The Stepson
by Jon Reskind
(LLP-206)


FOREWORD 

The economics of an affluent society, aided and abetted by the mass media 
that sells it, may, in the long run, be responsible for the desire of people 
for more and more material goods. The acquisition of things becomes a means 
in itself, replacing meaningful human relationships. It is greed and 
narcissism that operates here, and the cry is always for more, more and 
more! In America, especially, it is the rare person who says to himself: 
What I have is adequate. I do not want or need anything more. I am 
completely satisfied. 

John Reskind has given us a story in The Stepson that deals realistically 
with the Cardinal sin of greed. Here, we find a lovely, young woman who, 
seemingly, has everything: A wealthy husband, a mansion in Beverly Hills, 
beautiful clothing, jewels, powerful, fast cars and servants; these are all 
hers, in addition to great beauty. She had been a beauty contest winner; 
subsequently, attaining movie popularity as an actress, then marriage to her 
director. It sounds almost like a fairy-tale, but like many fairy-tales 
there is no happy ending. Her greed for more of that which she already has 
leads her into a cruel trap. 

Her greed is as nothing compared to those who would use her, and use her 
they do! She is entrapped into a life of prostitution. 

Now, Reskind presents to us the main theme of The Stepson: Are prostitutes 
made . . . or born? 

An attempt to answer the second part of that question would entail in-depth 
psychiatric study of, at least, several hundred prostitutes, which would, of 
course, really be an examination of their childhood environment and 
influences to determine whether there is a causal relationship operating. 

Almost immediately, the careful observer would rule out any inherited 
characteristic common to all prostitutes; therefore, he would turn his 
investigative spotlight upon the family life and the members of the family, 
mother, father and siblings. 

One finding that bears a closer look: In families having a weak father, or a 
missing father, seems to lead to the development of homosexual tendencies in 
the children . . . both male and female! 

A closely related fact: The majority, if not most, of all prostitutes are 
lesbian, getting their kicks, not from their clients, but from other women, 
usually prostitutes, also! 

We, the publishers, were intrigued with Reskind's development of this idea. 
Is it possible to lead a naive, innocent girl into a lesbian relationship, 
thence to a life of prostitution? The author has documented, within a 
fictional framework, how this very thing was accomplished. The story was 
told to him, in bits and pieces, over a period of several months by one of 
the major participants. He agreed to write the story so as to protect 
innocent parties; therefore, names, locale and situation were changed only 
slightly to afford this protection. We are delighted to present The Stepson 
a novel of our times by Jon Reskind. 

-The Publishers 

 CHAPTER I 

The black man's ebony skin glistened from his climbing effort, the droplets 
of perspiration standing out on his face and forming tiny rivulets that had 
begun to trickle annoyingly down his face and neck. As he gained the 
portico, stepping cautiously over the railing, he crouched low in order to 
take a quick look around, all his senses alert to possible discovery. His 
keen ears told him that his quarry was up and moving around the bedroom, 
whose double French doors opened out upon the porch where he stood. Good! He 
was in luck this morning. He would get to see her, again! 

Three weeks ago, a few days after he had begun work as a gardener on the 
Marklin estate, he had climbed to this portico via a tall ladder to trim 
some overgrown vines. It was then he had seen her, accidentally, for the 
first time. The memory of what he had seen stirred in him, moving in his 
very being; the thrust of the pounding blood in his veins arrowed straight 
and true to the heavy protuberance of his loins. He felt it working there, 
tumescent and sensual. 

Still crouching low, he made his cautious, soundless way to the vantage 
point at the side of the many-paned door where there was a slight gap in the 
curtain. He knelt down and put his face close to the opening. Almost the 
entire room was visible to him, but he did not see her at first. He cursed 
under his breath. Maybe she was in the bathroom already. Patiently, he 
waited, telling himself that he was a fool to place himself in such a 
position. It was dangerous for a black man to have anything to do with a 
white woman; then, he had to remind himself that he was no longer in Macon. 
This was Beverly Hills, California. Out here things are different. But . . . 
are things really different? He could never forget his feeling of shock the 
first time he had seen a mixed couple walking down the sun-filled street in 
Hollywood. God! What was that black brother thinking about? He could get 
himself killed or maimed. The instant memory of a sight that had chilled his 
blood had raced tormentingly before his eyes. That black man had been 
beaten. Yes! He had had the living Hell beaten out of him . . . but the 
black phallus and scrotum cut from the living flesh and crammed into the 
ever-screaming mouth . . . ! Christ! How could he ever forget that?! From 
that instant the hate in him boiled to a blackened poisonous brew laced with 
rumor, hearsay, folklore and misunderstanding. Jack Gordon hated whites! 
Black was beautiful! White was bigotry! White was power . . . power to crush 
a black man who stepped out of line, but now . . . here he was, Jack Gordon, 
Black Man, kneeling in the warm sun on a white woman's porch hoping to catch 
sight of her in the intimate details of her morning dressing ritual! Shit! 
It's crazy! Crazy, Man! Crazy! But maybe things are changing . . . changing, 
so that a black man could walk in peace and dignity . . . and walk with a 
white woman on his arm-if that's what he wanted to do. Freedom. Civil Rights 
. . . and Black Power. 

Suddenly, she was there before him! The opened bathroom door revealed the 
pink-white and blonde loveliness of her. He cursed the bath towel draped 
carelessly at a diagonal across her body as she drifted across the room to 
stand for a moment beside the bed. The towel came off, sliding down and away 
and was flung languidly to the bed. His involuntary gasp seemed loud to 
himself. Christ! He couldn't afford to be discovered there! 

The vision before his eyes moved now to the full-length mirrors of the 
closet doors, the smooth, long-legged loveliness of her, topped with 
slightly damp golden-blonde hair reflected back to him clearly. The 
up-thrust mounds of her breasts were alabaster-white, marbled with soft, 
blue veinings just below the surface of the skin . . . that unbelievably 
white skin. He watched, lust screaming through him, as her hands, tapered 
fingers curling caressingly, moved up and cupped those magnificent breasts. 
Instantly, the areolas, a darker pink against the creamy whiteness, began to 
pucker, the nipple to harden and lengthen, and he guessed the pleasure she 
felt, even as he was aware of the throbbing ache in his own balls, his cock 
rising to hard erectness against the rough material of his work pants. He 
tried to imagine his own black hands caressing those white half-moons of 
female flesh, his fingers teasing the coral-pink nipples, his mouth sucking 
and kissing . . . his cock working deep into that white belly, but at the 
moment he visualized his black hardness entering her that other remembered 
vision crowded back into his mind. 

With a low, soft moan of hopelessness his hands went to the heaviness of his 
crotch and closed about the testicles and the hardened shaft of flesh, 
lifting them, offering them up as a sacrifice to the unattainable goddess he 
worshipped from afar. Then, he opened the fly; his cock surged forth to be 
grasped desperately by a stroking fist. The curled fingers moved along the 
jet-black length of his prick, back and forth, faster and faster until with 
a groan the white-hot semen jetted from him against the wall next to the 
door where he knelt. He felt the releasing of sexual tension and cursed 
himself for a fool. Cautiously, he retraced his steps, buttoning his fly, 
before he stepped over the railing and climbed carefully to the ground. Why? 
Why . . . he asked himself . . . why hadn't he broken into her room and 
taken her . . . did with her as he wanted . . . raped her in one wild moment 
of sexual abandon . . . instead of jacking-off like some pissy-assed kid? 
Christ! He knew the answer . . . he just didn't have the nerve! He was 
scared . . . scared to death! A Black rapist (in his mind) was a dead 
nigger! A dead nigger with his cock cut off and stuffed into his dying 
mouth! 

* * * 

The cupped breasts in her hands were sore to her gentle touch, and Terri, 
unaware that she was being watched, catalogued the places where she hurt. 
George's tiny whips had left little or no marks on her body, but she was 
painfully aware of those spots where he had hit her. He was especially fond 
of beating her luscious breasts. Now, running her hands over the contours of 
her body, she winced in pain, as she discovered other tender areas on her 
curving thighs and softly rounded buttocks. Her hands found the silky, 
blonde triangle between the softness of her thighs. She probed and explored 
her hurts there; even those private parts were not exempt from the leather 
thongs wielded by her husband. With both hands, she gingerly spread the 
coral lips nestling between the larger halves of her vulva to determine the 
extent of the havoc George had wrought upon her genitalia. 

"Damn!" she sighed. "Damn him!" 

She ran a long, tapered finger cautiously into the slit, moving it carefully 
around the vaginal opening; the raw, exposed nerve endings signaled their 
abused state and she grimaced in pain. 

Her eyes wandered to the partly opened closet door. Rows of exquisite 
garments, hung carefully in protective plastic covers, awaited her 
selection. A small fortune, by some standards, was represented by the 
gorgeous array of dresses and suits. Each was an original . . . very 
fashionable, very chic . . . and very expensive. Her husband, George 
Marklin, had supplied the money for their purchase, as he had for the 
luxurious appointments of the bedroom, the house . . . and the Jag she 
drove. 

The sight of those beautiful clothes seemed to blot the memory of the pain 
from her mind. She had most everything she had ever wanted . . . marriage to 
a successful movie director . . . a beautiful home . . . a powerful new car 
to drive . . . and clothing-all original creations, with accessories to 
match. She had it made! 

Yes! She had it made! From bit player to cameo roles, to stardom . . . then, 
marriage to her director; it was her marriage that had made all of this 
affluence possible. But, it was also her marriage that had revealed a whole 
new and ugly world of sex to her. George Marklin, husband, was not the same 
man who had courted her with Old World eloquence and courtly manners. 

"Beast!" she said to herself, again remembering the wounds on her body. Her 
hand strayed to a tender breast. Was it worth it? She knew the answer as she 
reached out to make a selection from a number of suits. Choosing a gay and 
colorful silk print dress she held it up to her body, her mind aglow with 
the prospect of her shopping tour planned for that day. Several well known 
boutiques were having special showings of their new collections. She had 
received special invitations! After all, she was Mrs. George Marklin and she 
had unlimited credit at all the salons. Crowded into the back of her mind 
was any serious consideration of the state of her marriage. The hurts of her 
voluptuous body were forgotten in the excitement of her preparations for a 
fabulous day of reckless spending. Yes! It was all worth it.. . to her! 

* * * 

Dressed in the mini-skirted print, her make-up done to perfection, Terri 
descended the stairs to the living room, intending to eat a small breakfast 
before leaving to drive to downtown Beverly Hills. Halfway down the stairs 
she saw him sprawled on the couch. Involuntary revulsion rose in her. It was 
Peter Marklin, her stepson, who at nineteen, was only three years her 
junior. She had not quite adjusted-even yet-to the fact of their 
relationship, and she was made constantly aware of their nearness in age. 
Peter had a way of never letting her forget. As she surveyed his figure on 
the couch, he seemed to be sleeping. Good! The last thing she wanted was 
another confrontation with the youth. He had been gone for about ten days, 
and during that time she had lost some of the apprehension he generated in 
her. 

Resolutely, she decided against breakfast; she would leave now, while he 
slept. She made for the service entrance leading to the garage. 

Just as she reached the door, her hand on the doorknob, she was stopped, 
startled by his voice behind her. 

"Terri!" 

She whirled to face him, her defenses up. "Peter!" she gasped. "I thought 
you were asleep . . . ! " 

Half-glazed eyes looked down at her. "I was," he said, his dirty hand going 
uncertainly to the scraggly beard then going to his shoulder-length hair to 
scratch loose a flake of dandruff. "I was," he repeated, "but I heard you . 
. . as you floated by . . . and my dream became a reality . . . the vision 
was you . . . my dear mother. . . . " He leered at her, his eyes sweeping 
over her trim body in bleary-eyed focus. 

The wild look of him frightened her. She had never seen him quite like this. 
Quickly, she said, "I have some shopping to do. . . . " 

She turned to open the door, her only thought to avoid further contact with 
him. His hand closed over hers on the doorknob and his free hand rested on 
the jamb. She was trapped between him and the door as he stood close behind 
her, the uncomfortable closeness suddenly giving rise to a feeling of panic. 

"Peter," she said, trying to make her voice firm, authoritative, "stop 
playing games!" 

Turning in the circle of his arms, her eyes blazing up at him, she put both 
hands against his chest and shoved him roughly away. As she did so, she was 
aware of the filthy condition of his nondescript clothing, the stench of 
them filling her nostrils. Unconsciously, she noted as he stumbled back a 
pace that his fly was unbuttoned; the bulge of his erect penis pushing 
against the dirty shorts came part way through the opening. 

"What's the matter, mother dear . . . don't you dig me . . . ? " 

"Don't be impossible!" she snapped. 

"Hey, you're groovy when you're mad like.. . . " 

He came close to her, again, his lips twisted into a leer. She backed away 
until she touched the door. Whirling, she gained the doorknob and wrenched 
it open. In a moment she had gained the sanctuary of her car. The garage 
door had been left open by her husband. The way was clear for her escape. 
She keyed the powerful engine into life, slipped the transmission into 
reverse and gunned the sleek car out into a circular drive. She saw him in 
the rear view mirror. He stood in the door of the garage, his fly fully 
open, both hands grasping his erect manhood. As she drove rapidly down the 
driveway he waved the rampant phallus in a signal approximating a good-bye. 

"My God . . . ! " Terri said aloud to herself. "I don't believe it!" 

* * * 

Terri drove for several moments; meanwhile, trying desperately to change the 
direction of her thoughts. Try as she might she could not erase that final 
scene from her mind. 

Peter's youth she decided was the problem. They were too close together in 
age. How she was to cope with him she didn't know. She did know that the 
first thing would be never allowing herself to be alone with her step-son. 

She stopped at a chic downtown restaurant for lunch, joining literally 
thousands of other women in a lonely quest for something . . . something 
that she didn't quite recognize. Ostensibly, her search this morning was for 
more beautiful clothing to cover her beautiful hollow body; hollow because 
she was unfulfilled, and so the search went on . . . would go on; indeed, it 
must go on! 

Then, she remembered Ben . . . Ben Whitlow was his name, and she realized 
how nearly a-like they were . . . Ben when she had been seventeen and Peter, 
now. 

When you're seventeen . . . in high school . . . playing the game, you know 
everything is right . . . right for you and all the other groovy kids your 
age, because adults are wrong! They don't understand kids. The teachers, 
especially . . . they're still living in the stone age! 

You wear the costume and speak the jargon . . . because it's yours, 
exclusively . . . and you feel real far-out . . . you're with it! And your 
parents don't understand you. You want it that way! If the deep-down truth 
were known . . . you want it that way because you don't understand yourself 
. . . and that's too painful! You're an in-between-not a child and not an 
adult-so you play the game. 

And the game . . . ? What are the rules of the game? No . . . they're not 
written down and organized into a book like baseball and football. There 
isn't any manual you can follow. It's like follow the leader. And who are 
the leaders? They're the new elite . . . the singers . . . the disc jockeys 
. . . the new generation of movie actors and the New Left student leaders. 
These set the trends in speech, clothing and attitudes. Reject the old! Only 
the new is worthwhile . . . and never trust anybody over twenty-five! 

Terri grinned to herself, remembering how close she, herself, was to that 
dreaded age. How she had changed! It was hard for her to believe that it had 
been such a short time ago. 

You talked about the singing groups . . . about drugs . . . and sex. Mostly, 
you talked. You knew that there were some kids who were turned on to drugs, 
but there really weren't so very many of them. Some of them got busted. You 
defended drugs-that was the thing to do-but you didn't take dings. You knew 
the jargon . . . popping pills downers, uppers . . . dropping acid . . . 
blowing grass . . . getting busted by the pigs: It was all part of the game 
. . . wasn't it? 

Sex was part of the talking game . . . everybody talked frankly and openly 
about sex. According to the way they talked . . . everybody was turned on to 
sex . . . everybody was doing it . . . some were doing it every night . . . 
and they knew every way to do it. They knew all the words and used them. It 
was real groovy! 

And Ben Whitlow was the most turned on. His hair was long. He wore a 
moustache and the most far-out clothes. He had been the center of a flap 
about long hair, beards and non-conformist clothing . . . the school was 
insisting on adherence to the dress code for students, but Ben's father, an 
attorney, had pressed the school board, taking Ben's case to court where he 
had won. 

The uptight community was licked. The kids took over. They dressed and acted 
almost any way they chose. It was fun time. The establishment was backed to 
the wall. Well . . . almost all, but not Terri's parents. They bent a 
little; they allowed Terri some freedom, but mostly they tried to hold the 
rebellious girl within reasonable bounds. Terri was angry and frustrated 
with them. She considered running away from home. She didn't run away, 
fortunately. Instead, she rebelled in other ways. She would stay out too 
late, sitting in Ben's car talking and petting. Eventually, the petting got 
out of hand. She hadn't wanted it to go that far; there was still something 
of respect in her for her parents' values. She would not have admitted it . 
. . but it was there, in her basic character. If she had examined her 
thinking closely, she would have realized that she still wanted to save it 
for her future husband. 

Ordering a second cup of coffee, Terri grimaced wryly to herself. Yes, she 
had managed to save it for her husband; then wondered, cynically, to herself 
whether it had been worthwhile. Momentarily, she was aware of the pains last 
night's session had produced. 

It had been a lark . . . lying to her parents telling them she and Ben were 
going across town to a movie-then driving to Ben's house . . . all 
pre-arranged, since his parents were out-of-town for a long, four-day 
weekend. At least, it had started out as a lark---They were going to play 
house! 

"But don't get any ideas, Ben . . . no imagine ideas!" she had warned. 

"Don't you trust me, Terri Baby?" 

"You know I do . . . I've already let you . . . " she began, her face 
coloring in a flush. 

"Finger your cunt!" he finished for her. 

"And that's as far as it goes!" she snapped. 

"Cool it, Baby . . . no need to get uptight!" 

Ben had made them tall, cool drinks, and they were outside, lounging beside 
the kidney-shaped swimming pool. The alcohol swam in her brain. Images and 
the memories of them were not quite clear. Suddenly, she was in the pool 
completely clad . . . and she couldn't remember . . . had she fallen . . . 
or was she pushed? 

Terri remembered the details of the rest of that evening. Actually, she 
would remember them for the rest of her days. 

Ben helped her from the pool, and together they went into the house to 
change. Terri even managed a laugh at their predicament. 

"What a sight I must be . . . my hair so wet and stringy . . . ! " 

"Groovy!" 

She scowled. "Can we put these things in the dryer?" 

"Of course," he said, ". . . only forty-five minutes.. . . " 

"And can I wear something of your mother's while . . . ? " 

"Yeah, man . . . like one of her sexy nightgowns!" 

"No sex . . . remember? You promised!" 

"Oh, did I promise . . . ? " 

"You know you did!" she said, quickly. 

"But I get ideas when I see naked women. . . . " 

"I'm not.. . naked yet.. . . " 

"You Will be . . . and I've got a good imagination!" 

