was thinking about eight o'clock and the exhilarating excitement of a new 
woman. 

He had money to buy almost any woman in the world, unless she were some sort 
of an idiot Methodist. But Jan did not like bought pussy, and no woman had 
given him any look other than curiosity since he passed the age of nineteen 
and his first two hundred and fifty pounds. So he indulged his continual 
sexuality with kidnapped beauty, of any nationality that interested him, but 
always beauty that fought and screamed and cursed him for a bloated fiend. 
Not that he ever hurt them very much. A nine-inch prick might give some 
tenderfeet a case of hysteria, but in the end, they would revolve and hump 
and plead with him to shove it deeper. He loved women, but had no respect 
for them at all. They were liars, born prostitutes and evil schemers. More 
than one had thought to cajole and fool him into assuming some special 
position in his "harem." A few had tried to bargain for their release. One 
had sworn she loved him so while she was clamoring over him, he had closed 
his huge hands and tree-like arms over her and held her helpless while 
Joven, his half-Negro barber had fucked her in the ass with his mule prick 
until she went into a coma, to awaken next in the whore house at Gibraltar. 

It pleased him doubly. He had taught the bitch something, and he had 
justified Joven's presence as a barber. Jan needed no barber; on all of his 
expansive hide, not a hair grew. He had been called Egghead in school, pelon 
in Madrid, and incurable by a dozen scalp specialists in a dozen countries. 
He kept Joven just for vanity's sake, and because the mulatto was the only 
man he had ever met whose cock was as large as Jan's and as indefatigable as 
a ball bat. 

He had known for uncounted years that the American newspaper man had dubbed 
him The Kewpie. He had come for a syndicated article on one of the world's 
richest recluses and had stayed a week. In that week, he had seen quite a 
lot of Jan because he had weighed only three hundred and sixty pounds then 
and sometimes took the elevator down to the beach below the hacienda to lie 
in the shade of the big cabana and tell lies about making money. With his 
normal perversity, Jan had liked the Kewpie tag, because it pleased him to 
look like a freak and be one of the best brains in contemporary economics. 
Now he cuffed Consuela away from his cock. She delighted, with no smile, to 
fondle his circumcised organ until it stood at an odd angle from the fat 
roll and became easy to wash softly with much lather and the proper touch. 
Sometimes, between special excitements with special "guests," he did not 
mind. Fat as he was, his appetite was equally huge, and because he did no 
exercise nor any physical movement whatever, past using his hands, mouth and 
eyes, his ability to maintain an erection wras prodigious, and he could have 
orgasm as many as six or seven times in a row without appreciable rest. All 
he needed was inspiration, and it was not long before eight o'clock. He had 
not one apprehension about Juan Fernandez being on time with the two 
American women. Manana was easy to educate out of a Spaniard, if the teacher 
used a whip and a flaying knife and a threat toward the offender's family. 
No, Fernandez would deliver, as promised. 

He toyed with guessing who she was, a tourist, certainly, but an American 
and young, traveling apparently with a slightly older woman. She would be 
about twenty, maybe a year or two either way. A virgin, he hoped, but this 
was only a technicality. On his cock, all women reacted like virgins because 
he shattered concepts and ripped flesh far more intrinsic than the 
traditional maidenhead. He hoped the picture didn't lie, or that the firm 
breast bulge wasn't cotton pads. She had a good ass, he noted, and that 
would take some looking into. But his main pleasure would not be in just 
fucking the girl until she melted to his massive maleness. It would be in 
gauging his play to her mental attitudes. If she were shy, he'd humiliate 
her in front of his Spanish servants. If she were religious, he's assault 
her faith with every abomination it proscribed. If she hated him, he'd make 
her seeD with his insatiable cock in her cunt, strapped to his moon belly so 
his snoring could lull her to sleep. Many things. 

His mental gymnastics caused his prick to become gigantically hard, 
surprising both maids. Consuela's tits stuck out under her thin blouse like 
spikes and Hortensia wriggled shamelessly and tried to capture the glowing 
red fist in her full red lips. Jan took the wash cloth from her and jammed 
it into her mouth, poking the wet terrycloth with a stiff middle finger 
until it was entirely folded into her face. Then he waved them both away and 
sat, drying in the Mediterranean warmth that wafted through the Moorish 
arches. Hurry, Fernandez. 

It had been dark when they were hauled aboard the stinking little boat, but 
at daylight, after endless periods of heaving and tossing on the rough and 
fish-smelling planks of the hold, a leering seaman had dropped through the 
hatch and opened a lidded tin of steaming porridge. There had been two 
spoons. Their gags had been removed and the seaman had fed them, holding 
their aching jaws and stuffing the thick grain-mush into their mouths. Talk 
had been forbidden by a cuff of the seaman's callused hand. There had been 
water, a bit acrid but marvelous, then the seaman had gone above deck 
without returning the gags. Because, Trina thought, they were far enough at 
sea to make screaming a worthless pastime. She waited until the hatch was 
closed. 

"Well, that's something, anyway," she said. "I think we are on our way to 
the North Coast of Africa. Probably Algiers. How do you feel, Gail?" 

"Oh, Trina! I'm frightened half out of my mind! Kidnapped! I can't believe 
it. One of Europe's most famous resort towns. And we were snatched right off 
of the main street! My God, who would believe it?" 

Trina rested on one buttock, her body a mass of pain. "If you had my bottom, 
you'd believe it! Oh, that beast! And right in front of you, too! Oh, my 
dear, can you ever, ever forget what you saw? I mean, I feel so-so debased, 
so devastated. That animal! I wanted to scream and curse him and scream some 
more, but I knew he'd kill me, or at least, return that horrible gag! Are 
you sure he didn't molest you-take liberties, I mean?" 

"He just f-felt me some. Did it hurt a lot, Trina?" 

Trina shrugged as if such a question were insane. 

She didn't know if it hurt a lot. Why tell the starry-eyed Gail that after a 
minute or two, the pain had turned to something else? She would find out 
soon enough because Trina was sure that they were now living actresses in 
one of the several melodramatic novels she had read in addition to the 
curriculum required to teach fifth and sixth grade. The biggest insult had 
been the Spaniard's apparent uncaring for her rectum, and his selfishness in 
not letting her see the huge penis he had rammed up her bottom. Trina had 
never seen a real live penis. She had once taken some photographs from a 
sixth grader, but the boy had gotten smacked for not telling her where he 
got them-and thusly, where she might get some more. There had been some 
pretty girls and some beautiful men, with penis structures she had gazed at 
for secretive hours in the privacy of her own room. They came, obviously, in 
different lengths, with prepuces and without, with big testicles and small, 
and the pretty girls had seemed gleeful no matter where the men had put the 
intriguing instruments. Hardly glee, but Trina had not really minded the 
intrusion after her bottom loosened up a little. He had smelled like a dirty 
man, but even that hadn't been too bad after a while. Now, her rectum burned 
and she wanted to go to the toilet, but somewhere up in her belly there was 
a strange emptiness that needed filling and her tits-breasts to Gail-were 
throbbing themselves right out of her brassiere. 

"Whatever happens to us, Gail," she said, "we must always stick together. 
Until we find out more about all this, we have to assume the future seems 
pretty bleak. I suppose the hotel will report us missing and the American 
Consulate will institute a search for us. But somehow, I haven't much faith 
in rescue-the whole thing seems too well organized. If either of us was 
rich, it might be a kidnapping for ransom. But we are only working 
schoolteachers on a vacation. And one more thing." 

"What, Trina?" 

Trina's eyes narrowed. "That Spaniard. If this were-something that might be 
over in a few days, he wouldn't have risked raping me, would he? There 
seemed to be something-final about his treatment of us both. As if he knew 
no repercussions were possible." 

"Oh my!" 

"Oh my bottom," Trina murmured. Her mind was busy testing a dozen theories. 
Her life had never been very exciting, and though she could hardly draw a 
parallel between romance and the Spanish rapist, she was strangely alive, 
almost eager for the next phase of this truly horrible adventure. She looked 
at Gail; innocence personified with very little reserve strength, if their 
past year of experience together was any indicator. Still only a substitute 
teacher, lacking a few credentials to be fully launched on her career, Gail 
was fumbling. The fact that she was born with a cool poise, exteriorly at 
least, gave her the appearance of a well-organized person. But the fright 
and confusion showed now in her big blue eyes. Trina decided that she was 
destined to be the strong one in whatever tribulations lay ahead. At least, 
until Gail gained some worldly understanding-like having a brute seaman 
sodomize her while she lay tied, hand and foot. Trina shuddered. The stink 
of fish in the bowl-shaped hold was almost more than she could stand. 

Then the motion of ihe small boat changed and she could hear men talking in 
hard Spanish above their heads. She cursed herself as a dumbbell for having 
taken French in college instead of Spanish. The heavy throb of the engine 
somewhere behind their prison slowed. 

"We've arrived somewhere," she said to Gail. "I think we are stopping." 

"I wonder where?" 

Before Trina could guess, the deck above was smacked by many bare feet. Then 
the rattle of chain came and a moment later, the engine coughed to an 
ominous silence. Above them, the hatch was suddenly raised and the leering 
seaman who had violated her bottom dropped down into the hold. He spoke 
rapidly in Spanish, and his hands on Trina were roughly intimate as he moved 
her to the iron ladder fastened into the bulkhead. Then he just folded her 
over his shoulder and with no seeming effort, hauled her to the deck. She 
was passed to other hands, grinning, dirty seamen promptly dropped her into 
a small boat where another lecherous Spaniard arranged her on a splintered, 
fish-smelling thwart. A minute later, Gail was equally discharged from the 
fishing boat and as they lay close, handicapped by their bonds, both of them 
looked toward the shore. 

It seemed impossible to Trina. The beach was shallow, a strip of white sand 
between the easy Mediterranean surf and a cliff, standing high to support 
what seemed to be nearly a castle. There was a neat dock at which an elegant 
yacht was moored. Back of the dock, the several cabanas looked almost 
resort-like, and she thought the precise column of windowless square housed 
an elevator. At the top, a red-roofed building would be the landing. But the 
house was the amazing thing. It was broad and starkly white with a 
many-faceted roof of Spanish tile. She could see balconies and intriguing 
stairways and shadowed overhangs. The center of the house seemed to be the 
row of Moorish arches that shadowed a deep-set veranda. 

Then from the fishing boat came a tall handsome Spaniard who wore a dirty 
captain's cap. He seemed disinterested in either Trina or Gail. He dropped 
to the stern of the small boat, then whipped a dirty tarpaulin from under a 
seat. With no preamble, he spread it over the two women so they were covered 
completely. The stink of the cloth and the heat of the early morning sun 
made the dark instantly insufferable. A moment later, the outboard engine 
coughed to life and Trina knew they were heading for the shore. 

"Oh, Trina, whatever is going to happen to us?" 

"Courage, Gail." 

And from back of them, the strong voice of the handsome one said, "Shut up!" 

The English command frightened Trina more than anything else that had 
happened so far. 

Jan flipped the switch of the closed circuit television, then he chuckled. 
She was obviously surprised at the luxury of her apartment and she was 
baffled by the stolid-faced Spanish maid who cut her bonds and rubbed her 
wrists and legs with experienced efficiency. She was pretty good, Jan 
thought. He sat quietly, contemplating a later hour. He watched old Galena 
indicate a bath in the adjoining chamber, then food. It took the girl 
several minutes to make up her mind, then she inspected the nearly Roman 
bathroom and disappeared. Jan flipped the controls to the other guest. 

He immediately thought Fernandez to be an idioto. If a pretty face were 
obviated, she was one hell of a lot of woman. She was not as shy nor as 
frightened as the pretty one, either. She had already removed her suit 
jacket and blouse, showing big firm tits in a brassiere that left little to 
his imagination. Now she went to her adjoining bath, looked in, said 
something with a half smile to Maria, the assigned maid, and promptly 
unsnapped her skirt and dropped it. She had a marvelous set of bumpers, Jan 
noted, and they wobbled nicely as she entered the bathroom. He flipped back 
to the choice female. 

Galena was gathering her discarded clothes. Then the maid brought one of the 
elegant and filmy robes from the wardrobe and took it into the bath. So far, 
so good. A first class breakfast would further relax her. 

He flipped the television to a long range shot of his wharf. He could see 
Fernandez putt-putting back to the old FELICIDAD. Back to prowl the streets 
of Palma, or maybe run around the island to Cape Pera where there were two 
or three elaborate tourist hotels. 

Then a soft buzzing caused Jan to pick up the hand-mike and depress one of 
the telephone circuit buttons. Burke in London. The European gold market was 
jittery; France was going to make all the speculators rich but Jan knew that 
in the end, de Gaulle was going to fall flat on his big nose. Nonetheless, 
business was business and he wiped his mind clear of the delectable fun to 
be had a bit later. 

Behind him, Tesia, his always nude, always attending personal maid, made a 
lewd gesture at the television set and she squatted on her velvet pallet, 
sulking. Her only real misery occurred when her gordo grande entertained one 
of the sleek white putas from the fancy places in Mallorca or Barcelona. 

The bath and the breakfast, the latter remarkably mild by all Latin 
standards, soothed Gail and returned her ability to think. She was shocked 
by the small apartment, a bedroom, bath and dressing room, and a sitting 
room furnished in pure Spanish antiques. She was annoyed by the glum maid 
who didn't seem to hear too well and spoke not a word of English. But she 
was intrigued by the certainty that she was not in North Africa because of 
the outside terrain, and that she was not cloistered in some cheap hut or 
cave in a waterfront area. Strong in her memory was the unreasonable 
treatment she and Trina had undergone, up to the moment when they had been 
hauled ashore and deposited in the grandeur of the big house on the cliff. 
From there, her mind could only speculate. 

The filmy robe was a Paris creation. The dressing room was equipped with 
many more, plus cosmetics and finery she had never seen before. Money seemed 
everywhere. From hell to heaven, had she only the sophistication to 
appreciate it. But despite her naivete, she had a deep instinctive feeling 
that something terrible was in the offing. She was a nobody, a nothing 
financially and socially. She had a good brain, but somehow, she didn't 
think this to be a presently valuable commodity. Then the single asset she 
owned was a good body and a pretty face. She knew her body was good, because 
a number of eager college men, a school associate or two and the 
contemporary standards of feminine excellence had told her so. Now she 
looked down at her bathed and powdered nakedness under the thin gossamer and 
shuddered. Her breasts were too full, too brightly tipped. Her waist was 
slim, and the curved flare of her hips was almost indecent. She pressed her 
tapered thighs together as if to protect the never-touched vee between her 
legs. A flash of heat went through her; until she had seen the seaman send 
his huge penis into the secrecies of Trina's bottom, she had never been 
conscious of her own smoothly rounded buttocks. She squeezed herself, 
contracting inner muscles as if the gigantic club with the red head and the 
dusky prepuce were threatening her. 

And if it did, what would she do? Fight to the death. Then she remembered 
how helpless she and Trina had been in the hands of the leering sailors. 

They had picked them up, tied them, rolled them, carried them and made free 
with dirty hands and hot burning eyes. In desperation, Gail looked around 
for some weapon, or even some deadly device with which she could take her 
own life. Then the residual excitement of watching Trina be raped made her 
mind come unglued. Not death. Righteous struggle and dignified defeat, but 
not surrender. If her fate was to be immorally obscene, then she would 
suffer the ugliness as an intelligent, well-controlled female, a lady to the 
end. 

Once more, she surveyed her elegant quarters, searching for some clue to the 
mind that had brought her to this bizarre place. A pair of closely grilled 
windows let her look out to the sea. She opened her mouth to scream for 
help, then realized that with all the other precautions, the locked door, 
the stolid maid, her ability to cry out to the Mediterranean was surely 
meaningless. She went to the dressing room wardrobe and found a robe 
slightly less transparent. For a moment in the changing, she looked at 
herself, naked and alabaster white in the huge, gilt-framed mirror. Gail 
tried to think of herself as a lecherous man might. A tingle went up her 
spine. She lifted her solid breasts in trembling hands. They were 
voluptuous, pink-tipped and alive. She turned, staring over her shoulder at 
the pert up-push of her bottom. She raised one leg, suddenly surprised at 
the obscene beauty she created by exposing more of her underbody. Then she 
faced the mirror and despite her inner fright, she checked her splendid body 
for faults. Only one. Her mouse-blonde hair was lusterless and indefinite. 
She gath ered it to the top of her head in loose waves. The effect was 
wanton. She dragged it back in a tight helmet. Sterile. To do justice to her 
figure, it needed to be lightened and rinsed with gold and done in some 
exotic manner beyond her knowledge. Gail blushed. 

She was thinking like a whore. The word was hard in her mind, and she wasn't 
very sure of what a whore really did. 

She put on the denser robe and went back to her sitting room. There were a 
few books, some magazines in Spanish and French and not a one in English. 
Which indicated to her that her mysterious host, or hostess was not English 
or American. She had been whisked from the world and nested in an elegant 
spider web, with the Lord knew whom to dictate her destiny. This made her 
cry. 

Jan's huge fingers drummed the top of his console as he surveyed the notes 
he had scribbled while listening to his short-wave to Palma. Her name was 
Gail Brown, and she was a schoolteacher of twenty-one, so her passport 
stated. Her friend was also a schoolteacher, Trina Salisman, thirty-six. 
Neither seemed married. His informant had ascertained that his guests had 
been traveling on an open tour without prearranged schedules. They had been 
through Ireland, England, France and had come to Palma from Rome. Flitting 
females, with no set itinerary and no inquisitive fellow travelers. Very 
good. 

He flicked on the television. She was napping probably tired after her night 
of ordeal and relaxed after her extensive comida. He sat back a fluid shape 
in a tent-like shirt and ample trousers of soft white cotton. It didn't 
matter what she thought of him, but he wanted her rested and well 
recuperated. How to begin? He opened an intercom circuit, waited a few 
seconds for Raphael to respond, then gave crisp orders in English. 

He enjoyed seeing Raphael fuck a woman into subjugation almost as much as he 
delighted in the result with his own thin-skinned cock. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

If God had seen fit to give him a straight back, Raphael Grieux would have 
been a tall man. As it was, he was barely five feet tall and the massive 
hump on his back twisted and thickened his chest to nearly barrel-like 
proportions. His long legs were thin as were his dangling arms. He looked 
not unlike a half-man, half-spider for his Basque face was dark and meaty, 
with tiny malignant eyes under bushy black brows. His broad thick mouth hung 
perpetually half open, showing long yellow teeth and overly red tongue, 
always fluid with saliva. Now he swung down the corridor to the door, and 
the cat-eyed guard sitting with a pistol in his waist and the significant 
key tucked into his shirt. 

Seeing the hunchback, the man automatically rose and fitted the key into the 
heavy door. They exchanged nods, the key turned and Raphael stepped into the 
apartment sitting room. He glanced up once to a significant picture and 
nodded. The Kewpie would know he was obeying orders because there was the 
evil eye of the television lens hidden in the ornate frame of the picture. 
He looked around, his nose flaring as he smelled for her. His long, 
big-knuckled fingers curled and relaxed. One hand went to his inner left 
thigh where his mule cock lay in long, thick awaiting. His private dream was 
to someday kill a white European or an American girl by thrusting his cock 
through the strained tissues of her cunt and coming in her bloody guts. Now' 
he moved to the door of the bedroom and opened it soundlessly. His blood 
raced. 

She lay half under the silken sheet, her arms akimbo, her legs showing as 
tapered delights in slight parting. Her face in repose was disgustingly 
pretty to Raphael, finely featured and perfectly tinted. But his eyes heated 
mostly on the way her slender throat led to the white plane of her chest , 
upon which lay the most symmetrical tits he had seen in a long time. The 
robe she wore was loosely open, showing him the alabaster swells, rising and 
falling with her even breath. He moved into the room on his cat-like feet, 
the big toes gripping the thick carpet at every step, until he stood over 
her. Now he could see the pink nipples of her melon tits, darker pink under 
the fine silk of her robe. He let his eyes go down her length and they 
paused at her crotch, as if he could see through the sheet. His cock, 
already alive, began to push hard at his duck trousers. Saliva drooled from 
his deformed mouth. He wondered how best to start. 

Strip first. His fingers moved soundlessly as he untied the bleached rope 
and let the cloth drop. His prick leaped up, but it was so heavy it refused 
to lay above the horizontal. It was a lovely cock, he knew, not like most. 
It had outgrown its foreskin before he was eighteen. The shank was dark 
purple and there was hardly any head. It was a true mule cock in that its 
eye was large enough for a six-year-old girl to enter with a curious finger, 
and the end was blunt, ridged all around as if it had been cut off with a 
sharp knife at some previous time. Like his belly, his balls were nearly 
hairless, a black-brown sac almost sleek in its heavy hanging. Hi gripped 
his penis close to his belly and shook it pleasantly. Then he peeled off his 
shirt, shrugging stiffly because his humped back was not flexible. Standing 
so, he was a monster, with stringy muscles on his too-long arms and flat 
ribbons of steel-like flesh wrapping his grotesque torso. More than once he 
had gotten it into one before her first terror had subsided enough to allow 
her to struggle. 

This one had not seen him yet but he hated her for the screams of horror she 
would emit when he awakened her. She would call him vile names, not knowing 
he understood her language very well. She would try to scratch him, not 
aware that his skin was like oiled leather, and she might try her puny 
strength with his. Suddenly, he wanted a bit more from this delicate beauty. 
He looked around the room and went into the dressing room. There, he removed 
several sashes from the hanging robes. Crouched over her again, he debated 
with prudence. His cock was throbbing with eagerness, his breath was hot in 
his big aquiline nose. She seemed to be sleeping very deeply. 

Carefully, he lay the sheet back and back until she lay exposed. The robe 
had spread widely and he stared at her crotch, the perfection. Round thighs, 
wide hips and in the snug, the neat, untrammeled slot amid the blondish 
curls. He bent down, inhaling the cleanness tinged with female odor, 
sniffing like a dog. His cock jerked and to tease himself with anticipation, 
he moved to let his member hang over the delight, barely an inch or two 
above touching the haired mound of pubic plump. Right then, he could have 
come on her, but he held back, postponing this ecstasy until she was aware 
of him. She stirred, drawing up one slim leg and her cunt opened a tiny bit, 
giving him a sweet glimpse of the darling pink of her inner lips. As if 
instructing him, her right arm moved out, the wrist hardly a few centimeters 
from the carved Spanish bedstead. He formed a slip knot in one of the sashes 
and with infinite patience, worked over her small hand. Then he tied the 
other end to the bedstead. When she awakened and jerked to protect herself, 
the slip knot would grab her wrist, leaving her turn-and-twist slack but 
securing her to the heavy wooden frame. He went around and by cautious 
pressure, moved her other hand up so his clever tying could be duplicated 
there. Then Raphael stood back, admiring the trap he had set. Her feet did 
not matter. Let her kick, let her squirm. Once he was between those 
delectable thighs, his spidery legs could control hers while his thundering 
cock taught her a few things. 

The anticipation was marvelously sweet to Raphael. He knew that The Kewpie 
was a man of finesse; he would be sitting in his big chair, eyes burning on 
the closed circuit television, savoring each surreptitious move, licking his 
fat mouth as he stared at the delight now under his own eyes. Raphael knew 
that if he did well and made a proper carnival of this raping, he would 
surely be given an va fifty pesetas and a jug of wine. Maybe this was the 
one he would kill. 

She was slim, not tall and very delicate. He looked down at his tube-like 
prick. The putas in Bilbao had laughingly measured it at twenty-three 
centimetros many years ago before the last ten years had exercised and 
thickened it to its present gigantic beauty. Gauging now, he decided that if 
he could ram it all into this small slit, it must surely reach her navel, 
and perhaps beyond. The thought fired him to action and he moved to the foot 
of the bed, his cock aimed at the seductive crotch, his blood churning with 
impatience. But he moved slowly, without shaking the bed much and presently, 
he was between the relaxed thighs on his bony knees. Still he waited, 
letting his lust swell as his hand teased the pulsating column and his eyes 
burned into the glistening slit. The hole would be low in the small cunt, 
tight, slightly moist but not as wet as it would be after he had made the 
first thrust. Because of his short thick body, Raphael could brace his 
shoulders by placing his palms outside her spread thighs. He let his legs 
coast back as his hips lowered and his cock hovered jut outside the 
unsuspecting lips. The alignment would be right enough for entry. If it 
didn't hurt her a little bit she could not appreciate the good once he began 
to fuck her into submission. Then he grunted and shot his penis straight 
into the defenseless vagina. 

She screamed, jerked as if to fold in protection. The sashes snapped tight 
around her wrist. Her belly bucked and she screamed again. Raphael twisted 
and hunched, feeling his cock tearing aad spreading. He dropped his ugly 
head and bit her left tit, savoring the new scream and the quick taste of 
blood in his slavering mouth. But he was in. He felt her try to evade his 
impalement but her hips seemed paralyzed. Her legs kicked some, then flew 
out and out and up, as to relieve the terrible pain of his entry. He closed 
his hands under her back, hooked his fingers into her flesh and began to 
fuck. 

"Oh, no, no, my God, no! You're killing me. Oh my stomach is punctured! Oh, 
Trina, Trina, they're killing me!" 

Laughter bubbled through Raphael's blood-flecked lips and he bit her other 
tit, now a hard globe of fright-tense flesh. She screamed again, and to his 
absolute disgust, went limp with faint. He hadn't planned on that. He had 
thought gleefully of many minutes, perhaps an hour or two of violent 
fucking, of beating the frantic body down and down until it began to rise to 
his incomparable lust. He cursed her; the gringa had foiled him with her 
female weakness. A good strong Basque wench would have fought him for hours, 
then loved him fiercely. 

He dragged his cock out, surprised at the streaks of blood on the tense 
shaft, more surprised as the frayed edges of a tom maidenhead followed his 
foreskin in outward pursing. He felt the tightness around his prick, like a 
child's cunt, perhaps. But it had not occurred to him that a woman so 
patently pretty by European standards could be a prima, a virgen. He swore 
at himself. Had he suspected such a thing he would have opened her with his 
tongue and brought her to love him with his lips and sucking. He spidered 
back, dropping his shaggy head into the inert crotch. His tongue shot out, 
tasted the bloody fringes of torn flesh, then began to search the ruptured 
aperture with more than curiosity. His lips nibbled at the delectable cunt, 
and he licked it clean of blood and the beginning juices his one massive 
lunge had literally squeezed from the shocked glands. His cock hung down in 
rigid weight, almost touching the bed despite the high hump of his bare 
hips. He would soothe her and pet her and awaken her to his masterful 
sucking. Then he would fuck her. 

His mind melted as his licking and nibbling took physical shape in his 
defective brain. He smeared his face into the violated sweetness and the 
sound of his ardor became noisily wet. Then he let one hand curl farther 
under her fine, round-cheeked ass. His middle finger sought and found her 
asshole, like a lamb's cunt, puckerv, soft, almost flat in the deep crevasse 
between the firm cheeks. He pressed it and depressed it, feeling the slack 
tissues slowly responding to his dirty fingertip. He sucked hard, licking 
deeply, and as his lust built, he stubbed his finger past the tight ring and 
felt of the moistness inside. At that moment, he lost control and too late, 
he raised to scoot forward and come in her saliva soaked cunt. His cock 
skidded up her belly and the huge gush of yellow sperm went shooting up to 
splash thickly against the undercurve of her jiggling tits. Again and again, 
the stub end of his deformed prick swelled and spat his boar-like come to 
her white flesh while his balls knocked heavily to her abandoned cunt. He 
groaned and gasped, exquisitely trapped by his bursting passion. As a last 
desire, he crawled up her body and let the last slimy glob ooze out over her 
slack mouth. It ran down her cheek, to her neck, then hung heavily, staining 
her white skin with mottled yellow-white. 

After that, he laughed low and throatily at his degradation of the Gringa. 
She would awaken soon because faints did not endure. Then he would be 
patient, slower, but no less stunning to her raped body and terrified mind. 
Now not a virgin, her woman mind would fail a second faint and her enlivened 
body would demand a fulfillment. He was sure of that, for hadn't he hunted 
and destroyed maidenheads the height and length of the Pyrenees Mountains? 
Even now, he saw, she was stirring. He reared up on his knees, letting his 
barely relaxed prick hang out so she could see its beauty when she opened 
her eyes. 

For a moment, Gail let herself peer through barely slotted eyes at the 
hideous creature who had awakened her with ripping flesh and grunting 
passion. She saw he was barely human, and when she looked at the gigantic 
tube of pulsing flesh thrusting at her from his muscular belly, she almost 
fainted again. But not quite. Her stomach pained and her breasts were 
streaked with agony, but that huge instrument was somehow the most 
fascinating form of flesh she had ever seen. She saw the sleek sac, 
dark-skinned and gleaming, hanging under his slightly spraddled thighs. Not 
like the ugly Spaniard who had sodomized Trina, but significantly the same 
in an animal way. Then she felt the burning of her rectum. Did men always 
want to sodomize a woman? She concentrated. It did not feel deeply and 
largely entered, but she was hardly able to compare the difference between 
mild intrusion and a total ramming. Her vagina was numb even though it felt 
disarranged. She knew she had been criminally assaulted, deeply, painfully. 
She couldn't remember much of it however. 

She couldn't bring her legs together because of the kneeling ogre. Her 
wrists were tied securely to the bedstead. Turning and twisting seemed 
futile; he was staring into her crotch and had been doing so for 
interminable minutes. Then a huge drop of sticky fluid oozed from the end of 
his member, hesitated until he flexed some inner muscle and finally dropped 
to her crotch. She raised her head in terror, watched the small glob settle 
into the already wetted hair around her vagina and gave a wail of agony as 
she remembered the sterilely worded threats in her biology texts. The 
thought of a child spawned by this human bug made her flesh chill to the 
bone. The next drop was from his lips as he leaned forward and put his hands 
to her. 

Two huge thumbs opened her vagina, pressed the lips back until she could 
feel the cool air on the burning tissues. He rubbed a certain place that 
made her whole body tremble with strange feelings. 

From girlish memory and the texts, she knew he had caressed her clitoris, 
already unreasonably alive with tingling. She quivered under the heat of his 
fingers, and when he thrust two long digits into her stinging vagina, she 
shrieked and twisted, managing to screw herself on the thrusting fingers 
despite herself. She gasped, staring at the huge penis, obviously next into 
her. Abruptly, she revolted. Her legs came up, her knees bent and she aimed 
her feet at his barrel chest. They never reached him. His hands shot up and 
with great ease, he held her ankles together, closed one hand around their 
slimness and held her bottom raised while his freed hand went to the taut 
shapes. She nearly jerked her arms out of the sockets in her frenzy. Nothing 
worked, hump, twist, buck backward, nothing. The ugly man was leering now, 
his deep-set eyes sharpening at the corners in a mirthless smile. Holding 
her legs up straight, he again inserted his first and middle finger in her 
vagina then with no warning, plunged his out and down hooked thumb into her 
anus. Again Gail screamed, but it ended in a whimper, for mercy, or death 
or-or for something more than this crude, rude fingering. Again she cried 
out, now aware of the hideous thoughts that were flashing in her terrified 
mind. She felt his fingers, the knuckles, the wriggling end joints. She felt 
his thumb, digging deeper, stretching the penetrated aperture, alerting the 
inner nerves to his rough skin. It shocked her to like the torture, it 
stunned her to know that her inviolate body could respond with quivering and 
tense waiting. She hated her breasts, throbbing in rhythm to her run away 
heartbeat. She fought valiantly not to relax and let his scouring, digging 
fingers work their inhuman will. Then Gail sagged and from her bone-dry lips 
came words she had never thought to utter. 

"Oh, yes, yes, yes! F-fuck me, you-you crippled beast!" Instantly, she bit 
her lip, ashamed of her lust, happy that this awful man could not understand 
her blurted plea. Then to her horror a look of victory came over his 
thick-pored face. So far, he had not spoken a word, in any language, but she 
shriveled within as his eyes narrowed in understanding. Then he dropped her 
ankles and back-handed her legs apart. Atrophied by new fear, she lay, 
panting, hating but devoid of strength to resist or to correct her obvious 
verbal error. And in those seconds, a fire began in her belly that caused 
her to tremble visible. Her breasts shook like disturbed jelly. Her anus 
quaked, fought the press of her buttocks. All the pain in her vagina became 
a lonely, hungry ache, and she strained at her wrists, not in frustrated 
escape but in sudden, uncontrollable desire to take that sleek penis in her 
hands and love it to her lips. Gail moaned, turned her head to blank out the 
vision. Then she felt him move. Unable to look, she held her breath as the 
movement became significant. The hot kiss of his penis was like an electric 
shock. It seemed to nudge and spread, and her nerves sang as she waited, 
praying for deliverance and hoping it would not hurt too much. 

She smelled him, hovering over her. She felt his hand on her breasts and she 
almost cried with the relief his fingers brought to the throbbing globes. 
Then the other hand, fingering her open, placing the hot kiss. It began to 
enter; she felt the shape of it as it displaced her ruptured inner lips, 
sensed its firming and pushing as the emptiness gave way to a white-hot 
filling. A hesitation, then a bit more. She squirmed, impatient for the 
agony, terrified of her own thoughts. And now it was going deeper, rising in 
her torso, finding resistance, spreading the barrier, stretching her vulva 
in brutal delight. 

She was being fucked, she told herself, and that suddenly, she had to fuck 
back, to end the pain of lethargy, to satiate the screaming nerves, so 
freshly enlivened in her virginal body. And although her first roll and 
up-thrust was small, it seemed to make the hunchback aware, and he began to 
drag back, deliciously before he rammed and turned her into a bowl of 
trembling, ecstatic mush. Her legs snapped up and linked over his deformed 
back. Insistently, she pressed and to her illogical joy, he began to stroke 
in her exactly as the Spaniard had pistoned his penis in Trina's rectum. 
Then Gail forgot Trina, the Spaniard, yesterday and forever as she joined 
the sweating beast in his grunting, panting lust. 

A dull pain grew high in her vulva; he was too long, she was sure. Her 
vagina mouth seemed stretched around the plunging shaft within a hair of 
splitting. His body on hers was rough, hard, unfeeling. But now her mind had 
melted and was flowing down, down, around the exquisite goodness in her 
distended sex sleeve. She was going to have orgasm, but better than she had 
ever induced with her timid finger as a teen-ager. If she had orgasm, would 
he? If so, then that sleek dark sack of devastating testicles would follow 
the leaked drop of a few minutes past with massive spurting that would 
impregnate her gaping womb and make her a mother, a bloated beast as foul as 
the animal about to seal her destiny. Mentally, she thought about the 
susceptible pear-shape of her uterus. Close tightly. Refuse the sperm, turn 
it back to lie in malodorous death within the ripped and painful tissues she 
was now trying to wrap around his penis in eager demand. It felt so good, so 
filling, so compelling she started to cry and when her tears made him ram 
with speedier force, she let go, thinking she would faint but succeeding 
only in dropping into an explosion that drugged her with passion, again and 
again as the huge thumping in her belly inhaled the plunging flesh; and then 
the spew. 

She thrashed and rolled, humping up to each jerk of his organ. Her legs flew 
wildly out, up, down, her feet flailing with no control. She wanted to 
urinate, to defecate, to turn inside out with the ecstasy. In the end, she 
lay quietly, letting his spurt bathe the flaming tissues of her bludgeoned 
vulva. 

"Oh, oh, you evil, dirty beast!" she panted. "I'm dying!" 

"Good fuck, huh, baby?" he said in accented English. 

Shocked, Gail's eyes widened to bursting. Then she drew her legs up, placed 
her feet on each of his bony hips and kicked straight back. So furious was 
her hate that he flew down, his organ popping out to string yellow threads 
of slime. His hands scraped over her body but he was too surprised to 
clutch. Gail crossed her legs and locked her ankles. The ogre huddled on the 
floor, eyes baleful and promising. 

"You bitch," he snarled. "Fuck me like a whore, then kick me to the floor. 
Well, I'll teach you not to spurn Raphael!" He leaped to his feet and came 
kneeing up the bed, striking her legs down, straddling her waist, then 
lifting her breasts as his lean thighs crowded them. He held her face with 
his left hand and his penis with his right and for a hardening moment, it 
poised a bare inch from her pinched open mouth. Then he thrust the sticky, 
musky-smelling flesh into her mouth. 

"Suck my prick, bitch! Lick it, kiss it, mouth it and if you so much as 
touch it with a tooth, I'll smash them down your throat! Suck my cock, you 
gringa puta!" he almost screamed. 

And there was little else Gail could do. She didn't know how, but the moment 
he released her jaw, her lips closed around the hot, hard end. The instant 
taste was nerve-shattering, and she almost vomited. But he was pushing and 
the blunt snake was crawling over her tongue and filling her mouth to the 
throat. She pressed, sucked involuntarily, then as her saliva flowed in 
furious amounts, he began to hunch, his small hard bottom grinding, his 
testicles bunching between her breasts. There was no pain, only surprise. 

Her tongue curled around the thick shape plunging through her lips. She 
tested its firmness, learned of its small fleshly forms. He was holding her 
head up now with one hand entwined in her hair. The end kept bumping her 
palate, always receding just before she gagged. She found that by using her 
tongue and the slight movement he permitted her head that she could ease his 
thrusting and subscribe to the tempo of his lust. Her drawn-in eyes focused 
on the ponderous shaft, watched the veins pump as his passion raised, sensed 
the power of the rock-stiff organ. She began to do things with her tongue 
and pursed-open lips that were not unpleasant. She found the taste again, 
less acrid, with the tip of her tongue to the flaring eye. And to her 
disgust, she wanted to do it harder, to swell the sleek member to greater 
filling, to excite it past the ogre's control. And when she admitted to 
herself that she wanted to destroy him with ecstasy, her next desire was to 
feel the spew and fluid fire, yellow, thick, endless in her mouth. Humming 
self-revulsion and hate around his penis, she closed her eyes and ignored 
the aching cords in her raised and working neck. The feeling came late to 
her belly, but it came and she was shocked, then hopeful, that somehow, 
contrary to the biology books, a woman could have orgasm without 
penetration. The hope built, the fire increased. 

Then he roared, softly, intently and she could feel his underbody crawl on 
her chest and his balls rolled between her up-rammed breast. To herself, she 
said all the words; balls, cock, cunt, fuck, cock-sucker, come and please, 
please. 

It rippled through his penis and shot slickly into her mouth. Her lips 
closed tightly around the pulsating shaft, holding his organ as it spurted 
and spurted until in desperation she swallowed. Not a clean swallow; she 
could feel the tenacious fluid clinging to her mucous tissues. She coughed, 
but only a hollow gasp around the now dribbling tube. Another swallow, two 
more in frantic effort to clear her throat. 

He was laughing at her now. His penis seemed suddenly weak, softening in her 
lips. It fell away; she needed her hands to return it. Brutally, he held it 
and slapped her with it. She closed her eyes, excited by the indignity, and 
then she had her climax, a soft, private thudding in her vulva. It went on 
and on until in moral revolt, she spread her thighs and let the pressure 
escape. He had been right, she was a bitch, a whore, an evil receptacle for 
an animal's lust. She wanted to cry but he was moving and his hands were 
intimate if trembling. 

Jan lay, a nerveless pulp. His eyes seemed glued to the television, as 
firmly as Tesia's Spanish lips were formed around his sleek cock in avid 
sucking while she too watched the drama. 

Jan was far from being as pulpy minded as he seemed physically. 

At first, he had been encouraged by the way in which Gail Brown had 
struggled under Raphael. Then he had been confused and angry when she had 
obviously succumbed to his mule-prick. After that, she had revived his 
interest by kicking the surprised Basque to the floor, Hardly a minute and a 
half later, she had sucked his prick with positive delight, even to 
swallowing the hunchback's come. Now he was developing a new hope; Raphael 
had turned her over, having loosened one hand so he could spin her 
magnificent tits and panting belly to the bed. She was kicking and humping 
under Raphael who held her with one hand in the small of her back while the 
other screwed with bunched fingers between her chorus-girl nates. The angle 
was unfortunate for the camera, but Jan knew when one, or maybe two of his 
hunchback's fingers went into the girl's rectum. She arched painfully and 
began to thrash as best she could. She obviously didn't like it in the ass, 
but then, she hadn't seemed to like it in the cunt or the mouth until 
Raphael really got going. 

Jan didn't like easy women. Tesia he didn't consider a woman. She sucked his 
insatiable cock or rode it in whichever hole he chose with squealing glee 
and a pout when it was done. She was not a woman. She was an accommodation, 
a fixture in which to spend his sperm when he was between thinkings. But the 
blonde was something else. The whole point of kidnapping was to frighten, 
alarm, produce hysteria. This one had shown all these delightful fears, but 
they seemed to melt too quickly. Schoolteacher or not, she was an 
introverted nympho, he decided. Like now. 

If Raphael thought she was fighting his two fingers up her ass he was as 
stupid as he was ugly. Jan could see some small pattern to the way her ass 
reared, hesitated, then dropped quickly as if to delight in the partial 
expulsion of the hunchback's long, hard-knuckled fingers. Proof of Jan's 
analysis came when Raphael snapped his finger out of her asshole. Gail lay 
quietly, only her toes wriggling, while the gnome poised between her thighs 
and finished stiffening his cock. And when he put his hands under her belly 
and lifted, her shuffle to arrange her knees and thrust her beautiful ass 
back to him was very obvious. The innocent ex-virgin wanted it in the 
keister, badly. 

Suddenly, Jan flicked a switch and Raphael jerked upright, his eyes turned 
up to the hidden buzzer. The girl bucked, fell to one hip, her head twisted 
to also find the buzzer. The expression on the Basque's face was one of 
disappointment, but Jan cared nothing for his henchman's desires. Slowly 
now, Raphael got off the bed and began to put on his clothes. The girl was 
speaking but she was too far from the pick-up mike and was talking too low 
for Jan to hear her words. Raphael hadn't the nerve to reply, but at the 
door, he knocked for the guard to unlock the door and as he slipped through, 
he made a small, conciliatory gesture to the naked girl tied to the bed. For 
a moment Jan watched her pet her raped crotch. Then she busied herself 
freeing her still tied hand. As he guessed, she went quickly to the 
bathroom. He blacked out the closed circuit and concentrated on coming in 
Tesia's slobbering mouth. 

She was getting careless. His sperm trickled from her lips, ran down his 
colossal cock and was smeared by her still masturbating fingers. Her eyes 
rolled as he hunched and hurt her throat. He had orgasm only with half his 
person. The rest, unshaken by the earthquake of his balls, promised to 
consign Tesia to the rancheros, and promised to think of some way to make 
the blonde worth the three hundred dollars he had paid for her. 

Women had a way of turning sour on a man, he thought. On any man but Jan 
Arden, because he was as cruel as he was inventive, and as dedicated to 
pleasure as any hedonist in the wide, wide world. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

The buzzer had saved her from hell. For the second time that day, Gail 
settled into the big, tiled tub and lathered herself with fury, scrubbing 
again to rid her flesh of the hunchback's odor, and if possible, the filth 
of memory. It was impossible. There still lingered in her taste buds the 
incredible flavor of his sperm. Her breasts were sore, marked with welts and 
teeth marks and her trembling fingers to her vagina found raw edges and 
strained tissues. Weary of scrubbing, sick of thinking, she slid down in the 
tub until the soaped water came up around her chin, a soothing envelopment 
and one that hid her vile body from her tear filled eyes. 

She was no longer a virgin. The dreams she had always had of going to a 
handsome, tender and adoring spouse with a pure heart and a flawless body 
were forever shattered. She had neither, and a flush of self-accusation 
added to the warmth of the bath. Diligently, she tried not to recall the 
inhuman emotions that had twice come to her; first when his huge penis had 
soared ruthlessly through her surprised vulva and again when his organ had 
hung out to her face, to her lips. She hadn't been able to help the 
beginning because he had held her face and forced his flesh between her 
lips. But once started.... 

Tiny waves occurred on the water as her trembling became acute. 

At first, there had only been the fright and the worry of having been 
kidnapped by unknown criminals for an unknown reason. The beastly seaman in 
Palma had seemed to be an incidental, if a horrible one. But he had been 
dirty, ragged and poor and not the type who would engineer such a dangerous 
mission as kidnapping. The handsome sea captain was more likely, but again, 
Gail could not imagine a poverty-stricken sardine fisherman attempting such 
flagrant crime. 

And the hunchback. Obviously some sort of servant to the mysterious master 
of this huge and elaborate house. He had entered while she slept and had 
worked his filthy will upon her with cruelty and passion, almost as if told 
to do so. This impression persisted because at the sound of the buzzer, he 
had literally dropped her, put on his clothes and left. The buzzer meant 
something, control of some sort. Had he been needed elsewhere in the 
hacienda or.... 

Gail leaped up out of the tub, wrapping herself hastily in a huge fluffy 
towel. Back in the bedroom, she sat on the bed almost in the position she 
had been under the hunchback. Slowly, her eyes scanned the walls. Not until 
she came to the ornate picture frame did the tell-tale reflective eye 
identify some sort of a spy-glass or camera. Gasping with fresh anguish, 
Gail ran to the sitting room. A similar frame surrounded a different picture 
and it too boasted a round glass eye. When she climbed on a chair and tried 
to dislodge the picture, she discovered the frame was virtually part of the 
wall. Indignant, embarrassed and raging with fury, she scurried back to the 
bathroom, searching it for a peek-aboo hole. She found none and with some 
courage, dried herself and put the robe back on. Then she went to the 
cosmetics on the dressing table, found a deep red lipstick and proceeded to 
redden both lenses. The subterfuge gave her a first feeling of humor. But it 
wasn't really funny. 

Somewhere, a man or a woman or both, or many, had watched the ugly 
hunchback, who understood English, rape her and commit her to obscene acts. 
She cringed. Why the buzzer had stopped him from sodomizing her, she did not 
know. In hope, she tried to believe there were some evil acts to which the 
watcher objected. Suddenly she realized that by smearing the lenses with 
tenacious red, she had also cut herself off from an opportunity to contact 
her abductor. On the other hand, once they discovered her sabotage of their 
surveillance system, they might make a positive move. 

Her confusion was postponed when the ugly, taciturn Spanish woman brought 
tea and some fluffy looking cakes. Already having tried English on the 
crone, Gail merely looked at the steaming pot and the pastry. She preferred 
coffee but tea would do. Like her purse and small costume jewelry, her wrist 
watch had been stripped from her. The two windows showed late dusk, at that 
latitude and in mid-July, it would be about six-thirty or seven. Sullenly, 
she watched the woman inspect the room, tidying a bit. For a moment, she 
considered doing something violent to the maid, then the monumental problem 
that violence might create quelled Gail's desperation. 

She ate the cakes and drank the tea, taking instant strength from the 
sweets. After that, she seemed very tired so she lay under the slightly 
soiled sheet to protect herself from lenses she had not discovered and 
relaxed. The bed was good. The rooms were comfortable, luxurious, in fact. 
What had happened to her had happened and there was little she could do 
about it. But rest was imperative because there was a night yet to be 
experienced. She wanted to sleep but it took a while. Every time she started 
to drift off, her mind recreated the hideous hunchback with the leer and the 
enormous penis. In her half-sleep, it seemed larger than real, darker, 
harder, more insistent. He came at her, the dark sac of testicles swinging. 
She seemed frozen, unable to run or twist or evade him. She was tied to the 
bed, arms out, legs lashed to opposite corners. Time and again, she jerked 
to consciousness before the beast-penis entered her, vaginally, rectally and 
orally. Her moans were audible even to herself. She thrashed and perspired 
and finally a mental dullness added to her weariness and she slept. 

The lipstick bit encouraged Jan. At least it showed ingenuity and a woman 
with that was 

 worth something. The fact that she went for the tea proved two things. She 
wasn't intrigue-wise and she didn't know good tea when she drank bad. It 
would take the tincture of Algerian hashish about thirty minutes to work. 
Jan squrmed inside at the prospect of later. Then he rang a bell for his 
cena. Cunt was one thing but food at regular intervals was another, 
especially for a man of his ponderous belly. Anyway, he thought better on a 
full stomach, and he was about half through planning Gail Brown's total 
performance. 

If Joven had ever possessed a second name, he did not remember it. He was a 
slip, perhaps an intentional slip because his Sudanese mother had resented 
her ugly blackness and liked the lilt of the Italian sailor who had lustily 
spent his seed in her deep African vagina, then whipped her belly and tits 
and high, ethnic buttocks with his belt until he developed another erection 
which he used to tamp home his first fertile discharge. 

Joven had been everything a Mediterranean mulatto could be in nearly thirty 
years. He had been a beggar as child, a thief as a boy, a pimp as a young 
man and then a barber. His position in The Kewpie's entourage was a strange 
one. Never needing the services of a barber, The Kewpie had discovered some 
of Joven's secondary talents. He had a cock that was unique in its size and 
girth-and in its strength. Other than his ugly, down-squashed face, he was 
beautiful in an animal fashion, rippling with muscles, tall and 
well-proportioned, toned as if ducked daily in a strong sepia bath. And to 
all of his basic faults and capabilities, Joven had added one more facet he 
seldom showed to anyone, even his blubbery employer. He was sly, shrewd and 
more aware than his monosyllabic conversation would indicate. 

Now he approached the guard at the gringa's door, speaking to the dumb peon 
in bad Spanish, suggesting the man might take advantage of a friend's 
presence and sneak down to the cccina for some bread and wine, especially 
the wine. He, Joven, would mind the door. "Bueno!" the guard agreed, and in 
a moment, Joven was fingering the door key, his blood sped a bit by initial 
success, and a bit more by memory of Raphael's chattered account of his time 
with the blonde woman. 

Fearlessly, Joven unlocked the door and stepped into the sitting room, 
locking the door behind him. It was time for the kewpie's cena, which would 
be followed by a few minutes of telephoning to the parts of the world where 
the banks were not closed. Perhaps he would dictate a memo or two to his 
English secretary, Millburn, who typed well, remembered things and liked to 
be fucked in the ass by Joven. In any case, there was time for some illicit 
pleasure. Now that Raphael had broken the woman in, a little black cock 
wouldn't make much of a difference. Privately, he thought she'd adore it 
because he was very enamored of his cock and its performance. He stepped to 
the bedroom door, then stopped. She lay quietly on her back, her arms over 
her head framing her pretty white face, her body curved in delightful 
relaxation and her legs kicked apart, one up flat to the left, the other 
straight down. He licked his lips and rubbed down his groin to the base of 
his awakening prick. He could almost see through the covers; the little cunt 
would be pouting there, waiting for him. 

He walked over and stood above her. White women smelled nice. Even if they 
used the same perfume, black cunt had a different odor. He put out a big 
hand and placed his fingertips to her throat where the slow steady pulse 
appeared. To his surprise, she opened her eyes. Not wide, but enough to show 
him the bright blue behind the long lashes. Her full lips opened and partly 
closed as if she wanted to speak but couldn't. 

For a moment, he was confused, then it occurred to him that The Kewpie had 
doped her. From his thick lips came a rumbling laugh of victory. With no 
further ado, he unzipped his beach pants and flopped his cock out. The 
expression in the eyes did not change. She was stunned by whatever 
concoction The Kewpie had prescribed. He stroked his prick, bringing it to 
erection. 

Something special, he mused, but it would take him a minute to decide what. 
He used the minute to take off his trousers. He tied his shirt-tails 
together over his high, flat belly. She didn't seem to see his prick nor the 
dangling sac of plum-round balls. He moved until his thighs pressed the edge 
of the bed, positioning his flaring glans directly over her mouth. When he 
ducked his organ down to meet the slack lips, the eyes blinked. He grinned. 
His pole made 'em all come to in a hurry. 

He jerked the sheet back and spread the robe. Then he roughly rolled her 
limp body free of the garment. Her head tipped down, chin to her chest, when 
he dragged her to a sitting position. He rested her shoulder to his groin, 
letting his cock lay hard against her face. He would have liked her to be 
more responsive so he ducked his hand down and curled two big fingers into 
her cunt. It was hot and wet and tight and though he roughed into it, 
stretching and searching for the nerve, he never found it. She didn't move, 
although her tits jiggled with his handling. Disgusted, he pushed her over 
sideways and fell over her bended buttock. His cock slipped out of the 
crotch nest. He reset it and with one hand holding her knee up, then he set 
his prick into the listless aperture. He grunted at the fit, the quick hot 
sheathing, then began to fuck her deep and hard, his vanity piqued by her 
indifference, his cock pleased with the exercise. 

It was impossible to scream and easy to control herself. Gail lay, only 
half-feeling the huge black penis as it sloshed and plowed and thrust in her 
vagina. Her bottom felt disengaged from her body, the big hands were 
fondling another woman's breasts. The smell of the blue-black penis was 
still in her nostrils; she had tried to open her mouth and bite it when it 
lay against her face but something had forbidden the action even though her 
mind went through with the fury. Now, all she wanted was to cry, and perhaps 
die. She was being pummeled and impaled, rolled under the straining black 
body. Her eyes moved slightly, staring at his big hand flat on the bed to 
brace his body for the unforgivable attack between her legs. The nails were 
short, broad and oddly pink. She had never been so close to a Negro before. 
His skin was oddly cool; then she felt the hotter skin, the thickness and 
the agonizing length, coursing in and out of her vulva. Somewhere around the 
girth, her vagina mouth was beginning to tingle and sudden tinges of sharp 
ecstasy were occurring. 

She remembered no blow on the head so she instantly assumed she had been 
drugged. She rested, abruptly enjoying her lethargy. If she had been 
drugged, then this huge black ape was not by chance and she was in no way to 
blame for the sweetening indignity. Then she twitched as one breast sent a 
flame of agony into her body. A moment later, she could identify the pain. 
He was squeezing and pulling her breast with unmerciful fingers. Then she 
could turn her head and above her, his animal face was frightening in its 
drawn, thick-skinned ugliness. She saw his huge teeth behind the fat, purple 
lips and his eyes were squinted in total concentration. She closed her eyes 
and tried to concentrate. The pumping in her belly was increasing. Out, in, 
stretch, shrink, and all the while the growing awareness of the ballooning 
sensation of utter delight. 

The something knocking at her buttock when the in was total would be his 
testicles. And when she thought of them, her fear became nearly an 
overwhelming thing. Did a uterus care? If it had refused the hunchback's 
sperm, would it accept this Negro's frightening discharge? Her tangled mind 
saw the two sperms, buried deep in her vitals, fighting for the right to 
breed her. Which? A deformed ogre or a black man? Then she heard his 
gruntings above the harsh hiss of his breath. He seemed to be banging extra 
hard to her bottom, the piston was swelling, the fist struck harder at her 
stomach. But these were secondary feelings. The main one was the eye of the 
cyclone in her belly, swirling, burrowing and pleading for just a few more 
of the raging thrusts, a little more of the fiery friction, a last devoted 
servicing of her disgustingly eager sex. Then she felt the edge approaching, 
the fine knife line of adjustment. The academic faded and she let the good 
words echo in her brain: fuck, suck, prick, cunt and the one she had 
forgotten under the hunchback-jism, hot, thick and endless in its gushing. 
Shame mixed with passion, hate with adoration and as she hovered at the dear 
brink, the emptiness returned with a wet and obscene ploshing. 

No, don't quit now you gorilla prick, you beast. No, put it back in, ram it 
to my throat, burst me with its fatness and let me orgasm around the 
throbbing darling. Fuck me, fuck me, until I die. 

She blinked because the sudden tears were blindingly hot. Not a sound had 
left her throat, not a whimper had disturbed her lips. Where was he, that 
weighty, musky man with the organ she so needed? Her head turned slightly, 
her eyes widened. He was on his knees above her, his slowly down-arching 
penis dripping gray-white egg-white. He had climaxed in her electrified 
vagina and she hadn't felt it, hadn't had a chance to revel in its spurting. 
Perhaps the heat in her belly was the pool of sperm. Half dead, useless. She 
couldn't even put some 

 fingers to her deserted vagina to finish the excitement he had left in her. 

The tea brought by the Spanish hag. Spanish Fly, perhaps. It was something 
weird and frightening she had heard about in college. It was supposed to 
turn even the most staid and moral woman into a raging nymphomaniac. Her 
mind, fighting for sanity agreed that it must have been Spanish Fly. If this 
were so, the frustrated ecstasy she harbored was not her fault. Drugged, 
Negro-raped, excited to the point of complete abandon. Spanish Fly. 