Terrified toward a bathroom, flinging over her shoulder, "Be good, now . . . 
and bring me a pair of your mother's capris . . . or something.. . . " 

She didn't hear Ben mutter, "Baby . . . it'll be the 'or something!' " 

In the tiled bathroom, Terri undressed, stripping the wet, clammy garments 
from her budding voluptuousness and grabbing a fluffy towel to dry herself. 
She watched her reflection in the full-length mirror with fascination-her 
parents had never installed one in their home-studying carefully what she 
saw there. Ever since she had become a woman; she knew she was a woman the 
first time her menses had appeared, she had had a more than curious interest 
in her own body. She noted the creamy smoothness of her skin, her high taut 
but small breasts, not yet filled out, no extra flesh on her ribs and belly, 
the gentle slope of her shoulders, her narrow waist and curvingly swelling 
hips. Her long length of leg, their shapeliness of tapering thigh, slightly 
dimpled knees and curving calves into trim ankles, all grounded on long, 
narrow feet, had always pleased her, and she turned before the mirror, 
surveying herself critically. She liked most of what she saw-the only thing 
she wished for fervently was that her breasts were filled out a little more 
. . . and her buttocks were a little more boyish than she thought they might 
be; otherwise . . . well, she knew that she was feminine and desirable. 

She dropped the lid of the commode and sat down to dry her feet. The soft, 
silky blondness of the hair at the vee of her thighs drew her attention. 
Gently, a hand crept to it and lightly massaged the mound. Suddenly, she was 
aware of the tingling warmth, of fullness and desire. She slipped a finger 
into the slit and found the bud of her clitoris pulsingly erect. God! She 
felt hot, remembering with a quick blush, the time when Ben had used his 
finger on her. She had both liked it and hated it . . . hated it because she 
had been as putty in his hands; she had almost succumbed that time . . . she 
had been on the verge of telling him to go ahead . . . put his cock in her . 
. . and fuck her . . . fuck her good! 

It must be the drink, she decided, that had gotten her so worked up. Her 
experience with alcohol had been very limited. She was not sure what her 
reactions to its effects were, but she did know that the feelings generated 
in her spelled danger! Well . . . she would have to see to it she kept her 
head, tonight. 

As Terri sat, languidly, smoking a cigarette and drinking her coffee, 
remembering how she had been that night . . . when she had been on the point 
of taking that giant step into adulthood . . . when she had been a 
frightened teenager . . . scared of the unknown . . . ready, but unready, 
yet.. . knowing, yet not knowing what to expect, she became acutely aware 
that the recreation in her thoughts of that night had not been wasted . . . 
her body was reacting. The keening desire in her loins caused her to shift 
uncomfortably in her chair. Carefully, she re-crossed her legs, and the new 
position pressed her thighs close together against the distended flesh of 
her cunt. The inner petals were compressed and demanded release; the viscous 
fluids began to flow, oozing from the walls of the channel and the silken 
briefs she wore pressed hard against the clitoral shaft. She was getting 
hot! . . . But, Christ! . . . What could she do about it? She wouldn't dare 
do what she knew other women did-perhaps even some in that restaurant. They 
picked up men during the day, had their sex fun time, and, presumably, their 
husbands were none the wiser. But George? God! George had made it clear to 
her that she would never be unfaithful to him! His was a consuming jealousy. 
If he ever carried out even a small portion of what he threatened . . . ! 
She shuddered. Her husband was certainly a strange man, to put it mildly. 
Forcefully, she put him out of her mind. Her reverie returned. She was back 
in Ben Whitlow's house, naked in the bathroom. Then, as she remembered, her 
thighs moved imperceptibly, back and forth, against the tumescent genitalia. 
Her loins demanded release, and unconsciously she began to provide it. 

The door to the bathroom opened slowly, gently and almost noiselessly. Terri 
jumped to her feet from where she sat on the commode, the towel held 
instinctively in front of her. Ben stood there, tall and unmoving, wearing 
only his tight jockey shorts, his long hair and scraggly moustache. The 
lustful look in his eyes was frightening. She gasped aloud, her eyes widened 
in fear. 

"Ben! You promised me . . . ! 

He stepped toward her, his slender but somewhat muscular body exuding his 
sexual self-confidence. His head shook from side to side, negatively, and 
his mouth worked. 

"No! I didn't promise you . . . anything . . . remember?" 

"Then, she saw the bulge in his shorts, the prominent protuberance pointing 
right at her through the thin cloth. 

"My God, Ben . . . ! We can't . . . do it.. . ! What if your folks were to 
come back . . . w-walk in on us.. . " she faltered, trying to find some 
reason to make him change his mind. 

"No way!" he said. "They're down at the beach with another couple . . . the 
Maynards . . . and if my guess is right, they're having a swap meet. They're 
a real swinging foursome!" 

"You mean . . . y-your mother and father . . . a-are doing it with another 
couple . . . ? " she asked, a sudden truth dawning on her. To re-enforce her 
supposition, she went on, "Y-Your father and Mrs. Maynard . . . and Mr. 
Maynard . . . a-and y-your mother . . . ? " 

"Hell! Do I have to spell it out for you? They're like one big, happy 
family! Jack and Jill . . . and Betty and Bob.. . . You might say they 
believe . . . the family that balls together stays together!" He grinned at 
his own humor. 

"Oh, Lord! I-I never dreamed. . . . " 

. . . But, then, he had reached for her, tugging the towel from her grasp 
and dropping it to gather her into his strong, young arms, her naked flesh 
pressed tightly and helplessly against him as he kissed her with, ardent 
passion, flattening and spreading her lips, his tongue probing, until she 
uncontrollably thrust her tongue searchingly into his mouth, tasting the 
sour-sweetness of him. 

The hollow fright in the pit of her stomach came to life, and her legs 
became rubbery as she felt herself being transported by them out of the 
bathroom and into a bedroom, her body plastered to his as they moved almost 
as one person, the stabbing lightning in her loins overriding the fear . . . 
the fear of the consequences of the situation. 

Together, they seemed to float across the floor, the giddiness in her head, 
the lack of strength in her body weakening her resistance, and she fluttered 
down under the pressure he exerted until they were both stretched out on top 
of the queen-size bed of his parents. She moaned once, aloud. 

"NOooo!" 

His mouth covered hers, again, and muffled the sound, his hands beginning to 
explore the nakedness of her body. She felt his hands cup and caress the 
swell of her breasts . . . the nipples begin to distend as he squeezed them, 
gently, with his fingers. She whined feebly as the sensations keened within 
her. 

"Please, Ben . . . no!" she pleaded, ever more aware of her danger. 

It was as though she had not spoken; his hands were prowling her body with a 
mind of their own, his own brain senseless to other stimuli. His fingers 
roamed over ribs and belly, brushing the velvety down of her pubic mound 
until the sexy prickling between her legs caused her to squirm away. Still, 
his hands followed her, a finger probing the splayed coral lips of her 
vagina, opening the tender, slightly bearded mouth below as his tongue 
probed deeper into her oral cavern, above. She moaned, again, softly, 
writhing against him, unable to control the sensations that throbbed in her 
cunt. 

"Oh, darling . . . Ben!" she panted into his mouth. "Oh, God, we can't. . . 
! We mustn't . . . Ben!" 

Quickly, then, he had slipped his shorts from his slim hips, and she heard 
the harsh breathing deep in his chest, his lustful, young voice mouthing 
words. 

"Term . . . Terri, Baby! I've got to . . . I've got to fuck you!" 

Then, she felt the huge, hot throbbing of his hardened penis pressed against 
the smooth flesh of her thigh. His fingers continued their assault on her 
tingling channel, burrowing deeper and deeper into the secret depths down 
between her legs. She jerked her hips aside, a soul-searing moan coming from 
deep in her chest as she arched her neck, her head rolling from side to side 
in futile negativity; meanwhile, she ground her hips deep into the mattress, 
moving her full rounded buttocks back and down to escape the digital rape of 
her helplessly exposed vagina. Her squirming was to no avail; his finger 
ravished her relentlessly. 

"Oh, no! No, no, no!" she whined, her teeth grinding, as the effects of the 
sensations in her loins rebounded inside her skull. 

Again, he dropped his shaggy-maned head to her full rounded young breast, 
cupping it in his hand, his mouth sucking up the tiny, throbbing nipple deep 
into the moist warmth of his oral cavity. 

She moaned, again, imploringly, "Dear God," knowing that somehow she must 
stop him . . . before it was too late. 

His wettened mouth began a gentle nibbling on her neck and down along her 
smoothly sloping shoulder that sent goose bumps racing over her flesh. She 
shivered delicately, uncontrollably with the sudden and unexpected 
sensation; then. again, his avid lips fastened to an erect nipple, sliding 
it quickly in and out of his mouth while maintaining a gentle sucking 
pressure. The sensuous, slicing sensation caused her to gasp with pleasure . 
. . a pleasure she knew was wicked and dangerous. 

Below, his hand eased from her vagina, and, now, together, both roamed 
lightly over her body, paying court to the firmness of belly and thighs, 
cupping and grasping her breasts and massaging the lightly curling hair 
covering the triangle at the cusp of her trembling, milk-white thighs. She 
attempted more protest both with words and her hands, trying feebly to 
entrap and stop their wanton play on her body, but neither her voice nor her 
hands would answer her call. 

Then, his ever-questing mouth was sliding down, down over her quivering 
belly, his hardened penis moving in the soft hair-lined furrow of her 
clamped legs. His tongue flicked into her navel for a moment, swirling 
around in it and raising soft mewling gasps of pleasure from her now opened 
mouth. Again, she endeavored to stop him, but her will and her body had 
become, seemingly, momentarily paralyzed. His head moved lower, quickening 
patterns of maddening sensations trailing after his lustful tongue on her 
abdomen, the inner surfaces of her thighs where they joined . . . and 
finally, his tongue was thrusting down into the slightly exposed slit, the 
sparse young pubic hair parting easily for him. 

With great effort she found a croaking voice. "No, Ben! No!" But he paid no 
attention; he concentrated only on the demands of his body. 

She felt her thighs being levered gently apart, and she could make no 
resistance as he knelt down between them, reaching out to possess that most 
secret place of her body. Her breath sucked in with a gasp as she felt his 
thumbs pressing Outward, spreading the down-covered lips of her cunt to his 
salacious gaze. The cool air of the night washed over her, and she had never 
before felt so naked . . . so exposed and vulnerable. 

Ben's tongue flicked forward, its tip teasing moistly the canopied bud of 
her clitoris, causing it to throb into instant hardened life of its own. He 
lowered his fingers and spread her cuntal opening even wider and dropped his 
tongue from her clitoris to the coral pink and moistened flesh of her love 
passage. 

Terri's pelvis jerked from the sudden contact of his wet tongue; shooting 
sparks of Roman candles were there, and she reached down to tangle her 
fingers in the mop of his hair, pulling his face hard against her naked 
loins. His agile tongue probed, circling around, tantalizingly, maddeningly, 
inside her, the tip of it flicking against the moist, sensitive lining of 
her pussy. Intense, insane spasms shot through her naked, defenseless body, 
demanding sexual fulfillment. 

. . . And, yet . . . something within her cried out against it. 

"OOooohhh," a long, agonized groan rose from deep in her throat; she heard 
herself as she moaned down at him, "Ben . . . we've got to stop! We can't . 
. . go on! We can't. . . ! " Then, to her own amazement and a compounded 
confused disappointment she felt him moving up over her, leaving her 
unsatiated cunt, roaringly alive with the flames of her passion, and he was 
kissing her, again, thrusting his tongue deep into her throat, as he took 
her hand and guided it to his demanding cock. With his lean, strong fingers 
he curled her tiny hand around the hard shaft of rampant male flesh. 

She surprised herself and let her hand remain where he had placed it. She 
felt the length and breadth of it. Lord! It was huge! Never before had she 
been aware of its massiveness. Heavens, it would kill her . . . split her 
vagina wide open! 

It throbbed against the palm of her hand. She could feel the warmth of it, 
the silky smoothness of the head, and, somehow, it delighted her. How she'd 
love to have it buried to its hilt in her inflamed cunt.. . this very 
moment! 

Instinct guided her and she began to stroke and massage the hot, pulsing 
member she held in her hand, pulling the foreskin back and tan-talizingly 
nibbing the expanding head with her fingers. Boldness, born of curiosity, 
led her, self-consciously, to slip her hand downward, feeling for his balls. 
The hairiness, the silky yet wrinkled texture of him amazed her. She had 
heard or read somewhere that they were easily hurt, and she stroked them 
gently, lovingly, holding them in the palm of her hand. They were, she 
remembered, where the sperm was manufactured. Suddenly, she realized why men 
guarded them so carefully. 

Ben, beside her, was grinding his teeth and grunting between agonized 
breaths. Then, cold against her thigh, she felt wetness and wondered if he 
had shot his cum already. His prick was still hard in her hand; it must be 
the small tears of lubricant that men produce, she decided. 

"Terri . . . darling . . . my God! I want you! I've got to fuck you!" he 
ground out between clenched teeth. 

"No . . . Ben, darling . . . no! It's no good You'd hate me afterward . . . 
not respect me!" she moaned, the foul obscenity he had used sending a shock 
of lewd excitement coursing through her, as her loins trembled with need of 
him. 

"We're not talking about . . . respect! It's love . . . loving! Damn it . . 
. don't you see . . . ? I've got to . . . ! You can't leave me . . . like 
this . . . high and dry . . . if you really love me ... " 

God! She must let him, her body, the physical side of her being told her, 
but her mind still struggled to maintain some semblance of control of her 
runaway senses. She wanted it! She wanted him! She wanted that big cock 
working in her! God! How badly she wanted! She couldn't stop herself now! It 
was a losing battle she fought with herself! 

"Terri.. . " he grated in her ear, "I can't wait.. . ! God! I can't . . . 
wait . . . any longer . . . ! " 

The length of his body rolled on top of her, his frantic face above her, 
where she read the lust and determination that drove him, and, it was then, 
that something in her snapped her back to reality; perhaps it was the 
realization that the game had become real . . . too real, and that the 
stakes were high . . . higher than she wanted to go! 

"No! Ben! No! I can't let you do it . . . and make a complete mess of 
everything . . .for us!" 

Her mouth was imprisoned by his, but she talked wetly into his mouth, her 
words muffled, even as he tried to work his rock-hard shaft between her 
tightly clasped thighs. "Listen to me, darling . . . please, listen to me! 
It's not right . . . for us . . . arid we'll both be sorry. It'll be so much 
better. . .for both of us . . . if we wait.. . . " 

"I've waited too damned long. Baby! I'm going to fuck you . . . right now!" 
he grunted. 

She hugged him close to her and kissed him hard as he continued to jab his 
prick down through the upper part of her moistly hair-lined slit, trying 
desperately to reach the opening of her smooth coral passage blocked from 
him between her closely clamped thighs, his every movement sending wild 
sensations keening through her as his cock rubbed against the erect bud of 
her clitoris. 

"Please, oh, please, Ben . . . isn't there something else . . . I could do . 
. . ? " she pleaded, realizing that it would, somehow be inhuman to stop him 
from gaining the relief, the sexual release, he obviously needed, but he 
seemed oblivious to her words as she reached down between them to take his 
hardened shaft in both hands only seconds before he levered her legs apart 
with his own lean, muscular thighs, his prick thrusting toward the 
defenseless portal nestling at the cusp of her loins. 

Then, suddenly, as she held his thick, rampant and rampaging organ in her 
tiny hands and he continued to pump wildly away, he emitted a harsh grating 
cry. She felt his cock expand and contract, again and again, in her hands, 
accompanied by his helpless gasps of passion as his love juices began to 
spurt from him. The hot, white fluid splashed wetly onto her abdomen, and 
she felt it run thickly over her thighs and down the hollows between them. 

Finally, with a huge groan, he collapsed on top of her, heavily, panting and 
sobbing, child-like in his explosive release. She caressed his head where it 
lay between her breasts and thought to herself: OH, GOD! I WANTED IT TO 
HAPPEN . . .BUT NOT NOW! NOT LIKE THIS! WAS I WRONG TO . . . TO KEEP HIM 
OUT? 

Ben sat up slowly, not looking at her. He eased his frame over to the side 
of the bed and stretched his legs over the side; he reached to a box of 
tissues, extracted several and handed 

Terri a few of them. She followed his lead, wiping herself as best she 
could, surprised at the sticky feeling his semen left on her skin. She 
pushed her hair back from her face and slid across the bed to him; her arms 
went around his waist and she buried her face in his shoulder. 

"Sorry . . . Baby . . . " he muttered softly. "I guess I shouldn't have come 
on so strong.. . . " 

Terri's nerves were still on edge from lack of satisfaction. She decided not 
to let it show. She kissed the nape of his neck. 

"Get me something to wear . . . and we'll get my clothes into the dryer . . 
. O.K.? " she said, lightly. 

He nodded, arose, fumbled in the closet and found a dressing robe of his 
mother's. Handing it to her, he asked, "This O.K.? " 

"Perfect!" She got up from the bed and slipped into the garment. 

Ben hesitated, standing, uncertainly, near the door, still nude, his flaccid 
penis hanging innocently, now. 

She noticed his uncertainty, wondered about it. Wondered if he was thinking 
of trying, again. 

"You'll take me right home . . . as soon as my things are dry?" 

"Yeah, O.K.. . . " he agreed. He turned and left the bedroom. She heard him 
enter his own room, down the hallway, and she knew it would be all right. 

Suddenly, as Terri sat at the restaurant table, she realized what she had 
been doing. God! She had made herself hot! She was close-too close-to 
orgasm. Hastily, she gathered her purse and made her way quickly to the 
plush rest-room. Then safely in the privacy of a cubicle, she gratefully 
allowed herself the luxury of a gasping self-induced orgasm, using her hand 
to stimulate and massage her throbbing clitoris. It was a surgingly welcome 
release, but her feelings were mixed; she was glad and relieved, physically, 
but there was still the repugnance for the act, the feeling of guilt that 
had been ingrained in her from early childhood. It was something a nice girl 
did not do! 

Emerging from the enclosure, she found herself face-to-face with a svelte, 
chicly dressed woman, who, at the exact instant, was just coming out of the 
adjoining cubicle. 

Suddenly, Terri realized that she had not been alone; however, she was quite 
certain she had been the only occupant when she had entered the lounge. This 
woman must have come in later while she . . . had been occupied with her own 
debased relief. She felt her face reddening. God! This woman knew! 

A quick, friendly smile on the other woman's face put her, at least, 
partially at ease. She smiled a tenuous smile of her own and headed for the 
door. The last thing she wanted was a stranger knowing who she was. 

"Terri . . . Terri O'Neal isn't it?" The woman's musical voice stopped her. 
"I've always enjoyed your pictures.. . . " 

"T-Thank you . . . I'm glad . . . " Terri said weakly, turning again to 
leave that confined place and perhaps . . . an embarrassing incident . . . 
if the woman were to refer to what had just taken place. 

"You're even more beautiful, in person, than on the screen," the other 
continued. The woman, somewhat taller than Terri, stood directly behind her, 
and she was aware of the exquisite perfume, the obviously cultured tones of 
her voice and the nearness, the uncomfortable nearness that made Terri's 
skin crawl with apprehension. 