What was he doing now? She turned her head a bit farther and was suddenly 
lifted into strong, beautifully muscled arms. Her face was mashed to his. 
Bad breath, wine-sour, hot, blowing into her mouth and nose as his slavering 
lips smeared her white skin with lust and desecration. His hands under her 
bottom, his penis rubbing into her ravaged crotch. She saw her breasts, 
deformed against his broad chest-man chest, woman bosom. Then she discovered 
that one dangling arm was at his back and the fingers were pressing to the 
rippling muscles. Strong Negro. Panther back. Horse penis. He was lifting 
her, her legs flung around his powerful thighs. The under-probe. Why stand, 
black giant? Then she relaxed. It was not unpleasant crushed in his embrace, 
her face on his shoulder. All of her was coming back to sensitivity. The 
probe was hard into her crotch, mighty male who never rested. He was 
carrying her to the long, thick-planked table. 

"Don't put me down," she said, and was surprised when the mumble came out, 
bubbling on the black skin. "Just set me on the fist. I am oh so empty, oh 
so deserted. No-no, not there. It will tear my rectum, split my bowels. 
Please not there, black lover. No, no. Well with grease then. On the 
dresser, the white jar of face cream. Save my anus. Hemorrhoids-small 
bunches of small grapes, painful; used to make Marian Golden scream with 
pain during her menstrual periods. Oh my God, it is going into my rectum. It 
is in." 

Her mind cracked open. She was seated, leaning back on the heavy table. Her 
legs were out, stretched to the side until they ached with strain. His penis 
was burrowing, screwing into her anus and he was doubled a bit, to look down 
and perceive his furious entry. She could count every curly hair in his 
rotund skull. She moved her head aside and looked down, hoping to see what 
seemed to fascinate him. All she could see was her vagina, shamelessly 
agape, oozing thick clear fluid. The lips were inflamed, swollen and the 
gristle tip of her clitoris thrust out, searching for caress. Gail screamed 
in terror. 

Startled, the Negro jerked back. For a moment before she rolled away on the 
table, she had that deserted feeling. Then he was at her again, his penis 
fighting to regain its lost snugging, his hands folding her flailing arms 
while his hips fought her legs apart. 

Ripples of lewd laughter came from deep in his heaving chest as he gradually 
subdued her with pain from his ruthless fingers and his irresistible 
strength. Then she was wrapped, breathless in his two-armed embrace, crushed 
close to the sweating black body. Her legs were spread so furiously her hip 
joints seemed ready to snap. She felt him searching with his rigid organ, 
jabbing up, seeking any aperture. She twisted, gasped when it came close, 
then twisted again and then she didn't twist enough. As the hot stub 
penetrated her vagina he quickly crushed her down and she shrieked in agony 
as it rammed up and up. Then the clarity that had sent her into spasms of 
resistance seemed to fade. The fire spread, the flesh burned pleasantly and 
she slumped, waiting for the brute to work his lusty will. 

The orgasm he had not completed in her was still alive, more so because of 
the brief moment when his penis had distended and entered her burning anus. 
She gripped his legs with her weary thighs and tried to ease the pain of his 
rooting and turn it into critical ecstasy. He was laughing at her and she 
had no power to refute his glee over her surrender. When his arms relaxed, 
hers tightened, giving her the purchase to writhe and hump to his stroking 
member. Her lips wailed, mewled, even protested, but she could not keep her 
body from demanding more and more of the delightful torture. Her senses 
reeled and she forgot where she was or who. Her mind seemed to wrap around 
his penis and milk it with exquisite obscenity. Then she felt it coming on 
again and instead of fighting the lewd surrender, she contracted all of her 
secret muscles and the climax burst in stunning, soul-searing glory. 

"Auu-oh!" she coughed. "Oh! Oh God. Oh. Aughh-uh!" 

It wouldn't stop; the penis stroked, indifferent to the seconds when she 
wished it would tarry, unfeeling to her singing nerves. She orgasmed around 
the plunging, crying painfully, trying desperately to hold it in and wring 
its vitality into fluid fire. Then she sobbed as the delicious thumping 
slowed, faded. The penis now had a man attached to it. A black man, sweating 
and smelling and hunching with the same frenzy she had just experienced. She 
felt the knotting, the swelling of his organ and it seemed like a tree as it 
began its discharge. The sperm struck her distended vulva, turned her 
insides to slippery fire. He grunted each time his convulsing sex hurled a 
fresh glob into her vulva. And as Gail dreamed of the flaring eye, the thick 
cream gushing into her, the sickness turned to passion and a second orgasm 
surprised her into chattering ecstasy. It was still throbbing when the Negro 
let go of her And his penis slipped easily from her vagina. Deserted, Gail 
rolled to one hip, legs jerking, her mind a strangely jellied nothing as the 
juices ran from her body and soiled her inner thighs. 

He was saying something to her in words she couldn't identify. It didn't 
matter. She felt his hand on her bottom, feeling its perfect contours, 
testing the perspiration-moist valley between her nates. She twitched as he 
fingered her anus. To her, it seemed too soft, too helpless. Empty as she 
seemed, the thought of his huge organ pushing into the unresisting aperture 
was frightening. Then she hoped he would. Once done, she would be destroyed 
forever, mind and body. Sodomize me, black man. I can not fight you. Don't 
leave me with that one fragment of decency to protect. Don't let me wonder 
any longer. 

She let her right hand go out and back, fingers groping. He moved and her 
hand was suddenly filled with the amazingly pliable tube of his penis, wet 
and sticky and hotter than she knew flesh could get. Again he moved, sending 
the firming shape through her hand. She felt the thick base, slightly grown 
with stiff curls. Then the hose slipped away until the flaring head caught 
in her inept grasp. She pressed and searched the shape, learning about the 
monster that had so recently sent her into spasms of ecstatic passion. A 
tingle of excitement went up her spine as the rubbery form began to harden 
in her fingers. 

Holding behind the head with encircling thumb and forefinger, she felt for 
her bottom with the other. She was filthy with slime that drooled from her 
own vagina and when she found her rectum she deliberately sent her middle 
finger in as if to guide the throbbing knot of his member. As she indented 
her eager anus with the head, he took command. Her hand lingered, feeling 
the slow slip, the slight bending as he urged his penis to pass the 
sphincter ani. 

She moaned in agony, in self-disgust, but her hips rolled to the orders of 
his strong hands. And it went in, with searing agony and she was sure her 
bottom had not surrendered, it had torn. Her hips ached, the skin between 
her nates cried out in protest, but the pain somehow mingled pleasantly with 
the unbelievable filling and Gail quaked with sweet shock. Her hand now 
found his rock hard belly, straining as his lust was deepened. She let her 
fingers drag down until she found the root thrusting from the wire-curled 
pelvic pedestal, then she followed the tremendous shaft until she could 
trace its entry into her frightfully distended anus. 

He was stroking gently now, enjoying her bottom, thrilling her with the deep 
agitation as well as with the feel of his penis screwing into her ravaged 
body. Too gentle, black lover. 

I don't hurt. I should hurt. I am a dirty bitch, a foul creature who loves 
what you are doing to my rectum. Hurt me. Hurt me a lot so I will have 
orgasm again and again and again. She let a long soft groan escape her lips 
and as her first rectal orgasm started, the dullness in her mind turned to 
darkness. 

She didn't hear her rapist gasp, "Jesus Cristo!" nor did she know when his 
sperm charged up into her bowel with the fury of a bull. 

Joven staggered back, his cock trailing the thin strings of cum from her 
flaccid asshole. He sat down, slouched, his long legs trembling with 
weariness. His prick softened quickly; it had been milked and wrung and 
inhaled until it ached with strain. He stared at the seemingly unconscious 
beauty, her lovely white ass turned to him so he could almost look up her 
slowly closing asshole. From the down-corner of her cunt ran trickles of her 
own cum. The hand that had found his prick, caressed it to her ass and 
demanded the entry lay limply over her smooth white thigh. 

She hadn't fought him very much. She had cursed him in some English words he 
understood, but while she had reviled him she had come to his meat like a 
Turkish whore. He was wet with sweat, confused by his unimpressive victory 
and exhausted from the three orgasms she had ripped from him in less than a 
half hour. He sat up and with a long leg and a curling toe, snaked his 
trousers from the floor. Shaking, he pulled them on, tucking his befouled 
prick into the cloth, remembering how he had gotten here and what he must 
do. 

He lifted her limp body from the table and returned it to the bed, covering 
her to the chin. Then he went to the sitting room, unlocked the door and 
slipped out. When Gonzales finally rolled back from the kitchen, his belly 
pooched with wine and French bread, Joven was dozing, his lips dribbling 
saliva, his penis twitching in tempo with the dream. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

How long she had slept, Gail could not tell. When she had awakened, sick, 
sore and not quite able to understand what had really happened to her, the 
darkness was blue-black outside her windows. Above, stars twinkled brightly 
and a few wispy clouds showed highlights from a moon not visible from her 
point of view. Inborn fastidiousness had insisted she was unreasonably dirty 
with a kind of filth she could not identify, so for the third time in what 
she thought was a day, she bathed, It had taken all her strength to stagger 
back to the bed, and now she sat, trying to remember. 

The hunchback, yes. But she had recovered from him, then there had been tea. 
Innocent enough, and certainly not responsible for the horrible feelings in 
her body. She spread her legs and stared at her vagina. After-effects of the 
rape, she supposed. The lips seemed terrible swollen, inflamed and when she 
tentatively tested the burning inner tissues, they were agonizingly 
sensitive. And when she generated enough courage to raise one leg and put a 
cautious finger to her anus, she almost shrieked with pain. The burning was 
bad enough but the pucker was no longer just that. It was a raw ring of 
puffed flesh and a more careful touch told her it was throbbing with 
anguish. 

It worried her not to be able to remember. Small indistinct flashes of 
mental pictures kept coming, but none resolved into positive form. She 
looked at the table and it seemed familiar, more familiar than just a piece 
of furniture she had seen before. There was a musky odor in her nose, a 
fleeting smell that seemed to have no identity. The ugly memory of the 
hunchback was never very deeply obscured in her mind, but as it flicked, he 
seemed to have a very dark skin and be somehow larger and more muscular than 
she knew he had been. And in the pit of her stomach the dull ache persisted, 
as if she had been deeply bruised. That returned the hunchback to her mind, 
but he hadn't seemed to hurt her that much. On the other hand, he had raped 
her and destroyed her virginity and perhaps done more damage than she knew. 

Then she heard a small sound from the sitting room. On tiptoe, she went to 
the door. Nothing. The sounds were out in the other world. Was it a hallway, 
another room or what? Shivering in fresh alarm, Gail went back to her 
bedroom and put on the robe. She wrapped her trembling body carefully, then 
sat tensely waiting. If her privacy was to be invaded again, she couldn't 
think what to do. Every thought she began somehow faded into nothing before 
she concluded it. She couldn't even revive her anger and hate for the 
hunchback. Tears wouldn't come. It was almost as if she were suspended in a 
dream, except that she could feel pain. And hear. The sounds had ceased. 
Still she sat as if hypnotized. 

Jan stood in the hallway, watching the night guard slop away to the 
servant's quarters. He felt very alone, insecure. He seldom left The Throne, 
and he hadn't ventured from the big room in nearly five years. He wouldn't 
have done it this night except that the way in which Gail Brown had blanked 
out his television cameras had piqued him unduly. He steadied himself with a 
fat hand to the door casing. He was fantastically strong because it took 
more strength to lift his arm or move a leg than the average man could 
generate. But he walked so little his legs were quivery. His massive body 
hung on his deeply buried hips, belly looped down, buttocks like pillows 
sagged in back. The key in his palm was very hot. 

What would she say when he lumbered in and awakened her? Not much, he 
guessed, because she had probably not yet worn off all the effects of the 
hashish tincture. He quietly fitted the key and turned the smoothly 
graphite-coated lock. The door opened easily and he moved like a pink 
elephant into the apartment. Relocking the door, he looked around, noting 
details of the room that were not visible from his camera angle. It was a 
nice room, precisely the way he had ordered it. Then he tightened. Used to 
the big room and the expanse of space, this cubicle, made smaller by his 
size, seemed oppressive. He moved to the door into her bedroom, filling it 
from edge to edge, his bald pink skull barely an inch or so from the door 
header. 

She leaped straight up from her seat on the bed, eyes wide, mouth agape. Her 
hands clutched furiously at the robe, as if it could provide protection from 
what she must surely believe to be a monster from another world. Jan 
grinned. 

"I know," he said in his rumbling bass. "I come as a surprise, to say the 
least. Ask me to sit down. I am Jan Arden, your host, Miss Brown, and we 
should begin by being friends, I think." 

"My God, what kind of a ... a beast are you?" she wailed. 

His legs hurt. The chair wasn't going to be big enough for his bulk. He 
moved forward and Gail gave a yelp and scurried to one side, certain, he was 
sure, that that he was coming after her. At the bed he turned and sank 
weightily, bending the mattress until it seemed ready to break under his 
ass. He sighed. 

"As you can see, standing gives me problems. Please, sit down. I want to 
talk to you." 

"Why ... why have you kidnapped me and my f-friend? Oh, the terrible, awful 
things that have h-happened to us!" 

"Raphael, the hunchback?" Jan asked. "I owed him a favor and I wanted to see 
how you reacted to sex. If you haven't guessed, sex is my favorite science, 
right after making money. Did he hurt you?" 

She was backed to the wall, staring as if she couldn't believe him, nor what 
he had implied. The fact that she showed any animation at all was proof to 
him that the hashish was wearing thin. 

"You-you fiend!" she finally gasped. "If I had a gun, I'd shoot you d-dead!" 

"That's what I like, determination. How do you like your apartment? I hope 
you enjoy it because it will be your home for some time, except for some 
visits to mine after we understand each other better. Please, sit down. Over 
there!" he snapped, suddenly stern. 

She jerked at the impact of his command, then moved on her pretty bare feet 
to the chair he had avoided. He followed her with his narrowed eyes. The 
robe was a little bother, but he could savor the high full breasts and the 
lush hips, and as she sat down, the smooth taper of her perfect legs. She 
saw him inventorying and drew the robe over her knees as far as it would go. 

"You watched," she said, flicking her eyes to the red eye in the picture 
frame. "You beast! You watched your horrible servant r-rape me, didn't you?" 

Jan chuckled. "I did. I also saw how you glommed his cock and sucked him 
silly! I don't recall you spitting out his load, either, though it may have 
had something to do with not drowning. Take off that robe!" 

"I will not! I will not do any such a thing!" she almost screamed. "Who do 
you think you are, asking such a foul thing?" 

He moved. She threw out a hand as if to ward off his four hundred pounds and 
his big hand closed around her wrist. She reared back, nearly dislodg ing 
her shoulder, and he began to squeeze. A gasp of pain burst from her lips. 
Then as he increased the squeeze, she began to writhe and moan, and finally, 
like a dying animal, she curled and crumpled and slid forward from the 
chair, her other hand going to his sausage fingers, trying to pick them from 
her wrist. The robe fell open and Jan dragged her to him. Instead of trying 
to peel it from her twisting body, he merely took a handful of the silk at 
the nape of her neck and ripped the garment away. She moaned again, sobbing 
in agony as he feasted his eyes on her voluptuous body. Then he made the 
tremendous effort to stand, releasing her wrist. She huddled, cuddling the 
bruised arm under her swaying tits. Jan removed his flowing shirt. Then he 
inhaled his huge belly and unsnapped his cotton trousers. They dropped, and 
he stood naked, his skinless'cock with the flaring head stiffened out and 
down from the crowded roll of fat under his abdominal loop. But he wasn't 
ready to fuck her so he sat down again, reaching out to gather a handful of 
her disheveled hair in his ham-like fist. He jerked her head up. 

"They call me The Kewpie," he told her. "Suck my cock a little. I want to 
find out what made Raphael lose half his back hump!" 

She drew back but he jerked her in close under his belly. Leaning back 
lifted his prick and he shifted his huge bulk, slapping her taut face with 
the huge phallic monster. It was fat, so fat the thin white skin was 
stretched around its girth so tightly the big blue veins seemed almost on 
the surface. The closely circumcised shank was lewdly scarlet and the head, 
begun by a high coronal ridge, tapered fatly to the long eye that was almost 
a goldfish mouth. Half of his balls was buried in the underpulp of his 
crotch, giving his prick a strangely naked look as it bobbed under her eyes. 

"Suck it, woman," he husked. "Make me bark like a fox!" 

Her eyes closed but did not squeeze, as if she wanted to close out the ugly 
sight, even if her stillness expressed her resignation. Then she opened her 
mouth and he pulled her face onto his cock. She met it with firmly ovaled 
lips and the tip of her tongue and he watched her melt on him as he had seen 
her do with Raphael. But the hunchback had a mule cock, long and not too 
bulky at the head. Jan's was thick enough to hurt a she-mule and Gail's 
mouth was quickly stretched to a bloodless circle. Her dropped jaw caused 
long planes to draw on her cheeks, and small wrinkles appeared below her 
ears. Nonetheless, he thought she was very quick to adjust by letting his 
glans move in to nest in the roof of her mouth. He jiggled as her tongue 
gave him quick twirls. He let go of her hair, and instantly, both her hands 
came up to grip around the rock hard shaft as if it were a baseball bat. He 
dropped back on his elbows which let him hunch to her as he often did to 
Tesia. But she was a cock-sucker, he thought, and Tesia was an amateur in 
her shadow. He had meant only to subjugate and humiliate the haughty 
schoolteacher, but as her saliva slicked his peter and her pressures became 
acute, he decided to let her go as long as she seemed to want. He would have 
preferred to turn her end over end, her flat belly rocking over his moon so 
he could look into her pretty ass and finger her secrets as she raised his 
passion, but he was fascinated by her apparent delight in his steaming cock 
so he half-closed his fat eyes and watched. 

It was impossible, Gail thought. It was a nightmare, from the moment she had 
seen him in her door to now. This huge hot form in her mouth was a dream 
penis. The smell of oily skin and the heat of the flesh mountain were 
images, conjured in her harassed mind. The ache of her jaw was not real, the 
club gripped by her fists was phantom. Like God, he had said "suck it" and 
she had been unable to resist; the spastic atrophy of dreams. Presently she 
would awaken, or like other dreams, this would fade into a totally unrelated 
drama. In the meantime, she breathed hotly through her nostrils and let her 
dream lust savor the fullness in her mouth and the coursing of her tongue 
over the pulsating flesh. And if she couldn't control her dreams, there 
could be nothing wrong with liking the sudden wetness between her legs and 
slight convulsing of her responsive, if untouched vagina. Some terrible 
thing had happened in her head. Since a time she could not quite place, her 
mind had changed. No more the stem and academically poised schoolteacher. 
Now, the abandoned whore, the nymphomaniac, the sucking, fucking slut. How 
could she stand it? 

Perhaps the key to departed sanity was not to resist. She understood a bit 
of psychology; the subconscious fought diligently to enforce what the 
conscious sought to discourage. Suck harder, say you like it, believe you 
want to lick and suck and drink the inevitable surge of white-hot semen. 
Love this huge column of lusty evil until her subconscious wearied of filthy 
play and surrendered to her true morality and strength of character. Wait. 
The eye into which she could almost thrust her tongue was oozing and the 
taste of the ooze was familiar. It turned her glands to dribbling fonts and 
she swallowed to keep from choking. The swallow traveled down her spine and 
she felt her vagina tighten, then fall open. The Talmud had said that a 
woman was a temple built over a sewer. Thousands of years ago, a man had 
known of these mysterious quakings, these inhuman desires. Fuck, shit, cock, 
cunt, jism and spit, the alchemy of passion. She was going to climax. Would 
it be one of those earth-shaking thunderings or one of the quiet thumpings 
that seemed to drum and drum until she was close to fainting. Now, now, 
because through her hands, pressing the thumb-thick tube on the underside of 
the swelling penis, she could feel it coming. She moved her head back to 
make room, her lips clinging to the flinty coronal ridge. Ah God, it was in 
her mouth, spew, spurt, slosh and her vagina was grinding down as if to turn 
inside out in search of a filling. Come, come, come, Gail, because it is 
only a dirty, sweet dream. Swallow furiously, delightfully; how many 
calories were there in a dream man's discharge? Would it fatten her belly 
like his, or would it just make her breasts grow until they burst her 
tingling skin. 

"Great, I'd say, as a man who's been sucked by experts," the bass voice 
said. 

She opened her eyes, drawing back, her jaw still down, her mouth open so the 
layer of sticky musk pooled on her nervous tongue. 

"It isn't a dream, is it?" she asked with thick syllables. 

"Dreamy, but no dream, baby," the behemoth chuckled. 

Her brain seemed to split with rage. She ducked her head like a striking 
snake, lips drawn tightly over her even teeth. Then the teeth snapped 
together over the still leaking flesh of his penis. He screamed, his massive 
body jerking in shock as her bite sunk deeply into the glans and tore the 
meat. Blood spurted into her mouth and gushed down over her swaying breasts. 
She spat his penis from her lips and fell back to watch the mountain of 
animal go into a frenzy of agony and rage. His roar shook the walls, his 
arms flailed and he stomped his sandaled feet. She watched him fold his 
instantly limp organ into gigantic fingers through which blood trickled to 
soil his body-thick thighs and her creaking bed. 

Frightened at the chaos she had caused, Gail wiped her bloody mouth and 
scuttled back and back, huddling in terror as he seemed to regain control. 
Then he reared up, towering, swaying, groaning. 

"You bitch!" he gasped. "You lousy, rotten little bitch!" 

Gail laughed with some mirth but mostly with hysteria. He came on like a 
grotesque cat, quick, spitting and hissing. It was impossible to escape, so 
for a second, Gail held herself erect and became the poised and dignified 
woman she had wanted to be from the very first. He knocked her senseless 
with one blow of his bloody, ham-heavy fist. 

"Yes," Trina said to the nicely dressed man who had, in perfect English and 
an apologetic tone, explained that he was Mr. Arden's secretary, George 
Millbum. "Yes, I've had some experience at first aid. I'm not sure I want to 
help anyone belonging to this house, however! Is it serious, Mister 
Millbum?" 

"Mister Arden may be bleeding to death," he explained timidly. "I'm not very 
good about making such appraisals. Will you come, Miss Salisman, please?" 

Still half asleep, Trina looked down at herself, clad only in a hastily 
snatched up robe. "I'm not dressed. I can't dress! My clothes have been ... 
stolen." 

"Come as you are, I beg of you. It won't matter, I think. Mister Arden is 
also in some state of disrobement. Hurry!" 

He couldn't have stopped her, but she felt some protest had been necessary. 
Now she marveled as he led her through a corridor where an armed guard stood 
at an open door. Millbum led her into a sitting room almost identical to her 
own. In the bedroom were three or four insanely interesting people, two men, 
a hunchback and a Negro, one half-naked girl, weeping furiously, and on the 
bed, or nearly in the depressed mattress was the biggest, ugliest man she 
had ever seen. Open beside him was a first aid kit. It would be needed, she 
saw. His belly, legs and groin were a mass of blood and lying limp and 
strange to her eyes was his penis. It looked as if the end had been chopped 
off or badly mangled. Beside this mountain of pink and scarlet flesh, her 
own near nakedness was inconsequential. The hunchback snarled up at her. 

"Stop the bleeding, at once! He is in great pain. There is morphine and a 
hypodermic in the kit. Administer a sedative-but be sure it is enough and 
not too much! Move, woman!" 

What Trina did in the next ten minutes she could never remember clearly. The 
room, the fat man, the Negro and the arbitrary gnome occupied some of her 
mind, her own position, the rugged, painful past night demanded some thought 
and the pure requirements to help the moaning, suffering man took the rest. 
She had only practiced injections in an orange. The label on the morphine 
was in Spanish. Her hands shook. She knew nothing of male genitals, but she 
knew no serious attempt to stop the blood flow could be made to such a 
sensitive organ without the aid of a pain killer. The half-naked Spanish 
girl was some help. Chattering wildly, she put her hands to the big penis 
and through some non-academic pressures, succeeded in easing the flow of 
blood. Her nerves shrieking, Trina cleansed the soft genital and laid the 
wounds-teeth wounds she was sure-together and over gauze she taped the 
difficult flesh into steadiness. Once she looked at the man's contorted 
face. It was a mass of flesh bubbles, but the eyes were alive, like some 
sinister beast waiting for the proper moment to leap. Again, his fat hand 
came out and gripped her thigh, not in hurting, but in some sort of 
gratitude for the clumsy things she did. 

"He should be washed with warm water and covered well, to off-set shock," 
she told the hunchback. "He will sleep in a few minutes. He needs a doctor 
badly. Isn't there one close by?" 

"One hundred kilometers, woman. I have sent for him." 

Trina turned to Millbum, standing in a tense crouch, rubbing his hands 
together like a maiden aunt as he stared at the fat man. "Who's running this 
ball game, Millburn?" she demanded. 

"Mister Arden," he replied, nodding to the balloonish man. 

"All right. Who pinch hits when he's out of the ball park?" 

"I-I do, I guess. But Raphael is very capable in emergencies. He will see to 
the things you suggest. May I suggest that you now return to your quarters, 
Miss Salisman?" 

"You can suggest, but I don't intend to do any such thing! Mister Raphael, I 
think I deserve some consideration-after this! I would like to know what you 
have done to Miss Brown!" 

The hunchback finished snapping orders to the girl. He grinned at Trina with 
all the charm of a gargoyle, then looked at the Negro. "She wants to know 
what we did to Miss Brown," he snarled. "Take her back to her room and show 
her, Joven!" 

"No!" Millburn gasped. "No. Mister Arden may feel most kindly to Miss 
Salisman after this inci dent. No. Come with me, Miss Salisman. I will get 
you some tea, with brandy, if you like, and try to explain as much as I 
can." 

"Miss Brown?" Trina demanded. 

He seemed to hesitate. "She ... she is sleeping now," he said. "Come. We 
will go to my quarters. Oh. I mean you no harm, of course!" 

"That's Goddamn well a fact, woman," the hunchback laughed. 

The Negro said something obviously funny in Spanish. She thought it sounded 
like "ambiguales", but she wasn't sure. After one more look at the quiet fat 
man, she followed George Millburn, her attention once more on her 
surroundings. 

It was a huge house, with many alcoves, corridors and closed doors. Once, 
they passed a big clock, old and part of a cathedral-shaped alcove. It was 
five o'clock in the morning. Then Millburn opened a door and ushered her 
into an apartment not unlike her prison, but intimately furnished in 
excellent taste. There were leather chairs and sofas and a big desk, 
containing a multi-circuited telephone system, and a built-in tape recorder. 
Files, three high and four wide covered one area. All was precise, very 
business-like. And frightening, despite the slight advantage she had gained. 

"Sit there, please. I will ring for tea. The servants are just rising so it 
might well be a minute or two. Would you care for a brandy now? I am sure 
you were very, very brave about the entire matter, Miss Salisman. Being a 
confirmed homosexual, I have little fortitude in the face of such 
occasions." Trina hung on to her composure. She had never even known a 
homosexual before, let alone one who so boldly confessed his deviation. "The 
brandy would be fine, I think. Mister Millburn?" 

"Yes?" 

"What in God's name kind of a place-and people-have I come into knowing?" 

"God has little to do with it, Miss Salisman," he said, opening a built-in 
bar with beautiful glassware and countless exotic bottles. Mister Arden-Jan 
Arden is God in Castellon Vista. A very rich and eccentric man, to say the 
least." 

"But, we have been kidnapped! That is a criminal offense, even in Spain, or 
Morocco, or where-ever we are! He can go to prison for many, many years, 
maybe for life!" 

"Ridiculous, Miss Salisman, I assure you. The man to whom you will be sold 
when Mister Arden wearies of you is a Jefe de Policia in Spanish Gibraltar. 
Try the brandy." 

Trina hadn't the strength to lift the fine goblet. "Then the wound I treated 
was exactly what it looked like! He had been bitten by an angry fella-tor! I 
have been raped once-the man, Raphael, was lewdly inspired to remark the 
colored man to take me somewhere and g-give me what Miss Brown has 
apparently suffered. This is a den of sex fiends, isn't it?" Her question 
ended high and shrill, quavering. 

"By your definition, perhaps. Mister Arden prefers to be known as a 
practicing hedonist, a devotee of worldly pleasures. He often jokes that he 
is too large to get through the Pearly Gates and will make too much grease 
in Hell. Admirable sense of humor, I assure you. More brandy? It is eighty 
years old and we have a cellar full of it." 

"I hope he dies! If I'd known, I'd have let him bleed to death! I might have 
even-" 

"He'll like you," Millbum decided. "He likes a fighting female. I admire 
you, but of course my respect for a woman is limited. If you are so 
inclined, however, I'd feel sorry for your friend, Miss Brown. His vengeance 
is seldom mild." 

"Vengeance? Are you inferring that she ... that she bit him?" 

He nodded. "It is an urge that often comes to a fellator, Miss Salisman. 
Reaction to strange emotions, though Mister Arden did not identify the 
emotion that triggered her violent responses." 

"My God!" Trina gasped. "Oh my! Oh, I must go to her! Millburn, I beg of 
you-" 

"The tea," he said as if psychic, and a moment later, there was a knock on 
the heavy door. 

Trina sat back in total stupefaction while the Spanish maid poured the tea 
and brought each of them a fine China cup of the steaming liquid. Millburn 
dismissed the sleepy woman, then waited quietly for his devastated guest to 
recover. Trina was not sure she ever could recover. 

The floor was stone and it was wet. Her head throbbed and her neck was 
beginning to stiffen from the mighty blow he had dealt her. Dried blood made 
hard spots on her face and naked body. She was sorry she had done it, but 
then, she was conversely pleased with herself. It was time to die so she let 
sleep take over again. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

But she didn't die and when she awakened next, she was surprised by her new 
prison. It was obviously a cellar room. High on one wall, a narrow, stoutly 
grilled window showed bright sunlight. Hardly five feet from where she was 
lying, cramped by the cold and bruised by the rough hands that had brought 
her to the cell, was a cot. It was not unlike those she remembered from 
summer camp, a million years ago, except that it was rusty and sagging under 
a thin, lumpy pad. Groaning at every movement, Gail crawled to the cot and 
hauled herself up to a sitting position. The light beam through the window 
showed her how devastated she was. They had beat her, unconscious or not. 
Her breasts showed beginning blue bruises amid the patches of dried blood. 
Her stomach muscles were sore and her thighs ached. She gingerly felt her 
vagina; she couldn't tell if she'd been violated because there were the same 
raw places she had noted before the fat brute had entered her room. 

Jan Arden, he had said. Rich, ugly, obese. Suck my cock. 

Gail shuddered. She had done exactly that, hypnotized by the massive organ, 
frightened, forced, degraded. Now her mouth moved in memory and she could 
almost taste his sperm and feel its fire going down her throat. Then the 
other thrill, the feel of her teeth slicing into the fat penis, the spurt of 
his blood on her trembling nakedness. Why had she done it? Her filthy 
performance was over, the man's lust had been accepted. Then she remembered. 
She had thought it was a dream and it had not been a dream. She had bitten 
him in fury, not at what he had demanded but at herself for enjoying the 
dream that had not been a dream. She had bitten him, knowing full well that 
he would do her great harm, perhaps even kill her. The death wish, that had 
been it. Now as she looked around her, she thought maybe her wish would come 
true, although it was taking a form that only increased her terror. 

She went to a comer and squatted. The act of urination was sharp, almost 
exciting. She felt herself, ruffling the last drops from the lips of her 
vagina. Tentatively, she tested her anus and it was less sore than it had 
been, but boldly swollen. She went back to the cot, stretching out, cringing 
at the thought of damp bugs or spiders, perhaps. Now that her eyes were 
fully accustomed to the half light, she looked at the wall beside the cot. 
It was covered with scrawls and marks. Other people had shared her prison. 
Then she saw a sentence in English, scratched on the stone as if with a 
diamond or a piece of steel: 

"J.A. an epileptic. 1 or 2 seizures a day. Only chance. I muffed mine. 
Goodbye. Avis Garden, 7/6/66" 

Gail gasped, hideous recognition coming like a hard fist. Even the date was 
nearly familiar. Avis Garden, one of Hollywood's most glamorous stars, had 
disappeared mysteriously that summer. It had been in the papers for weeks. 
The world adored the beautiful brunette and her movies made millions. Gail 
traced the tragic message with a trembling finger. She could almost see the 
lovely actress, raped, beaten, inhumanly tortured, using her last strength 
to warn whoever might follow her to this dank cell. 

Goodbye. 

Gail sat up straight, abruptly clear-headed. If the fat man were an 
epileptic and he had a seizure or two a day, then the only way to defeat him 
was to be constantly with him until he became helpless in an epileptic fit. 
Defeat him, how? 

"Kill him," she said out loud. The words echoed and she shivered at her own 
boldness. But the thought persisted. He was huge, strong, ruthless, but 
under the layers and layers of fat, he was a human being, with vulnerable 
nerves and blood vessels and vital organs. A knife, even a fork, anything 
sharp. Place it to his fat throat, drawn steel taut by a violent seizure and 
thrust it home. Goodbye. 

Then the teasing thought she had not quite clarified in her mind became 
insistent. To be constantly with him meant what? She doubted that there 
would be any opportunity provided her now. Like Avis Garden, goodbye. 
Obviously, this square stone room was a last stop on the way to oblivion. 

But if there were the one more chance, what would she do with it? 

Instantly, she felt the emptiness in her low belly. The little aches turned 
to one big need and she could feel every nerve in her vagina stand on end. 
Involuntarily, her lips moved and her tongue wetted them. Her swollen anus 
became a tight knot between the cheeks of her bottom. Her mind saw the huge 
fat man again, sleek, pink, panting and tremendously masculine. She saw the 
penis, like a sausage somebody had carved into sensual shape. If he were 
cruel, he was also lusty and she remembered the knife-sharp thrill his 
command to suck it had shot through her female sensitivity. She knew what 
she would do if she got one more chance. She would do everything he 
suggested and act as if she enjoyed it, knowing well that the end justified 
the means. 

Please, God, give me one more chance. 

They talked and had breakfast together and at eight o'clock, Millburn 
excused himself and enlivened his private telephone console. Trina thought 
he was the strangest man she had ever met, in real life or in the pages of a 
pulp novel. He seemed humorless, acutely intelligent and in some ways, as 
ruthless as his employer, Jan Arden. He freely admitted being a confirmed 
homosexual without even suggesting there was hanky-panky between himself and 
the obese Arden. And though he had adroitly avoided her questions, he had 
coldly explained to her the probable fate she could expect. It was very 
simple. 

When Arden's inventiveness in sexual matters, lewd, extreme and in many 
ways, sadistic, exhausted itself, she would be sold to a whoremaster in 
Spanish Gibraltar. Escape was impossible, even Millburn had intimated, if 
she wanted to escape. By the time she arrived in the cheap house of 
prostitution, she would have little spirit and a badly worn body. A day or 
two in the hands of the whoremaster would destroy any tiny hope she might 
have left. Twenty to thirty men a day, more if the harbor was active, and 
they would be black and white and all the shades between, many with 
gonorrhea and syphilis and a range of Oriental infections no doctor had ever 
named. She would be forced to act in 'carnivals', with two or three men, 
horses, donkeys and dogs, and some well-trained simians the African traders 
had sold to the whoremaster. Calmly, he had delivered shock after shock to 
her and now she watched him, heard him talk briskly into the foreign phones, 
and she wondered why he had told her as much as he had. 

Because he liked to talk and because he was a lonely man? 

Or because he was a precisely trained segment of Jan Arden's circus, like 
the hunchback, Raphael and the Negro, Joven? Like the dour maids and the 
glum Spanish guards. Had Gail's actually been the teeth that had wounded 
Arden, or was this another attack on her sanity? How all of the apparent 
efficiency of Arden's hacienda could exist if the obese master were as evil 
as Millbum had said he was gave Trina doubts. 

Then she remembered that she was sitting in a thin robe, her body almost a 
naked thing, and that three hours before, she had stemmed the bleeding in a 
huge penis hanging painfully from the fat belly of the most naked man one 
could imagine. Four hundred pounds of naked flesh at five o'clock in the 
morning. What had gone on between the normal hours and the early morning 
carnage? 

Now a red light flashed on Millbum's desk and he instantly attended another 
telephone. He listened intently, and all he said was, "Instantly, Mister 
Arden. She's here with me now." Then he turned to Trina. "He wants to talk 
to you. Come quickly." 

"Where is he now?" she asked, only half hoping for a reply. 

"Oh. He has returned to his own quarters. At the end of the corridor," he 
added absently, nodding as if the corridor were visible. 

Trina took a deep breath and stood up, folding the inadequate robe carefully 
across her voluptuous body. Millburn stood up, frowned at his desk as if 
trying to think of everything, then rubbed his chin. 

Trina hit him as hard as she could with the half full coffee pot. He went 
down without a gasp, nor a cry of pain for the hot fluid she had showered 
him with. Coldly, she jerked the desk mike cord from its parent instrument 
and with more fury than skill, bound Millburn's hands behinds his back then 
to his sharply bent ankles. She made a gag out of his breast pocket 
handkerchief, tying it as tightly as she could. A third thought made her 
drag him behind his desk in case any one looked into his apartment. A broken 
coffee pot was one thing, a knocked out fairy was another. She went through 
the unlocked drawers of the desk and found a small, nick-le-plated pistol. 
She had never fired a gun in her thirty-six years, but she held it, moving 
picture fashion, and decided she could hit a target as huge as Jan Arden. 
Then she left the apartment, cautiously, and took the direction Millbum's 
nod had indicated. Her heart was in her mouth. Her rectum still hurt from 
the rape she had endured in Palma. At the pair of big exquisitely carved 
doors that surely led to Arden's quarters, she stopped, looked at the pistol 
and felt lost. Then she slipped it in the robe and tucked it firmly under 
her left arm, a cold, deadly shape in her armpit. 

One step inside the big door numbed her. It was a massive room and the 
establishment on the far side was impossible to believe. She saw him, a 
mountain of naked flesh, marred only by the bandage she had taped on his 
penis, lying in the strange chair. The outer perimeter of the room was 
resplendent with expensive furniture, polished walnut, red Moroccan leather 
and endless artifacts. The center of the room resembled a medieval torture 
chamber, gone modem. There was a wheel with straps and spikes, a hideously 
efficient-looking rack and some smaller units that she failed to identify 
because she had no time. 

She was seized by both arms, strong crushing hands, belonging to two tall 
Spanish men dressed to match the room. They wore harem trousers, bagged over 
exotic sandals and they were naked from the black belly sashes up to their 
shaggy black hair. The pistol dropped from her armpit and clattered on the 
shiny stone-like floor. One of the men kicked it away. Then they dragged her 
across to the foot of Arden's odd chair-bed. She saw his eyes, pinpoints of 
fire between his puffy lids. His fat hand lay over his belly, fingers 
lightly touching the base of his wounded sex. 

"You disappoint me, Trina," he said in a low rumble. "I dare say I'll need a 
new secretary, at least until the concussion recedes, and all for nothing. 
Tsk-tsk. Strip that robe off or I'll have my men tear it off and stuff it up 
your delightful ass!" 

"H-how did you know?" was all she could blurt. "Closed circuit television to 
every room in the hacienda. I saw it all. You were going to kill me, weren't 
you?" 

"I was going to try! I will not take off-no, no! I'll take it off. Keep your 
dirty hands off of me!" 

"They speak only Spanish," Arden chuckled. "If you weren't so ugly you'd be 
quite a lot of woman!" Trina drew herself up as straight as she could, her 
big breasts jiggling out, her belly sucked in and her legs together in 
useless modesty. She flushed as he inspected her, then she glanced at the 
two Spaniards. They weren't even looking at her nude charms. 

"First, you did a good job on me. When I came out of the morphine, my cock 
seemed in good shape. Joven, my barber, gave me a local shot in the perineum 
so I don't get a hard-on and bust everything loose. Can't feel a thing 
here," he re marked, lifting his penis and rolling it lovingly in his hand. 
"Damned shame. Bet you're a real good fuck, Trina. Or you can be taught to 
be a real good fuck!" 

She gritted her teeth, swallowing a millstone. "Gail. What have you done to 
my friend, Gail?" 

The fat pod over one eye raised. "That one. To tell you the truth, nothing, 
yet. She beats the shit out of me, Trina. I thought I knew something about 
cunt, but she baffles me. I'll figure her out later. Crazy bitch if I ever 
saw one." 

"Do you ... do you have to be so foul-mouthed?" she hissed. 

The fat pod raised again. "No, but it helps. Creates an atmosphere, sort of. 
How do you like my toys?" he asked, nodding to the exotic torture devices. 

"Millbum said you were a fiend!" 

"He did not-I heard a recording of everything he said. He said I was 
inventive and appreciative and knew what I liked. Care to try that wheel? 
Enough pressure disjoints a woman's pelvis like labor separation. Hurts a 
little, but you can fuck her with a cantaloupe when she's loosened up. You 
ever been married?" 

"N-no," she whispered, fighting a faint. 

"Virgin?" 

She ignored her somehow squinching rectum. "Yes, I am!" 

"Climb up here on my belly and let's see if you've lied!" 

"Oh, God, no!" 

He snapped his fingers. The two Spaniards seized her, lifted her and as 
Arden showed them with charades, they set her on his belly, her legs 
straddling, her bottom thrust almost to his face. They held her firmly 
though she squirmed and gasped and tried to wriggle away. Her own face was 
barely inches from his bandaged penis. She smelled his oily skin and felt 
his belly rumbling under her squashed out breasts and cringing belly. She 
tried to free her hands from their steel grip so she could tear like a 
frantic animal at the wounded penis. Then she was turned to stone as his 
hands grasped her bottom and two big thumbs pushed under to open her vagina. 
The grasp changed and a huge finger rubbed into the quaking lips. Trina 
twitched as her clitoris was flicked and pressed. Then another finger lay 
firmly to her anus. 

"Trina, baby," his voice came heavily. "Who fucked you in the ass within the 
last day or so? Don't lie! I know a cock-sore asshole when I see one!" 

"K-kill me," was all she could murmur. 

"Who did it, Trina?" His voice came with more power. 

"Let me up. I c-can't talk this w-way!" 

He said something in sharp Spanish and the two pairs of hands instantly let 
go of her. She put her palms to the huge thighs, soft and warm under her 
hands, and pushed up, hiding her private parts as her bottom flattened on 
his rotund body. But his big hands, resting on her hips wouldn't let her 
scramble away. "All right, now. Winch one of my people hung it in your 
asshole, Trina?" 

She twisted, meeting his eyes. "I don't know. I was tied hand and foot and 
thrown into a corner in Palma-on a dock or a waterfront warehouse. I never 
saw him. He nearly killed me!" 

"Toro," he grunted as if to himself. "Did you like it at all?" 

Quickly, she twisted back, afraid to show him the quick flush that rose from 
her suddenly pulsating breasts. "No! I hated it!" 

He laughed, bumping her up and down. Suddenly he spun her and clamped her to 
him, her breasts deformed to his chest. His other hand went down, curled 
under her bottom and his sausage finger dug straight into her rectum. She 
screeched, tried to fight loose, then managed to get her legs straight and 
pressed together so her buttocks tightened in protest to the plunging digit. 
"You beast, you dirty, fiendish animal!" she wailed. "Oh, God, don't do that 
t-to me!" 

He chuckled, his hot breath burning her face. The finger in her rectum 
pushed deeper, spreading and stretching the already anguished circlet. 
Moaning in mental as well as physical agony, she was forced to relax her 
buttocks and then his finger was in to the palm, and he held her close and 
began to work the cruel digit in and out. Sobbing in defeat, Trina lay 
heavily on him, and it didn't hurt so much when she let her legs fall 
slackly apart. She forgot about the Spaniards, and Gail as she fought to 
exist through the lewd torture Arden was putting her through. Then she 
discovered that he wasn't holding her so tight, and that she was beginning 
to squirm inside as his finger slipped in and out, generating a furious, not 
intolerable fire. She raised her head and he was looking right into her 
eyes. "All right?" he asked softly. 

"Oh, goddamn, goddamn!" she murmured and as her resistance crumbled, she 
began to hunch hard on his finger, twisting to ease the ache in her belly. 
Her body slithered over his belly, her breasts skidded on his fat chest, 
sending crazy streaks of feeling through her. "No, no, no more, n-no more, 
please!" she pleaded, but she was unable to cease trying to screw herself 
harder on his finger. 

"Give up, Trina," he said. "Damn that bitch! Just when a man needs a stiff 
cock, it's out of whack!" 

Then she screamed again because a second huge finger had joined the first, 
forcing itself into the now sleek aperture until she could almost feel her 
rectum rip. He curled both fingers then, and she was sure he was going to 
tear through her bowel and penetrate her vagina from the inside. Only 
nothing tore and a subtle ecstasy made her pant with excitement. Abruptly, 
she wanted to put her open, saliva wet mouth to the fat white flesh of his 
shoulder and she did. Her tongue tasted a slight saltiness, and for no 
reason she could name, she sucked a dark red monkey-bite on the skin, and 
then another, all the while hunching and squirming as the climax built in 
her rectal cavity. She spread her legs, snugging her vagina hard to his 
bowl-belly, rubbing the throbbing lips, smearing sudden wetness on his skin. 
The finger speeded, pushed deeply. 

"Now?" he asked. 

"Oh, goddamnit, yes! Now, now-n-now, you dirty bastard!" 

The pleasure became so excruciatingly wonderful she had to cry, shuddering 
on him as his finger expertly teased her to soothing. 

"Toro knew what he was getting into, didn't he?" 

Trina suddenly giggled, crazily. "Oh, I forgot! I hate you, don't I?" 

He said something more in Spanish and she turned her head and watched the 
two men disappear through the big doors. Then she relaxed snuggling to the 
hot mountain of soft fat as if it were a feather bed. 

Three hours before, she had been horribly shocked to learn that her young 
friend, the virginal and highly moral Gail had sucked this giant's penis. 
Trina wriggled. "Do it again, Kewpie," she breathed. 

They brought food, the hunchback and the Negro. Gail dragged the soiled 
cot-pad up to cover her nakedness. The Negro slapped her and jerked the pad 
away. 

"You don't act bad," the hunchback told her. "Goat stew. Eat it. One meal a 
day until the boss says different." He put the pottery dish on the bed and 
his hand jollied her left breast on the way back. Oddly, his touch did not 
disturb her. She was more afraid of the leering Negro, and as she tasted the 
sharply spiced stew with the wooden spoon, her mind played fearful tricks. 
She had seen him somewhere before, but her harassment and confusion wouldn't 
let her decide where. She wished she could understand Spanish; the two were 
talking and laughing and she felt very naked in front of them. 

"I need something to drink," she said to the hunchback. "And I have to ... 
to go to the toilet!" 

The ugly gnome related this to the Negro. They roared with some private 
joke. Head down so her stringy hair covered her flushed face, Gail ate the 
stew. She was hungry, and the warmth each bite added to her weary body was 
good. Rolling her eyes, she stared through the open door. A worn set of 
stone steps led upward. To freedom if she could generate the strength and 
speed to make a dash for it, or to some unknown terror, even worse than the 
naked misery of now. Desperation made her bold; she resolved to try another 
kind of escape. 

"Are you going to ... to fornicate with me?" she asked the hunchback. "I 
mean, you did it yesterday and I feel fine!" 

"Like Raphael's cock, huh?" he boasted. In Spanish, perhaps again to the 
black man. He laughed, then asked his squat friend a question. "Joven is 
jealous. Wants to know if you remember him giving you a good fuck or two 
yesterday." Stunned, Gail looked at the leering Negro, a small light dawning 
in her mind. The flashes of memory; a hunchback with a black skin, a smell 
she couldn't identify, a pain she did not understand. Then the desperation 
of her circumstances reminded her to react. 

"Tell him I don't remember him at all," she said. 

"Has he a big th-thing?" 

More talk, more laughter and suddenly, she was looking at a huge black 
penis, standing out of the Negro's white duck pants like a club. Her eyes 
widened; the throb pumping the huge glans into super-hugeness was visible. 
It was longer than she remembered the hunchback's, but not as thick as the 
obese Jan Arden's organ. She shivered, horrified at the nearly certain fact 
that she had taken this monster into her nearly virginal body and could 
still walk. He took a step toward her. The sex smell was strong. It made her 
nostrils quiver and a strange tremble struck her belly. She reached out and 
laid her thumb on the top of the thick shank, her fingers curling under to 
press the pulsing tube on the underside. Then she put out her other hand and 
ran the fingers under the root until they found the black sac of testicles, 
covered sparsely with wiry curls. 

"Maybe I remember a little bit," she murmured. 

Something amusing was added to the translation. Then the hunchback opened 
his pants and took out his familiar penis. Gail marveled at the complete 
difference in their shapes. The Negro's was long and nearly the same size 
from root to glans. Raphael's was thick at the root and tapered out to its 
naked scarlet shank, capped by a blunt, big-eyed knob with the thin sharp 
ridge. 

"Jack us off," Raphael snapped. "Both at the same time! You're just lucky 
the boss said to leave you alone or we'd both be in you at the same fucking 
time!" 

A weird sickness caused Gail to shudder-both would be in her at the same 
time. She transferred one hand to Raphael's penis, again surprised that it 
was so hard while the Negro's organ was rubbery, like a hose filled with 
water. Awkwardly, she began to stroke the pair of lust-poles. They throbbed 
in her fingers, swelled and became frightening. "Too dry, bitch! Wet them 
with your mouth! Do it!" 

Slowly, fighting the weakness in her spine, Gail put her lips to the more 
familiar penis. Raphael hunched, bruising her mouth as he sent three inches 
of his member into the gathering saliva. She rolled her lips, feeling the 
eye with her uncontrollable tongue. Then she reluctantly let it slip wetly 
away and as the saliva regathered, she leaned to the ugly black penis. It 
was cooler than the other, bigger, forcing her mouth open and her lips into 
a thin oval. He too hunched, popping the heavy coronal ridge past her lips. 
Again, the rolling and eye-touching. Her senses reeled with insane emotions. 

What was she doing? Trying to please two hideous animals with lewd acts. 
Softening them to whatever opportunity they might afford her. Building their 
lust until they were off guard. To do what? She let the black penis fall 
away from her lips and resumed her hand stroking, instinctively using more 
pressure on the back stroke than on the return. The saliva helped. She let 
more gather in her tingling mouth. Now they were undulating and humping to 
accent her fondlings. Men, reduced to rooting animals by her inexpert touch, 
and perhaps, the lewd vista of a dirty, frightened and naked white woman 
exploiting their sex like a common prostitute. Like a common whore who was 
also entranced by the sight of two huge sex-snakes, responding in her hands 
almost to the point of bursting. They were panting now, thrusting harder. 

What would she do when they climaxed? Both at once? She envisioned the 
flaring eyes, spitting furious sperm on her face and breasts, to run thickly 
down over her belly and if she aimed them right, both streams would trickle 
into the blonde hair and soak the fire in her vagina to failing coals. Don't 
think, Gail Brown. The moment to run for the door and the stairs will be the 
instant their evil lust bursts, turning them both into stuttering idiots. 
Now. 

She hadn't expected Raphael to climax first. The hard discharge of yellow 
semen struck her full in the face, just below her nose. The heat and the 
smell were instantaneous. Then the black penis coughed and an even larger 
glob of sticky fluid hit her chin. She said, now, now, to herself and then 
the atrophy she had counted upon in the two men struck her. She wailed, her 
neck bowing with stiffness as the climax burst in her own belly. She grunted 
and gasped, and the spew of both men struck her face again and again. Her 
legs popped apart to let her vagina spasm and quake unhindered. The sperm 
dropped to her thudding breasts, formed a single stream and ran down her 
belly and into the blonde curls. It trickled into her vagina mouth, a cool 
stream now, and she hunched, trying to inhale the vile syrup with 
involuntary convulsions of her terribly empty vulva. 

Defeated, Gail howled her anguish and fell over on the cot. 

They muttered together, laughed shortly and made clothing sounds. Then she 
heard the clang of the door and the hard sound of a bolt shooting into 
place. She wept, not for what had just happened but for her foolishness in 
biting Jan Arden's penis. All she really wanted to do was to suck it and sit 
on it and fill her miserable body with his fat. 

On the other hand, she'd kill him if she got the chance. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

He sent Trina back to her apartment under guard at noon, to rest her 
passions and to get his mind back on business. For a half an hour, he 
dictated to the skull-wrapped Millburn, recovered but still wearing a bloody 
knot on his head. After that, Jan had comida-baked Spanish chicken and fried 
rice with wine gravy-and with these important matters taken care of, he 
thought about Gail Brown. 

Give her to the peons as he had banished Tesia. Tie her between Raphael and 
Joven and tell them to kill her with cock. Have her strung on the wheel, or 
maybe the rack, or hang her from her heels in the over-head sling and pour 
her ass and her cunt full of hot beeswax. Bathe her and feed her and let her 
rest until his prick was healed enough to use in every hole she owned. When 
she learned to like it, roll over on her and burst her bladder; Fatty 
Ar-buckle her to death. This gave him some pleasure. He tested the head of 
his cock. It was sore, but he had a fantastic metabolism. Even his seizures 
were relaxing since he had been taking the anticipatory drug. He hadn't had 
one in two weeks. A dozen doctors had said incurable, but Jan had hopes. He 
wasn't an average man, nor was he planning to settle for average opinions. 
He peeled the bandage off his penis and inspected it. The wound seemed to be 
almost healed, though he knew that the swelling had much to do with closing 
the teeth marks. He'd wind up with a knot on the head, a built-in French 
tickler. The feeling was beginning to return. 

He located Joven on the intercom and told him to come up and give him 
another shot-right after he got his nigger ass to the dungeon and turned 
Gail Brown over to Consuela and Hortensia for a bath and a rubdown and some 
rest on a good bed. Treat her like a queen and keep your black fingers out 
of her ass. 

Then he settled back, thinking about Toro. He couldn't blame the seaman much 
for corn-holing Trina. The proper fucking position for a woman of her 
no-good-looks was bent over a barrel. She had a good ass and it responded. 
He looked down at his cock again. It was twitching and he cursed Joven's 
lethargy in coming to give him another shot. Heal, sweetheart, because 
before I put you in Trina's nice ass, I'm going to give you a shakedown 
cruise in her virgin pussy. Thirty-six and no cock. This got him to thinking 
about the idiotic academic world he had left many years ago. He kept 
perfectly abreast of political and financial trends in America, along with 
every other country in the world, but he spent little time philosophizing 
about the humanities. He wondered what kind of men in his deserted homeland 
would let an ass like Trina's wobble around without trying it. Then he 
changed thoughts as Joven entered the big room. In Spanish, he said, "Hurry 
up. It gets hard and I lose a drop of blood I'll have your black hide for a 
wall piece!" 

"Yes, boss. She's being taken care of. That's a hot-blooded woman, Boss. 
She's coming around, too. Bad off as she was, she came on to Raphael and me 
like a bitch in heat when we fed her this morning." 

Jan's eyes pinched almost closed. "Did you and that crookback fuck her?" 

"No, boss. You said not to. Raise your legs, please." 

Laboriously, Jan spread his tree-like thighs and raised them until the fat 
of his belly stopped the folding. His huge ass was a yard wide, massive 
moons of putty soft blubber. His cock hung out in a listless arc, his balls 
nested in the under fat of his perineum. His asshole was exposed, a huge 
rose, developed from years of passing the residue of his five-man appetite. 
He grunted at the folding. Joven carefully drew five cubic centimeters of 
the cocaine into the hypodermic body, squirted a single drop through the 
needle to dispel the probable bubble of trapped air, then wiped the round of 
fat with an alcohol pad. He plunged the needle in, then began the injection. 

Jan felt nothing. He looked down at the burr-head, wondering what thoughts 
the mulatto had with his nose nearly shoved into his lord and master's 
massive ass. "You got a hard-on, Joven?" 

The Negro looked up, his eyes wide with surprise. "No, boss." 