"You flatter . . . me," Terri said in a small voice. "I-I really don't feel 
like I-I'm that much.. . . " 

"You're a very lovely woman . . . a woman to be loved . . . " the other 
said, softly; then, continued, ". . . to be loved . . . properly.. . . " 

Terri turned to face the stranger, her face flushed. "If you'll excuse me," 
she said, "I must be going.. . . " 

The woman's eyes bored into her, and Terri looked away, quickly, 
recognizing, at once, the meaning of the words reflected there. She read 
burning desire. She had seen it in the eyes of men . . . but a woman, never. 
Hastily, Terri swung the door open, but the woman's hand on her arm 
restrained her. The stranger's voice crooned, "Don't be hasty! There are 
many delights to be found . . . in the arms of another woman. I could make 
your life something unbelievable!" 

"Please . . . y-you don't understand . . . I-I'm married . . . and my 
husband . . . " Terri fumbled, at the same time attempting to leave the 
room. 

"But . . . I do understand! Otherwise . . . " the woman's pause was 
significant, loaded with meaning. 

Terri wrenched herself free of the woman's grasp on her arm. "Let go of me!" 
she snapped. 

Instead, the tall, strange woman leaned forward and kissed Terri full on the 
mouth. Somehow, it both intrigued her and repulsed her, at the same time. 
The soft, yet warm and flooding passion of the woman's mouth on her own made 
swift lightning strokes along her nerve endings that she could never have 
explained. 

Lifting her head, the woman looked into Terri's eyes. "If you change your 
mind . . . call me at this number . . . after seven." 

Terri looked down at the scrap of paper thrust into her hand. It bore only a 
telephone number. "W-What . . . ? " she stammered. 

"Ask for Pauline!" the woman said, and swept regally through the door. 

Numbly, not knowing what she was doing, Terry, automatically, stuffed the 
scrap of paper into her purse, self-consciously checked her makeup in the 
mirror, brushed at an imaginary out-of-place lock of hair, left the room, 
paid her check and found her way to her car. At this point, she was too 
dumbfounded to realize, or even to contemplate, the importance to her of 
this encounter with Pauline Riggs. 

Finally, after long moments, sitting at the wheel of her car, she heaved a 
long sigh. "I don't believe it," she said to herself. 

She started the car, swung out of the parking lot and headed for the first 
salon showing she had planned to attend that day, but as she drove, she 
could not shake the images of that bizarre encounter from her mind. The 
words, the voice, the woman were still there, rattling around in her skull, 
but mostly, it was the kiss . . . a woman's kiss that she remembered! 

 CHAPTER 2 

Terri attended showings at only two salons before she returned home early, 
sick at heart and seething with rage and frustration. She had been informed 
so very tactfully and with perfect diplomacy that her charge accounts were 
closed. Cash payment was now the order of the day . . . "I'm sure you will 
understand, Mrs. Marklin . . . but Mr. Marklin. . . 

She understood, all right. George had cut her off, but why hadn't he the 
decency to tell her himself? It had been embarrassing, humiliating and 
degrading for her, especially in the shops where she was quite well known. 

Going directly to her bedroom, thankful that her step-son, Peter, didn't 
seem to be around, she stripped herself naked and drew a hot bath. She 
soaked and luxuriated in the bubble bath, washing away her aches and cares. 
Not really knowing what to expect when her husband came home, she needed 
this time for herself. There was bound to be a confrontation. It would 
probably be ugly. In the short space she had been married to George Marklin 
she had learned much about him, but on reflection, she had to admit, she 
didn't really know him. 

* * * 

Terri had been captured by the silver screen; she was enthralled by the 
magic and glamour of the people who inhabited the never-never land of 
Hollywood. She knew that someday that life would be hers. Everything she did 
was aimed at only one thing: She, too, would be a rich and famous movie 
star, a sex goddess in that almost unattainable Olympus where the legends 
and myths were manufactured. 

It had not been easy. She had, literally, clawed her way upwards. Entering 
beauty contests of every sort, she had learned how to use her body and face 
to best advantage, and along the way she had had to defend herself from 
those who wanted to take advantage of her. More than once she had had to 
keep some sex-hungry beauty contest manager at bay. She knew that she could 
have done it differently; other girls of her acquaintance had gone that 
route . . . on their backs, but Terri had decided that that would not be her 
way. Had success been hers? Yes, it had. She had won two contests fair and 
square. She was noticed. She did get some small acting parts; finally, she 
was signed for a supporting role, which she handled adequately. She was 
known-not famous or rich-but she was somebody in Hollywood. Then came her 
big chance. She was signed to a starring role. George Marklin was her 
director, and the whole world was her cup of tea . . . for a few months. 

George Marklin, director, man-of-the-world, European born, was like no man 
Terri had ever met. It was a thrill for her, each and every day, that she 
worked for him. His sure and skillful direction brought out the best in her. 
The result was well worthwhile. The picture received good notices and good 
box office returns. 

During the course of making the picture, Terri accepted several dates with 
Marklin. His manners were beyond question. He wooed her in true European 
style. Finally, he asked for her hand in marriage, and Terri knew that her 
world was complete. What more could she ask for from life? 

Little did she know what life had in store for her as wife to George 
Marklin. She embarked upon her married life buoyant and full of hope. 
Fortunately, she was flexible, for she soon learned how far she had to bend. 
Had she not had this flexibility, she would have been broken and ruined both 
physically and mentally. 

As she soaked in the tub, trying desperately to relax, her mind wandered, 
and she found herself thinking, again, about her wedding night. She had been 
so careful to bring her virginity intact to her wedding night bed. She 
wondered whether or not it had been worth the trouble. Morbidly, she 
reflected on it. George Marklin was a beast! 

Terri had had a beautiful wedding. She had made careful preparations and 
plans for it. Everything had gone off beautifully. Soon after the wedding 
reception, George had whisked her away, driving rapidly into the mountains 
where he had rented a secluded cabin for their honeymoon. She had had her 
heart set on a South American cruise, but George had ruled otherwise. He 
wanted to be alone with her. There would be too many people on a cruise 
ship. And, so it was, that Terri's wedding night, a night she would always 
remember, was spent in a mountain cabin. 

George had already consumed several drinks during the reception. After 
unpacking, he nursed a tall highball, standing stockily near the fireplace, 
watching Terri, narrowly, as she moved about arranging things to her 
satisfaction. 

"It is time," he pronounced, finally, "to get into bed and consummate our 
marriage!" He spoke thickly with a slight Italian accent. Terri had wondered 
about his manner of speech, and before they were married, he confided to her 
that he had changed his name for professional reasons; however, he did not 
tell her what his name had been before the change. 

"All right, darling . . . just as soon as I arrange my clothing in the 
closet," Terri answered. 

"I mean . . . now!" he snapped. 

Terri looked up quickly, saw the look that accompanied his words and decided 
that she best drop what she was doing and attend to her marital obligations. 
She knew there would be sex; that was part of being married. For that she 
was prepared. She wanted desperately to be a good wife. 

"Yes, of course, George darling . . . if you insist.. . . " 

Louder, now, with more authority, he said, "I insist! One thing you must 
understand clearly . . . I am the head of my household! What I say is law!" 

This authoritative side of her husband had been revealed to her earlier, 
when they had been working on the picture together, but she was somewhat 
surprised that he found it necessary to say it to her this bluntly . . . on 
their wedding night. 

"The man is always . . . is expected to lead . . . isn't he?" 

"Yes! I just want to make sure you understand that!" 

"I understand, darling," she said, sweetly. 

"Then get into bed!" he roared. "I'm going to de-flower you!" 

"De-De-flower . . . m-me . . . ? " she stuttered. "W-What do you m-mean . . 
. ? " 

"Oh, that is from the old country . . . " he said. "Here they call it 
getting the cherry, I believe," he grinned. 

Terri turned away in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing. She knew she was 
still virgin; nothing larger than a finger had ever been inside her. The 
memory of that night with Ben tingled through her. 

"I'll change into my nightgown . . in the bathroom," she said, picking up 
the garment. 

Slamming the highball glass down, he had reached her in two quick strides. 
He pushed his livid face, the anger flashing from his eyes, down next to her 
own blushing countenance. She realized, on the instant, that he was drunker 
than she had thought he was. His mouth worked, roaring and sputtering into 
her face, "No! God damn it! Strip! I'm going to fuck you, now!" 

Unconsciously, she began to back away from him; she was frightened of his 
sudden anger, the authoritative manner and the vulgar obscenity that still 
hung in the air between them. 

The backs of her knees contacted the edge of the bed, but she caught her 
balance. George stood close to her, his voice softer now, but more deadly, 
"You are my wife, now! You will do as I say! There will be no arguments!" 

His hand shot out, a short, punishing, open-handed slap to the side of her 
face. She fell back sprawling on the bed, a gasp of pain and disbelief 
escaping her twisted lips. 

"OOooh! George!" 

. . . Then, she saw him stagger toward her, his hands fumbling with his belt 
buckle. Her breath caught in her throat, and in confused panic she swung 
herself from the opposite side of the bed, gained her feet and dashed 
blindly for the door. She grabbed the knob and pulled frantically. It was 
locked! 

George's hard laugh behind her caused her to swing back to face him. He 
grinned at her lewdly, his tongue darting out to wet his full, sensuous 
lips. 

"Even if you could get out . . . where would you go?" he gloated thickly. 
His eyes blazed, "Strip, I said! Make yourself naked!" 

Faltering with fear, she pleaded, "G-George . . . please, George . . . not 
this way . . . can't y-you give m-me some time . . . t-to.. . . " 

"There's only time for fucking! Get your clothes off!" 

"Oh, my God!" she had gasped, repulsed again at the sound of the obscene 
word; then, she could only watch, petrified and fascinated while her dear 
husband of only a few hours continued to remove his clothes. It suddenly 
became clear to her that this man was not the same man she had married. 
There must be some horrible mistake! Could she have, unwittingly, become 
involved with some horrible monster-a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Oh, God! 

At last, he stood, block-like before her, his thick, stocky body nudely 
licentious, his penis hard and rampant, sticking out from muscular, hairy 
loins like some awesome instrument of torture. The scrotal sac hung heavily 
below, and Terri gasped in total disbelief as she watched him drop a hand to 
his genitals, grasping the balls, pulling them up and hefting them in his 
hand. With an effort she tore her eyes from the lewd spectacle. She didn't 
want to look, but inexorably her eyes were drawn back, again; now, his beefy 
hand moved to enfold the shaft of the heavy organ, his hand stroking the 
heavy, uncircumcised foreskin back and forth over the reddish-purple cowl of 
the bulbous head. The thick organ jerked to his self-gratifying touch, and 
she stared in fascinated abhorrence as she thought she detected a drop of 
colorless, viscid fluid seep from the tiny slit at the tip. 

"You do find it fascinating . . . don't you my dear?" he leered obviously 
relishing the shameful torment he was inflicting on her. "I would be willing 
to bet that you had no idea your darling husband was this well endowed . . . 
how do they say it here . . . heavy hung?" 

"P-Please . . . is it. . . n-necessary t-to.. . . " 

He laughed lewdly, "Yes! Just wait until I get this into your tight little 
cunt! You will fully appreciate it then!" Moving toward her, giving the 
impression almost of a stalking beast of prey . . . or a hunting dog on the 
point, he went on with his debasing monologue, "I will tell you one thing . 
. . this cock has made more than one little bitch beg for mercy!" 

"Ugh!" her cry of revulsion tore from her lips. 

Marklin started to laugh, then caught him-self. He had had a new thought. 
"You do have a virgin cunt . . . don't you?" His eyes narrowed menacingly, 
"It had better be!" 

"There's n-never been anybody . . . e-else . . . " she faltered. 

"And . . . another thing you must know about me," he croaked, "never lie to 
me . . . ever!" 

Tears began to spill over her eyelids to run down her cheeks. She felt so 
much on the defensive, and now this, this doubt in her husband's mind about 
her virginity.. . even her veracity. She could stand no more. 

"Stop it! Stop tormenting me!" she had shouted at him, her face paling now 
with the fury she felt. 

He watched the change in her, as her face contorted with anger and 
repugnance, but he went on with his torment, advancing steadily on her, his 
rigid, fleshy member in his hand, his mouth-working again, "Very pretty, my 
dear! Why couldn't I get a performance like this while we were shooting on 
location?" 

Terri's hypnotized eyes followed his advance. My God! No woman could ever 
take that monstrous thing inside her. It would tear her apart! Rip her 
insides to shreds! 

"D-Don't you dare come any closer, George! Don't touch me!" she blurted, the 
loathing and fear searing her mind and viscera equally. But she knew that 
words were meaningless and futile. Her husband was going to take her 
helpless, virginal body no matter how she pleaded with him or begged him for 
mercy. She was going to be raped! Oh, God! This wasn't the way she wanted it 
to be . . .for the first time! She had saved it . . . fought to save it . . 
. for all those years . . .for this! Saved it . . . only to be raped on her 
wedding night! The irony of it was not entirely wasted on her. But worse . . 
. dear God! He had a right to take her! It couldn't really be called rape! 
Were husbands ever taken to law for wedding night rape? She knew the answer. 
It was a resounding NO! 

"Well, are you going to do as I say . . . strip off those clothes . . . or 
do I remove them for you . . .in shreds ? " 

Terri had stood there completely helpless, defenseless, petrified with 
terror and shock, until he had reached out for her, jerking her body in to 
his broad, hairy chest, a strong hand going behind her head, holding it 
rigid while his wet, sensuous lips covered hers tightly, his tongue lashing 
deep into her mouth, while, below, the hardened shaft of male flesh gouged 
hotly into the soft flesh of her belly. She was conscious of its burning 
heat even through the several layers of her clothing. She did not resist 
him. After all, if this was the ivay it was to be.. . . 

Methodically, George was stripping her. She hadn't resisted him, she told 
herself, because she had suddenly realized the futility of struggle. She was 
his wife. She was his, to do with as he chose. God what a farce! What 
monstrous irony! 

"This is the way I want it!" her husband crooned. "Let me get you ready for 
a fucking you will never forget!" 

She recoiled, once more, at the vileness he breathed hotly into her 
tear-stained face, and she was but only dimly conscious of his eager, blunt 
fingers as they tugged at zippers and unfastened snaps, until the cool, 
mountain air flowed over her naked flesh, causing the nipples of her proud, 
full breasts to harden, the areolas puckering and tingling; then, she felt 
her panties being pulled down over the soft, rounded contours of her 
buttocks. She stepped out of the hobbling garment and kicked them aside. 

He stepped back to gaze at her, admiringly, while Terri closed her eyes and 
stood with chin held high, desperately trying to control the tears that 
flooded her eyes. She swayed nearly losing her balance. God! There was 
nothing left to her but shame! 

"Mother of Christ!" You are a truly luscious sight!" he gasped, the 
Italianate blasphemy ripping from him as he pulled her against his lustful 
nakedness, crushing her proud breasts flat against his broad, muscular 
chest, his broad, blunt hands cupping the full, rounded globes of her 
buttocks and hauling her naked loins tightly into him until his hardened, 
pulsating cock burrowed into the flaccid softness of her belly. 

"You are all I thought you would be! Now, I am truly sorry that we did not 
shoot that scene in the nude. I was jealous of that leading man! God! How I 
wanted you . . . each time that you were in his arms! I wanted to throw you 
to the ground . . . and fuck you right there! Just throw those beautiful, 
long legs of yours over your head . . . arid fill you with this cock of 
mine!" 

"Oh, God," she had moaned, almost incoherent, as she rested her face, 
tenderly, on his shoulder, unable to comprehend the keening eroticism his 
passionate yet obscene description engendered in her. She was allowed only a 
fleeting glimpse of this arousal. Suddenly, he had caught her hair, jerked 
her head back and his questing mouth found hers. His tongue burst into her 
mouth while a clawed hand clutched and kneaded her left breast without 
mercy. The pinching and twisting of the distended nipple quenched the 
fleeting sexual thirst of the moment before. Now, there was only pain. 

She whimpered against his lips from the brutal manhandling of her soft, 
sensitive breast, her eyes flooding with the tears of her shame and 
humiliation . . . and there was the deception of this man who was now her 
husband . . . he, who had been so gentle and gentlemanly and who now was 
acting so beastly . . . almost animalistic in his approach to her. Her 
romantic ideas of married love had already been shattered. Then, there was 
the dread, the very present fear in her of that moment-not very far off 
now-when he would try to penetrate her virginal passage with that monstrous 
lance of hardened flesh, that lay hard-pressed against the flesh of her 
abdomen. 

Oh, my God! What had she done to herself? What had she gotten into? What was 
she to do? There was nowhere to turn! No one to whom she could turn? There 
was nothing! Nothing! 

. . . And, then, suddenly, he was leading her to the bed! Her husband was 
taking her to her marriage bed . . . and she didn't want to go! 

All she could visualize, now, was the pain that would be hers in a few 
moments. Incoherently, she began to beg, "Oh, please, G-George . . . please, 
be gentle, promise me you'll be gentle . . . a-and not.. . h-hurt m-me.. . . 
" 

Even as she pleaded, she knew that her words fell on deaf ears. George moved 
her around and pressed her down onto the bed before him, his lewd smile of 
anticipation etched into her memory as she closed her eyes and tried once 
more, "I've never . . . been . . . My God! D-Don't you understand? I'm 
really a-a . . . virgin, George!" 

He was on all fours on the bed above her. He grinned down at her, drunkenly, 
lustfully, one knee working itself between her instinctively clasped thighs. 

"That makes me very happy," he slurred. "Every man should have a virgin 
bride! Some places I know about . . . there has to be a bloody sheet to show 
the people . . . or the bride loses her head!" He made a motion with his 
hand across her neck to illustrate his point. Terri shuddered, the image in 
her mind almost too real for her. 

"It's time for me . . . to find out if I have been so lucky as to have 
chosen a virgin bride," he went on: then, abruptly, "Open your legs!" 

"Ooh, p-please, George . . . be gentle with m-me . . . " she breathed. 

"Spread your legs! Wide!" he snarled. There was nothing else that mattered 
to him except getting his hard cock into her tender, chaste flesh. It drove 
him almost obsessively. 

Reluctantly, she had obeyed, opening her thighs only minutely, but enough 
for him to take instant advantage of this small chink in her armor. He 
lifted his other leg and squeezed it between the long, shapely columns, 
spreading her thighs cruelly with the superior strength of his own. Gaping 
down at her, he saw the pink, moistness of her cuntal slit, the inner, coral 
petals peeping out shyly. Suddenly, he reared back on his haunches to stare 
at the completely naked and exposed spectacle of her sparsely, golden-hair 
ringed vagina. 

"Mama mia!" he gasped, reverting to his original language. 

Almost paralyzed with fear, she watched as he reached to her, placing the 
palms of his hands flat against the inside of her soft, smooth thighs, his 
blunt thumbs resting on the pliable softness of the sparsely hair-lined lips 
of her cunt. Her breath caught in her throat, plastering her tongue to the 
roof of her mouth as with a deliberately slow and tantalizing movement, he 
drew the gently pulsing lips slowly apart, exposing the natural wetness of 
the secret coral flesh to his lustful gaze. 