Jan chuckled. "Losing your punch, eh? As they say in the Estados Unidos, 
back to the carwash, boy!" Jan dropped his legs to the Throne. "How did she 
come on to you and Raphael this morning?" 

He knew Joven dared not lie because Raphael might tell the truth of the 
matter if asked, and no one in Castellon Vista knew exactly the position and 
power of the closed-circuit television-which was not wired into the dungeon. 

"Jack-off, boss. She just sat there, hand-fucking us both at the same time, 
using spit to wet the slick. All the time she was staring from one prick to 
the other, and when we unloaded, she popped with us and she took our jism 
all over her face. I swear it, boss!" 

Jan nodded and waved the blackamoor away. He looked down at his cock. It was 
surely dead, at least for the time being. But his mind was not and Joven had 
just given him the clue to enjoying Gail Brown, even though he couldn't fuck 
her for a while. He wondered if Trina had the guts to watch. It could be fun 
to find out. 

She was, it seemed, the picture of total comfort: warm, fed, bathed and 
annointed and tucked into the big comfortable bed by the two Spanish 
attendants. In fact, she was more miserable now than she had been in the 
bare stone cell. Gail shuddered, trying to keep her hysteria under control. 
Her single solid conviction was that God had heard her plea; she was going 
to get another chance. Slowly she fought for clarity of mind. It was 
difficult because in the past forty-eight hours she had lived a horrible 
lifetime. More frightening, she had discovered some things about herself 
which kept her sick with dread. 

What chance had she to fight back, to wreak some small measure of vengeance, 
to rise above the villain Arden and his sex-mad cohorts when her defiance 
consistently melted the moment they engaged her in any kind of sex? She 
ached with self-hate, revulsion flushed her freshly scrubbed body. Like the 
ripcord of a parachute. A man, no matter his ugliness, his filth and his 
immorality, could send her into quivering surrender by thrusting his sex up 
before her eyes. Even now, she was squirming inside with irrepressible 
memories. Her fingers remembered the feel of rampant flesh and her skin 
seemed incurably seared by the fire of sperm globs, hurtling at her from the 
exciting penile forms. 

Logically, she argued with herself, she was not to blame. She had been 
forced to watch Trina being sodomized in the old warehouse. She had not 
sought out the voyeuristic moment. Further, she was young and innocent of 
mind and the impact of seeing that huge penis spread and deform and ram into 
the bent bottom might well have been too much, even for a seasoned woman of 
the world. Nor had she been able to avoid Raphael and his ruthless rape. He 
looked frail and deformed, but his arms were steel and his hands were like 
claws. His lust had been painful, irresistible, and she had been forced to 
accept it, anyway he chose to present it. 

The ecstasy of sexual intercourse had inspired a thousand classics. Could 
she be held responsible if his plunging penis, his body and the animal of 
him had penetrated her defenses, battering her senses with unfair physical 
advantages? 

The Negro, Joven, she was not sure about. Like now. Was she herself, 
trembling with these acute mnemonic thoughts, or was she under the influence 
of some insidious drug? In any case, she had barely recalled indefinite 
things that indicated she might have been at his mercy; the black skin, the 
smell, and of course, her very sore anus which had not been seriously 
molested by Raphael because of the buzzer. 

Now she looked up at the picture frame. The red eye was no longer there. 
They had cleaned the lens. She hadn't the will to care. From beginning to 
end, they had dominated her and harassed her, stripped her of her dignity 
and consigned her to all manner of foulness. Jan Arden had admitted he had 
watched Raphael rape her and subject her to obscene acts. What new thing 
could he possibly see? 

She thought about the giant man-The Kewpie. He had treated her like a common 
prostitute. Suck it. She shivered. Holding her by the hair, thrusting his 
fat groin forward, nearly stabbing her with his monstrous penis. There had 
been no choice but to do as he demanded. This made Gail cringe inside. The 
feel of his hot, blood-filled penis had unnerved her, startled her out of 
her moral fortress and hurled her back five thousand primitive years. Proof 
of her true character was that she had retaliated by biting him like a 
cornered rat, in defense, in retribution and in declaration of her real 
self. 

And what she had done that morning, with Raphael and Joven had been done in 
the name of hope. Beaten, dirty, cold and helpless, she had yet been able to 
act with calm and purpose. It was not her fault if her frail body had 
defeated her by reacting to her deliberate ministrations to the hunchback 
and the Negro. Her unreasonable reactions only proved one thing. Sex was a 
powerful force, unpredictable and destructive, a force to be abhorred and 
evaded. 

Now that she knew her own weakness in the face of lust, she could plan 
intelligently. Let them do what they chose with her. She would henceforth be 
prepared, strong, determined. Her task now was to get into the good graces 
of The Kewpie. Let him do what he would, demand what he could. She would be 
soft and subjective until her moment arrived. In her mind, she saw his huge 
naked body, jerking with an uncontrollable seizure, and she saw herself, 
nude, ravaged horribly, perhaps, rising above his helpless body, a thin 
steel something in her hand. One thrust. Jan Arden's death would make the 
world a better place and if she died for it, her life would not be uselessly 
forfeit. Somewhere in martyr's heaven she would embrace Avis Garden and tell 
her how she had helped destroy the evil man. 

"Get up, bitch," the hunchback said from the door. "The boss wants you." 

She stared. So deeply had her mind been swimming that she had not heard him 
enter, or the two blank-faced Spaniards behind him. These two moved in and 
Gail scuttled to the far side of the bed. They clambered after her, with 
grasping hands and they hurled her down on the bed so they could tie her 
wrists and ankles with the short hard cords they carried. 

"What are you going to do to me?" she gasped. Raphael shrugged. The two men 
lifted her and carried her twisting, kicking body between them. Her breasts 
wobbled, shook, drew at her skin with their weight. A big hard hand gripped 
under her buttock to steady her. She heard Raphael scuffing along the 
corridor behind them. Calm, Gail, she told herself, because the ordeal has 
begun. They went through big doors and she saw the vaulted ceiling and the 
high, tapestry-hung walls. Turning her head, she saw the extent of the room. 
There was a great vacant space in the center of the room, the marble floor 
marred by only a single piece of furnishing. A square bed, with a velvet 
coverlet and four bedposts. The shape of the polished black wood sent chills 
through her. Each was carved in the precise image of a male penis. Above the 
bed dangled a peculiar cluster of harness, hanging from a small block and 
tackle in the central ceiling dome. The Spaniards hurled her on the bed then 
backed away. Gail twisted and there he was, seated pulpily on a grotesque 
chair that seemed to be an almost bed, a nearly desk and a frightening web 
for an over-weight pink spider. Then she saw Trina, bound into another 
chair, her mouth covered by a purple silk gag. There was another man to the 
left, dressed in conservative business clothes, a strange note among the 
naked and half-naked group. A dozen Spanish people, mostly men, huddled to 
the right. All were naked. Gail's jaw chattered, but no cry of terror came 
from her atrophied throat. 

"Miss Brown, we meet again," The Kewpie rumbled. "I thought it time to 
entertain you properly in my hacienda, and perchance to suffer you the 
opportunity to return our hospitality. Some of these friends, you have met 
before-Raphael, Joven, Miss Salisman and myself, of course. The others are 
anxious to make your acquaintance. For instance, these shivering peons are 
from the farthest reaches of my estate. Among the seventy rancheros I 
employ, these possess the longest cocks and the sturdiest balls. The four 
women are known for their voracious adoration of the female cunt, one of 
which I presume you have? Yes. Millburn here, is my secretary. He is queer 
and so is in attendance only as a spectator and a connoisseur of orgy we're 
going to have an orgy, or hadn't you guessed?" 

And now Gail felt the full impact of The Kewpie's evil. It seemed to settle 
around her like an enveloping blanket as she stared at the strange audience 
for her naked helplessness. Some of the peons were grinning; several held in 
carelessly caressive hands, the rigid, frightening organs they were noted 
for. The women were hideous, with wild eyes, over-developed breasts and 
bellies, low-grown with thick black hair. Speechless, she made a sympathetic 
sign to Trina. She was tied firmly into an upholstered chair, her naked body 
a lush symmetry of white against the red Moroccan leather. Trina squirmed, 
but the muffled sounds from her throat were lost in the veil of nasal 
breathing. Raphael and Joven she did not look at. 

"You-you will go to Hell for this!" she hurled at Arden. 

"Doll, I have held a mortgage on Hell for many years," he told her quietly. 
Then he snapped his fat fingers with a sharp crack, and the two half-naked 
men who had brought her to the loom leaped forward. She thought of 
struggling, then she remembered her determination to remain calm and await 
her opportunity. Shivering with dread, she was spreadeagled on the bed, her 
wrists and ankles strung to the phallic-formed bedposts. There were gasps 
and murmurs as her total nakedness was exposed to the assemblage. 
Involuntarily, she tugged at the bonds, giving her perfect legs and taut 
torso mobility. Then she relaxed, closing her eyes; shame was her only 
garment and humiliation her single emotion. Then hands stuffed and tucked a 
velvet pillow under her blonde head. As if to give her a perfect view of 
what was going to happen to her vulgarly displayed body. Through the valley 
of her breasts and over the flat of her belly, the fat fiend sat on the odd 
throne. He was not wearing a bandage where she had bitten him; he showed no 
penile passion and Gail spent a second in wondering. She wanted to spit at 
him, but her mouth was suddenly dry. 

Abruptly, the lights dimmed drastically, but she seemed especially 
illuminated by hidden floods. Under the bright beam, she blinked and 
discovered that while they could see every exposed delight of her body, she 
could not see a single one of her audience. They were there because she 
could hear them murmuring and shuffling. And suddenly, one of the naked 
brown women appeared at her feet. She was large and heavily weighted with 
luxurious flesh. Her breasts were long and thick and tipped with fat 
nipples. She was pretty in a fierce way, her black, deeply set eyes flashing 
under heavy brows. She held a small gourd in her right hand and she scrubbed 
tenderly at her hairy crotch with the other. She just leaned forward tipped 
the gourd and a thin, viscous stream of amber oil poured down to Gail's 
belly. She flinched, but the oil was only warm. It spread swiftly, down into 
the soft pad of blonde pubic hair, over her sides to pool under her nates, 
and as the stream heavied, the woman moved it to cover Gail's breasts. 

Then another woman appeared and still a third. 

They ranged on either side and began to smear the oil over every inch of 
Gail's body. She shrieked as strong, knowing fingers worked the scented oil 
over and around her breasts, her waist and under the small of her back. And 
then from her quivering belly down, into the taut juncture of thighs and 
belly around the pelvic mound and finally, into the quaking mouth of her 
vagina. The fingers moved and massaged, spreading the thin lips, rolling the 
inner tissues, probing into her vulva and finally, trading touches as four 
fingers began to assault her clitoris. 

"Ahh-no! No!" Gail pleaded. But the fingers paid no heed. Propped by the 
pillow, Gail stared down at the hands, shining with oil and digging into her 
body with deft, so very deft manipulations. She tried not to feel, but the 
slick pressures, the small flicking were acutely accurate. Then while one of 
the women continued to caress the now widely opened vagina, the other sent 
her fingers under Gail's bottom and smeared the oil over the taut nates and 
finally, between them. Gail arched up, not to aid, but to tighten her 
buttocks against the insistent invasion. The oil made the fingers 
irresistible. She hung her hips in a still vibration, whimpering and mewling 
and the fingers worked her anus into sleek helplessness. "No, no, no!" Gail 
yelled, but the woman's middle finger went screwing into her rectum, deep 
and squirming. Gail fell to the bed, panting with strain. She lay in flaccid 
trembling as they continued to oil and finger violate her private parts. 
Then abruptly, the hands were gone. 

Gail opened her eyes. The fourth woman was there, a tall, rangy Spanish 
beauty of broad bony hips and small tight breasts. Her hair was pulled back 
in a tight bandana from under which a long thick braid of coal black hair 
hung down her bare back. But it was not the woman that frightened Gail. It 
was the unreasonable device strapped to her lean hips. It was a shiny black 
bull horn, nearly two feet long, fastened by the horn-butt to the rawhide 
belt she wore. It curved out and up, its point almost needle sharp. The 
woman settled the harness with long-nailed fingers. She knelt between Gail's 
out-strained legs, contemplating with evil eyes the oiled and opened vagina. 
Then she took firm grip of the deadly cuemo, twisted it and jerked. It came 
off like a spear sheath, and the ugly shape it had held was almost as 
terrifying to Gail as the horn had been. It was long, gray and tapered, and 
she was sure it had once belonged to some animal, a horse or a mule or 
perhaps the same bull that had provided the shiny horn-sheath. It was 
springy, and the skin was wrinkled as if mummified. There was a depression 
in the end, but it seemed withered closed. Gail moaned and the woman 
crouched, turning down so the stiffly fastened rod aimed precisely at the 
oiled and defenseless vagina. 

It was cold and rough and it sent rasping sensations up her belly as it 
slipped in, easily at first but with some pain as the taper thickened. Now 
the woman was over Gail, her hard face drawn in some lewd exultation. Her 
breasts hung slightly, the nipples like blunt spear tips. Her muscular 
thighs snuggled between Gail's legs and with small, expertly twisted 
thrusts, the false penis went in until Gail shrieked with up-high pain and 
tried to shift her bottom away. It would perforate her abdomen, she was 
sure. It felt as if it had already nudged her stomach. She held her breath 
until her lungs were near to bursting. As she exhaled, the hard brown body 
began a slow undulation. And instantly the pain eased, another agony sent 
Gail into throes of excruciating hate. The wrinkled skin, rasping in and out 
of her sex-sleeve seemed to touch every nerve and excite every fiber of her 
body. She cried out in protest but the steady in and out persisted. The 
woman was grinning now, a leer of victory. Her head dropped and she nibbled 
hungrily, first at one of Gail's nipples and then at the other. The hot 
mouth was like puppy's, sucking, working, pinpointing the throbbing ache of 
the quivering globes. 

"Oh, please, please," Gail murmured. "Not again! Not this time. No, no, I 
won't, I won't!" 

"Pobrecita," the woman husked. "Abandona, querida mia!" 

Without knowing she had been asked to surrender, Gail wilted. Instantly, the 
invader seemed to swell, to thicken and fill her suddenly eager vulva. 
Instead of arching against the plunging instrument, she hunched to it, and 
as her dizziness increased, she felt the deep gathering, the hesitating 
beast of lust that would soon spring forward and' consume the horn-like 
marvel. She wanted to raise her legs and kick them out but they could only 
struggle. She wanted to clasp her body to the lean brown one and form a 
meshing that would last forever. All she could do was lie and shudder with 
ecstasy and when the orgasm burst, she whimpered and stiffened to the 
ripples of delight. 

"Enough, Malaguena," the Kewpie's rumble decided. "Termina!" 

It slipped away and Gail would have cried her protest but she had some 
half-sensible idea that there was more to come. She needed strength now, to 
suffer the rest of the inhuman torture, whatever it might be. Take it all. 
As long as her flesh was able, show the massive ogre that she was game, even 
eager, so that when her total subjugation was accomplished, he might grant 
her some personal favor. Like sending them away so she could finish 
shredding herself with his lust. If she were compel ling, exquisite, he 
might have a seizure. The orgasm glow was fading; she opened her eyes. 

He was not tall. His body was hardly more than a skeleton, with flat hard 
muscles pasted on his bones. He was shaggy, dirty, and a scar ran from the 
base of his throat to a hip bone. He seemed stooped, but perhaps it was only 
so he could curl his spine to give his long lean penis a further up-angling. 
She expelled a quavering cry of fear; the flaring glans was dotted with four 
or five or eight warts, dark brown lumps of callused looking gristle, giving 
the black-red fist the look of grievous disease. Now he stroked the tight 
foreskin and moved around. His head turned in fascinated terror as he knelt 
at her shoulder, his penis a threatening club over her face. 

She had one intolerable flash-if his penis were diseased and it dripped, the 
evil fluid would drop on her cheek. She turned her head to the other side, 
and his grimy hand, malodorous with sex, turned it back. There was no drip. 
Hypnotized, Gail counted the warts. Three huge ones, four smaller ones. Like 
huddled flies on the pulsing flesh. He was still holding her head so when he 
scrooched and pressed his penis to her mouth, she went "Hmm-mm!" in protest. 
He suddenly seized her nose, squeezing it closed. Her mouth flew open for a 
desperate breath and the warted shape was abruptly filling her to the 
throat. He held her nose. She inhaled around the foul form, was forced to 
swallow before another breath, and with a gurgle of surrender, closed her 
lips around the shank behind the coronal rim. He let go of her nose, but his 
poised and ready fingers hovered, threatening her if she failed to keep his 
penis in her lips. Eyes closed to shut out his ugly face and scrawny body as 
she tested the warts with her tongue. They were hard, like pebbles glued to 
the throbbing, softer flesh. He was flexing his member. It pounded as the 
muscular tensing crept up to dissipate itself between the roof of her mouth 
and her pressing-up tongue. He began a slow sawing, hollowing her cheeks 
then distending them. She had one quick taste of the ooze now creeping up 
his urethral tube. His hands were on her breasts, squeezing, paining, but 
always milking them upward into final tingling. She knew what to do now. 
Simply lick and suck until his lust burst. She was becoming used to the 
warts, fond of one that seemed to twitch of its own accord. Then as she 
became aware of more weight on the bed, Gail opened her eyes, rolled them. 
Past the bony man, another was crawling between her legs. He was stouter, 
browner, and his penis was shaped like a lean fish, thick in the middle and 
small at the acorned end. She cried, "Not two!" but around the warted 
intruder it sounded like "Na-boo!" 

Abruptly, the scrawny man threw one leg over her chest and cradled his 
testicles between her breasts. His penis plunged, causing her to cough and 
straighten her head. His dirty hands pressed to her cheeks, his thin bottom 
rasped on her chest as he began to undulate his thin hips. Then she felt the 
fish-shape. It pummeled, slipped on her oily skin then plunged into her 
helpless vagina. It was smooth and sleek, but the thickness of the shaft 
suddenly became impossible. She writhed and it was her undoing. The hot 
flesh shot in, snugged tight and high in her vulva. Hands slipped under her 
oily nates, lifting her bottom to the furious impalement. She tried not to 
feel the slow movement, the throbbing. She thought only about the warts, and 
she sucked furiously, hoping he might slap her. Instead, he howled a Spanish 
curse and rammed his penis to the back of her throat as his climax exploded. 
He fluttered, giving her breath room and swallowing space. The taste was 
strongly acrid, the sperm was thin and steady. He still held her head so she 
let him jerk his orgasm to the end, trying only not to drown nor think about 
the havoc in her vagina. 

There were sounds, wet from her crotch, rumbling from the darkness back of 
the lighted area. The bony man unloaded, much as he might have from a pony. 
Where his thin chest had been was the face and shoulders of the man now 
rooting, grunting in her crotch. She lay listless, trying not to feel. A 
trickle of sperm ran from her slack lips and she deliberately tried not to 
focus her eyes. It was growing down there again. She could not control the 
workings of her secret muscles, gripping, releasing as the thick penis 
deformed her inner organs. It somehow felt different but it was going to be 
the same. She rolled her head, left, right, left again, fighting the 
weakness that was melting her intestines. 

"Trina! Trina!" she suddenly screamed. "Oh, God, help me!" 

There was suddenly another man astraddle her breasts, another hand, prying 
her mouth open, fol lowing the dirty fingers with the blunt hard-softness of 
a smelly penis. Didn't these Spaniards ever wash their privates? The fish 
was swimming upstream, nudging the sensitive end of her contracting vulva. 
There, there, and out to come there again, spreading, filling, sawing 
endlessly at the delighted places. Her jaw ached as she accommodated her 
mouth to the samely-different shape. She was going to climax. It was like 
fire, and she had to climax. Fuck, shit, jism, cunt and blow my ass out, 
peon. 

Don't go. He's gone but it won't stop. Thump like a big heart, petrify my 
belly. Hungry belly. Needs filling so I can wrap around the filler and 
inhale its heat until I die. It isn't stopping. Another one, in, in, all the 
way. This one in my mouth is sweet. It throbs and twitches when I tongue the 
little jism slit. His testicles are heavy, like a rubber bag full of rubber 
balls. That's what they call them, isn't it? Balls. Nuts. Knock-up nubs. 
Suck it, bitch. It's coming up the tube. I'm still climaxing; it won't stop 
and it is hurting me now, like cramps only harder. Why is he still pumping 
in me? Can't he tell I'm climaxing? Swallow quickly because when it's all 
gone and is lying in a cool pool in my belly, maybe I'll quit climaxing. 
It's gone but I can't stop-not until that one down there quits ramming and 
ramming and ramming. Oh goddamnit, god-damnit. 

At Jan's order, they released her hands and ankles. She did a spastic thing 
and rolled to one hip, drawing her legs up and curling her hands down. 

Her body jerked, moans of pain blubbered from her come-filled mouth. Spasms 
of involuntary orgasm, triggered by her mind and established by four hard 
fucks and three deep sucks. 

"Interesting," he said down to Trina. "Your friend has a marvelously 
responsive body. I'll remove your gag if you promise to be a smart bitch. 
One yell and you can take a chance or five on that bed!" 

"You've killed her," was the first thing Trina spat at him. 

"Now, now. Fucking never killed anybody. We'll let her rest a bit then 
change the modus operandi. So far, we've been very basic, I'd say. Your 
lovely friend is a most interesting subject for objective hedonism. How's 
your bung-hole, baby?" 

"Jan, Jan, for God's sake! Don't you ever give a woman a chance. Poor Gail!" 
Her voice quavered. "My bung-hole as you call it is driving me crazy!" 

Jan chuckled. He looked at Gail. The jerks were fading. He had once had a 
woman who had hung on his insatiable cock and had orgasm for an hour. He 
fondled his numb penis. Later, man, later. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

The floor was very hard but delightfully cool. Gail lay there, letting her 
mind settle from its insane turning, feeling the return of strength and 
tingling blood to her arms and legs. Her skin was too warm because the coat 
of oil was heavy. She was sick at her stomach. How many? Three that she 
could remember. Her swollen lips moved in memory. How could a decent, moral 
and right-thinking woman like that clinging flavor? 

What were they doing? She didn't want to move lest those agonizing 
convulsions should restart in her vagina. The battered organ, the raped 
secrecy, lay in her low torso like a worn out glove. With only one elastic 
finger-pocket into which all fingers were shoved. How could a decent, moral 
and right-thinking woman like to high-heaven the filthy intrusion of 
unfeeling maleness. She had lost count. Her belly twitched dangerously and 
she clamped her jaw. Flesh, swell, in, out, hot, spew, spurt, thump. No, no. 
She had to kill Jan Arden. 

The hands were strange, slight, almost feminine. She opened her eyes. It was 
the nicely dressed man who seemed so out of place. 

"Care for a drink, Miss Brown?" he asked in a modulated voice. 

"Y-yes, thank you!" She took the glass. It was liquor, she was sure, but she 
had often heard it labeled liquid courage and she needed all she could get. 
It was cold and it was acrid, but it sent a strong shudder through her and 
burned delightfully in her stomach. He had nice skin and his hair was 
brushed neatly. His shirt was clean and he smelled of cologne. What really 
was a queer? 

"Easy," he said. "That is deceptively powerful brandy, only moderately 
diluted with soda. How do you feel?" 

"Sick. They are going to kill me, aren't they? 

Those men!" 

"No, I don't think so. Mister Arden seldom kills women." 

"S-seldom?" 

"Seldom. Why don't you sit on the bed? They moved you to the floor while 
they changed the coverlet. Let me help you." 

He was not strong, but he was steady. She let him seat her on the bed and 
she saw that nothing had changed. The circle of light, the murmur of 
spectators, the ugly bed posts. She almost sneered. Wooden penises. Then she 
discovered that Her friend was slowly removing his nice suit and white 
shirt. He seemed preoccupied, as if what he did was of no interest to him. 
Alarmed, she watched his soft white body emerge from his clothing. She even 
marveled that she could sit and watch a man turn naked, and she looked at 
his unhairy belly and small, skin-wrapped penis with cool appraisal. Not in 
the same class with the fiends she had entertained. She wondered if he were 
going to rape her. His testicles were unobtrusive, nearly shriveled shapes 
in a slightly furred sack. 

"Are you going to-to have me?" 

"No, Miss Brown. I am going to be had!" 

"W-what?" 

And abruptly, one of her arch-enemies stepped into the light. It was Joven, 
naked, blacker than she remembered and so rampant his high, rigid penis 
seemed capable of tipping him forward. He had a pair of shiny handcuffs, and 
before she could protest, he had snapped one of the cuffs around her right 
wrist. The other, he leisurely looped to his left wrist. 

"What's the m-meaning of this?" she asked the nude white man. 

"It insures a captive audience, Miss Brown. I suggest you sit quietly and 
watch because there is no way to evade what is to follow. Joven?" 

The Negro laughed and curled his free arm around the man's waist, dragging 
him closer and half pushing him to the bed. Like a trained animal, the man 
named Millburn went to his hands and knees on the bed, his feet hanging over 
the edge, his plump, bare bottom a full exposure of male secrets. His rectum 
was a small neat pucker, and from it ran down a seemingly soft muscle which 
enfolded his testicles then turned into the dangling finger of his penis. He 
put one hand to his groin and she watched as his fingers skinned his penis 
back and exposed the small scarlet head. It hung that way when he released 
it. He then ran the same hand around his buttock and one finger began to 
knead and press his rectum. He made no attempt to enter his anus, but it 
seemed obvious that he was massaging his flesh with some sort of 
anticipation. Gail shuddered, suddenly more alarmed than she could recall. 
The total lewdness of his calm acts, the brazen exposure of his most private 
parts was an obscene nightmare. And while he did these things, Joven stroked 
his mighty penis and gradually moved closer to the bended rump. Abruptly, 
Joven leaned over and his first and middle finger wiped up under Gail's oily 
breasts. She jerked but could not evade him. The cuffs bound them 
irrevocably together. 

With no hesitation whatever, he thrust his two tip-oiled fingers into 
Millbum's rectum. The man's back raised a tense bow, but he did not jerk 
away or protest. With evident glee, Joven began to screw his big digits into 
the resistless anus, stretching the rubbery flesh, turning to loosen the 
inner circlet, then thrusting in and out as if to warn the flaccid behind of 
what was coming. 

Gail stared, frozen with amazement at the lewd play. Her belly tightened, 
and her anus seemed to click closed in sympathy. She found that her mouth 
was open, her tongue suspended in inner space. Dryness began at her lips and 
went all the way back to her palate. Joven was moving forward now, his 
movements shaking her arm. His hand twisted and took hers. She was powerless 
to get it free. 

Then he drew her close, and his hand wrapped hers around his penis. The hot 
thickness sent a new shuddering down her spine. His fingers, still plunging 
and stretching Millburn's rectum now withdrew a bit and curled, hooking 
upward, stretching the moist aperture into a long oval. 

"Huh," Joven grunted. "Ponga me pequeha en elano!" 

He hunched, kissing the taut circlet, now distorted with his hooking. Numbed 
with surprise, trembling with unnamed emotions, Gail steadied his penis and 
with no conscious intent, pulled the huge organ so the glans entered the 
rectal tunnel. Then her fingers flew open but the entry was made. Joven 
curled his free hand under Millburn's belly and did a massive thrusting. His 
black organ went slithering in, twisted and aided by his supple hips and his 
huge belly muscles. Gail's knees went abruptly limp and she sank to the bed, 
her knee against Millbum's bare, hairless calf. Joven stole a second to grin 
down at her, then he wriggled the rest of his penis in and in, until his 
belly flattened Millburn's buttocks and his testicles kissed the 
homosexual's puny, dangling genitals. 

For an instant, Gail's mind reverted to the horrible memory of the dirty 
Spanish seaman and Trina's penetrated bottom; this was different, 
drastically more violent, insidiously more lewd. One man having brutal 
copulation with another. One huge and black and fierce, the other soft, 
white and passive. And eager, because as she stared, Millbum's hips began to 
describe small lascivious curlings to meet and complement the stroking Joven 
was beginning. The huge black pole turned the thinlipped rectum in, drug it 
out pinkly, then screwed white and black flesh together and in again. 
Joven's testicles swung in weighty waiting. Perspiration appeared on his 
belly, made the short, wiry curls glisten. Gail had only to move slightly to 
see another beginning drama. Joven's hand curled under Millburn fondling the 
white penis, now not quite as small and as fragile looking as it had been. 
The black fingers skinned the organ back, and the head was swelling, pushing 
forward from the shaft. Millburn's movements altered and he was undulating 
into the caressive grip. Gail squirmed, wanting to look away, she fought to 
do so. But it was impossible to ignore this raw obscenity, this brutal 
display of degradation. Her breasts jiggled tightly, and her nipples 
hardened. She felt the lips of her vagina stir. But the thrill was 
elsewhere, somewhere in Her backside, below where she believed her kidneys 
to be. 

"Joven, Joven," she breathed. "Fuck him harder!" 

To her knowledge, it was the second time she had ever spoken the foul word 
aloud and it shocked her with its vulgarity. But she feasted on the 
vulgarity and leaned closer to watch the incredible workings of the black 
flesh in the white, no, pink, slightly browning. She stilled, fighting the 
deep excitement in her torso. Then she gave a wailing cry and fell forward, 
her forehead coming to rest on the curve of Millburn's thigh. Joven's belly, 
pumping, bumped her head slightly. Her one free hand went up under Millbum 
and somehow displaced Joven's. She seized the stiffened organ, thrilling to 
the small rigidity, and to the pliable skin slipping in her fingers. She 
felt she had to help him, had to share his quickening passion. In blind 
abandonment, she felt it was she who was suffering the incredible reaming, 
that it was her penis that plunged in and out of the responsive bottom, that 
it was her sex, giving and receiving the exquisite sensations, now audible 
as both men tensed for a climax. 

Gail screamed, reared back, her palm full of sticky, hot sperm from 
Millburn's jerking penis. Joven howled, grunted, rammed. Gail slipped off 
the bed, turned and curled over the firm mattress, rubbing and undulating 
her crotch into the cold cloth. It had started again, heavy thumping, 
twisting, trying to bite and inhale and she was sure it would never stop, 
couldn't stop. She smeared Millbum's discharge over her face. Fuck, shit, 
jism, asshole, cunt and don't stop. 

"Trina, T-Trina!" she called. "I'm dying, d-dying!" 

"Remarkable," The Kewpie's voice came. "No one wet a finger in her! What 
will she do when I really get her fucked?" 

"The nigger," Trina hissed. "I need him!" 

The Kewpie laughed in reckless bellowing. And took a no-fit pill. 

The cuff was removed and her arm flung out parallel to the other. She lay 
half draped over the bed, her knees far apart, her bottom curled to keep the 
pressure on her spasmodically jumping vagina. Delectably dropped into 
delirium, she flattened her face to the coverlet and consigned all of her 
life to the sweet orgasms that rose and fell away like the restless ocean. 
Fluid ran from her vagina, hot high and cooling as it ran down her inner 
thighs to her knees. The floor was very hard on her kneecaps; the dull pain 
kept the thumping in tune. She wanted never to recover, but as the 
convulsing slacked, she began to think. He was defeating her; it seemed 
impossible but he apparently knew more about her than she herself. She 
opened her eyes. Joven was gone. Millbum was gone. She was alone in the 
light, left for some other diabolical scheme. It didn't matter, she thought, 
and she even relaxed, trying to guess what might come next. Wasn't this the 
plan she had made-to take everything, endure all and persevere until the 
insane fat man dropped his guard? Laboriously, she crawled up to lie flat on 
the bed. Why look? There was nothing, no one there. She was alone in a sex 
hell. The Kewpie's voice, Trina's voice, the murmurs and scuffling of 
sandaled feet, these were hallucinations. There was only Gail Brown, body. 
She had a stupid flash of humor. If she ever returned to the world, wouldn't 
some handsome young swain be surprised at all the things she knew how to do 
for him? No, never. If God saw her once out of this hell she would never 
think a sex thought for the rest of her life. 

She lay quietly, saving her strength. What went on around her she could not 
tell. Her body was like a bruise or an itch between the toes. However much 
it pained to rub or scratch, rubbing and scratching was preferable to 
leaving the demand unanswered. She squirmed. There was more, she was sure. 
What was The Kewpie waiting for? Her flesh crawled as she imagined all sorts 
of fiendish preparations. There were still several peons that had not abused 
her and those who had were probably rested and ready for a second brutal 
time around. And there was Raphael, the hunchback, obviously a favorite of 
The Kewpie's. He spoke English, with an accent, admittedly, but she had been 
able to communicate with him. Or were they arranging some experiment that 
would intrigue their evil emotions even though it destroyed her flesh? 
Footsteps then. 

She heard the soft hiss and didn't identify it until the lash cut across her 
back. Gail jerked and cried out, but a moment later, she flattened to the 
bed, strangely relaxed now that it had started again. The lash cut a 
different angle. It was a soft whip, and she realized that she wasn't being 
hurt. Slightly, perhaps, but mostly it was shock and the j strange agony of 
being whipped. She stirred her legs and the third stroke cut across her 
upturned nates. She moaned. Every nerve in her body seemed to flow toward 
the stinging line, concentrating her feelings exactly there. She thought of 
turning over, her breasts ached and the whip might change that. But she was 
very tired and instead of turning, she twisted, drawing herself into a 
womb-shape, her arms folded under her breasts, her legs drawn up to furnish 
the whip master her bended bottom. It came again, and the feathery thongs, 
soft silk, she thought, curled around her bottom and made tiny fire points. 
She curled tighter, abruptly pleased that this new mistreatment satisfied 
them and didn't hurt her at all. If anything, the slowly sue cessive blows 
were too far apart. The hiss and swish of the gentle whip became rhythmic 
and she began to meet the wandering strokes with a subtle bunching of her 
nerves. From neck to buttocks, and sometimes at a new and exciting angle 
across her tingling bottom. Tense, wait, tense, wait, and suddenly, Gail 
possessed a million nerves that' demanded this soft abuse. They screamed for 
the odd caress of the steady, innocuous whip and with a wild cry of hunger, 
she rolled and threw herself out flatly, arms akimbo, legs out as far as her 
half-sprung hip joints would permit. She lay, eyes closed, dry lips agape, 
awaiting the kiss of the delightful whip. She trembled and bunched her 
insides in anticipation; across her neglected breasts in her crotch, full in 
the face if they chose. Then it came. 

But it was different, startlingly so. The whip seemed stiffer, the blow 
harder and the lash tips did not kiss, they stung. Her nerves leaped and she 
writhed with involuntary release. The second blow stripped across her 
breasts and she yelped in surprise as her nipples resented the raking 
thongs. Still, she lay in surrender, waiting for the softness, the caress. 
From directly between her legs the whip came down, laying a line from her 
vagina to her breasts. It was good. The tightness there seemed to spring 
loose and spread upward. Another blow, higher. Not there, not there, she 
pleaded. Down lower, where the fire bums gently. Ah, there, there. And 
before she could think of what she did, Gail raised her legs and veed them 
out so the whipmas-ter would be sure to strike the proper place. 

Suddenly, it was all changed. Hands grasped her ankles, her wrists. She 
opened her eyes, rudely jerked back from the incredible paradise of half 
pain. The peons were holding her, their bodies braced, their groins sprouted 
with rigid penile forms, the smell of them crowding down on her flared 
nostrils. The whip master was Raphael. He was naked, his monstrous penis 
swaying and bobbing in stiffened threat. But he was not now holding the 
sweet lash. He held a peculiar looking paddle, made of several thickness of 
heavy leather, beautifully stitched around the edges. Even as she stared in 
instant terror, his long thin arm swung and the leather smacked brutally 
across her bottom. Gail screamed, her body described frenzied twistings to 
escape the deep pain that went straight up her body to her confused brain. 
Again the smack of the hard-swung paddle and again she screamed. The pain 
was insufferable, impossible to survive. The next blow nearly caused her to 
faint. She wailed and pleaded, her words sputtering from a bone dry throat. 
A terrible fear came over her; if he should happen to strike between her 
legs instead of across her nates, the horrible leather would smash and crush 
her vagina into a withered pulp. Her eyes widened, she watched the leather 
approach in its vicious arc. Her bottom moved to receive the blow on the 
full of her buttocks. The peons seemed not to care how she evaded or met the 
blow. They held her ankles high and far apart and her hands pinioned to the 
bed. Shift again, the agony pierced her flesh. She saw the redness deepen as 
the tiny blood-vessels on her rump were ruptured. She didn't think Raphael 
was hitting her as hard as be could. He seemed always to crouch because of 
his humped back, but his swing was lethargic. 

"Raphael, please no-Ooh-oh, not again, not any more!" 

Half of her pleadings were drowned by the whistle and smack of the paddle. 
Hanging on to her fading senses, Gail concentrated upon shifting her 
pummeled bottom to avoid the one blow she felt would be almost fatal. 
Raphael's face was drawn into a mask of hate. 

"You're k-killing me!" she gasped, hoping her confession would ease his 
vitriol. She took another blow and discovered that it hurt less because her 
buttocks were numbing. 

Stop now, Raphael. Put down that cruel paddle and vent your hate of me by 
ramming that ugly penis into me, wherever you want, everywhere. No, Raphael, 
not another blow. Your penis, Raphael, your penis! 

And as the unspoken words rolled in her brain, Gail felt the terrible 
knotting, the hated bunching in her belly. She took another blow, praying 
that it would hurt so deeply, so terribly that the burning desire would go 
away. There was no pain, only the hard jolt and the deadly sound of leather 
on flesh. She wailed, and when the paddle swung again, she jerked her legs 
and raised her bottom, as open as she could manage in the peons' grasp. The 
paddle struck, but it was limber enough to bend and the leather smashed to 
her vagina with a sickening, squishing sound. 

"Oh, God, oh, goddamnit, goddamnit!" Gail screamed. 

The Kewpie boomed something in Spanish. The peons let go of her. Like a 
hail-hammered flower, her body crumpled to the bed, her legs suddenly stiff 
with spasmodic tensing. The thudding convulsed her belly, her vagina seemed 
crushed but defiant, eager to turn inside out, to gulp and quake and throb 
with uncontrollable frenzy. The orgasm was more painful than Gail could 
stand, but she stood it, gasping, mewling and mixing ecstasy with pain until 
her senses reeled. 

When the ecstasy faded, the pain took over. Her hands moved sluggishly to 
her bottom as she rolled. She could feel the welts, and the slight moistness 
of blood. Instantly her mind assessed her wounding from the merciless 
paddle, the orgasm returned, a flesh-torturing ripple following ripple that 
shredded her insides. As it finally faded, she urinated, burning her thighs 
and lacerated flesh with heat and acid. Even this pain revived the twitching 
and Gail lay, moaning and whimpering as her body took its toll of her melted 
brain. 

A bit later, she decided she was horribly bruised, but not as bloody as she 
had thought. The oil spread on her body by the women had helped her 
physically. Nothing could ever salvage her mind. 

Jan dismissed Millbum and ordered Raphael and Joven to send the peons to 
their huts. He was tired, but not from boredom nor physical effort. He was 
tired from watching the destruction of Gail, or, if he truly analyzed it, 
her birth as a woman of sexual excellence. He looked at her, lying on the 
bed, apparently devastated. He fondled his cock, trying to test its 
returning life and the degree of its healing. Then he looked down at Trina. 
She was slumped in the chair, her chin down. Her big tits rose and fell with 
her breathing and she had managed to work her ankle bonds enough to get her 
legs slightly apart. He grinned. He had heard her several times, grunting, 
gasping and whimpering as she had watched her friend undergo the extremes of 
sex. 

Gail had surprised him, tested his ability to play God to her strangely 
receptive sensuality. He understood her now. She was a woman whose sense of 
morality was unbending, even though it was founded on impersonal learnings. 
Unbending, that was, until sight or sound or touch triggered her primitive 
instincts. Once penetrated, her libido ran away like a bee-stung horse. 

Horse? Jan petted his cock. He felt of the bite, testing it for weakness. 
Not yet, he was sure. Hard, his prick swelled in all dimensions, and the 
stress would surely split the meager healing. He cursed, then looked out at 
the body on the bed. Had she once during the past two hours cried out for 
mercy to him, or even acknowledged his presence? No. Did she blame her 
ordeals upon his vengeance or did she simply believe she was experiencing 
Castellon Vista's normal hospitality? He didn't know, but quickly realized 
there was an entire realm of exciting objectives he could yet pursue. But 
not until his prick was more serviceable than it was. 

"Raphael. Take both women back to their quarters. See that the blonde one is 
properly taken care of. I don't want that pretty ass to be permanently 
marked, understand?" 

"Yes, boss. I laid it on her good, didn't I?" 

"Uh," Jan grunted and closed his eyes. He was almost asleep before the 
Throne room was emptied. 

She didn't care until the big gentle hands began to spread the cooling salve 
on her aching bottom. She was lying on her stomach, her breasts squashed out 
to either side, her arms folded under her tear-stained face. A quick look 
told her she was back in the familiar bedroom, stretched out on the bed she 
had grown to appreciate. Inside, her nerves sang with victory. She had 
endured, persevered, and they had grown tired of torturing her. The hands 
were strong; one of the Spanish maids was soothing her flesh with tender 
care. The salve seemed to soak out the soreness. She moved her feet apart as 
the fingers molded and kneaded the cheeks of her bottom into separation and 
massaged into the deeply bruised crevice. It was intimate and 
nerve-tingling, but she was past modesty or indignance. Now the hands were 
massaging down her thighs, easing the muscles, petting the skin. To the 
calves now and then to her feet. With nearly professional adeptness, the 
fingers drew weariness from her legs by manipulating her feet. Then a hand 
patted her improving bottom and she recognized it as a request to turn over. 
Warm with relief, she rolled. 

"Raphael!" she gasped. 

"I did it, I figured I'd better fix it," he said gruffly. Then he scooped 
salve from the wide-mouth pottery jar and with no hesitation pressed the 
cooling substance to her belly. One sleek hand went to her breasts and the 
other to her low abdomen. Shocked past protest, Gail lay, half breathing 
while the ugly hunchback coated her body with the balm. She winced when he 
rolled her breasts and greased the nipples, but he did it as he were unaware 
that the flesh was more than a leg of lamb being pre-basted for baking. 

"Good salve," he said after a minute. "My mother used to use it on me when I 
was a little kid. My back always hurt. My father was a Basque sheep-herder. 
This is made out of the oil of wool and goose fat. Feel good?" 

"You nearly killed me with that leather thing," she murmured. 

Instantly, his right hand slicked down and curled around her vagina, the 
fingers molding the bruised and swollen lips. Gail drew her legs together in 
protest and her hand went to his lean forearm to drag his hand away. It 
didn't drag. The fingers seemed uncannily able to massage without 
irritating, to mold without exciting. She turned her head. It was there, a 
long ridge of pressure in his white trouser leg. She knew he was physically 
excited at least, even though he made no outward sign. She looked at his 
face. The usual leer, the hardness of hate was absent. He seemed just like a 
stolid peon, doing a job somebody had given him to do. Had the fat beast 
told him to ease her agonies or was he doing this for some personal reason? 

"That's enough-there," she murmured, again closing her legs. "Couldn't he 
have sent one of the maids to help me?" 

Raphael straightened up to his limit, washing his hands with the residual 
salve, and, she observed, with the moisture from her vagina his deep massage 
had collected. Standing so, his penis was completely obvious in the pants 
leg. Gail covered her greased down pubic hair and laid her other forearm 
across her breasts. She was still afraid of him although her fear was merely 
another one she could endure. There was hardly anything else to do. 

"I think he almost went too far with you," Raphael said. "Maybe it was 
because he couldn't do anything with you himself. You bit him pretty bad, 
and he was full of pain-killer. Sometimes a head is worse than a stiff 
prick. You hate me, don't you?" 

It surprised her. "I ... I guess so," she admitted. "At least, you terrify 
me. You raped me, remember?" 

He grinned, exposing his bad teeth and his overly red inner lip edges. "I 
sure do! But you went for it after a little while!" 

She blushed and turned her head away. From some suspended place, she 
suddenly looked down. Gail Brown, lying naked under the eyes of an admitted 
rapist, discussing his memories and her reactions. Her vagina still purred 
under his soothing touch and her pounded bottom was softly content. She 
thought about him as a boy with a back that hurt constantly and a mother who 
anointed it with devotion. He was ugly, deformed and intrinsically evil, the 
willing servant of a man so depraved he drew no lines, from Lesbian women 
with strapped-on phalli to the sodomization of his personal secretary. Gail 
trembled. Spain was a long, long way from America; it was closer to the end 
of the world. She felt terribly alone, deserted, condemned. 

Without even knowing what she did, she bent her arm at the elbow, bringing 
her hand up until the timid fingers found the long hard bulge in his pants. 
Then she knew what she was doing, pressing, testing the frightening organ 
whose throb came through the cloth with no uncertain beat. She remembered 
how it looked; like the trunk of a small elephant that some cruel trainer 
had stiffened with a rod of steel. Only it had only one nostril instead of 
two and toward the end, the shank was sleekly scarlet. Gail moaned in 
private agony. She was doomed, degraded, dedicated to a life of personal 
shame and irrevocable memories. God had deserted her and the childish plans 
she had made were patently foolish. In the past forty-eight hours, every one 
had done everything to her they could invent. The end was obvious, but 
before it came, she wanted fulfillment, the incredible and delightful 
experience of sex without force, passion without hate. Her face turned to 
him. 

Had he been a handsome man, with poise and intellect and a developed sense 
of sophistication, she could not have spoken. But Raphael, the hunchback son 
of a Basque sheep-herder was somehow real, if impersonal. He hadn't counted 
yesterday, nor today, and tomorrow he would be only a memory. But please, 
God, it has to be a nice remembering. She increased her finger pressure. 

"Fuck me, Raphael," she whispered. "Gently, completely, with all the 
strength and tenderness you can give me! I need to feel, to live, to 
remember! Fuck me. I promise to love you as long and as madly as you can 
stand it. Get naked, Raphael, and come to me!" 

He stmck her hand away from his penis. The hardness came back to his face 
and he sneered down at her blushing shame. Then he looked up at the picture 
frame where the lens reflected a spot of light. He laughed, a guttural snarl 
of victory. 

"You pig-sucking whore," he said. "Just what every gringa slut needs-a 
Basque hunchback for a house pet! The boss was right. You couldn't pray at 
Christ's knee without reaching for his prick!" 

When he was gone, she lay weeping, truly devastated. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

The cramp and bloodlessness soon left her wrists and ankles and Trina was 
more miserable than ever. She lay on her bed, writhing with inner need, her 
mind revolving around the past two hours of tortures in an endless motion 
picture. She wasn't sure that she had suffered less than Gail, though that 
thought she labeled self-pity. If Gail lived until morning it would be a 
miracle. The only sexual act she hadn't suffered was sodomy, and it was the 
one form of sexuality Trina thought she understood. One more form. 
Voyeurism, the vicarious indulgence without participation. How many times 
she'd had orgasm she did not know. Counting was useless, impractical. She 
had been tied with barely space to squirm, only a few feet from The Kewpie 
and his sausage fingers and his useless penis. She had smelled him sweating, 
the oily musk of glandular agitation. She had been within grasping distance 
of endless men, with lust stiffening them up in eager rampancy, only she had 
not been able to grasp. 

Now she huddled in bed, fighting the after-shock. She didn't really want to 
be raped or assaulted. It was just that for two hours, no hate, no disgust, 
no amount of revulsion could generate the power to still the burning 
emptiness, the raging nerves in her sex parts. 

Removed from the orgy, her mind refused to relinquish its images, but 
another emotion was gradually taking over. Fear, total terror. Millburn had 
been right. The Kewpie was insane. She recalled the fairy secretary's 
words-you will be sold to a Gibraltar whoremaster, the Jefe de Policia. When 
you are through here, you will not care to escape. Trina shuddered. If Gail 
escaped, what was left of life for her? There were some things no woman 
could forget, and there were even more things that no amount of 
sophistication could ignore. And God knew that Gail Brown had never been 
very sophisticated. 

And what about you. Trina Salisman? That her turn was coming she was 
certain. She had lain on The Kewpie's belly while his big finger had turned 
her into quivering, climaxing jelly, his laughter bubbling in rhythm to his 
coursing in her rectum. But it hadn't been tender laughter or shareable 
mirth. He had been enjoying her ecstasy with a cold sadism that could never 
turn to affection. That she had escaped Gail's violent degradation was easy 
to explain. The Kewpie had told her; wait until I can get in that nice ass 
properly. In the meantime, watch how a fat God wreaks his vengeance on a 
stupid cunt. 

But even that hadn't been entirely true, Trina thought. At some stage in 
Gail's involute spiraling into destruction, The Kewpie had been busy giving 
orders, specific orders that changed the raw impalement of Gail with horn 
and penis, into a more subtle, cruelly inspired torture. The body was one 
thing, a shape of flesh and bone and blood that would heal and stretch and 
rebound, no matter its abuse. But the mind was less elastic, less pliable. 
She had seen Gail spin from revulsion to vicious passion and have orgasm 
after orgasm without a single physical aid. She had heard her poor friend's 
cry for help, uttered ten seconds before her mind plunged irrevocably into 
the pool of mental orgy. 

Trina sat up and snapped on the light. She went into the bathroom and 
climbed up on the marble Pullman surrounding the big washbasin. By drawing 
her legs up close and turning, she could look directly into her virginal 
vagina and see the slightly swollen ring of her anus under the hair-shrouded 
slit. Open slit, showing the pink inner wetness and the naturally perforated 
membrane of her virginity. She thrust her finger in the orifice and 
deliberately tore it, gasping at the pain, fascinated by the quickly bloody 
rip. Her mind envisioned the amount of pressure a man would have had to use 
in thrusting a stiff penis through the thirty-six year old membrane. She 
winced, but in the next second, she felt the spreading, filling surge. Stop 
that, Trina. That was probably Gail's trouble, thinking too much, imagining 
sensations, relief's and thrills until her secret sex burst all normal 
bonds. 

Then she felt a little silly, staring at her voluptuous underbody, blotting 
the slowing flow of virginal blood with a tissue. She tucked a leaf or two 
of toilet paper into her vagina and went back to bed, trembling with 
confusion over what she had done. She thought less hopelessly about Gail. 
Men were foul with lust, but a woman possessed some inner weakness that 
could damn them into abandonment. Like The Kewpie and his big middle finger. 
He had laughed and stuck it up her rectum, as if playing some private game, 
but it had shattered her into fragments, none of which even resembled her 
former self. It had probably always been there, susceptible to agitation. 
She cursed the dirty Spanish seaman who had shown her what a rectum was 
really for. The memory, more than she had related to Gail, caused Trina's 
body to break a clammy perspiration. The books said a woman needed tender 
preparation, love-play, hugs and kisses and an ascending excitement. 

She had been lying there, cramped, uncomfortable and worried half to death. 
There had been less than ten seconds of warning, the seaman's dirty hands, 
his ruthless fingers. Then ten seconds of the nudge, the spread, the 
pressure, and by the time he had rammed, she had been so ready she could 
have screamed. It had hurt, terribly, but it had seemed natural to hurt and 
now she withered sweetly within as she relived the deep plunging, the 
bludgeoning search. The eternal psychology of the female, a receptacle for 
men's lust, and above all the inherent desire to be filled and dominated. 

Go to sleep, you fucking cunt, presently schoolteacher. 

It didn't break open. Jan sat, slowly stroking his first hard-on in two and 
a half days. It had pained at first, but now it only itched. He touched the 
closed wounds, proud of his mighty powers of recovery. On the other hand, 
why not? A man's prick was always a constantly warm thing, with a persistent 
supply of blood to furnish new cells and corrective tissue. And down below, 
half buried in the fat, were his balls, the source of all male strength. The 
console buzzed and he let go of his penis to attend to business. Patience, 
dear thing. Another hour or two, perhaps three while I make another quarter 
million dollars, and you'll be stronger and better able to work my will. 

She hadn't dared to hope it would last, but she had not only recovered her 
physical strength, Gail had reorganized her mind in the day and a half they 
had let her alone. Now she looked at the snarling Raphael, hardly able to 
remember the horrible plea she had made to him. She really felt no guilt 
about any of it. She had been at a low ebb, her mind and body so horribly 
jumbled she had not been able to separate sensation from emotion. She drew 
her robe close around her rejuvenated body and walked toward the door. When 
his hand closed around her wrist, she jerked it away with surprising 
strength. 

"I'm able to walk. I know where I'm going," she said haughtily. "Keep your 
filthy hands off of me, hunchback!" 

"All right, bitch. But don't try tricks. And I'll keep my filthy hands off 
you-until I get my prick up your ass and you cry to be milked like the 
fucking cow you are!" 

"Well, I'd say you were built right to milk a tall cow," she said, instantly 
sorry for her own vulgarity but pleased by the pain her insult brought to 
his face. He followed her into the corridor but took the lead as they 
approached the two big doors to the Throne room. 

She had a flash of exuberance when she saw that the place was deserted 
except for the mountain of naked flesh in the ridiculous chair. Even the big 
wooden wheel and the gruesome rack didn't frighten her. She controlled her 
nerve and walked directly to the Throne, noting that Raphael remained in the 
room but in the offing. 

"Thought I ought to congratulate you, Miss Brown," Arden rumbled, shaking 
his gigantic penis at her. "A clean mouth is a healthy mouth. Your venom 
evidently has healing powers. How do you feel?" 

"I do not feel," she said coldly. "All day yesterday I filed my teeth with a 
nailfile. Care for another Purple Heart? Or don't you get medals in your war 
on decency?" 

The fat pods over his eyes raised. "That's pretty good. I would guess that 
we are feeding you too well. Why don't you sit here beside me and we'll 
talk. There's plenty of room. I once had four lush women on this contraption 
with me. Climb right up. Now!" 

Already certain that refusal would mean power, she moved forward and stepped 
up, twisting to sit back with a foot of soft upholstery between. Instantly, 
she smelled his oily skin, and when she settled back in objectionable 
comfort, he chuckled. 

"Changes your outlook of the world up here, doesn't it? Oh. You don't mind 
if I fondle my cock, do you? I do it often, especially when I require deep 
concentration. Soothing pacifier, I suppose." 

Steeling herself, she looked down at the monstrous organ, standing stiffly 
in his fat fingers. She remembered every detail, the thin skin, the 
startling change of color from stark white to obscene pink. She could see 
the pulsing veins and the ring of scars from his circumcision. And the two 
closed wounds her teeth had left. She also remembered a taste and she fought 
the urge to work her mouth. He was very, very naked and she almost envied 
his lewd poise. 

"You weren't very nice to me the other day," she said. 

"Dear me, and I would have sworn you were delighted, at least at 
unpredictable intervals. Never mind. Tonight I have a kinder attitude. As 
your host, I have planned a more enjoyable occasion, one in which you will 
be privileged to be a spectator. You will not be touched, Miss Brown, unless 
of course, you care to join the performance. Your every wish will be 
honored, up to a non-critical point, at least." 

"P-performance?" 

"Yes. And you will get an opportunity to refresh your friendship with Miss 
Salisman. She will be here presently. Raphael! Will you see if Miss Salisman 
is ready to join our little party?" 

"How do you tolerate that imbecile?" Gail demanded. 

"Tut-tut! Well, first, he talks my native language. I am an American, at 
least, a renegade American. And he fucks beautifully, as you must recall! 
Further, we both have physical handicaps which make us compatible. With 
that, he is the meanest son-of-a-bitch I have ever known. Or had you 
forgotten?" 

"That's rather childish, isn't it?" she asked, nodding to his casual, 
manipulating fingers. "Psychologists think so, anyway." 

"I am sure your knowledge of the libido is superior to mine," he said in a 
tone that made chills run up and down her hot spine. "Ah, Miss Salisman has 
arrived." 