"God!" he exploded. "What perfection! I've not seen such a tiny cunt, 
before!" 

"Y-You're so big, Darling.. . . Y-You'll be careful. . . ? Please don't.. . 
h-hurt me . . . " 

Nothing came from him for answer; he only sucked in a deep breath and 
dropped suddenly down upon her, his strong, thick hands plundering greedily 
over the creamy softness of her lush bodily curves, squeezing the fullness 
of her succulent breasts with sadistic fury, his hungry mouth coming down to 
chew first at one involuntarily hardened nipple then the other, while she 
writhed in exquisite pain beneath him, fearful, apprehensive, defenseless.. 
. trapped! 

"Oh . . . OOooh, my God . . . " she had moaned beneath his brutal attack. He 
held her immobile on the bed, imprisoning her there with the weight of his 
heavy body, her head flailing helplessly from side to side, desperately, 
while his hand reached down between them seeking his hardened cock. He found 
it and worked the blood-engorged head between the moist, tender lips of her 
vagina, working it up and down in the virginal slit briefly to part the 
soft, sparse pubic hair; then, he thrust forward, the bulbous head coming up 
tight against the cringing mouth of her reluctant cunt. The pressure of it 
was hard, cruel and painful. 

Terror seized her in its awful grasp. She tried to scream and found her 
vocal cords paralyzed. The agonizing pressure had begun, and for one brief 
moment she had thought that she could stand it, but it became obvious to her 
quickly that the disparity of size would never allow a fit. He was too big 
for her untried passage. Again, a scream formed in her throat. 

Cruelly, impatiently, he flexed his hips, moving them forward powerfully. 

"OOOOOOooooooohhhhhhhh, Goddddddd! NOOOOooooooo!" 

Her vision spun crazily. Her brain reeled, the keening, cutting edge of fear 
slicing her reason to ribbons. She heard his vile curses of frustration, 
then he pressed against her, again, using all his strength of back and legs, 
his buttocks flexing and straining, until suddenly the guardian hymenal gave 
way before the inexorable pressure. The tight, elastic ring of her vaginal 
entrance had popped open with an unexpected snapping sound, and the huge, 
rubbery head of his cock slipped moistly inside the vaulted passage with 
such a rush that she was left gasping for breath, the instant of her 
transformation almost lost to her as a blanket of semi-darkness descended on 
her. She was nearly unconscious, now. 

In but an instant the pain brought her around. Her head flailed, insanely, 
and she tried to rake her talon-like nails across his face as she writhed 
and twisted beneath him with the strength of a madwoman in her attempt to 
escape the cruel and agonizing impalement of her young, unready cunt. 

Helplessly, she squealed in animal pain and fear, much as a hunted doe that 
has been run to ground and run through by the hunter's lance as he caught 
her wrists in a powerful hand and pinned them back over her head to the bed; 
her legs kicked out in a frantic effort to find relief, but the movement 
only made her position the worse, affording him the chance to sink his 
massive cock deeper and mercilessly into the soft yielding flesh of her 
widely splayed cunt. 

She screeched and wailed with the almost unbelievable pain. Her incoherent 
babbling fell on deaf ears as, brutally, he forced the hardened shaft of 
flesh ever further into her unwanting, virginal pussy, stretching and 
expanding the sensitive, moist walls until she was sure that she would be 
ruined, split right down the middle from the cruel outward pressure. 
Relentlessly, he bored into her, his obvious pleasure revealed in his 
uncontrolled breathing; then, she felt his naked stomach smack resoundingly 
against her own and his heavy dangling balls hung heavy between the naked, 
upturned cheeks of her tightly clenched ass. Oh, God! 

Words swarmed in her brain. She tried to speak . . . to beg, to say anything 
. . . anything at all that would penetrate to him, but the unformed words 
stuck in her throat. He had whipped her breath away with the sudden, rapine 
entry, the searing pain of it seeming to encompass the whole of her widely 
spread loins, but the true seat of her pain, she knew, was in the tearing of 
flesh as the hard, rampant member, now entombed deeply in her quivering 
belly, had literally torn her vaginal entrance to shreds. The warm, damp 
walls of her pussy sheathed his massive cock, tightly, and she was certain 
that she felt the blood dripping down the open cleft of her buttocks to form 
a warm, wet pool beneath her, staining the coverlet a bright red. 

Her husband had not stopped. He didn't give her even a moment to adjust to 
his sudden invasion of her young, untried genitals. like some wild, hungry 
animal, he simply began to fuck, plunging in and out of her with an abandon 
that left her gasping. This whole episode, she realized dimly was all for 
his own gratification. Half in shock and pain, half from shame and 
humiliation, as well as a full measure of heartbreak and disillusionment, 
she had gaped up helplessly into his lust-contorted face, attempting to 
fathom what lay behind that mask as he pumped his heavily loaded cock in and 
out of her with inhuman, almost unfeeling desperation. 

Her eyes had blurred with tears, more from the mental anguish than from the 
pain, for slowly the pain had begun to subside. She finally knew that there 
would be nothing for her but the pain and torture, but for him his only goal 
was to spew his waiting load of white, hot male semen deep up inside her. 

It was ever thus, she decided; it was the ages-old heritage of the female: 
To lie on her back and be dominated by the male . . . to be an object only 
of his lust . . . for his satisfaction. There has to be more . . . Oh God, 
hasn't there? 

. . . And, he had dominated her! Again and again during that awful night, he 
had emptied his lust-filled loins into her, flooding her cunt with the hot, 
scalding liquid of his insatiate passion . . . but never once did he wait 
for her own need to be fulfilled. For her, it was a sleepless night of 
sexual horror. 

Time, the healer of all things, allowed the pain to pass from her almost 
completely; it was then that moistly tingling her passage had flowered open 
to him, wanting him, wanting his cock deep in her to stir the very seat of 
her being to white heat; fiery tongues of ecstasy had begun to keen through 
her young, sensitive flesh, and for brief periods of time she had thought 
there would be some of the more she had expected. 

Uncontrollably, her whole body had begun to react, twitching and writhing 
beneath him, and she had groaned up into his face with anticipation, shoving 
her tongue hungrily into his throat and mewling her need of him; her legs on 
either side of his plunging cock had jerked and quivered of their own 
volition as she waited for it to happen . . .for that something more to 
happen to her. 

She had drawn back her knees tight against her throbbing breasts, flattening 
them cruelly to her chest, to present her naked loins, wide open to his 
plundering penis, and he had driven the massive cudgel deep up into her, far 
up into the hidden never-before-touched sanctuary of her womb, the bulbous 
head flicking past the neck of the cervix with every battering pile-drive 
into her as she sought the elusive pinnacle of passion, her body screaming 
for release. 

She loved him! Oh, God, yes! She loved this man, her husband! She would 
always love him . . . no matter what he did to her! She knew it at that 
moment.. .for she felt it coming! Oh, God! It was coming to her . . . at 
last! 

. . . And, at that moment she would have done anything for him . . . if only 
he would bring her to the heights with him. She had nearly begged him for 
it! Her body-mind screamed for sexual release; his cock had driven her 
desire almost to that point, for she felt only a hair's breadth away from 
the pinnacle she had been trying to reach for hours. Only split seconds away 
from that point in time where she would have been a completely fulfilled 
woman, he had, again, shot the warm, viscid juice of his loins into her 
belly and collapsed in complete exhaustion on top of her. In moments he was 
sound asleep, leaving her aroused, frustrated and wakeful. Her tears ran 
unnoticed down her cheeks to soak the bed beneath her head, while below the 
viscous fluids drained from her to run cold down the cleft of her buttocks 
to puddle on the bed beneath her aching hips. 

Terri stirred in the now chill water of her bath. Such had been her wedding 
night, she mused sadly, and the other nights, since. Her mercurial husband 
had taught her many things, but not, she knew, the one thing that had saved 
her sanity. 

That was her secret. George Marklin would never know, she vowed, as she rose 
from the tub, stepped into the shower and finished her bath. Yes, she mused, 
he would never know that he had never satisfied her, sexually, but she had 
found a way; her satisfaction was never farther away than her own hand! 

* * * 

Refreshed from her bath, Terri dried herself, languidly, enjoying the 
narcissistic sensations she could create in her own body. Then, she combed 
out her hair, applied light makeup and lay down on her bed, nude, to take an 
afternoon nap. She wanted to be ready for whatever transpired when her 
husband arrived home. Experience told her that it would be better to be 
rested. Her coming ordeal could be ugly . . . and it might last for a long 
time; additionally, she knew that it would end in the same way: Her husband 
would have his way, sexually, with her. This she knew for certain! 

* * * 

In his bedroom, below stairs, Peter Marklin, sat cross-legged in the middle 
of his mussed-up bed. Morosely, he considered the glowing ash of the roach 
he held carefully between thumb and forefinger, the burning end turned in 
toward the palm of his hand. He was just beginning to feel the effects of 
the marijuana . . . the sensation of floating, not caring . . . of time 
standing still . . . of more acute awareness, the ability to think with an 
uncluttered mind. To a casual observer, he would look serene, zonked out, 
but inwardly, he seethed with half-formed images . . . images that involved 
his lovely young step-mother. She was a fantasy lover, the perfect woman, 
earth-mother and Aphrodite, all rolled into one package named Terri. 

"Groovy!" he said, speaking only to himself. "Groovy.. . . " He shifted his 
focus to the hardening flesh he held tightly in his other hand, as he 
summoned up the vision of Terri, her nylon-clad legs climbing the stairs 
when she had come home that same afternoon. He had peeped at her from 
hiding. It was all he could do . . . then. God! How he had wanted to conjure 
up the courage to follow her to her room and fuck the shit out of her . . . 
force her, if necessary! 

"Groovy, man! Groovy!" he said, again, to himself as his souped-up 
imagination led to the explicit details of what he would like to do to Terri 
Marklin, his step-mother, as his hand began to caress the hard, 
blood-engorged shaft of his cock. 

The afternoon wore on, waned, and it was evening. He heard his father arrive 
. . . heard all that went on in the room above him, later that evening, and 
in the small hours of the morning, before he finally dropped off to sleep, 
he had formulated his plan, the plan that would get him everything he wanted 
. . . everything he had ever wanted in this world! 

* * * 

Below, out in the garden, another man thought about Terri. His fantasies 
were based on hopelessness, the unreality of a black man's hopes in regard 
to the golden-blonde loveliness of a white woman. Surreptitiously, he 
allowed his eyes to wander to the French windows where he had spied upon her 
that morning. He knew it would be too much of a risk to climb to that 
vantage point again, especially with young Marklin about the premises. He 
was pretty sure where the boy was in the house, but he couldn't take a 
chance that he would stay put. 

Finally, overcome by a perverse and persistent longing to see her, again, he 
decided to scout out the situation, see whether such were possible. He had 
never tried the gambit in the afternoon; usually, as now, there were too 
many people around. Mid-morning, just after Terri arose, he had discovered 
was really the best time to indulge his voyeurism. 

Walking casually around the large, old mansion, ostensibly, carrying out his 
duties as gardener, Jack Gordon, peered into windows, until he found what he 
was looking for; Peter Marklin in his own narcotic dream world, stoned on 
grass, bare-ass naked, sprawled in the middle of his bed, jacking off for 
all he was worth. 

"Shit!" the black man said softly to himself. "The little honky bastard is 
zonked out on mary jane!" 

He was certainly nothing to worry about, he decided. The kid sure as hell 
couldn't function in that condition! 

Jack hadn't checked the Timex on his wrist, or he would have known his plan 
was ill-timed. With deliberate ease he moved around the house to the 
trellis, carrying his clippers carelessly. He had just begun to climb when 
he heard the high-powered whine of the engine and the crunch of tires on 
gravel as George Marklin entered the long drive from the street. 

"Shit!" he spat, aloud, this time. "The honky boss-man's a-coming!" 

Moving with deliberate slowness, he moved off around the house, heading for 
the greenhouse; there he put his tools away, locked up, got into his ancient 
pick-up truck and drove home . . . home to Watts, a couple of beers and an 
evening of honky television on his beat-up black and white set. 

As he headed off into traffic, he didn't feel particularly perturbed. Hell! 
There was always tomorrow! "Tomorrow," he told himself, "I'll get me another 
look at her! Man! That's some woman!" 

* * * 

George Marklin's thoughts were on Terri, also, as he had driven along the 
freeway toward home. He intended to make her into a very contrite young 
woman! Several times he had warned her about the mounting expenses for her 
clothing. It was not that he couldn't afford it; he could and many times 
over. Rather, it was a matter of principle. He spoke, and he expected to be 
obeyed, without question; therefore, since Terri had disobeyed, she must be 
brought to task, and he had to admit to himself, that he rather enjoyed his 
role as taskmaster. In the end, he would have his way with his wife, as 
always, and tonight, he had a particularly piquant notion as to how he would 
take her. Christ! It made him hot just thinking about it! 

Of course, Marklin had never told his wife how much money he made. That was 
purely his own business . . . and it was developing into a good business. It 
was almost foolproof . . . and to think he was carrying it out right under 
their very noses! 

* * * 

Pauline Riggs sighed as she finished posting the day's accounts. She hated 
the chore, but it was one of the small disadvantages she endured as manager 
of the exclusive dress shop. The advantages, for her, far outweighed these 
small inconveniences, especially in view of the new arrangements she had 
just completed. On the surface, at least, it was a workable idea; after it 
had been thoroughly explained to her, she had been wholeheartedly involved, 
and now that the plan had been in operation for about three months, 
affording her ample opportunity to fully realize the potential involved, she 
was an enthusiastic operator. 

The best part of the whole thing was that Pauline got first crack at them, 
the lovely, unsuspecting things falling into her trap so easily where she 
could pluck them for herself, almost at will. There were five of them, now . 
. . and the sixth, the most breathtakingly lovely of them all, was soon 
going to be hers. The only question in her mind was whether she could pull 
this one off so circumspectly that her husband would never suspect. Things 
could blow wide open if George Marklin ever found out that she had lesbian 
designs on his wife. 

Terri Marklin had not called her; no matter, she hadn't really expected that 
she would. Her approach had been much too direct, but she hadn't wanted to 
let the chance escape her there in the restaurant lounge. 

Sometimes, the indirect approach was better. She reached for the special 
engraved forms she had had prepared and addressed the envelope in her own 
somewhat bold handwriting. 

 CHAPTER 3 

The afternoon mail, the following day, brought Terri an intriguing 
invitation: THE CONTINENTAL featured private showings and fittings, but of 
most interest to her was a line on the engraved card. It stated that 
personal accounts were available and were held in strictest confidence. What 
did it mean? Would she be able to open an account there in her own name 
without George ever finding out about it? 

It had been true. Her husband had cut off all of her charge accounts. In 
place of these, he had opened a personal checking account for her, 
depositing an initial thousand dollars with a promise to her that if she 
could manage it wisely, he would deposit a thousand each month. This money 
was intended to take care of all her wants. The needs of the household were 
to be handled separately. Needless to say, Terri had been more than 
overjoyed when he had agreed to the arrangement. Now, this invitation from a 
shop-although, it was one she knew little about-seemed a godsend, especially 
if she could open her own account, pay it once a month from her own checking 
account. It would certainly simplify things for her; she had never had a 
head for figures, and keeping a checkbook straight had always been a big 
bore for her. 

The following day, Terri drove across town to visit THE CONTINENTAL. It was 
just to look, she assured herself . . . perhaps to buy, only if she were 
satisfied that quality and style were up to her own tasteful standards. 
Surprisingly, she found all to her satisfaction, and she bought a chic suit 
at what she considered a fair price. 

Then, there were the necessary arrangements to be made concerning payment. 
She was ushered into the office of the Manager. MRS. PAULINE RIGGS a small 
plate on the door stated. Terri walked in confidently, but felt almost like 
running from the sumptuous office when the woman who came toward her around 
the desk, smiling a genuine welcome, said, "Please, come in, Mrs. Marklin 
and welcome to THE CONTINENTAL.. . . " 

Involuntarily, Terri drew back stifling a gasp, "No!" 

"Yes . . . I'm Pauline . . . Pauline Riggs . . . I'm the manager . . . " she 
said, completely unruffled. 

". . . But.. . y-you're.. . . " 

"A very lonely woman.. . . " 

"I didn't call . . . I-I threw the number away.. . " Terri breathed. 

"I thought as much, but no matter . . . come, now . . . let us get down to 
business, the real reason you're here, isn't it?" Pauline placated, changing 
the subject. 

"Yes . . . I-I was thinking about opening an account.. . . " 

"Please, sit down, my dear . . . and let's let bygones be just that, bygones 
. . . shall we? I promise you that I'll not mix business . . . and 
pleasure." Her smile was disarming. 

Terri sat down, shakily, not sure that she should remain, but the older 
woman soon had her confidence, swiftly making the arrangements for the open 
account in Terri's own name. Assured that there would be no further pursuit, 
Terri relaxed, finally accepting the woman's open friendliness at face 
value. 

When Terri left, Pauline Riggs indulged herself in a silent mirth. It was 
now just a matter of time, and she, Pauline, was a very patient woman. She 
could wait! 

* * * 

Young Peter Marklin, on the day following, after being zonked out on pot, 
began to make a remarkable change in himself. Several months before, the 
senior Marklin had ordered him to leave; his rebellion against his father's 
autocratic ways had led him to the non-conformist community of long hair, 
love beads, sandals and dirty clothing, along with its attendant proclivity 
for drugs and open sex. 

Now, he was, ostensibly, setting out to mend those broken fences and 
relationships. His overtures to his father had been successful. He had 
agreed-if he were to remain a part of the Marklin household-to get a 
reasonable haircut, shave his beard, dress with some degree of conformity . 
. . and try to do something constructive with his time. His father's 
suggestion: Enter the fall term at one of the nearby State Colleges. To all 
of this Peter had agreed with some show of contriteness. He was respectful 
to his father, polite to Terri . . . and miserable as he tried, manfully, to 
live the straight, uptight life. All of this he was willing to do; it was a 
price he had decided to pay in the interest of getting what he wanted. The 
compromise would last for only a little while. Patiently, he waited for his 
chance. It wouldn't be long in coming. This he knew for sure! 

Meanwhile, he must work on gaining Terri's confidence. His guile, gift of 
conversational gambits and his apparent change worked like a charm, and soon 
he seemed to fit into the family slot his father had decreed for him. 

Terri was pleased at his change. In a short while she began to accept him, 
to talk with him . . . and to feel a certain warmth and affection for him, 
and never once did he give her cause for alarm as he had on other occasions 
when he had made lewd proposals to her. There was a time, not long before, 
when she had considered telling the boy's father about his attitude and his 
actions toward her, but she had considered the possible consequences: Would 
her husband believe her or the boy . . . if there were a confrontation? 
Knowing her husband's jealous nature, the possibility that he might 
misinterpret the situation, think that she had led the boy on, provoking him 
to make the sexual overtures, she had decided against such a move. 