Gail sat forward eagerly. Then as she saw Trina coming across the polished 
floor, she stiffened with alarm. She had no way of knowing what her friend 
had gone through in the past few days, but as she stared, she quivered with 
apprehension. Trina was stark naked. Her white body jiggled and rolled with 
lustily implied sensuality. She was oiled to gleaming and her hair was 
swirled up under a scarlet head scarf, gypsy fashion. She was smoking, the 
cigarette was clutched in her right hand, between her fourth and small 
finger. Gail had never seen Trina with a cigarette before. Now she put her 
hand to her mouth, cupped. She inhaled through the circle formed by her 
thumb and first finger. The cigarette quit wisping smoke. Then, with lewdly 
ovaled lips, Trina blew the strong white smoke from the very bottom of her 
lungs. She didn't cough. She merely came over and climbed up on the other 
side of The Kewpie. 

"Trina? Trina, how are you?" Then to follow a feeling, Gail added, "Trina! 
It's Gail!" 

"I know who you are," Trina replied with a flat voice. "You been climbing on 
my Kewpie? Well, don't! He's been a year getting over the last chomping you 
gave him." 

"A y-year?" Gail gasped, looking from her strangely altered friend to Arden. 
"What's the matter with her, you ... you fiend!" 

He chuckled. "Nothing is wrong with Trina. But Spanish hashish has peculiar 
effects when properly smoked. It is the parent plant of North American 
marijuana. It is a time inhibitor and possesses some other interesting 
characteristics. Particularly if one eats a gram or two of opium every five 
or six hours. Non-habit forming in the initial stages, but 
effective-especially for parties like we are having. We are having a party, 
aren't we, Trina?" 

"Wild, Kewpie," she replied, very unwild. "How's my little old turd-tamper?" 

"I've bathed since this afternoon," he told her. "Would you like to kiss it 
and play with it a little?" She tossed the short cigarette butt to the 
spotless floor. Then Trina leaned over the fat, out-pushed thigh and took 
the head of his penis in her lips. She did it with a movement that made the 
huge man go, "Ho-ho!" Then he dropped his massive arm down her back and 
curled his ham-hand under her prominently bowed bottom. 

Gail almost screamed. She fought for her evaporating calm, staring at the 
ugly drama happening right before her eyes. She saw how Trina's big breast 
pillowed out over The Kewpie's thigh and she saw how her fingers caressed 
the wrist-thick penis upon which she nibbled so tenderly. The shudder 
coursing up and down Gail's body began to slow and concentrate and she was 
suddenly sweating between her trembling legs. Arden looked at her, smiling 
like an ape. 

"Remarkable, isn't it? Well, that's exactly what she thought the other 
evening when her staid and dignified friend jacked off a homosexual while he 
was being sodomized by a buck nigger. I am always amazed at the chameleon 
qualities of the female. Easy there, Trina baby. The healing places are 
tender! Lick my belly a bit." 

Like a mother cat, Trina shifted her face to his bowl and began to wash its 
pulpy shape. It was then that Gail guessed what his curled under hand was 
doing between the cheeks of Trina's bottom. 

Dizziness then, followed by the deep inner sickness, the tight clutching of 
secret muscles and electrified nerves. Gail clenched her fists and leaned 
back, determined to keep firm hold of herself. 

"I ... I'd like to go back to my rooms," she murmured. 

"Oh, now! After all the plans we've made to entertain you! And you and Trina 
have hardly talked. Be patient. The hashish will wear off presently and she 
will be more talkative. At the moment, she wants only to be fucked, don't 
you, cunt?" 

Trina laughed and smeared her saliva-flowing mouth up his belly to the 
valley between his nearly feminine breasts. He closed her to him and pressed 
his legs together, his throbbing penis standing up from the fat shapes a 
full eight or nine inches. With a gurgling cry of eagerness, Trina straddled 
his ponderous body, her curved bottom hanging, bouncing above his organ with 
obscene excitement. 

An irresistible memory attacked Gail. She leaned forward, her head turning 
so she could look under her friend's bottom to where the gigantic penis was 
just fitting into the wide-open nest of Trina's vagina. While Gail stared, 
fighting herself, Trina yelped and screwed her voluptuous body down, gasping 
happily as the massive club stubbed in and in. Her belly smacked on his as 
the filling enlivened her. Stunned, Gail fell back, panting unreasonably as 
she watched the obese man buck up in blubbery hunching while Trina writhed 
and humped, her glee an obscene cacophony of saliva and pursed lips under 
his third chin. The Kewpie's big hands were now broadly gripped around 
Trina's nates, and he was rolling and grinding her to him with great power. 
Her nails bit into the palms of Gail's hands. Her teeth grated. She 
squinched everything fiercely and the knot continued to bunch in her vulva. 
She closed her eyes but the slosh-slosh of the big penis undulating in Trina 
was as graphic as the sight could be. 

"No, no," Gail murmured. "I can't, I must not!" 

The Kewpie chuckled. She opened her eyes and he was looking at her, his eyes 
sparkling with evil. Then the fat pods over his eyes raised and his mouth 
went slack. The power of his orgasm made Trina bounce and a moment later she 
was fluttering on his fat like a dancing monkey. 

"Diddle, diddle, diddle, daddy!" she screeched, then went deadly serious as 
she beat her bottom down like a trip-hammer. Gail wailed, but she was unable 
to take her eyes from the lewd debacle. The smell of Trina's churned sex was 
like an anesthetic. Or a pep pill. Gail wanted desperately to urinate. Now 
another odor came, the hateful, familiar smell of a man's sperm. The 
Kewpie's, drooling down around his buried penis wetting Trina's pubic hair 
and trickling thickly to the press of his thighs. Gail could see it, forming 
a small pool of gray white before it seeped through to the chair below. 

"You-you animal!" she managed to hurl at him. "Bitch!" 

"What's bugging you, Gail, honey?" Trina asked. "Don't you know there's some 
things a woman can't help?" 

"He's drugged you!" 

Trina looked blank, her face abruptly a mask of intensity. The Kewpie's big 
hand was again curled under her bottom and Gail could interpret the rhythmic 
digging, the adept twisting. Sweat broke anew on her forehead as Trina began 
to snuggle and undulate to the finger in her rectum. After a moment, she 
began to inch up and Gail saw the still rigid length of Arden's penis slip 
wetly from the no longer interested vagina. It popped free, stood wavering 
for a moment, then Trina reached back and gripped its slippery girth. She 
led it up to her rectum, quickly deserted by The Kewpie's finger, and with a 
shriek of pleasure and a furious down-screwing, the wounded glans nudged in 
and disappeared in the rubbery aperture. 

"Ah-ahh!" Trina breathed and her greed for the remaining inches of the 
ruthless club was terrifying to witness. His penis, slick from her vagina 
juices and his own copious sperm, oozed in without a hesitation. Stunned by 
the pure obscenity, Gail's finish came like a runaway locomotive. She 
screamed her protest, even as her vagina collapsed, each wall of tissue 
kissing the other as her clitoris raged with spastic jerking. 

Gone then, she lay back, humping, her eyes eagerly devouring the foul 
meshing she had previously hated. Her hands rolled and massaged her breasts, 
her throat gulped in sympathetic memory. Her right hand shot out and under, 
the fingers delighting in the feel of the pulsating penis in the convulsing 
rectum. 

"Ah, a volunteer!" The Kewpie laughed. His hand came out, turned and gripped 
Gail's belly flesh with painful power, as if to feel her orgasm through the 
jerking muscles of her torso. She wailed and groaned, feeling the agony feed 
her climax with fiery fuel. When it was all over, she was lying close to the 
fat mountain, held securely by his encircling arm. And she only sighed when 
she realized his sausage finger was curled under her bottom and was buried 
knuckle-deep in her delighted rectum. 

He rolled her over and raised the robe. Her body seemed limp, but when he 
too rolled and stuffed his prick into her quaking cunt, he felt her come to 
life inside. He grunted and fucked, the position difficult for his bulk. The 
head of his cock seemed insatiable, his strength equal to his mass. Trina 
was slithering and mewling over his back, her hands caressing every roll of 
fat, every crease and valley. He couldn't lay close to Gail because his cock 
had to go in and in and his belly was so huge it forced his shoulders back. 
But he found her tits and their hardness gave him new lust. He milked them 
and squeezed them and presently her hands came up in silent pleading. He 
released a tit and she dragged his hand up to press her mouth to his palm. 
Cunt gone crazy. He promptly shifted, dragging his prick from her back, 
squirming. She had bitten his cock half in two. She had to hurt before she 
could enjoy. His penis seemed harder than he could ever remember and he held 
her hips and shoved his lust into her asshole without even giving her a 
chance to cry out. She bucked, she twisted and he drove it up and in with 
gleeful cruelty. Then she folded, thrusting her ass back and he began to 
fuck her hard and deep. He felt her climax and he lost count, his own come, 
his third, building with increasing intensity. These moments pleased him 
mightily. The sweating, the pushing, the stroking while his mind separated 
from his flesh and his solitary world appeared in living color. Money, lust, 
hate and domination. A lonely man, really, feeding upon the misery of 
incompetent bankers, fragile women and awe-stricken servants. A destroyer, 
building nothing but his own glory and answering to no man. She was coming 
again. Or had she ever stopped? Nerves like harp strings. Release the 
dampening pedal and pluck the bass, then listen to the reverberations of the 
tone field. He chuckled deep in his straining belly. Jefe Garcia Mendoza 
would have trouble with this one. Any dirty Arab or clapped-up Algerian 
could send her into spasms of come for a hundred pesetas. Jan quieted as his 
sperm leaped through the super-sensitive head of his prick. Grease her 
bowel. Soak it in Arden jism. He had lots of it. He was a very strong man, a 
real stud, a cock with three balls, two small ones and a third that weighed 
four hundred pounds. He raised his arm and captured Trina's head. Her tongue 
licked his hairless armpit. Wash me, school marm. 

Five hundred dollars he had never spent so well. Milk it, Gail. 

Later when he let them go to the bathroom, with Raphael standing guard 
outside the door, Gail thought they were making progress. Trina seemed to be 
well out of the drugged daze. They embraced and did some small weeping, both 
murmuring incoherently because of their mental and physical shock. Then 
assembling her scattered wits, Gail put her mouth close to Trina's ear and 
told her about the message on the dungeon wall. 

"Avis Garden!" Trina panted. "My God, he doesn't draw the line at anything 
or anyone, does he. Oh, Gail, what can we do?" 

"What we're doing, I guess," she replied helplessly. "As long as we pretend 
to be eager and anxious for his-his filthy sex, he'll keep us around." 

Trina dropped her unpretty face into her hands. "Gail, I ... I wasn't always 
pretending!" 

Gail felt terribly sorry for her friend and the murmured confession. "Well, 
I guess I lost control a time or two," she conceded. 

She took one of Trina's hands and their fingers clamped in understanding. 
Past her objective, the end of The Kewpie, she didn't know how she felt 
about anything. Her rectum ached from gigantic stretching. Her vagina felt 
as slack and lifeless as a wet sack. The feel of his fat fingers, squeezing 
her breasts and pinching her nipples was impossible to forget. But these 
were physical things and they were not the horrors she fought. 

"How will we do it-if he has a seizure?" Trina whispered. 

"In one of his swinging desk drawers-a letter opener," Gail replied. 

"But Raphael, that awful hunchback, is always nearby!" 

Gail closed her eyes and tipped her head back. "By the time he gets to us, 
or me, if I'm the one, it will be too late. And it won't matter to either of 
us, Trina. We are doomed now, aren't we?" 

"Maybe not. He's a man, he must have some human emotions! He seems to like 
us both. Maybe we could save ourselves by--" 

Arm in arm, they left the bathroom, getting a curse from Raphael as they 
passed him without acknowledging his deformed presence. The minute Gail 
looked toward the Throne, the evil worm in her belly began to crawl again. 
Endure and persevere, but how did she control the hideous eagerness, the 
writhing need when she lay close to the fat man, with his huge and 
insatiable cock pointing at her crotch or throbbing beautifully to the 
caress of her fingers? Her nasal passages seemed coated with the musky oil 
of his body. Without a face, the mere preponderance of flesh was enough to 
make her heady with want. 

. He lay resting, merely raising one hand in a weak gesture of welcome as 
they climbed to either side of him. For a moment, Gail was horrified by his 
penis. They had cavorted; it had played in her bottom and her vagina, with 
lonely intervals while he calmed Trina's raging passions, and there it 
stood, not one iota less rigid than it had been in the beginning. A man of 
pure blubber who turned to steel and their combined efforts had not changed 
the steel's temper. 

Then she settled into the curl of his big arm and the brutal fingers found 
her left breast. Not a breast. A breast was a physical thing of milk glands 
and a nipple fashioned for a baby's mouth. It was a tit, a sensitive globe 
of pulsating flesh made for a man's hand and his passion-hot mouth. She 
turned her body to him, her hand going to his penis. Not a penis. A penis 
was a male genital, formed for procreating in a woman's vagina. This was a 
cock, made to plunge and fill a cunt or an asshole, to drive a woman out of 
her mind with the harrowing lustiness of its driving. Her fingers argued 
with Trina's, then they chose a segment, Trina taking the glans end, Gail 
going low. The feel of the stiff root, protruding from the fat mound was 
somehow exciting. It was there her rectum gloried when his organ was buried 
deeply, the throbbing head sending pleasant messages down to where her anus 
stretched in strain. It was strong there, like a wood en club fitted by a 
master carpenter into a snug knot hole in a tree trunk. 

"Sorry now?" he asked, his hot breath bathing her face. She nodded, then 
remembered she should nod, should keep that conciliatory tone in his voice. 
But he had turned his head to Trina. "Push that black button, fourth from 
the right. "Maybe one or two of those lazy cocina cunts will bring us 
something to eat! And we could have some brandy while we're waiting, I 
think." 

Gail sighed with relief as he raised the half-reclining Throne and they sat 
up. Perforce, she lost her grip on his cock, as did Trina. Raphael was 
summoned and he brought brandy and a bowl of fruit. He was then sent to the 
kitchens to supervise some cold fowl and hot bread. Gail's heart leaped; he 
was relaxing, he was certain in his ego that his penis had so hypnotized his 
kidnapped paramours that he did not need a guard. The brandy burned warmly 
in her belly. 

"For ex-teachers, you are not a gabby pair," he chuckled. "Use your mouths 
for better purposes, eh? Like whispering together in the bano? Now, what the 
hell secrets could you exchange?" 

"No secrets," Trina remarked quickly. "But this playing two on a man is ... 
is new, to say the least." 

"But exciting," Gail felt disposed to add. "How many times can you m-make 
love before it needs rest?" 

He roared with laughter and refilled their brandy glasses. "I never went 
that far-the girls generally wear out before I go soft! Maybe two girls is 
what I've needed. After cena, we'll have a marathon, eh?" Trina giggled. 
"You cheat. You lie there and we do all the work! Afraid of a heart attack 
or something?" 

He frowned, then a slow smile turned his evil face to one of cherubic glee. 
At first Gail was afraid of what he had implied by using the term, marathon. 
Then she realized the inspiration Trina had furnished in challenging him to 
expend more effort than it took to lie under a squirming, humping body 
impaled upon his apparently petrified penis. 

Then Raphael returned with a woman bearing a huge silver tray. The table 
segment of the Throne was swung around and the three of them laughed and 
enthused over the impromptu supper. Gail ate because she was unreasonably 
hungry and because it gave her mind recess from the constant flow of obscene 
hauntings. The Kewpie's burps sickened her but she laughed with Trina and 
herself burped conspiratorially. They were dawdling over strong Turkish 
coffee when Arden pivoted his head on his thick neck. 

"Raphael?" 

"Yes sir," the hunchback replied, stepping from the shadows. 

"We need some entertainment. How about fucking that kitchen bitch for us? 
What's her name?" 

"Alena, boss." 

"Ven aca, Alena!" Arden roared. The woman stepped hesitantly from the 
shadows by the doors. Gail's cup rattled as she set it on the saucer. Her 
belly closed, compressing the food until she thought it was going to squirt 
back up and out her abruptly dry lips. 

The hunchback grinned and reached up to hook a long hard hand around the 
woman's neck under her flowing black hair. A look of instant terror came 
over her face. She turned to her master and pleaded something in rapid 
Spanish, raising her open palm in supplication. 

"Fuck her," Arden growled to Raphael. Then to Gail and Trina, "She's three 
months pregnant, she says. His cock will kill the child. That, of course, is 
just an old wife's excuse to not stand for a hated Basque." 

"She's not very old," Gail murmured. Not terribly pretty, but she had the 
high-hipped voluptuousness of country women. She tried to pull away from 
Raphael's hand and he held her firmly and with a low swooping, sent his 
other hand up under her flowing skirt. She yelped and her hips twisted. With 
some swift trick, Raphael spun her and tripped her. She went down, to her 
hands and knees and he promptly jerked her skirt up, throwing it over her 
back and head. Her big brown bottom raised nakedly, twisted and was brought 
back to full view by Raphael's hard grip of her left buttock. Her head 
bobbed under the skirt and faint mumbles came in jerky Spanish. Gail stared 
at the sensual rump, with its deep divide and the under shadow of dark skin 
and crotch hair. When Raphael let go of her nate to undo his trousers, the 
whimpering woman remained as he left her. The cruelty of Arden and brutality 
of Raphael lay like a lead blanket over the woman. Then Raphael was 
standing, his penis thrust out like an animal thing. He stroked it 
affectionately and looked at The Kewpie. 

"Fuck her," the fat man demanded with a rolling laugh. 

The floor was bare, hard, polished white. The brown legs shifted, the bottom 
of the woman's feet were dirty, callused. Raphael knelt, made a face as his 
lean knees met the floor, then he moved until his penis belabored her 
buttocks. Despite his foreshortened body, his legs were longer than hers. He 
spent a moment holding his member down to rub it in the hairy nest. The 
woman squirmed in fear and discomfort and Raphael paused for inspiration. 

"Get on with it!" Arden roared. 

Raphael bowed forward and wrapped both arms around the woman's waist, his 
hips curling under. Then his knees slid back and at the moment when his 
groin was at a proper level, he hugged himself into her. She screamed, and 
Gail held her breath as the hunchback's penis burrowed in. It was impossible 
to see where it burrowed, but Gail felt it was in the woman's vagina. As the 
deformed body closed to the big soft buttocks, the woman fell forward, 
Raphael driving her down, forcing her thighs apart with his twisting hips. 
Her head raised and a mournful cry came from her lips. Raphael turned his 
head and bit, sinking his teeth into the plump flesh of her neck. His arms 
held her hips up a little and his wiry legs held hers separated. He began to 
undulate, rooting with audible grunts, as if trying to kill not only her 
unborn child but the suffering mother as well. 

"Roll her!" The Kewpie commanded. 

Raphael's feet sought purchase and with a strong heave, he rolled himself 
and the woman as one. The hump on his back prevented him from completely 
flattening; the woman's legs flew out, her heels seeking a firm place to 
ease the up-thrust of his penis. Gail's spine trembled as she stared 
straight into the hairy crotch and the distended vagina, thickly pierced by 
the hunchback's tremendous organ. From that angle, she could see the massive 
under-tube and the thick root, and below it, the big rubbery sac of 
testicles. The woman bucked, obviously in pain and the lean hips hunched, 
sending the brutal organ in and out of the tortured vagina. Gail cringed; 
the woman was beginning to relax, to move with the thrusting. Her arms came 
straight up, her hands clenched together as if in supplication. Raphael let 
go of her waist and closed his hands around her big breasts. Even through 
her blouse, the flesh bulged and fattened between his fingers. Now he was 
well into his work. His penis gleamed as he delved deeply and pumped the 
vaginal juices out around his throbbing organ. Her thighs began to cord and 
her belly heaved in rhythm to his undulations. Suddenly then, it all changed 
and Gail writhed inside as she saw the Spanish woman's defenses crumble and 
her body become an eager, threshing partner to the hunchback's passion. 

Trina was leaning forward, saliva trickling from her slack mouth as she 
watched the rape turn into something obscenely beautiful. Gail found her own 
hand reaching and groping for The Kewpie's penis. 

Time stood still and she wanted the tableau to never end; she became so 
absorbed in the obscenity she grunted with Raphael, not the woman. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

The end came with furious passion. Raphael began to turn the woman so his 
up-thrusts could become side jerks. The woman burst into hysterical laughter 
and she arranged her broad bottom so he could beat to and under it in total 
climax. Sperm made the underside of his penis assume a rippling throb and a 
moment later the sticky white discharge oozed and squirted out of the 
quaking vagina and ran into the hunchback's hairy groin. Shrieking now with 
uncontrolled ecstasy, the woman grasped the lean fornicator and screwed 
herself onto his spewing organ with all of her strength. 

Raphael let go of her and his slimy prick slipped out of the fully opened 
vagina. His penis stood gleaming, still jerking enough to force the last few 
drops of his climax out of the flared eye. With a cry of desperation, Trina 
slithered off the Throne and ran, tumbling down on the surprised Raphael, 
fighting with her wide-spread thighs to drop over the rampant organ. His 
spidery arms and legs closed on her and Gail cried out in shock as she 
shared the excruciating penetration of Trina's vagina. The impaled woman 
became frenzied, her body hammering at his, her arms and hands clutching at 
him ruthlessly. The Spanish cook scooted away, eyes wide as she saw the 
white flesh take over what her brown body had begun. 

"I can't stand it!" Gail husked, scrambling over The Kewpie. "Oh, put it in 
me, fat man! Fuck me, fuck me, anyway, everyway!" 

He held her to his heaving belly, laughing as he did some required movement 
that flattened the Throne to a broad level bed. Then he turned her squirming 
loveliness in his hands and rolled a bit more, throwing his massive legs 
astraddle her thighs. He grunted and came to his knees, a mountain of 
jiggling flesh, his penis swelling and jerking. With no seeming effort, he 
lifted her hips and jammed her back on his thick organ, burying it to the 
fat of his groin in her sex. Her arms flailed, her head rolled, her hips 
stiffened and held nearly motionless because of the monstrous rod. He didn't 
offer to drive her; his hands worked her body as if he were purely 
masturbating himself with a beautiful glove. 

Gail nearly fainted with ecstasy. Her hands braced slightly, her out-flung 
legs dangled until her toes touched the strange bed. She felt only the huge, 
thinly skinned penis, filling her body, butting the hungry mouth of her 
womb, then dragging back to turn her vulva into a raging sleeve of fire. Her 
orgasm came without building, a sudden wrenching and milking, alternating 
between sweet agony and soft melting. Her breasts, hanging heavily, seemed 
to be growing out of their flushed skin. She began to cry, sobbing in 
abandonment and The Kewpie seemed unaware of her delicious distress. His 
laughter was impersonal, his strength served only the needs of his obesity. 
She never knew when he had orgasm because hers had never stopped. He set her 
down, a high-bottomed pyramid, knees far apart, arms and shoulders bracing 
and rearing her deserted rump. Even the air caressing her wide open vagina 
seemed exquisite and the trickle of his sperm running down her heaving belly 
was a streak of fire. Inside, she prayed. Maybe he would take her again. 
Maybe he would thrust that sweet club into her rectum. She winked it, the 
convulsion causing her vagina to evacuate itself of his full discharge. 
Wailing, she humped her belly, trying to entice the gigantic penis back into 
her pleading body. Then she groaned and fell over on her side, the intensity 
of her thoughts bringing the sweet thumping back to her womb. Shit, fuck, 
cock, jism and asshole. He had promised a marathon and he was chickening 
out. 

He had never seen a cunt snap back to daintiness as quickly as Gail's. Even 
as she fell, the scarlet lips closed in puffed symmetry, gleaming hotly 
because his come still oozed from the throbbing hole. He looked over his 
shoulder. Trina was on her hands and knees and Raphael was clamped to her 
back, but low, his horse cock stroking smoothly and deeply in her asshole. 
She was reared back, head raised as if she were atrophied with passion. Her 
tits hung, swaying, her belly pumped, or was pumped by the hunchback's 
plunging prick. Jan looked down at the squirming ass under his cock. It was 
a beautiful ass, but it seemed to challenge him. He had fucked her and 
sodomized her and instead of fainting with agony she lay muttering 
incoherent pleas for more of his insatiable cock. 

Suddenly, he had the urge to kill her, not with his hands or a pistol, but 
with ravaging meat. He reached to the console and pressed a button. A click 
occurred and Joven said "Bueno?" from somewhere. 

Jan gave rapid orders in Spanish, then closed the button. After that, he 
lifted Gail's ass and winced as he stuffed his still tender prick in her 
asshole. She mewled and began to screw back on it and he broke fresh sweat 
as he watched his massive organ wedge her nates apart and turn her anus into 
a bloodless circle of strained skin. He fucked her hard, feeling the way his 
prick disturbed and displaced her belly organs. He felt the milking of her 
secret muscles; she had begun coming the moment the head of his cock had 
triggered her sensitive bowel. He fucked her, not for his own pleasure, but 
to see how long she could stand to come in endless orgasm. And finally, he 
had his own come in her ass, after which he flopped down, his cock still in 
her convulsing asshole, his breath coming a bit too fast to please him. 
Still bellied to her wriggling ass, he reached out and found his pills. The 
exertion was nothing, but he seemed terribly excited by this beautiful girl 
who took all he had and wailed for more. 

Joven played the black Spanish hound on the end of the leash like a master 
trainer. The one hundred twenty pound dog sniffed down at the curled shape 
of trembling female. His long tongue lashed out, slapped wetly at the 
sex-smell of the swollen lips, then licked the sweat and near-dry stickiness 
of the flesh around it. Joven held the animal as its instincts reacted to 
the odor and taste. The hound began to pant as his tongue lapped hungrily at 
Gail's private parts. 

From the two other huge hounds tied to one of the Moorish arch supports, 
came the deep throat rumblings that testified to their interest. This 
frightening sound was mixed with the chuckle from The Kewpie and the 
whimpers of sympathy from Trina Salisman's lips. 

Then Joven let go of the leather leash. The hound surged forward, licking 
the bowed back and the listless arms. His hind legs bumped Gail's bottom, 
his huge penis, still sheathed in its hairy case, aimed well above her hip. 
But he had the scent in his nostrils and he had been taken to a sleek, 
hairless body before. He started to hunch, useless, but his penis showed a 
starting, a sharp pink tip that darted restlessly as his back built the hump 
and his head lowered. It was then that Raphael slithered forward and crowded 
the dog with a shoulder as he lifted Gail to her hands and knees. She swayed 
but did not fall and she remained bowed, head down, all initiative and 
protest seemingly gone. Now Raphael moved aside and the big dog leaped on 
the softly rounded shape. The instant his penis and loins molded around the 
succulent rump, the hound began to hunch and lunge. The pink tip now became 
permanent, running in and out of the prepuce as it jabbed eagerly. Again 
Raphael interfered. He straddled the dog's back and ran one hand under the 
animal's belly. His fingers guided the plunging penis to the low depth of 
Gail's crotch. The dog yelped, then with intense lust, shot his penis into 
her vagina. Gail groaned as the tapered rod plunged up into her sex. Then 
she dropped her head again and let it roll from side to side as the animal 
gripped her waist and began the furious, unfeeling lunging that sent its 
penis soaring into the hot wetness. 

Before long, it became apparent that the perforated body was responding, 
either through pain brought on by the animal shape of the swollen penis or 
through some physical reaction to the bestial intensity. Once Gail seemed to 
try to crawl away only to be hugged back by the massive dog. Again she 
seemed to rear, as if to salvage some bit of the scarlet shaft not yet 
possessed. And as the saliva dripped from the hound's slavering mouth and 
his head came lower and lower in pure beast concentration, the two other 
dogs set up a fierce yowling, punctuated by short, angry barks. The odor of 
sex grew in the big room, and the avid watchers saw how Gail was fluttering 
her belly in furious orgasm. Then the dog changed his attack and seemed to 
reach into her vagina with new determination. After a moment, his mouth 
snapped closed and his hunch relaxed. He wriggled backward, panting again as 
his grotesque penis slid from Gail's thoroughly wet vagina. The length of 
the animal's sex was barely short of a foot and the first four or five 
inches of the bright wet red were swollen into a huge, elongated egg-shape. 
From the nippled end, thin drops of dog sperm dripped to the floor and over 
Gail's trembling legs. Joven came forward and retrieved the leash. The 
Kewpie laughed heavily and he was joined by Trina's high, nervous mirth. 
From Gail's vagina strings of sleek, sticky fluid oozed and dropped to the 
floor. The other two dogs were strangely quiet, but they panted and glowered 
and stood with unnaturally humped backs. 