Now, everything seemed to be stable. She hoped it would remain that way. She 
was happy as long as she could have what she had now: Clothing, a few good 
parties on their estate, invitations to other good parties at other equally 
posh estates, a few nightclubbing evenings each month, attendance at some of 
the more important premieres, her own car, her own checking account and a 
famous and well-known husband. What more could she want? Of course, had she 
stopped to consider carefully, she would have discovered the one important 
ingredient missing from her life. It was love! She had sex . . . more than 
could be handled, at times. Her husband's sexual appetites seemed to be 
almost boundless . . . but love? No! There was no real love in her marriage. 

* * * 

It came as a complete shock to Terri. She held the dunning bill in her hand 
as though it were a deadly rattlesnake. Included in the envelope was a 
short, courteous note signed by 

Pauline. Dear Terri (it said), Please come in to see me personally about 
this, (signed) Pauline. 

Heavens! The bill was for an amount exceeding fifteen hundred dollars! Had 
she overspent that much? Was there a possibility of a mistake in billing? It 
couldn't be . . . that much! How could she possibly pay it? Why, it amounted 
to more than a month and a half of her allowance! 

The next day she found herself in Pauline's office-they were on a first-name 
basis at Pauline's insistence-sitting opposite the older woman, who was 
strangely calm about the whole matter. 

"Actually, Terri," Pauline was saying, "you needn't worry too much about 
this . . . but I know you wouldn't want your husband to learn of it." 

"Oh, Heavens, no!" Terri blurted. 

"I thought as much . . . " the manager said, "but maybe there's a way out of 
this.. . . " She looked thoughtful. "Yes, I think so!" 

Terri grasped at straws, as it were. She really had had no idea of how she 
could handle such a debt. It was totally beyond her. "What do you mean?" she 
asked eagerly. 

"I need another model . . . and I think you just might be exactly right for 
the job!" 

"Really?! " 

"Yes . . . that way, you could work off this amount and you'd be free of any 
worry," Pauline offered. 

With a huge sigh of relief, Terri, felt as though a mighty burden had been 
lifted from her shoulders. "OOOhhh! That's wonderful! You're so . . . so 
understanding . . . and kind!" 

"Of course, there's the audition. . . . " 

"Au-Audition . . . . ? " 

"Naturally!" Pauline returned. "I'll have to make sure that you can do the 
job . . . properly." 

"Y-Yes, I suppose you're right.. . " Terry conceded, then brightening, "what 
do you want me to do . . . for the audition?" 

"Well, come along with me upstairs. I have some things up there you can show 
off for me." 

Pauline rose, crossed to the opposite wall, pressed a half-concealed button 
and the paneling before them slid back to reveal a small elevator. Motioning 
Terri to enter, the older woman followed her into the small cubicle, closed 
the door, pressed the up button and they were whisked to the second floor 
where they entered into a lavishly furnished apartment. Terri glanced around 
with appreciation, noting the expensive decor. 

"How beautiful! I just love it!" Terri gushed. 

"I had it fixed up for when I have to stay over late," Pauline said by way 
of explanation. 

"Oh, then you don't live here . . . ? " 

"Hardly, my dear, I have my own home over in Brentwood." 

"Oh.. . . " Terri was impressed. 

Pauline opened a capacious closet and selected a cocktail dress, a simple 
sheath. "This should do, nicely." 

Terri took the dress from her and glanced around questioningly as she held 
the dress up to her. 

"You can change in there." Pauline indicated a closed bedroom door. 

For the next half-hour, Pauline put Terri through the paces, explaining 
patiently to her what she wanted from her models. Terri learned fast, 
mimicking the older woman's examples to the letter. Her experience in beauty 
contests and later in movie work stood her in good stead, and Terri, of 
course, was an apt pupil, especially when it came to wearing good clothing 
well. 

Everything had been on a purely business-like basis, but suddenly, this mood 
was shattered. Terri had changed into three different outfits; she now wore 
a fluffy nothing of a mini-dress. Each time, she had changed in the privacy 
of the ultra-feminine bedroom, but now, she was startled by Pauline's 
imperious command, "You can take it off, now, my dear! Take it all off!" 

"I-I don't understand . . . Wha-What do you m-mean?" 

"You'll be modeling some swimsuits . . . I want to see your figure . . . " 
Pauline said. 

"Oh.. . . " 

The flush that had begun on Terri's face receded. "Of course . . . Pauline . 
. . do you have a swimsuit for me to put on?" 

Silently, Pauline handed her one of the new peek-a-boo models. Terri took it 
from her and went back into the bedroom. She had just removed the last of 
her underclothing, slipping her wispy nylon panties down over the swell of 
her smooth white thighs when Pauline entered quietly, standing at the 
half-opened door staring in frank appraisal at the vision of female 
loveliness before her. 

"Perfect, my dear . . . just perfect!" 

In embarrassed confusion, Terri reached for a garment on the bed to shield 
her nakedness, turning involuntarily and shrinking into herself. She emitted 
an audible gasp of surprise. 

"There's no need for the coy, little-girl act, Terri.. . after all, I'm a 
woman, too.. . . " 

"Y-You startled m-me!" She could feel the warm blush of her face and neck as 
she experienced a strange feeling of being devoured alive by the older 
woman's eyes. She shuddered delicately. 

Then, the dress was removed from her hands and she was swung about to face 
the dress shop manager. The woman's eyes burned hotly into her own. 

"You're absolutely ravishing," Pauline breathed, her tongue coming through 
her lips to move in a slow circular motion of sensuous caress. 

Instinctively, Terri drew back, using arms and hands to retain her innate 
modesty, to shield herself, even from another woman's gaze. "P-Please . . . 
Pauline . . . I'd like to get dressed, now . . . if we're through with the 
audition.. . . " 

"The audition is finished.. . . You'll be good as a model!" Pauline 
affirmed. "But, I'm not finished with you!" 

"What do y-you w-want.. . with me . . . ? " 

"You! Your body . . . your love!" 

"I-I could never d-do that!" 

"You could never do what, my dear.. . ? Make love with a woman?" 

Terri turned her head, trying desperately to break the almost hypnotic eye 
contact with the older woman. "Y-Yes. . . " she whispered. "I'm married . . 
. and my husband. . . . " 

"Husbands! Men!" Pauline hissed. "What do they know about love? What do they 
know about what really turns a woman on?" 

"I-I just. . . c-couldn't.. . . " 

"How do you know, my dear? How will you ever know what real ecstasy is . . . 
until you've tried it.. . in the arms of a real woman lover . . . a woman 
who knows all about you, because she's a woman herself?" Pauline reached out 
and placed a gentle, soft hand on Terri's breast, allowing her fingers to 
teasingly trace the swelling contour of the luscious alabaster globe. 

Unaccountably, Terri felt a sudden, surging warmth begin to pervade her body 
seeming to have its epicenter in her abdomen, its tingling sensations 
singing a prelude to forbidden pleasures, but her brain, the seat of reason, 
censored the lubricious, sexually oriented signals, telling her: No! Get 
away! There is danger here! 

She swept the tantalizing hand away. "No! It's getting late! I-I must go 
home . . . m-my hus . . . " 

"Screw your husband!" Pauline spat, her lips twisted with obvious hate. 

Terri had never heard a woman use such an obscenity before. The shock of it 
sliced through her. She flushed even more crimson. Her lower jaw dropped. 
Her eyes widened. 

Seeing her reaction, Pauline pursued, "I was married at one time . . . just 
as you are, now . . . and I see myself, all over again, in you! . . . And 
what does the beast do for you ? I can guess! He climbs on top of you, 
stuffs his hard cock up between your legs whether you're ready or not . . . 
not even caring that you might not want it . . . then, he fucks away, 
shooting his cum into you, leaving you to worry about the possibility of 
pregnancy . . . and then the son-of-a-bitch goes to sleep . . . and you lay 
there not having gotten anything out of it but an aching cunt . . . a cunt 
that needed love . . . loving . . . not just plain, animal fucking!" 

Shocked truth stared Terri in the face. Oh, God! How did Pauline know all of 
this? It was almost as though the woman were clairvoyant . . . or had stood, 
a silent observer at her bedside! The truth was too sharp pointed. It hurt! 

Shakily, her knees relaxed, her legs could no longer support her weight, and 
she sat down, suddenly, heavily, on the bed, a wailing sob of despair 
wracking her body as quick, hot tears trickled down her cheeks. Soft, female 
arms were around her, and Pauline's voice came to her through the pounding 
in her head. 

"It's all right, baby . . . it's all right . . . it'll be good for you.. . . 
Cry it all away.. . " the older woman crooned holding the girl in her arms 
and rocking back and forth. 

Terri turned away, crawling off to be alone, curling herself into a fetal 
ball in the middle of the huge bed, her head cradled in her arms, as the 
huge sobs born of frustration, heartbreak and shame tore through her lush 
body. 

Pauline hesitated but a moment. She knew that now was the time, the time to 
offer the heartbroken girl the something else that only she could provide at 
that moment. She smiled sardonically to herself. It had been easier even 
than she had anticipated. The poor girl had been more ready, more receptive 
than any she had seduced before. God! She was hot! It had been all she could 
do to control herself, allow herself to talk when she had wanted direct 
action . . . but words-she told herself-had paid off . . . again. Without 
undue haste, she began to remove her own clothing, standing at last to 
remove the black panties over the svelte contours of her hips and thighs. 

Her hands roamed over her own body, assuring herself of her own 
desirability, a hand, at last, coming to the softly curling hair of her 
pubic triangle, a finger slipping into the coral pinkness of her womanhood 
to feel the spiky hardness of her somewhat larger than normal clitoris. She 
shuddered delicately with the slashing, wildfire sensations being generated 
there. 

"Oh, lovely . . . " she breathed to herself as her nerve-ends sang, zinging 
for joy, the anticipation of coming pleasures almost more than she could 
bear. Again, she whispered to herself, making an unconscious alliteration, 
"Oh, the lovely loveliness of lesbian love!" At that moment, she considered 
herself to be a very happy woman, a woman in love with love . . . and 
another woman. 

At first, Terri couldn't believe what was happening to her. She was aware 
that Pauline was on the bed with her, next to her; then, she felt the cool 
hands on her, running down her back to the waist and down over her hips and 
buttocks, repeatedly, soothing her. The extreme gentleness felt so good, so 
restful . . . so tingly and nice. Now, she felt the electric contact as the 
older woman curled her body tight against her, the small, pointed breasts 
pressing against her back, the smooth belly in close contact, all the way 
down to where a soft tickling mound pressed in against the cheeks of her 
buttocks and a well-manicured hand worked its way over her rib cage until it 
clasped a breast with gentle knowledge, the fingers working at the nipple 
causing it to quiver out hard and sensate. Terri lay still, her sobbing 
decreasing, until finally it stopped and she was fully aware of what was 
happening to her. Perhaps not fully aware, but conscious that what was 
happening was good-that is, it made her body feel good-but her mind was 
stepping in, again, with its reason, reasoning with her on a rational basis. 
Don't! This is wrong! Wrong! Don't do it! 

Her cry was muffled, strangled in her throat, "N-No . . . please . . . 
don't! I-I can't . . . I just c-can't do it!" 

"Hush, darling," Pauline husked in her ear, "let me show you how." 

The older, more experienced woman, turned the girl to face her, clamping her 
slender body to Terri's, the small, sharply pointed breasts mashed in tight 
to the younger girl's more generous mounds, her mouth seeking and finding 
the tear-salted and lipstick smeared lips, pressing them in a passionate 
kiss, her tongue working out, slowly, gradually, to run in sensuous circles, 
rimming her lips with sensation producing lubricity; meanwhile, her hands 
busily tantalized her body, swarming over the luscious contours like a swarm 
of hungry insects, transmitting her own great need, the while setting up 
uncontrollable fires that began to leap and dance in the blonde, 
hair-covered loins of the love-starved young love goddess of the silver 
screen. 

. . . And, Terri began to respond. Unaccountably, to herself, she began to 
feel a certain thrill of her own generated by the femaleness of the other 
woman's body. Tentatively, she put forth a timid hand to feel the smooth, 
velvet flesh of the other's smaller but equally shapely breast. She felt a 
shudder pass through Pauline's body, and she realized that she had been the 
cause of it. The other's sigh of pleasure confirmed it. 

Their mouths were welded together, now, tongues moving in and out, hungrily, 
hands busy on each other's bodies; Pauline with sure knowledge, Terri 
experimenting, exploring here and there, and the fires in their loins raged 
higher and higher. Now, Terri moaned with a desire she could not control. It 
was a moan of helplessness, of utter despair, and she tried once again to 
fight against it. She broke the moist contact of their lips, muttering 
across the short, intervening space. 

"I've . . . I've never been . . . untrue to-to my h-husband. . . . " 

"What's that.. . ? Untrue to your husband . . . ? He's a man! Do you think 
he's thinking the same thing when he climbs between another woman's legs.. . 
. And, you don't think, even for an instant that he hasn't been doing just 
that.. . do you?" 

Terri could not be sure. On reflection, she realized, she knew very little 
of what her husband did. "I-I don't know.. . . " 

"Anyway," Pauline went on, "it's not the same . . . it's not as if you were 
being fucked by another man!" 

"But. . . the principle.. . . " 

"Fuck principle!" Pauline shot out. "This is female to female love! There's 
a difference!" 

Almost savagely, then, the older woman recaptured Terri's mouth, her upper 
leg moving between the white, tapering thighs, spreading them, moving her 
own loins in until the two soft pubic triangles met and mingled, the dark 
one grinding in against the blonde with excited abandon. 

Reaching over, Pauline pulled the rounded fullness of Terri's smooth, white 
buttocks in tight, then moving down the soft yielding crevice, in the moist, 
coral, blonde hair-ringed vaginal opening, she slipped a finger in, 
moistening it with the moist secretions from the smooth wet walls. The 
finger moved on to find the clitoris. It was hard, throbbing . . . sensate, 
and Pauline stroked it, ever so gently, stoking the furnace of Terri's 
passion to white-hot heat. 

Then Terri felt her woman lover move, slithering down her body, rolling her 
gently to her back, her mouth busy as she kissed her breasts, then sucked 
them, moving the nipples in and out of her mouth, quickly, as she maintained 
a constant sucking pressure. The forbidden sensations raced through the 
younger woman, flashing through her nerve ends with lightning speed to stab 
into her genitals with merciless insistence. Uncontrollably, her hips began 
to grind down into the bed in steady rhythm, and she knew that she was lost. 

"Oh, God!" she moaned, helplessly. 

Now, she felt the hungrily teasing lips moving down, down over her ribs, her 
belly, the agile tongue swirling into her navel . . . and then her thighs 
were spread by warm female hands, exposing her cunt to the other woman's 
gaze. She was aware that Pauline had placed herself between her legs and 
that hands moved on the smooth, softly velvet skin of her inner thighs, and 
those same hands caressed and tantalized at the same time as they worked in 
that secret place. 

The mouth kissing her thighs, her hips, her abdomen and then the soft inner 
flesh of her thighs, working up to the "V" of her open legs where her 
pulsating cunt thirsted, drove Terri wild with the tantalizing anticipation. 
Just before the mouth descended down between her limply spread thighs, she 
had a disquieting thought: Somehow, she knew in that instant, she would be 
changed, transformed . . . that the act she wanted, even though she knew in 
her rational mind that it was wrong, would be a turning point in her life. 
Would she become the kind of woman Pauline was? Lesbianism was supposed to 
be shameful, degrading . . . dirty! 

It was there! That probing, licking, lovely and tantalizing tongue was there 
. . . on her clitoris, sending the most wonderful sensations to her brain, 
and Terri knew that there was never in this world-or the next, for that 
matter-a more rhapsodic ecstasy, but her puritan mind interfered, again. She 
cried out, "No! NOOOooo! Oh, God! No!" 

The mouth paused for an instant; words came to her. She heard, but did not 
hear. Her senses reeled. It was P a u I i n e's voice that spoke, "Relax, 
baby doll . . . and enjoy it!" 

"Oh, God! It's wrong! Wrong!" Terri screamed. 

"But you like it, don't you?" Pauline countered and dropped her mouth to the 
coralline flesh of the involuntarily pulsing cunt, her tongue probing, this 
time, into the liquid depths of her fiery pussy, moving in and out to the 
rhythm already set by Terri's grinding hips. The flicking tongue fucked in 
and out with the measured regularity, almost, of a man's cock. Terri could 
stand it no longer. Oh, God! She had to have that tongue inside her! She 
must have it! If she didn't get it, she would go mad! 

Throwing all reason to the winds, conscious only of the crashing heat 
lightning that grounded in her naked, now, upturned loins, Terri cried out 
in anguish of unfulfilled sex. 

"Oh, God! Yesss! Give it to me! L-Let me cum!" 

The mouth paused. "What do you want, baby? You want me to keep this up . . . 
until you cum?" Pauline queried. 

"Yes! OOooh, yes!" 

"I've got a better idea, honey . . . let's cum together!" 

"H-How?" Terri was desperate. 

"Have you ever kissed another woman between the legs before?" 

"No . . . n-never!" 

"Now's the time to learn! You just do to me what I've been doing to you! 
That's what real love is all about!" 

Swiftly, expertly, then, Pauline shifted her position; she straddled Terri's 
face, her head, naturally, in a female sixty-nine position over the younger 
woman's loins. 

Terri looked up, startled, into the moist, coral slit of Pauline Riggs where 
it hung teasingly only inches over her face, the brown, slightly puckered 
ring of the tiny anus winking down at her, and she knew what it was she must 
do. They were in the sixty-nine position she had heard about, the position 
of mutual, oral-genital sex. Never in her life, would Terri have believed 
that she would ever find-herself in that position. Oh, God . . . how had she 
gotten into this? 

With a swivel-hipped wriggle, Pauline's vibrant pussy came down against 
Terri's face, as at the same time, her head moved again to the pulsating, 
ready cunt, below. Terri's first impulse was to scream; she felt suffocated 
. . . trapped, but the contact of the older woman's tongue with the 
quivering bud of her clitoris, eliciting a long moan of sexual surrender 
from deep in her chest, caused her to nuzzle her face up into the warm coral 
furrow above her, her tongue probing out experimentally to find the 
miniature phallus in its canopy of darkly hair-ringed flesh. 

Much to her surprise, the slightly pungent flavor of the female vagina on 
her tongue was not completely distasteful. Now, she became a little more 
bold and dexterous as she licked and sucked, stopping occasionally to flick 
her wet, pink tongue into the vaginal opening; finally, establishing a 
rhythmic movement matched to the older woman's licking of her own cunt. 

Together, they began to mount higher and higher toward the heights of 
orgasmic release, as tongues slashed and licked, hands grasped and caressed, 
hips ground and mouths gasped out little mewls and groans of mutual joy. 

Terri found herself mouthing words into the wetness between the legs over 
her lips. "OOooh! It's so good! Don't stop! Don't ever stop! Oh, Pauline . . 
. lick me good!" 

Dimly, she heard the muffled counterpoint. "Eat me, darling! Eat me! 
OOOOoooh! Eat my cunt!" 

Thus, intertwined, mutually giving and receiving, the two women came to the 
apogee of sexual climax. Terri felt it begin in the long, shuddering 
convulsions of her body, the long-awaited release causing her body to jerk 
spasmodically as wave after breaking wave of welcome release spread through 
her body-mind, a symphonic rhapsody of sensations seeping over her, leaving 
her satiated and relaxed. She did not recognize that it was her own voice 
screaming, " AAAAaaaaagggh! Oh, Goddddd! I'm cuuummmmmmiiiinnnnng!" While, 
above her Pauline ground her hips and cunt down into the girl's face with 
wild abandon, her voice coming to her as from a distance, announcing the 
arrival of her ecstatic moment. "Oh! Oh! OOOooooh! It's almost here! 
AAAaaaaagggggggh!" 

Pauline collapsed, rolling from the topmost position to stretch out beside 
Terri, clasping her desperately to her and clamping her mouth to Terri's in 
a long drawn-out passionate kiss as the last of the tiny convulsive waves of 
orgasm was drained from them. 

"Oh, God! That was lovely . . . lovely!" Pauline gasped. 

Terri could only moan in half-conscious agreement. 

Then, the older woman's voice, emotion laden, came to her, "I love you, 
Terri! Oh, God! How I love you!" 

Terri didn't know how to answer; she loved her husband. How could she 
respond? How tell another woman she loved her? Was this love she felt? Terri 
didn't know . . . couldn't know. Mutely, she offered her lips to this 
strange woman, again, clasping, clinging . . . confused . . . but sexually 
satiated. 

Her ideas of sexual satisfaction, as it turned out were as nothing compared 
to the greed-that was the only word for it, she decided-of her lover, 
Pauline. After a very few moments, her employer had risen from the bed, 
delved into a drawer and returned with a vibrator which she plugged into an 
outlet, the device itself, she strapped to the back of her hand. Smiling 
down at Terri, she said, ". . . and now, my dear, I'm going to give you a 
massage." 

"MMmmmmn, that'll be nice.. . " Terri murmured. 

"Nicer than you think!" 

It was nice! It was not until the vibrating hand began to work over her 
abdomen that she began to have an inkling of how the vibrator worked . . . 
of the effect it would have on her. Then, it was on her naked cunt, the 
vibrations transmitting swift sensations of pleasure as Pauline expertly 
manipulated her hardened clitoris. 

"Oh, my God!" Terri moaned as she came to another soaring climax within 
moments, and she felt herself completely helpless to stop the action . . . 
or her reaction. 

Now Pauline showed Terri another device. It was a replica of a man's cock, a 
huge plastic phallus, somewhat longer and thicker than her husband, George's 
fleshy member. 

Terri gasped, "It's so huge . . . a-and mean looking!" 

"I can assure you, darling," Pauline smiled, "that it will give you more 
pleasure than any mere man's cock will!" 

She noticed the electric power cord attached to it. "D-Does that th-thing 
have a vibrator in it . . .too?" 

"Yes, it does, darling. This is my favorite dildo . . . it's imported . . . 
and quite expensive. . . . " 

"Y-You called it a d-dildo . . . ? " 

"That's the proper term . . . but come, let's trade . . . you take the hand 
vibrator, and I'll use this one on you . . . you'll soon see why it's my 
favorite," Pauline urged. 

Depravedly, Terri did as she was bidden. She could never have explained it 
to herself, but for the first time in her life she had tasted, experienced . 
. . become a sexual woman, a woman who knew that she could come to orgasm 
easily and often. 

It was only after utter exhaustion had forbidden further activity that they 
stopped, by mutual consent. Terri dressed, repaired her makeup and hair and 
drove directly home. She had no idea how many times she had come to orgasm. 
Was it thirty? Forty? She had lost count as the time passed . . . as she 
floated-it seemed-from one rhapsodic orgasm to another . . . and yet 
another, even more exquisite, more beautiful. Now, all she wanted was a bath 
. . . and heavenly sleep, a sleep that she knew would be dreamless and 
restful. 

* * * 

Time had flown. It was after five in the afternoon when she parked her car 
in the garage and walked languidly into the house, heading directly for the 
stairs. Her foot was on the second tread when the telephone rang. She was 
about to ignore the imperious ringing, but decided against it. It might be 
George. They were to dine out this evening . . . perhaps she would have to 
meet him, if he had been delayed, at the studio. 

She picked up the telephone. It barked at her, "Where in hell have you 
been?" It was George. "I've been trying to raise you for over twenty 
minutes!" 

"Sorry, darling.. . " she said, perturbed because of his apparent anger. "I 
was out . . . and j-just came in. . . . " 

"I know! I tried earlier, also!" he gruffed. 

Again, she murmured, "Sorry.. . . " 

"I'm at the airport.. . L.A. International. My flight will be leaving in ten 
minutes. I decided to call you to let you know. I'll return on Monday, in 
the afternoon.. . . " 

Her heart soared. She wouldn't have George around the house for the weekend. 
Almost three whole days without him! The perverse thought startled her. Why 
should she be glad that her husband would be gone from her? With her 
newfound knowledge of herself, she knew that now she would be able to 
respond to him . . . be a real wife . . . a loving wife . . . even a sexy 
one! 

"I'm sorry you have to leave . . . on s-such short notice . . . " she lied. 
Then, woman-like, "Do you have everything you need . . . ? Handkerchiefs? 
Socks . . . ? " 

"Yes!" he answered, irritated by the mothering. "You know I keep a packed 
bag at the studio . . . for this kind of emergency!" 

"Where . . . ? " 

"On location . . . there's some difficulty . . . a picture they're shooting 
in Colorado. The director has walked out. They want me to look at it, 
perhaps take over the rest of the picture. I hear them calling my flight, 
darling. I must go.. . . " The line went dead as he hung up, hurriedly. 

"Have a good trip . . . " she said, absently, into the dead phone, her mind 
working, trying to decide what she would do with her time. Pauline had told 
her she would not have to come in to begin her modeling job until Monday. It 
was now late afternoon of Friday. Wonderful! It was just wonderful! 

Close behind her, Peter Marklin's voice was loud in her ear, "What gives . . 
. the old man off on a trip, or something?" 

She turned, startled, "Y-Yes . . . he just called. He's off to Colorado, he 
said.. . . " 

"Groovy!" the teen-ager remarked to no one in particular. "Groovy!" he 
repeated. 

Terri agreed. Yes! Groovy! She said it to herself. With a light heart she 
mounted the stairs to her room, heading for that refreshing bath and a 
beautiful nap before dinner. 

She undressed, feeling the exquisite tiredness engendered by the multiple 
orgasms. The memory of the scene in Pauline's bedroom, fresh with new 
knowledge of self, loaded with implications of more to come, caused her to 
feel a flush of rising desire. Putting on a thin wrapper, she strolled to 
the French windows that looked out on the large expanse of front lawn and 
garden. There, below, on his knees, Jack Gordon labored to remove the 
stubborn stump of a small tree that Marklin had ordered him to destroy, then 
to replace it with a more attractive evergreen, a Japanese black pine. 

The play of sunlight on the sweat-glistened black skin, the supple muscles 
rippling as he worked held her attention. There was a certain beauty, an 
animalistic magnetism in the flowing movements of the man . . . almost, she 
thought, there was an aura of animal masculinity, of a sexuality exuding 
from him, a sexuality that she knew would be at the same time savage and 
sublime. She didn't know how it was she knew it, but it was there in her 
mind, the knowledge waiting to be tapped. 

Turning away, she went into the bathroom to draw her bath. She had heard 
somewhere that black men were wild, animal-like lovers. The thought crackled 
through her mind, and as quickly she rejected it. She just couldn't imagine 
herself in the arms of a black man! It was absurd! A horrible thought . . . 
but she, of course, had never dreamed that she would ever find herself in 
the arms of another woman either! 

What was that gardener's name? Gordon? Jack Gordon, she remembered. She had 
not paid much attention to him, before. He was just there. He had been, 
merely, an adjunct of the estate. Suddenly, he had become visible to her. He 
was a man! He was a beautiful, sexy, black man. She blushed. She had better 
banish such thoughts from her mind. It was just impossible! Ugh! How could 
any self-respecting white woman take a black man for a lover? That sort of 
thing was for someone else . . . but not for Terri Marklin. Anyway, she had 
no intention of being unfaithful to George; at least, she told herself, it 
would never be with a man. Somehow, in her own mind, it was different with 
Pauline. What they had done together that afternoon had been . . . well, a 
sort of mutual masturbation. It was not the same as if she had laid on her 
back with her legs spread taking another man's cock in her cunt. That would 
have been marital infidelity of the most flagrant sort. She would never do 
that! George's jealous nature . . . and his threat to her was enough to give 
her pause. 

* * * 

Jack Gordon had gotten a fleeting glimpse of Terri as she turned away from 
the window. He had noted her late arrival and wondered about it; of course, 
it was really none of his business. There was something about her serene 
countenance that attracted his attention. It was the face of a sexually 
satisfied woman. He was sure that's what it was! 

"Shit!" he had muttered to himself. "She's gone and got herself laid . . . 
sure as hell!" 

And it couldn't have been her husband. Of that he was sure, also. There was 
a glimmer of hope in the back of his mind. Maybe, if she's playing around . 
. . getting it somewhere in the middle of the day, he reasoned . . . maybe . 
. . just maybe. . . . The thought was half formed. 

"Hell! How does a black man get a white woman, like her, into a bed . . . 
unless she's dragged there? There's no way, man! No way!" 

His silent soliloquy was interrupted by Peter Marklin who walked up to where 
he was working. 

"Gordon," he said, "my father just called from the airport.. . . He's going 
to be out of town for the weekend. He left a message . . . said for you to 
take tomorrow off!" 

Jack was confused. "Your dad said for me to grub out this stump.. . . " 

"like forget it! It'll still be there Monday!" 

"Is that going to be a day off with pay . . . " Jack asked, worriedly. 

"Sure! Why not?" 

"All right, then . . . I'll wait 'til Monday to finish," the black man 
assured him. 

"Groovy!" young Marklin told him. "Groovy!" He turned and sauntered back 
into the house with careless ease. 

The tall black man watched him go, wiped the sweat from his glistening 
forehead and said under his breath. "Little bastard! Trying to be the big 
boss while his old man's gone! Honky son-of-a bitch!" 

Inside the big house, another such scene was enacted; this time with the 
part-time housekeeper, a large, raw-boned woman of Scandinavian extraction 
and indeterminate age. 

"Yah . . . O.K." she told Peter. "I don't come in on Saturday, anyway.. . . 
" 

"Hey, that's groovy, too!" Peter said. "Everything's just groovy! like real 
groovy!" 

A confused Greta watched him go. "Young people!" she groused. "Who can 
understand them, these days?" 

Peter Marklin went into his own room. He had a few more preparations to 
make. God! This was it! Now was the time! He couldn't waste any of it! A 
whole weekend alone in the house with his young stepmother! Groovy! 

 CHAPTER 4 

Waking from her nap, Terri felt completely refreshed and rejuvenated, her 
whole body singing of good health and well-being. She felt wonderful, 
wonderful and happy as she stretched, luxuriously on the huge bed. 

She was hungry. That morning she had had only a bite of breakfast; she 
couldn't eat for worry about the debt to THE CONTINENTAL; then, lunch had 
been skipped because there had been no time to eat while she had been with 
Pauline. Again, the memory brought a rosy flush to her cheeks. Was it 
possible that it all had happened? Her hand crept down, searched in the soft 
female furrow there and assured herself that the slight irritation she found 
had, most certainly, been caused by that monstrous, vibrating dildo in the 
hands of Pauline Riggs. God! She felt as though she had been stretched 
almost beyond endurance. 

Dining out was out of the question, tonight, she decided, since her husband 
was out of town. She wondered if he had canceled reservations, deciding, 
finally, that if he had made dinner reservations, he surely would have 
canceled as soon as he knew he would be leaving town. She put it out of her 
mind. Never mind, perhaps there were some left-overs in the kitchen. She 
knew that frugal Greta was always putting away little bits of this and that. 
At least, she would not go hungry; if necessary, she would send out for 
something prosaic such as pizza. That was an idea. She felt like she could 
eat a whole pizza, by herself. 

Soon, Terri was dressed comfortably and went downstairs. She found Peter in 
the living room in front of the color television set. He had purposely 
placed himself there so that he would be sure to see her when she came 
downstairs. Glancing up, he smiled at her with his ever-present, "Groovy!" 

"Are you hungry, Peter," she asked. "I was just thinking about a big pizza!" 

"Groovy, man!" he agreed. "With beer!" 

"Make mine coffee!" 

"I'd even consent to go out and get it. . . . " This from him, amiably. 

"No need to . . . we can have it delivered. I'll perk up some coffee in the 
kitchen." 

"Then, I'll check on the beer!" he said. 

Terri ordered, prepared the coffee, and they ate, ravenously when their 
pizza arrived sizzling hot. Their conversation was light, relaxed, and Terri 
found herself enjoying the company of her step-son. It seemed that some of 
the barriers had been bridged. 

Peter leaned back, satisfied, finally, "Groovy!" he said. "I'd dig some of 
that coffee, now.. . . " 

"All right.. . . " Terri was on her feet heading for the kitchen, carrying a 
clean cup for his use. "Cream or sugar?" 

"Black." 

It was time. Quickly, he broke the hidden capsule into her cup, stirring the 
crystals as they dissolved in the amber coffee. He sat back, again, heaving 
an inward sigh. It was done! Now, it was just a matter of time; time for the 
drug to take effect, and he, Peter, would be in control . . . complete 
control! 

* * * 

Later, exactly how much later, she didn't know, Terri awoke with a splitting 
headache. She remembered. She had become terribly sleepy, had actually gone 
to sleep; she couldn't keep her eyes open. It was horrible. She had sprawled 
across the dining room table. Drugged? Had she been drugged? Who? Peter was 
there! Peter! Could it have been Peter? Why? She was confused, her mind not 
yet working clearly. This is crazy! You only see these things in bad, grade 
B movie thrillers . . . or read about them in detective novels. It doesn't 
happen to people . . . in their own homes. Or does it? 

Without opening her eyes, yet, she was aware that she was on her own bed. 
She was nude, and her wrists were secured by some kind of restraint, her 
arms stretched out over her head. 

She opened her eyes, focused them on the face leering down at her. Peter! 
Her instinctive, involuntary scream was stifled even before it was formed in 
her throat. A hand was clamped, cruelly, over her half-opened mouth. 

"Don't scream!" Peter hissed. "If you do . . . I'll have to put a gag on 
you! It's up to you!" 

Terri struggled for a moment, found it useless and subsided back into the 
pillow. She didn't want to be gagged. Maybe . . . maybe, if she could talk . 
. . she might be able to reason with him. She relaxed. Yes, that was it. She 
would talk to him, find out what he intended to do with her . . . to her, 
and, perhaps, try to talk him out of it. The terrifying thought had crossed 
her mind that. . . that he was going to rape her. Rape?! Oh, God! Not that! 
Not Peter! Peter? 

Peter's voice, "Do you promise not to scream?" 

She moved her head up and down in positive affirmation. He took his hand 
away from her mouth. She expelled a great breath. "Peter!? " 

"Yes, Peter! your own stepson!" he sneered. 

"like they say in those old melodramas: 'Ah, hah, now I have you in my 
power!" He rubbed his hands mimicking the villain and made a sneering 
grimace. "Peter! Be serious!" 

"I am serious!" he barked. "I've never been more serious in my life!" 

"Stop playing games . . . a-and I-let me go." 

"Not yet!" 

"W-What do you want.. . . " 

"You!" 

"What d-do you m-mean?" she wailed. 

"Just that! I want you all to myself! I'm going to fuck you . . . fuck you 
like you've never been fucked before!" 

"That's r-rape!" 

"Smart!" 

"You'll be caught . . . a-and punished! You'll be put in jail." 

"Maybe!" 

"It's insane! S-Stop it right now . . . and I'll forget about wh-what you've 
done . . . not tell your father or the p-police . . . " she bargained. 

"No way!" he snapped. "I've already gone this far . . . now, I go for broke 
. . . all or none!" 

Tears started into her eyes. Her position seemed to be absolutely hopeless. 
She glanced at her right wrist. There was a leather cufflet on it with a 
stout rope attached. The rope was tied securely to the bedpost. The other 
wrist was-likewise imprisoned. "OOooh, my God! My Goddddd!" she moaned. 

"He won't be able to help you, either!" Peter grunted. 

"P-Please . . . I beg you.. . . " 

"There's already too much talking, baby! Now, it's time to groove! like, you 
know, Groovy! Man!" 

Her stepson was still fully clothed, but now, he began to undress himself. 
Casually, he removed his shirt, undershirt, trousers, shoes, socks and, 
finally, his undershorts. She saw that his penis was at a half-mast 
erection. 

His eyes had been upon her all the while he was undressing, watching her, 
measuring her reaction. His hand dropped down to the staff between his legs, 
grasped it and shot the foreskin back. Instantly, the member began to swell 
in his hand, expanding and throbbing almost as though it had been blown up 
like a balloon. 

Terri's eyes widened. She tried to look away, but his voice commanded her, 
"Look here, baby! This's all for you!" 

"I-I'll never . . . I-let you do it t-to m-me!" 

His uproarious laughter filled the bedroom. Between fits of sniggering glee, 
he told her, "You don't have much choice!" Then, getting himself under 
control, he went on, ". . . But, just to make sure, I've got a little 
something for you!" 

Producing a paper shopping bag from the floor where he had placed it 
earlier, he delved into it showing her a small tightly capped bottle. He 
smiled, "I've been planning this for a long time . . . just waiting for the 
time when my old man was going to be gone for a long weekend. Man, this's 
going to be groovy! You know what's in this bottle?" 

Terri shook her head. "No . . . " she squeaked weakly. 

"It's an aphrodisiac called Dhattura . . . from India. There's this friend 
of mine who was studying pharmacy-until he dropped out from dropping too 
much acid. Anyway, he found this old formula and mixed it up.. . . He hooked 
the stuff to make it out of his old man's drugstore . . . same as he hooked 
the chloral hydrate. . . . " 

"D-Dhattura . . . Chloral h-hydrate . . . ? " 

The words were strange to her. 

"Yeah, you know . . . the stuff I gave you to knock you out!" 

Suddenly, at least, one thing was clear to her. "I-In my coffee . . . ? " 

"Yeah . . . " he affirmed. "And this stuff.. . " he held up the bottle, 
"will make that little pussy of yours fuck like a mink!" 

"Drugs! Do you h-have to do everything . . . w-with drugs?" 

"No.. .but they help!" 

He removed the cork from the bottle and came to the side of the bed. Leering 
down at her, he croaked, "You're going to drink this!" 

"No!" she cried. "NOO!" 

"Oh . . . you'd rather be persuaded . . . ? " He sat down on the bed, 
reached again into the paper bag, scrabbled in the bottom and came up with a 
small paper wrapped package. She recognized what it was, instantly: A single 
edged razor blade. Unwrapping it, he held the flat, deadly sharp thing 
between his thumb and forefinger. The madness gleamed in his eyes as he 
leaned toward her, "Should I start with the surgical removal of one of those 
pert little nipples . . . ? " 

Horror gripped her. Instant tears started into her eyes as they widened with 
terror. "Oh, my God! My Goddd! No!" 