Her knees hurt from the floor, but this was only a minor pain compared to 
the many deep ones Gail felt. She knew there were two more dogs; there had 
been three and one was done. She was done too, and she seemed unable to 
care. There had been a time or two, once, when the great furry body had 
reared over her and hugged her bottom into his groin that she had felt a 
tinge of emotion. Then she knew that the hug was only instinct and that the 
slick hot penis shooting up into her belly was purely beast. Another time, 
when the plunging had thickened and the fullness had returned, she had tried 
to make it adequate. It had started her climax but it had not been adequate. 
She dropped her head, shrouded by her stringy blonde hair and wept. 

She could no longer feel the weight of hanging breasts, nor could she think 
about the flint tips. Her back ached from her dog-like position, her knees 
throbbed with resentment of the stone floor. 

But she could feel nothing important but the horrible emptiness in her 
vagina, the screaming fire, the insistent gulping for another penis, a 
hundred penises, one as huge and as tireless as a tree trunk. The next dog 
was approaching, she could hear its toenails tying to dig in to hurry 
Joven's leisurely approach. She waited with bated breath; a dog's penis was 
better than no penis and this one might have a bigger one, a thicker one. He 
might not be so hasty, so ruthless in his ramming. Then she hoped he would 
be ruthless. 

When the sudden weight and the furry gripping came, she wailed in pain and 
fright and wriggled her bottom back. Maybe Joven or Raphael would steer that 
hard prod into her rectum. She suddenly wanted it there to cool the burning 
The Kewpie's abuse of her bottom had begun. No, no, higher, in, in. And then 
a sigh of satisfaction was followed with a scream as the nudging penis dug 
into her anus. It wasn't large but it was sharp and not properly angled. The 
hound couldn't know, she reasoned, so she screwed her bottom down to receive 
the swiftly lengthening organ up her eager bowel. She could feel the loose, 
hairy skin of the plunging penis pressing to her rectum as the animal urged 
his lust. Then began the quick jabs as the dog felt his organ nested. When 
the head of his member began to swell, Gail went into a spasm of ecstasy and 
her senses faded to a single conception; climax and climax on the surging 
club that rocked her body and shredded her insatiable vulva. It went on and 
wonderfully on and she hardly knew when" the second dog gave out and the 
charging third came on. She wasn't even sure which aperture he had entered, 
so thoroughly had her desire for penis dulled her perception. Fuck, shit, 
asshole, jism, bump, hump, scream and cry for more. 

The dog was gone. She whimpered in disappointment. She braced her toes and 
raised her dripping bottom, hoping Raphael or Joven or even the first dog 
would salve her misery. She felt the heat of sperm as it gushed from her 
vagina and a moment later, her rectum spouted a thick hot combination of 
dog-discharge and girl-excretion. As her underbody lost control, Gail lost 
her strength and she fell over on her left side, balancing between total 
darkness and the blazing light of desire. 

She retched, her mouth filling with malodorous slime. It puzzled her because 
she could not remember having sucked a penis, but she swallowed it back, not 
completely sure she hadn't sucked a dozen organs. Finally she convulsed and 
rolled to her back, arms out, legs apart, a weary body and a blanked mind. 
The cool floor brought small speculations. Where was she? Who was she? What 
was she? A giant cunt, flapping emptily now, starving for meat, aching with 
need. Now a voice, vaguely familiar, but a hundred miles away. 

"Poor kid," the voice said. "She's passed out!" 

"Orgasmic coma," the rumbling added. "That last one got to her, though. Her 
cunt is trickling blood. Raphael! Here-dam her up with this orange. Then tie 
her to the rack and stretch her ass until the orange drops out! I don't like 
dames that shit on my floor!" 

Gail couldn't stop. It felt heavenly to void her bowel because the nerves 
delighted in the passing of anything, in or out. 

Trina awakened, momentarily frozen in her dream of forty, eager-eyed 
children sitting in her old classroom while she showed them her broad bare 
ass from the usually cluttered desk. The room was nearly dark, but the 
single mauve light showed her Gail strapped to the rack like a sculptured 
cross. She was motionless; dead? Then Trina saw how her friend's vagina was 
big and round and open because the orange had been replaced with a 
medium-sized gourd, the small protruding end waved sluggishly as Gail's 
tortured breath flexed her strained belly. Trina turned her head. 

The Kewpie lay at her side, his body a flaccid sack of flesh. His penis was 
soft, but still formidable lying between his hairless thighs. He was purring 
softly in his sleep. He smelled of sweat and sex and he was uglier than she 
had ever imagined a human could be. Carefully, she raised her head and 
surveyed the room. She could see no one, hear no one. Raphael and Joven had 
apparently taken the dogs and retired for what was left of the hideous 
night. Trina fell back. 

She remembered everything except one item-the something that had poisoned 
her mind and emotions so thoroughly she had allowed herself, not only to 
enter into the obscenities with The Kewpie, but to relish every moment of 
it. She remembered exulting as the three huge dogs mounted and remounted 
Gail. She remembered how she had silently cheered for Raphael as he had 
attacked the frightened Spanish cook. She shuddered at the ecstasy she had 
felt, being sodomized by Arden and watching him ply his huge organ in Gail's 
writhing crotch. Again she looked at Gail, bloated around a dried gourd, 
stretched until every cord and tendon stood out in utter agony. Her breasts 
were even flattened, made obloid by the cruel tugging of the rack. Horror. 

Hardly two feet away was the swing-away desk. In the drawer would be the 
letter opener poor Gail had mentioned. To her left was the fat neck, 
relaxed, unsuspecting. Trina lay quietly. It was something she had to think 
about in this rare time of silence and no agitation. Through slitted eyes, 
she looked at Gail. If not yet dead, surely dying. Or if not dying, then 
consigned to a life of misery and degradation, if Millbum had not lied. She 
felt of herself, her mauled breasts, her tender, wide-open vagina and 
finally her swollen anus. She'd had it easier than Gail-up to now. Gail had 
bitten The Kewpie's penis. And she had intrigued the fat man with her 
seeming inability to restrain or control herself once stimulated by the 
sight, sound or feel of sex. But Trina held no illusions about Jan Arden. He 
could turn from a thundering lover to a sadistic fiend without a full breath 
between, nor a reason to order immense cruelty. 

But to shove a letter opener into the fat neck was murder. What was worse, 
it was sure death for herself and probably Gail. Sure death might be 
infinitely more acceptable than the fate he obviously had in store for them, 
but while there was life there was hope. 

Reasonably sure that such a ponderous man who had fallen asleep after hours 
of orgy would sleep soundly, Trina contemplated another situation. If she 
could slip off the Throne and somehow free Gail, she might have enough 
stamina left to use the opener. This would not change the ultimate, unless 
they could manage some escape together. Trina hadn't the slightest idea how 
or where exterior doors were located, but she felt there had to be an exit 
for the cowering Spanish servants. The problem there was that Raphael and 
Joven might also be quartered close to the service exits, and she shuddered 
as she remembered the fierce Spanish hounds. She began to weep softly, 
knowing it was a useless feminine subterfuge for lack of courage. The 
drawer, the opener und one swift thrust. Then Gail moaned and Trina shivered 
as she envisioned the kind of punishment The Kewpie might invent if the 
thrust weren't true and the neck skin was tough. 

Then Trina had a selfish thought. She hadn't been hurt. She had been brought 
to life, new life for every inch of penis her nubile flesh had accepted. 
With one ruthless ram, the Spanish seaman had wiped out her years of 
academic uselessness and turned her into a passionate woman. She raised her 
head again and stared at the long thick tube jutting from The Kewpie's 
groin. Fat cock, lovely prick, source of joy and sweet despoiler of her 
sterile past. He had been rough and ruthless, but not unkind. He hadn't 
seemed to care that she wasn't pretty; she wasn't sure she cared that he was 
pulpy, odorous and obscenely naked. Wake up, dear mountain, and fuck my mole 
holes. She giggled. 

Shit on the New York school system, let Gail take care of her own ass, and 
hurry up morning so he'll wake up with a hard-on. Friendship and loyalty and 
moral indignance were one thing but life on an insatiable prick was another. 
Anyway, who gave a good goddamn about Avis Garden? 

Trina turned over against the bale of fat, thrust her nose in a wrinkle and 
let her hand go to the thin-skinned penis. He stirred, farted noisily and 
laid a heavy arm on her quivering back. 

I love you, man. 

Jan awakened at six, his usual time for the day. He came instantly to full 
awareness because his mind was never sluggish. He turned his head and 
Raphael was waiting, his ugly face impassive. Jan made a signal toward the 
motionless body on the rack, then did a forefinger circle and dipped it. 
Raphael moved forward, tripped a lever then unstrapped the body. He grabbed 
the gourd and jerked it from the distended cunt. It snapped half closed, the 
lips bunching, the hairy flesh around it shrinking to assist the tortured 
tissues. Then he loaded Gail's body over his bony shoulder and left the 
room. 

Jan looked down at Trina, curled around his massive curves. Her tits were 
not as full as they had been yesterday. The nipples were soft, relaxed. Her 
big hips lay in graceless weight. Asleep, she was just a middle-thirty cunt, 
not pretty, not very shapely but over-shaped. He had enjoyed her eager 
asshole and her inexperienced cunt. He'd even gotten a kick out of her 
willingness to abandon her friend. No tears, no cries of supplication, just 
a wild-eyed panting while she watched Gail Brown suffer the degrading 
extremes. He shrugged her away and she rolled to her back, her mouth 
dropping open in a moderate snore. 

Thursday. He'd drop a hundred thousand in the pound markets and buy gold to 
the tune of a half million dollars while the French banks hesitated in 
astonishment at the British pound strength. Then he'd call Captain Juan 
Fernandez and see what pretty flies the handsome Spaniard had caught with 
his various kinds of honey. Also, he'd give Millbum instructions about Gail 
and Trina. 

Raphael was back. Jan grinned. Even his hunchback was weary of the blonde 
teacher. His pants showed no bulge. "Yes, Mister Arden?" 

"Dump her with the other one. Then send for Consuela and Hortensia. I need a 
good scrubbing." 

"Yes sir." 

As Raphael laid irresistible hands to Trina, dragging her from her sleep, 
Jan half-closed his eyes. She screamed, kicked, but was subdued by the 
hunchback's arm, encircling her waist so tightly she could hardly breathe. 

"No, no, Jan, dear!" she gasped. "Don't let him take me, don't send me away! 
Jan! I love you, I need you! I'll do anything you want, wash you, love you, 
suck your prick, anything! Oh, no, no!" 

The last was almost lost as Raphael carried her out of the Throne room and 
down the corridor to the cellar stairs. Jan sighed. Maybe two hundred 
thousand in the pound market. He'd have to check the International Bank; 
he'd been too deep in a couple of assholes yesterday to act like a 
financier. He smiled fiendishly as a last wavering scream echoed through the 
hacienda. 

He pushed a button. "Millburn? Get our good buddy, Jefe Garcia Mendoza on 
the short-wave. Tell him we've got a pick-up, but to bring two sacks. Then 
bring me yesterday's market reports. Pop to!" 

The clang of the heavy door brought Gail to partial sensibility. She 
blinked. It was the same cold stone cell, the same beam of morning sunlight, 
and the familiar cot. Only the day was different and her body seemed somehow 
detached from her mind. Then she looked at Trina, lying naked on the damp 
floor, her body wracked with furious sobs. She was cursing and moaning. Poor 
Trina. Gail drew her pain-taut body into a curl and looked down at her 
friend. It seemed unfair that she should suffer so. 

"Trina, dear?" 

Her friend seemed to leap in surprise. She stared at Gail, then with obvious 
cringing, surveyed the miserable cell. "Oh God!" she breathed. "Where are 
w-we, Gail?" 

Gail wasn't sure. She too looked around the dank chamber. Then she saw the 
wall beside the cot, and her fingers went to the erratic scratching. "We are 
at the end, I think. Look, Trina!" 

The white body with its huge swaying breasts and the full hips moved 
hesitantly forward. Gail reached out and put one arm around her friend's 
waist to pull her close so she could read the tragic but somehow unexciting 
message Avis Garden had left. Trina gasped, resting one knee on the cot as 
she pushed her face close to the wall. As her lips painfully formed the 
hopeless words, Gail laid her face to Trina's big warm breasts. Her 
encircling arm dropped and her hand curled under Trina's bottom to feel 
between the plump cheeks. Her other hand went under Trina's belly and the 
open lips of the startled woman's vagina. 

"Gail, what are you d-doing?" 

Gail giggled. "I just felt lonely-deserted, I guess. As long as we are 
together, we'll be all right, won't we, Trina?" 

"She says-goodbye! Oh, I wonder what became of her-she was so very, very 
beautiful!" 

Gail put her lips around the pulsing nipple of Trina's breast. Her tongue 
kissed it, her saliva quickened. What became of whom? 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

She had once been pretty, perhaps beautiful in a sulky brunette way, but 
some nearly forgotten man had opened the corners of her mouth an inch on 
each side to cure the sulk. The slits were prominent and if she opened her 
mouth, the mask of ugliness was almost awe-inspiring. She lay now on her 
back, naked, her bloated tits hanging right and left, jiggling slightly as 
the frenzied Algerian lashed and smeared his tongue and mouth into her hairy 
crotch. Her legs lay out listlessly; she was tired and indifferent to the 
skinny wharf-rat who sucked voraciously at her cunt while he masturbated 
with deft vigor. They were a goofy lot. Hot for a white woman, stupid as 
dogs and as talented as a Methodist minister. 

Now the Algerian thrust his face into her hugely distended sex and bit into 
the finger-sized clitoris. She barely winced. Her blood raced with the pure 
gum opium she had taken with her evening food, and her sex had long ago lost 
its sensitivity. The cheap brute humped his back, sending his cock forward 
to spurt in yellow globs at her splayed out ass. On his own chin, the 
fruiter. She waited until his teeth parted and his humping faded. Then she 
pushed the man away and got up while he lay panting out his fifty pesetas. 

Ignoring his adoring eyes, she slipped into a dirty robe and stepped through 
the curtained doorway into the dingy hall. A few feet away, a drunken Negro 
sucked his black thumb and fondled his huge cock. Waiting for Ella, she 
thought. She stepped over his legs and went on to the back sala. Black Maria 
would get the Algerian into his rags and clean up the bed. She was beyond 
doing such work. 

In the girls' waiting room, she poured herself a water glass of cheap 
Spanish wine and faced Garcia Mendoza. Elegant motherfucker. Fine duck suit, 
waxed mustache and a ten-pound palma hat. A four-inch cock, hardly balls at 
all and half the money in Spanish Gibraltar. 

"What's with you, pig-fucker?" she demanded. 

His rage was instantaneous. "Someday, you weel go too far! I weel cut your 
feelthy t'roat!" 

She threw her head back. "Be my guest, shit-face! Right here!" 

He slapped her; she hardly jiggled. "Some more?" 

He became serious. "Two. Fine girls. Expensive, but they will make me mucho 
dinero! Come, we will inspect them, companera!" 

She followed his arrogant stride to the windowless room at the back of the 
brick and cracked plaster building. There was no lock on the door because 
there was no need for one. The two bodies lying on the floor under the 
single yellow light possessed no apparent life. Except that the sleek one, 
the mouse blonde with the pretty face, lying with her tapered legs akimbo, 
showed sticky come oozing from her swollen-lipped cunt. The heavier one 
seemed older, but she had the kind of frame and the volume of meat that made 
a profitable whore for the skinny Spanish studs who came to the Rosa 
Amarillo with fifty pesetas and their monkey cocks. 

"You see?" the whoremaster gloated. "Delectable, si?" 

"That's your short Portuguese prick talking. The blonde looks light-if she 
lasts six months, I'll suck your prick until your nose bleeds! The ugly one 
may go a year." She leaned down and ran an experienced hand under the blonde 
girl's ass, feeling for the asshole. Her eyebrows raised. "He tamped her 
good, didn't he?" 

The words came without definition because her split mouth wouldn't pronounce 
vowels and consonants very sharply. She made the same inspection of the 
heavier, older woman. Nothing surprised her because she knew where these two 
women had come from, and she very well knew the kind of treatment that they 
had endured. She also knew that their apparent lifelessness was due to a big 
dose of morphine, no doubt needled into them by the hunchback, whose name 
she could not remember. Now she turned to Garcia Mendoza who was sweating 
and wetting his overly red lips with a tongue that had wet redder lips and a 
few black ones, all below the navels of sundry females. 

"Up the ante?" 

"Yes," he breathed. "For a while, si. Seventy-five for the blonde one. Sixty 
for the meaty one. I weel send Raimundo. He weel make many peectures of 
thees ones weeth el perro, mi burrito-maybe weez los negritos, no?" 

"How about a few of you sucking them bloodless, asshole?" 

"Ahrgh-hh!" he snarled. Then he held a fist up in front of her deformed 
face. "You mind yourself, my ugly one! I have been good to you, bitch, but 
my patience ees like the cheap wine-thin!" 

She matched his snarl with one of her own, showing her inner face from molar 
to molar. She had beautiful teeth because the cap-job was hardly four years 
old and had cost five thousand dollars in Hollywood. "Beat it, crumb-bum! I 
know how to run your goddamned kind of a whorehouse and I don't cheat you 
very much! Without me, you're back to running it by hand, although I think 
you'd like to do it that way! Your fat-assed wife had any good rousing doses 
of clap, lately?" 

But he held his temper, his eyes narrowing in restrained fury. She was an 
excellent madame, and she made him money, and it wasn't every whoremaster on 
the Mediterranian who could boast of having Avis Garden as his slave. 
Besides, full of good wine she was a fine fuck. 

She lay on the lumpy mattress, one hand raised to grip the tarnished brass 
of the bedstead, the other resting at her side. The room was hot, heavy with 
tobacco smoke and the pungent sweetness of hashish. She loved hashish, and 
after a while, Avis would give her a cigarette or two, especially if the men 
applauded loudly. Gail looked up at the cracked and water-spotted ceiling. 
The single light wire with its dangling globe held some weird fascination 
for her. She slowly rolled her head, the brightly bleached mass of her hair 
caressing her rouged and powdered cheeks. She was the most glamorous and 
desired whore among the nineteen white, black, yellow and brown girls Avis 
ruled. One of whom was dear Trina, who had gonorrhea and therefore was only 
permitted to suck pricks until the stink left her cunt. Pricks, cunts, 
assholes, jism of varying shades and amounts and smells. 

How many today? It didn't matter. The Spanish pimps hustled constantly, 
sometimes a room full of derelicts, sometimes only a few. It didn't matter 
to Gail. Charley always acted exactly the same. She heard him now and her 
blood raced. Avis was bringing him from his pen on the roof. He weighed one 
hundred twenty pounds and his fur was exciting, almost wiry. He was nine 
years old, which was old for a baboon, and he had to wear a muzzle because 
sometimes he reverted to jungle ferocity and she had been told about her 
predecessor, who had lost half a tit to his dog-like jaws and incredible 
teeth. But Gail wasn't worried. From the first, he had seemed to like her. 
He had pinched her flesh and nuzzled her tits and mauled her with his cool 
paw-fingers until she writhed with eagerness. How many today? 

She turned her glazed eyes around the room. Arabs, Algerians, Spaniards, 
Lascars and the poor pickings from the docks. Black men, grinning, waiting, 
exchanging murmurs with the Egyptian stevedores. Men, with cocks they 
delighted in exhibiting in anticipation of the show. She tired of counting 
after twelve. What did it matter? Avis had led Charley to the bed and she 
slitted her eyes, looking at the huge gray beauty that was nine years old 
and a full, full grown baboon. His cock was already out. Sweet prick. It was 
almost as long as her forearm. It was red and thin-skinned and hardly larger 
around than two fingers-until it sleeked out a full nine inches to the head. 
Like a fat umbrella, flaring hotly. Harder than the head of man's cock, as 
if there were a bone ring under the tongue-red skin. He had big balls in a 
hairy sack and a red bottom she could cup to haul him in tight in the 
critical seconds. A short tail. When he was tired, she could fuck herself 
with the furry stub because he got lazy and didn't care. He wasn't lazy now. 
She held out one hand and Avis released the leash. Gail hated the muzzle and 
the leash, but Charley was dangerous as well as dear. How today? It depended 
upon how large the house was. She spread her smoothly tapered and 
well-powdered legs. 

Come on, Charley, my sweet. Fuck mama good. 

"On your hands and knees, baby," Avis said. "Good house and it's up the turd 
chute. Baby, is he steaming!" 

"Charley," Gail muttered. "Is he greased?" 

Avis laughed through her mutilated mouth. "You ask me that every time! Gail, 
baby, you haven't needed any slippings since the day you got here!" 

Gail rolled and came to her hands and knees. "I know. But it feels better at 
first if he's greased. There's something about a slick prick-" 

The words were lost in the ascending murmur of the twenty odd men clustered 
around the bed. Gail knew without looking. Tense men, openly fondling their 
cocks, some knotted with old chancres, others dripping with unattended 
gonorrhea. Clap was like water, everywhere the Mediterranean kissed the 
filthy land. Avis was sweet. Her supply of penicillin was constant and her 
technique with the needle was almost professional. The men would be looking 
up her ass now, straining to see deeper in her open cunt, admiring the 
pucker of her asshole, wishing they had the seventy pesetas to taste the 
fire of her white body. 

She felt Charley. He was reaching, grasping, not like a man, but like the 
animal simian he was. She squirmed her ass back; dear Charley, today the 
crowd is big and mama wants to be corn-holed. 

She felt his cock at her pucker. It had been instantaneous and painful the 
first few times, but Charley had learned to like the monkey business of 
wheedling his prick up her bung. He always drooled first, his nine-year-old, 
often exploited balls didn't close tightly it seemed. What would a baby look 
like, half Gail and half Charley? She giggled. Avis had told her that if it 
were possible, they'd all get rich in one pf the Egyptian traveling 
circuses. Oh, Charley. 

Listen to them. Ohs and ahs and grunts of surprise. A baboon fucking a 
golden blonde woman. In the asshole. I'm coming. I come and jerk and keep on 
humping so no one knows. Charley is fucking me very fast. He likes to fuck 
fast, like an animal. I like his cock. The head is very big and makes my 
guts ripple. His shaft is small and doesn't make my asshole hurt. Burn some, 
because he fucks very fast and a long time. But he doesn't hurt me like some 
of the North African niggers who save up for a seventy peseta fuck. Go, 
Charley. 

"Keep your hands of! of her!" 

Sweet Avis. But Gail liked those furtive fingers, plucking at her tits and 
digging under to see how her cunt was working as Charley pumps. They caress 
her; men are silly goofs. They fall in love with a whore because she kisses 
their cock before she sucks it. Avis tells them how and they go crazy. 

I'm started now and I'll keep coming and coming until Charley squirts his 
little jism in my ass. Fuck, fuck. Hands. Avis didn't really mean for them 
to let rqe alone. They get hot, watching Charley bang me. They sometimes 
jack-off on the bed, or me, but most uj them stagger out and buy one of 
Avis' cheaper girls. I'm expensive. I'm choice. Charley, honey, not so fast. 
Deeper, but not so-so nice fast. Oh. Squirt, Charley, squirt. Fuck, fuck. 
Now is the time we need the muzzle. He always tries to bite my back when he 
comes. Sweet old fucker. I love his smell, too. Ah-hh-aha. 

Trina put her fingers to the massive cock and stripped it from balls to 
glans. Her ass still tingled from the second shot; another dose of clap she 
didn't need, especially in the tonsils. Funny. No tonsils for twenty-five 
years. This nigger would have surely liked her at the age of ten or eleven. 
He sat, his ugly face drawn into a wide smile, his black eyes eating her 
from kneecaps to forehead. He wore whites; a second cook on a cotton 
freighter. He had boasted about being an Egyptian. Cleopatra's ninety-fourth 
cousin. Nigger. She looped her tits around his prick and jiggled him. It 
wasn't required, but Trina had learned to play some small games of her own. 
Cock was all anybody ever offered her. Sometimes some petting and often some 
slaps and once in a while, a blow. Men were funny. They paid their pesetas, 
but after that, they felt something had to be proved. This one had big 
balls, the lusty savage. He smelled like a week old fish, with the strong 
waft of an unwashed asshole coming up warm between his muscular thighs. She 
pushed the saliva to the front of her mouth and began to suck his cock. His 
big hands came to her head and his fingers buried in her hair. Steer the 
white woman. Hold her onto his rigid rod. She knew. He had it in his 
half-wit brain to make her swallow his jism. Hold her onto it, make her 
drink it or bloody well drown. She couldn't have cared less. Jism was as 
sweet as the stinking food old split-mouth fed them. 

She sucked and mouthed and tongued, her mind trying to go back. He had never 
cared at all. He had shoved his huge prick up her asshole, into her cunt and 
wiped the dribble on her belly. He had confided in her, shared mirth over 
what was happening to Gail but he had only been passing time. This nigger's 
belly is flat and hard, his face is like a man just having won the Irish 
Sweepstakes. She could have been the principal's pet for half the 
lip-service she was giving this black motherfucker. If the discharge didn't 
show tomorrow she could go back to fucking these ignorant hulks. Modem 
science. Penicillin in a Spanish Gibraltar whorehouse. He's going to come in 
about ten seconds. Six years in college with her hand over her crotch to 
save it for this. 

I think I'll surprise this nigger. I'll take his load and then make love to 
him. Avis will never know if it fits my ass. 

She changed her mind because Avis knew everything. And what she didn't know, 
she soon found out, one way or another. It didn't really matter to Trina, 
nor for that matter, to any of them. A world of their own, bounded by the 
usually guarded doors of the stinking old building. A drunken Lascar sailor 
could go in and out as long as he'd paid his way. The girls were never 
allowed to leave. Leave to go where? Mendoza's men would grab them if they 
appeared on the street. Help wasn't available because the trade couldn't 
help anyone. 

And after a month or so, the will to go, to escape, was gone. Values 
changed. In a world made up of dirty, ugly men, you were grateful if one 
wasn't quite so dirty or quite so ugly. You argued over the cheap clothes 
the peddlers brought to the joint, and you fought for your share of the 
strongly spiced and not always palatable food the slatternly cook put up. 
You slept late, took a spit bath because the one shower didn't work and you 
listened to a dozen other girls who told stories and laughed a lot, if 
nervously. 

But it was all there Was and Trina had ceased to look for anything else. 
Through all the dirt and dis ease and violent times, there was always a 
stiff cock sticking up to be petted, sucked or sat on. 

Like this black boy. He had a big clean prick and he laughed throatily. She 
went to the door-less square and tipped the curtain aside. She could hear 
Avis down the hall, arguing with some bum about the price for Kim Yan, the 
Chinese kid. She turned around to the Negro. "Hey, baby, you likum bang 
white mama in bung hole for free?" 

Strong boy. His prick was up before she was settled on the couch, her hands 
and knees braced for the charge. She ducked her head, thinking while he 
fondled her ass and played nudgy with his black meat. She didn't always 
think too well. Thinking made her dizzy. All she really wanted was to feel, 
and he was starting it in and she began to feel. Good. 

Hurry, big boy. Avis will beat the shit out of me if she catches you up my 
ass for free. 

She screamed for a long time and finally the injection Joven had given her 
began to soften her anguish. Jan looked down at the girl writhing on the 
floor. In Spanish, he told Raphael to hold her while Joven reset her hip 
joint. They knew how to do it because they had done it before. He didn't 
even blink when the joint cracked going back. She'd be an invalid for a few 
days and she'd probably walk the rest of her life with a limp. Her own 
fault. 

She'd been riding his cock, her fifteen-year-old legs out around his belly 
and at the come, she had dug her fingers into his face, trying for his eyes. 
So he had just held her and rolled and this had driven his prick in another 
couple of inches as his weight crushed down on her slim body. He had heard 
the pop and she had begun to scream so he just finished fucking her to teach 
her a lesson. Women were number one on his list of fools. 

The Kewpie punched a button and told Millburn to get through to Garcia 
Mendoza in Gibraltar. "Tell him to get his Portuguese ass up here in a 
hurry. She's going to need a shot about every six hours and morphine costs 
money! I'm already in three hundred bucks for this doll and money doesn't 
grow on trees." 


THE END