The tiny blade in his hand came down toward the coral nipple of her right 
breast; it touched her skin, he dragged it lightly in a small circle 
outlining the swiftly puckering areola. It was a mere surface scratch, but 
the blood welled from the inch long incision, the droplets running down the 
swelling whiteness of her breast as she looked down with the startling 
realization that he had actually drawn blood . . . and that the next move 
might mutilate her. She had never felt so helpless, so defenseless . . . so 
alone and terror-stricken! Oh, God! She didn't want to be cut! The searing 
pain of it came slashing through her senses. She looked down at the blade in 
his hand, poised now over her left nipple. With a deep sigh of resignation, 
she whispered. "I-I'll drink it. . . . " 

"GOOD!" he growled; then, "Groovy!" He held the neck of the bottle to her 
lips. She drank, not caring, not tasting. The vision of possible mutilation 
was too strong in her mind Ugh! 

The thought came to her as she drank, the somewhat bitter, fiery liquid 
sliding easily down her throat: She had heard it.. . or had she read it in 
some popular magazine; she couldn't remember. Then, it came to her; she had 
read: There is no known substance that is truly an aphrodisiac. It is only a 
matter of belief! No matter, then. Whatever it was she was drinking from the 
bottle, it couldn't possibly have the effect Peter had described. He had 
said, . . And, this stuff will make you fuck like a mink!" She was consoled 
by the affirmative words of the magazine article. The liquid would not do 
anything to her . . . except perhaps it might be a slight intoxicant. 

Peter held the bottle to her lips until the last drop was drained. He 
gloated down at her. "Now, we'll just wait for a while . . . until it takes 
effect!" 

Boldly, she said, "It'll never work!" 

"We'll see, baby! We'll see!" 

"I know it won't work! I read an article. . . . " 

He laughed. "Don't believe everything you read! I've already experimented 
with this stuff . . . I gave some to a sweet young virgin last week. . . . " 
He stopped, remembering the scene, reliving it in his mind. "She fucked for 
eight solid hours. There was a jump line . . . she took on about twenty-five 
guys! I fucked her four times, myself!" 

"Ugh! How horrible!" 

"It was groovy, man! like Groovy! She had it every way possible . . . and 
still wanted more!" 

Now, some doubts began to assail her. Was it possible? Oh, God! She hoped it 
was not! Maybe Peter was lying . . . telling her these things just to make 
her believe that the liquid he had forced on her would make her do those 
things, too! He could be using a sort of psychological persuasion. . . . And 
his language. . . . He was saying those vile words for their salacious 
effect. That was it! He was only trying to make her believe that he had 
given her a powerful aphrodisiac. 

Again, her stepson rummaged in the shopping bag. This time he came up with a 
small tin. She recognized it as a container for cough drops. He opened the 
lid and selected a tightly rolled tube of brown wheat-straw paper. Tearing a 
paper match from a matchbook, he carefully lit the homemade cigarette. The 
pungently sweet smoke drifted to her, and she watched with fascination as he 
drew the smoke deep into his lungs, holding his breath for several moments 
before he exhaled. 

She knew that it was not tobacco. It must be-Oh, God! It had to 
be!-marijuana! He was going to get stoned on marijuana, himself! 

He smiled down at her, a tenuous, almost tender smile. "Care for a drag on 
this roach?" 

Terri grimaced. "God, no!" 

"No, I guess you wouldn't . . . the Dhattura's enough. . . . " 

Languidly, he pulled his legs up and crossed them under him; his eyes 
closed. He sat upright, silent and immobile. 

How long he sat that way, Terri couldn't estimate; additionally, she 
realized, she had no way, yet, of knowing how long she had been unconscious 
. . . or how long she had been trussed up on her bed. She twisted her head 
to look toward the double French windows. The drapes were closed. She could 
not see out. Straining her sense of hearing, she listened for the sounds of 
traffic on the boulevard. There was only the sounds of cars passing, 
intermittently, muffled, as from a great distance, and far away, she heard 
the wail of a siren. She decided that it must be well past midnight and that 
there was a heavy fog lying over the city. 

She watched her stepson as he smoked, his eyes closed, his face slack. He 
held the narcotic cigarette between thumb and forefinger, the burning ash 
turned in to the palm of his hand, the hand and arm coming up slowly to 
place the cigarette carefully between his lips. There was the long, slow 
drag of inhalation, the long, interminable moments of held breath, and, 
finally, the slow, controlled exhalation of the gray smoke. 

What, she asked herself, was he thinking? What was going on inside this 
mixed up boy? . . . And, most of all, she wondered why he was holding her 
prisoner . . . with intentions of raping her? Why? WHY? Her only hope, 
perhaps, would lie in the possibility of talking him out of it . . . but 
that had been unsuccessful, so far. She shuddered again at the memory of the 
razor blade and his threat to mutilate her. Looking down, she saw that the 
wound he had made was closing, the thin line of blood drying to a dark, 
almost black color. It didn't hurt, now, but she was grateful that it was 
only a superficial scratch. Had she not agreed to drink that awful stuff, 
would he have severed the nipple? There was no doubt in her mind. She was 
sure that he would have done it! . . . But, what about the liquid from that 
bottle? Dhattura he had called it. . . . What if it really were everything 
he said it was? The graphic image of his description raced through her mind. 
He had said, "I gave some to a sweet young virgin last week.. . . She fucked 
for eight solid hours!" 

Then unexplainably, she felt it begin in her, the first tiny, keening tingle 
in her loins like a small spark of warmth, seeming to spread, permeating her 
whole belly. She remembered reading a description of the small spark from a 
passing motorist's cigarette that had started a huge forest fire, a fire 
that destroyed thousands of acres of prime timber land. Oh, God! Don't let 
this be like that tiny spark! 

. . . But, relentlessly and against her will the heat grew in her. What 
could it be? She didn't really believe the bunkum Peter had told her about 
the aphrodisiac effects of the drug he had forced her to drink. She knew 
there was nothing to it! . . . Or was there? She was not sure, now? God! She 
was getting hot! She recognized the sensations in her; they were sexual. She 
was becoming sexually aroused, and Peter had not yet touched her . . . 
unless he had done so while she was unconscious. She decided against that. 
No! Peter had done nothing to arouse her, yet! 

Sensuously, she began to squirm. Her legs were drawn up and she pressed her 
thighs together firmly but only momentarily, for she began to move the 
shapely, white columns, pressing them, rubbing them against the secret, 
burning fires that lay between her legs. God! It was beginning, and she 
didn't want it! . . . Didn't want him to know she was on fire! Oh, God! She 
was lost before it had even begun! It was the drug! It had to be the drug! 

Peter stirred. His cigarette had burned down perilously close to his 
fingers. Carefully, he snuffed it out, shaking the remaining scraps of grass 
into another small tin and wadding the paper into a small ball that he put 
into his mouth. She watched as he chewed and swallowed. Now, he turned to 
her and smiled that strange, tenuous smile again. "Groovy!" he said. "Groovy 
. . . ! " 

He knelt on the bed beside her. "Spread your legs . . . stepmother!" 

"P-Please . . . P-Peter.. . ? Stop now . . . b-before it's too late!" 

"There's no stopping it now, baby! We just groove! Onward!" He grasped her 
ankles and spread her legs, forcefully. "Do what I tell you, you bitch! . . 
. Or do I get my little blade back into the act.. . ? " 

"God, n-no! N-Not that!" 

Tremblingly, she allowed her thighs to open, helplessly baring her naked 
vagina to his gaze. Peter looked down at the moist, coral luscious-ness that 
was opened to him. His mouth fell agape. "like man! Groovy!" he muttered. 
"like, groooowvyy!" 

His hands moved to her, his thumbs pressed to either side of the sparsely, 
hair-ringed cuntal lips, and tenderly he spread the vertical mouth, exposing 
even more the glistening jeweled splendor. He felt her warmly smooth and 
soft inner thighs quiver against the backs of his hands and heard the 
quickly indrawn breath gurgle deep in her throat; then, he leaned forward 
and opened the soft, fleshy inner petals to his salacious gaze. With the tip 
of his tongue he touched first, the tight, opening of her cunt, then the 
peeping bud of her clitoris. The erotic shock of his touch surged through 
her, convulsively, and he felt its transmission to his probing tongue. 

"Please P-Peter . . . don't do that.. . ? " she begged. "P-Please let me 
g-go . . . my arms are hurting!" 

"If I untie you . . . will you promise not to run away . . . or to fight 
against me . . . ? " 

It was more than she had bargained for; she hadn't really thought he would 
release her hands. Quickly, she agreed. "Y-Yes . . . yes, I promise!" she 
said eagerly. 

He leaned over her, then, kneeling up and sliding forward on his knees, as 
he worked to untie the knotted ropes. His penis lanced out from his body, 
massively, and as he leaned over her, the silky, blood-engorged head brushed 
against her breasts. She looked down, then, to see it dance perilously close 
to her face. Involuntarily, she turned her face aside. God! She didn't want 
that touching her face! 

Peter noted her movement. "You'll get plenty of practice blowing that.. . 
later!" 

"B-Blowing . . . ? " 

"Yeah! Eating it! Sucking on it!" 

"That's horrible . . . ! " she moaned. 

"Maybe . . . " he grinned. "But tell me about it, later . . . after you've 
had a taste of it!" 

"I'd never do that!" 

"We'll see . . . " he said, smugly. 

Her hands were free, now, the cufflets removed, and she rubbed at her wrists 
to restore circulation in them. 

Peter returned to his former position, kneeling between her thighs, 
pressuring them wide apart with his knees. He grunted with satisfaction as 
her thighs opened to him again, and he dropped his head downward to bury his 
face in her naked, defenseless loins. 

Raising her head slightly she looked down between her proud, erect breasts 
at his lowered head buried down between her open legs. She saw his eyes 
watching her, his quick, lewd smile as his head raised to appraise her 
reactions. 

"OOooh!" she gasped. 

She jerked, as his hot, moist lips closed over the tiny, helplessly 
throbbing bud of her clitoris, his tongue working there for a few moments 
before moving on, lower to plant tantalizing kisses moistly on the closed 
opening of her pussy, his tongue darting like an eel into the collecting 
moisture of the tiny bearded mouth. 

Terri felt the fires of her passion being stoked higher and higher, and she 
remembered how it had been with Pauline. Pauline, her woman-lover had paid 
court to her breasts, her thighs, her belly . . . every part of her body, 
all of her had been involved in their Lesbian love-making. She needed it 
now. Indeed, she wanted it! 

Unconsciously, narcissistically, her hands crept to her own breasts, 
caressing them, her fingers playing with the spiky hardness of her nipples, 
smoothing and cupping the melon-like mounds in the palms of her hands; then, 
as though her hands had a life of their own, they moved down over her belly, 
smoothing down over her soft blonde pubic triangle, finally, coming to rest 
on either side of his gently nibbling lips. Her fingers stroked there, 
softly, as her mind raced out of control with unreason, her body commanding, 
demanding, and against all possible arguments to the contrary, her fingers, 
self-willed, or controlled by some other being, spread the fleshy, 
coral-lined, golden, hair-fringed lips of her cunt . . . spread them slowly, 
deliberately, allowing his hungry, voraciously consuming mouth complete 
access to the moist secrets of her cunt, her hips moving up to him, offering 
him all of her to do with as he chose. 

Her elbows pressed in tight against her ribs and her head flailed crazily 
from side to side, out of control, as his hot, searing tongue shot out, its 
soft, flicking tip moving in circles on her quiveringly erect clitoris. His 
lips sucked in, drawing the warm, soft folds surrounding it into his mouth 
while his tongue continued its maddeningly tantalizing licking of the 
urgent, hard smoothness of the miniature phallus. 

Terri groaned, the husky, muted sound coming from deep in her throat as the 
hot, probing tip worked its way up and down the length of the narrow female 
furrow, starting at the top most portion above the clitoris and pressuring 
its way down and down over the elastic rimmed opening of her clasping vagina 
and into the crevice of her now sensuously flexing buttocks where it stopped 
momentarily to circle the tight, brown throbbing anal mouth that nestled 
secretly there. She felt her hips flexing and grinding of their own volition 
and heard the mewling, animal-like sounds that came, unbidden from between 
her passion-clenched teeth. 

She couldn't believe that it was happening to her. She just couldn't! What 
was left of her rational mind told her it was so. She was actually 
responding to her own stepson . . . wanting him to go on and on! 

Peter worked hungrily at her cunt, the moist, satiny pubic hair brushing 
tantalizingly against his cheeks. He smiled a smile of triumph. He had done 
what he set out to do! His stepmother who had loathed and hated him was 
lying here, squirming under him, responding like a bitch in heat to his 
tongue between her legs! Damn! He had wanted to fuck her ever since his 
father had married her! God damn that old man! He didn't know anything about 
sex! 

All he could do was ram his cock home a few times and crawl off, again, 
leaving his wife completely unsatisfied. Peter knew this! He had listened 
and watched . . . watched, as later, she had gone into the privacy of her 
bathroom to gain sexual release with her hand. It was a sad thing to behold. 

But she had scorned him! That had stung him. He knew he had more to offer 
her. God! He loved her . . . wanted her, but she couldn't, wouldn't allow 
him to get near her; after all, there wasn't that much difference in their 
ages. He was young, strong and virile, and his staying power, he knew, was 
tremendous and long, especially when he was on pot. This was the new 
generation. He knew that drugs was the answer to everything in the world. If 
people would turn on to drugs, everybody would be too busy loving to fight 
wars. God! Life was beautiful, and Grass and Hash helped to make it 
beautiful! 

Her mewling groans of pleasure drove his tongue faster as it worked its way 
up and down the pulsating, passion-engorged lips of her tortured genitals. 
Yes, that was it! He wanted her bagging for it when he was finally ready to 
sink his hardened, throbbing cock deep into her tight little cunt. He 
grinned to himself. This was only the beginning. There was most of the 
weekend ahead of them. He intended to make the most of it. He was going to 
fuck her every possible way there was! 

He knew that she was too far gone . . . too aroused to fight against him, 
now. He could do anything to her. His mind began to form erotic scenes, 
pictures, vivid and alive of all the acts he would perform on her naked 
body. It was wild and groovy. He had a good imagination. 

Peter could not help gloating to himself as, suddenly, her hands were 
clawing at his hair trying to guide his face to the tight, palpitating 
cunt-mouth, below. Gleefully, he plunged his tongue into the softly ringed, 
coral flesh, teasing it for a moment, then as quickly withdrawing it to 
tantalize, mercilessly, the uneven, somewhat irregular pink, rimming flesh. 

She groaned aloud, piteously, and clutched at him forcefully, pressing his 
mouth down hard directly over the taut, constricted hole in her now hungrily 
squirming loins, her hips jerking up against him in counterpoint. 

He did his best to comply, ramming his oral member deep down into her 
seething pussy, rounding his lips and covering the cleaving, dewy opening to 
bring a low, throaty groan of wanton pleasure from her lips. Again, he 
grinned at the thought that it was his father's wife whose warm, sculpted 
thighs were closing spasmodically and with wanton abandon around either side 
of his head. He could feel the moist flesh slip damply around his long, 
extended tongue as the smooth wet walls of her cuntal passage opened and 
closed in a tiny sucking motion, almost as though her cunt were attempting 
to draw his tongue deeper and deeper into itself. He imagined that it was 
like a nibbling, hair-lined mouth that was trying with all its lust-inspired 
strength to suck his tongue out by the roots . . . to devour it, completely. 
Groovy! 

Now, her heels snaked out in the air and pushed down against his back, 
pressing his lean, muscular body into the soft, writhing trap of female 
flesh between her uplifted thighs. His nose was mashed against her pulsing 
clitoris and he could only inhale the pungent aroma of her warm pulsating 
young cunt. The delicate tang of her womanly loins incited his cock to a 
rock-hard state that he couldn't endure much longer. He had to fuck her soon 
or he would burst like a pricked balloon. The ache in his cock was 
exquisite, but the damned up semen behind its cofferdam of tumescent flesh 
demanded release. He couldn't wait, now, for more than a few moments! 

Terri's body-mind was lost completely in the rapture of the moment. Her 
sensate, sex-oriented being was aware of only the slashing, searing fire in 
her loins as she tensed and strained her steaming vagina upward toward the 
maddeningly tantalizing and inquiring tongue that moved snake-like between 
her widespread legs. 

Her updrawn legs opened and closed around the tormenting head of the avidly 
ravening tongue that was licking voraciously at her flame-seared hole. The 
cords of her neck stood out with the strain as she pulled with savage 
strength at the hair entangled in her taloned fingers, attempting to draw 
him even closer in to her blazing crotch. 

"Oh! OOOhhh! AAAAaaaagh!" she moaned, splaying her legs out in an 
ever-widening vee to allow him greater access to the no-longer secret 
femaleness. Oh, God! She wanted it! She had never wanted anything more than 
this! 

Peter Marklin could stand it no longer. He couldn't wait, now, even if he 
tried. His cock throbbed like a wild, feral animal's cock ready for the 
rutting season. He grabbed at her flailing legs, grasping them behind the 
knees and bending her nearly double, thrust them back roughly against her 
shoulders, slithering up over her sweat-soaked body at the same time. His 
rigid, pulsing prick brushed, teasingly, against the damp, moistness of her 
soft, golden pubic hair. He braced his hands on the mattress on either side 
of her shoulders and forced her legs up and back more until her ankles were 
locked tightly behind his neck. He looked down between their bodies-his own 
slim and muscular, his cock poised ready in her open hair-lined furrow-and 
saw the upturned magnificence of her carved-ivory buttocks, the plane of her 
cunt now completely exposed and helpless before him. 

Almost visibly, the expanded, narrow cunt-slit throbbed with her heartbeat, 
the coralline furrow held widespread by the pressure of his legs against her 
full marble-white thighs. 

His voice croaked in a dry throat, "Now, little stepmother, I'm going to 
fuck you silly!" His face grinned down into hers, the lust showing plainly, 
his boyishly handsome features twisted with his demanding passion. 

Through drug-dimmed eyes, Terri could vaguely see the face hovering over 
her. His words were only unintelligible sounds pouring from his twisted 
lips. At that point in time, the only realities were the animalistic ones of 
sensation and feeling. Below, she could feel the fleshy staff of his cock 
lying full length and hard in the open, quivering slit of her cunt. The 
involuntarily jerking, red cowl of the tip lay palpitating between her 
widespread ass cheeks, insinuating itself in a rising and falling sawing 
motion, tantalizing her with a maddening delay that caused her to writhe her 
hips up toward it, her hungry pussy searching avidly for the spongy, 
blood-engorged head. 

She had to have it! She had to have it inside of her. Her belly demanded it; 
screamed for it! Oh, God! This need would drive her insane! Then, the 
flashing thought of the great irony involved in her wanting the son instead 
of the father intruded. She realized that she had never felt this way 
before. George had never made her want it like this! It was Pauline who had, 
unknowingly, prepared her for this. Yes! Pauline, her woman-lover had made 
her want a man's cock in her, more than ever before. 

Appalled at the thought, she tried to reject it, but in perturbed panic her 
hands found their way between them searching for the thing she wanted. She 
grasped the hard-muscled length of his member in both hands, caressing it 
tenderly, the while mewling with satisfaction as she sensed its convulsive 
spasms against the soft palms of her hands, the thick oozing and viscid 
moisture from the slit in its tip dribbling down to moisten her hands. The 
pulsating prick in her hand, like the kicking tiller of a sloop beating to 
windward, she steered it up the channel between the smooth, quivering globes 
of her ass, never allowing it to lose contact with the pink flesh of her 
cuntal furrow until she had placed it squarely between the viscously 
lubricated lips of her hungering vagina. She held it in place and reached 
for the slim, muscular buttocks of the boy-man. Desperately with all the 
strength of her arms she tried to pull the massive hardness into her to 
quench the raging fires that burned, uncontrolled, in her naked, upturned 
loins. 

Peter had been waiting for just such action on her part. Her overt reaching 
to claim him pleased him no end. This was it! Now he would make her beg for 
it. That was the only way she would really appreciate it, he had decided. 
She would beg like a wanton bitch! Flexing his muscles he resisted her 
attempts to pull him into her. Wait, Bitch! 

With a groan born of lewd desperation, she redoubled her efforts to capture 
his cock. Grimly, he resisted her, waiting for the exact instant to impale 
her. He liked that word: Impale; it described exactly what he would do to 
her! Wait! 

"Oh, Peter!" she cried, her voice croaking with emotion. 

This is it! This is the time! He flicked his hips forward, driving with all 
his strength. 

Terri winced with pain as she felt the elastic lips of her throbbing vagina 
forced widely open. Momentarily, the fleshy snugness resisted the pressure, 
then gave way beneath the brutal onslaught of the huge phallus, blood-filled 
and rock-hard that was wielded by the boyish lover on top of her. The agony 
of his entry shocked her for a long moment, and she involuntarily screwed 
her buttocks down into the mattress to avoid the sudden impalement of her 
genitals. 

"AAAaaaagh!" she screamed. "Oh, Goddd!" George had impaled her before, but 
never like this. The son exceeded the father's excesses. 

Peter reveled in her scream. He thrust into her, again, harder, listening 
for the moan of anguish to follow. He suddenly wanted to hear her scream . . 
. scream for mercy . . . for her life! 

He rammed into her with everything he had! Flickering dimly in the back of 
his brain was an image of his father doing the self-same thing to her, and 
momentarily there was an understanding of his father. As he speared into 
her, cruelly, he felt his balls, swinging below, crack resoundingly against 
her tiny twitching anus as she writhed and ground her squirming buttocks 
down hard into the softness of the bed to escape the brutal impalement. She 
screamed her heart out! Her legs jerked and splayed out on either side of 
his long, lean and muscular body, waving with futility in the air. 

"P-Peter! Peter! Oh, God! No! NOOOoooooo! Please?! " she choked out, her 
naked, white body pinned helplessly to the mattress almost as though she 
were a Monarch Butterfly pinned to an exhibit board. Oh, God! She couldn't 
stand it! 

Every movement to escape the huge log buried in her cunt only worsened her 
position; the head of his expanded cock only seemed to bury itself deeper 
and deeper into her tortured belly. 

Her stepson's outstretched arms pinioned her, while his widespread knees 
against her held her splayed thighs immobile and fully extended to the 
sides. She felt certain that he would rip her right down the middle, the 
monstrous thing imbedded in her cunt being the instrument to rend her in two 
parts. The searing shaft of hard flesh felt as though it would emerge from 
her throat, as the heavy ballooned head collided with her cervix and the 
power of his thrust rocked her head backward onto the pillow. 

Peter gaped down at her from his dominant position with a lewd smirk on his 
lips. He was elated, and he grinned even more widely as he saw her face 
twisted in a grimace, her lips curling back from her teeth as pleading 
incoherent whimpers came from deep in her throat. Her arms were 
outstretched, the palms of her hands against his hips, on the bony ridge 
there, attempting to hold back the blunt, hard knob that pressed in against 
her womb with inexorable pressure. 

Through his own drug-fogged senses, he knew that he had won . . . he had 
conquered her, as he held her pinned down in that lewd, humiliating 
position. He glanced down to see his own curly, pubic hair entangled tightly 
with the golden fluff of her mound, the base of his thick, fleshy cock 
barely showing from its submerged depths in the throbbing, moist furrow-the 
very same slit that his salacious tongue had licked into craving 
receptiveness only moments before. He could see that the tight lips of her 
cunt, were stretched almost beyond endurance, the spongy, outer rim clasping 
tightly about the massive base of his young virile cock. 

Terri was helplessly pinned beneath him. She squirmed in agony; all rational 
thoughts had fled from her. Her mind was a maze of disoriented thoughts and 
images. She could feel the searing hot pain of his sudden entry, the hard 
shaft of flesh pushing relentlessly at her in-sides. All her being seemed to 
be concentrated at the spread of her thighs where her stepson's boyish cock 
lay deeply imbedded. She flexed the muscles of her loins tightly together in 
a further attempt to hold back the brutal invasion of the huge, ravishing 
rod of flesh, but the internal throb of muscle seemed only to incite the 
monster the more. It worked its way deeper and deeper into her vainly 
resisting channel. She could feel the fleshy walls of her cringing cuntal 
passage clasp defensively around it like a rubber sheath. She was aware of 
its every hard, fleshy ridge as her inflamed nerves transmitted to her 
confused brain every detail of its form and substance. God! It was huge! It 
seemed almost as though it were alive, had a life of its own deep up inside 
her belly. 

Suddenly, unexplainably, as the hard, spongy head of his cock pressed with 
relentless pressure against her cervix, the lining of her cuntal passage 
possessively enveloped and sheathed the phallus imbedded there, the tickling 
of his hairy balls where they hung, heavily, in the crevice of her ass, she 
felt as one with him, united by the bridging action of his giant cock; then, 
in spite of the pain and discomfort, her tongue snaked out to lick at her 
lips, sensuously. There had never been anything in her life to compare with 
this! This was it! She lived only for this moment! Involuntarily, her cunt 
muscles contracted around the deeply submerged cock as the lascivious 
thoughts arced through her drug-befogged brain. 

God! At last his waiting game had paid off! Peter felt the slight flutter of 
her cunt around his penis. This was what he had been waiting for; what he 
knew would come. He gloated down at her, hovering almost motionless, 
waiting, now for her to become accustomed to the massive presence that 
filled her. Now, he expanded it, again, flexing it against the sensitive 
walls of her pussy, but holding his body rigid and unmoving, as he poised 
himself over her helpless body. 

"Oh!" Terri whimpered, her mouth ovaling, fighting still the thin hairline 
of sensation that divided pain from pleasure. 

Peter waited, again, then flexed powerfully within her, and as he watched 
her face beneath him, her mouth fell agape and her eyes clenched tightly 
closed. 

"OOOOoooh!" she cried and held her breath as the buried cock expanded even 
more, stretching the tight passage to accommodate his massive member; then, 
he set a deliberate tempo of expansion and contraction, a teasing, 
tantalizing cock-rhythm of voluptuousness. He watched as her nostrils flared 
and her throat worked with little mewling sounds of pleasure that joined in 
cadence with the tempo he had set. 

"Oh, Oh, OOh, OOOoooh!" she purred. Then, "OOOOOoooooh, yes! Yes, Peter . . 
. darling! Yessss!" 

He reveled within himself as he felt her urgent counter-pointing throbs 
around the head of his erect penis. Her moist, clasping cunt walls began a 
gentle massaging motion, opening and closing around the full length of the 
pulsating shaft of male flesh he had buried to the hilt in her. 

Not moving, yet, he continued the measured pulsing deep within her 
cock-pierced body. Now, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her open 
mouth, thrusting his tongue deep to savor the sweetness there, and her whole 
body began to come to life under him, writhing and twisting as she groaned, 
incessantly, up into the moistness of his mouth. With sudden and complete 
wantonness, she plunged her tongue deep into his throat. Low, passionate 
mewls of servile acceptance emitted from her throat, her beautiful face 
twisted with erotic anticipation, her mouth working on his ravenously 
sucking and probing as her neck strained and a light sweat broke out in tiny 
droplets on her forehead. Her blonde hair was disheveled as her head moved 
as on oiled hinges from side to side and her unseeing eyes rolled, 
unfocusing, in her head. In a near unconscious state, her hips began to roll 
and buck up against the hardened spear of flesh that impaled her. Suddenly, 
her voracious, unsatisfied cunt screwed itself up tighter against his 
hair-covered pelvis, trying to absorb yet more of him into the seething 
depths of her being. Peter was forced to clench his teeth and call upon all 
his powers of self-control to maintain himself immobile above her for just a 
little while longer. Wait! Not yet! He would make her scream for it first! 

There was no pain now. There was only sensate, rapturous pleasure. She had 
never known that it could be like this. Her whole body was coming to life; a 
maddening tingle had seemed to burst into being deep down in her belly. It 
slashed through her cunt, searingly, the raw nerve ends of her vibrant flesh 
electric with the super-charged perceptivity of sensual carnality. It danced 
like wildfire across her white quivering thighs, racing down her legs to 
curl her toes tightly in against the soles of her feet, changing direction 
then to charge with insane abandon up through her rib cage and out to the 
erect pink nipples capping the magnificent globes of her marble-white 
breasts. 

Peter moved his hands down the well rounded curves of her hips and sides and 
slipped them under the pliantly soft smooth cheeks of her moving buttocks. 
They undulated to his touch, flexing and relaxing with lithe strength, 
oozing like yeast dough around his strong fingers, as he pressed them 
tightly up to him. Then, as he drew her loins up harder to his own 
boiling-hot loins, he felt her, of her own volition, pull her thighs back a 
little more, the moist slipperiness of her cunt flowering open to absorb his 
cock to even greater depths. The cords in her neck stood out sinewy and hard 
as she strained and squirmed beneath him. Never had she known such searing 
sensations, and at that moment, nothing mattered to her except wanting . . . 
wanting more and more of that wonderful thing that was buried so deep in her 
upraised cunt. Incessant and uncontrollable sounds of animal pleasure came 
from her throat in incoherent torrents. 

Now! Now is the time! Peter gloated. 

He hissed through clenched teeth at her, "You want it, now . . . don't you?" 

"Yes, OOOooh, yes!" she groaned without hesitation. 

"Little stepmother," he leered, "do you remember how you turned me down . . 
. ? " 

"Y-Yes . . . but I . . . I thought you.. . . " 

"You thought I wasn't good enough for you!" he finished. 

"N-No . . . that's not it . . . you . . . " she tried, again; then, 
"P-Please Peter . . . oh, God, you've teased me enough. . . . " 

"Beg, bitch! Beg me to fuck you!" he barked. "That's the only way you'll get 
it, now! Beg! I want to hear you beg me for my cock!" 

Terri, even at that moment, in wanton and abandoned rapture, agonizingly, 
anticipating the ecstasy of fulfillment, at last, in a sex act that was more 
than she had ever expected, could not comprehend what it was he wanted. He 
wanted her to beg him? Never! Her brain, short-circuited, temporarily, 
rebelled. No! She couldn't do that.. . ! She could not bring herself to say 
it to her own husband's son! 

She shut her eyes, and a groan of frustration escaped her lips. Her whole 
being, body and mind, recoiled at the command he had given, but she had not 
reckoned that it was her body ruling her, then. Yes, her body had been 
swayed, for a moment by the computer-brain; however, the sensations in her 
loins continued, overpoweringly, to send their desperate messages, jamming 
the reasoning part of her mind, again. Her whole existence lay there in her 
sensate, cock-filled cunt. Tears welled in her eyes and ran down her 
exquisite cheeks. 

"Beg! God damn it! Beg me to fuck you silly!" Peter snarled, digging his 
fingers in hard and cruelly, bruising the soft, tender ass-cheeks in his 
grasping hands. 

"Yes . . . ! Yes, I'll beg.. . . Do it to me, P-Peter.. . ! " 

"Not that way! Say it! Say: Fuck me! Say: Fuck me in the cunt. . . with your 
big cock! Say it! God damn you!" 

Her voice broke with the effort, but she managed, "P-Peter, darling . . . 
fuck me.. . . " 

"The rest of it!" 

"F-Fuck me in the c-cunt . . . w-with your b-big cock . . . " she murmured 
helplessly, her voice barely audible to him. 

Then, she babbled on incoherently, "Yes, oh, yes! I want you to fuck me . . 
. I want you to fill me up with cock! Your cock . . . in my cunt . . . keep 
it there, forever! Fuck me! Oh, FUCK!" 

True, she had heard the words before, but she had never spoken them. George 
used them . . . and she could not forget her shock when Pauline had mouthed 
the obscene words. Now . . . her own lips were dripping with the lewdness, 
and for the first time in her life. Somehow, there was a new lascivious 
thrill generated in her; it swirled through her mind and she rotated her 
hips around the rigid, massive cock with vigor, her vagina contracting and 
dilating in time to the rhythmic beating deep up inside her. 

"You're learning . . . " Peter said. 

". . . And you're teasing me, darling . . . ! Why don't you do something . . 
. ? Why don't you start ramming your cock into my c-cunt. . . ? " she 
whined. 

". . . Because, you're going to work for it now!" he rasped. 

"You mean . . . ? " 

"I mean start shaking that hot little ass of yours!" Peter barked. 

The command galvanized her into immediate action. He felt her pelvis move 
under him, screwing herself up against the full length of his rock-hard 
cock. The tiny contracting muscles of her cunt-walls were nibbling 
voraciously at the blood-inflated head. The stretched lips of her cuntal 
passage pulled away, slipping moistly down his staff for several inches 
before munching their way back up, again, to weld her loins tightly to his, 
her soft, golden down mingling with his darker pubic hair and embedding the 
massive member deep into her warm, white belly. He held himself rigid and 
unmoving above her, but that is not to say he was not moved; he was. The 
sensations she generated in his aching cock were almost unbearable, as he 
remained immobile, concentrating on what was happening below. He kept his 
hands braced flat on either side of her shoulders, allowing her squirming 
body, beneath him, to pump up and down the whole length of his hardened rod 
of flesh with feral, wildly animalistic fury. 

Peter watched in fascination the slow withdrawal between them as his penis 
extracted thin ridges of coral flesh that clung to the shaft of his penis 
which were then stuffed back in, again, the fleshy, pink folds disappearing 
inside with the length of him when her cunt again consumed his sperm bloated 
cock into the quivering, hungry opening. He let her work, marveling at the 
utter abandon, the dazed, ecstatic and drug dimmed smile that played across 
her lips. God! She was more than he had thought she would be! Groovy! like, 
Groovy! Man! He smiled, languidly, to himself, as he felt the sharp slap of 
his balls against the unprotected, defenseless anus that nestled in its 
secret crevice, below. Now, it was time to really show the bitch something! 
He wanted to completely bend her to his will . . . subjugate her, humiliate 
her, debase and demean her. 

Down, down over the satiny, smooth skin of her slaving ass-cheeks his hand 
went searching, his fingers feeling for the tiny, brown, puckered anus 
hidden there. He found it, circled it with a finger and found it warm and 
soft, working there, fish-mouthed with the straining movements of her 
ivory-mooned buttocks. Moistening his finger with the dew that ran in 
droplets from the depths of her pussy, he pressed the tip of the digit into 
the tiny, virgin hole. He used more force. The finger popped in through the 
elastic muscle ring, feeling the pliantly spongy flesh yield, unwillingly, 
to his quick insertion. 

"OOOOoooohhhh!" she cried in painful protest. "That hurts!" 

"You mean it hurts good . . . don't you" he corrected. 

He pushed his finger in to the second knuckle, pleased with himself that he 
had hurt her. He wanted to hear her wail in complete subjugation. 

"My Godddd! OOOOOOoooooh! P-Please . . . don't! Doooonnn't!" Her cries were 
loud in his ears. He grinned. She was completely defenseless; her asshole 
his to do with as he pleased. 

. . . And, he gave no quarter; he was merciless, as he wormed his finger 
around inside, gleefully stretching the soft rubbery depths of her flesh 
wider and wider, shoving his finger deeper and deeper until the palm of his 
hand was pressed flat against the rounded globes of her buttocks. 

Deep guttural sounds of intense pain came from deep in her chest. She knew 
that she could not withstand this new onslaught . . . this outrage against 
her body, but slowly and unexplainably-to her-the pain became a pleasure in 
itself, the salacious mingled with the masochistic in her mind to turn the 
corner into another experience. Her moans of agonized pain became purring 
mewls of pleasure as her ravished anus gradually became accustomed to the 
unnatural invasion. 

Her stepson smiled his triumph down into her agonized face as she began 
slowly to screw her rectum back onto his probing finger, while he moved it 
around, at will, in the deep warmth of the spongy-fleshed channel. He bent 
his head down to kiss her, probing his tongue deep into her mouth to 
simulate and mimic the action below. 

Breaking the kiss after a few moments, he teased, "Wasn't I right.. . ? " 

His words were dim, confused. "Right . . . about what?" she groaned aloud, 
still grinding her hips hungrily beneath him. 

"That it would hurt good.. . . " 

"Oh, yes . . . yessss!" dreamily, her drugged mind speaking. 

She was doubly, hopelessly impaled between his hard, pulsating prick in her 
cunt and his middle finger locked tightly into her asshole; shortly, she 
began twisting and squealing with wanton passion under him, moving 
lasciviously against the double ravishment of her loins. Her lunging thrusts 
upward against him became ever more urgent as she moved faster and smoother 
with each stroke, her even, white teeth biting hard into her lower lip as he 
continued to move his finger in and out of her anus with smooth, drubbing 
strokes while her own movements drove his massive cock in and out of her 
demanding cunt. 

Faster and harder she thrust up at him, impaling herself, withdrawing to 
re-impale her tortured cunt, again and again, uncontrollably slaving away to 
reach the heights of rapture she could sense just beyond her reach, as she 
fucked his still motionless cock . . . forced to supply the fucking 
movements he withheld from her. 

He knew she was straining to cum; he could hear the moist, sucking sounds of 
the in and out movement as her cunt climbed up and down his rigid stalk of 
flesh. How he relished the sight and sound of her moving on him with such 
reckless abandon! The searing sensation of near-cum burned in him deep up 
behind his balls. He could wait only a little while longer before he would 
have to squirt his load of waiting semen deep into his young stepmother's 
seething pussy. 

Suddenly, she propelled herself up hard against him, their pubic bones 
cracking together, forcefully, and she arched herself off the bed, raising 
her hips, hefting him, her feet planted firmly on either side of his knees 
as she levered upward to take the last millimeter of his massive length into 
her passion-hungry cuntal passage. Her face was a study in mixed emotions, 
but the carnality, the sexual joy of imminent fulfillment crowded out the 
expressions of pain and shame. For her at that moment, there was nothing in 
the world but cock-filled cunt! God! How she loved it. . . loved him, in 
that instant! 

She bucked against him, wildly. Now! It would come to her, soon! Soon! He 
pulled his finger from her rectum; it popped faintly accompanied by a short 
gaseous hiss, as his finger slid free of its confinement. 

Terri felt it coming. She knew it in the sudden shuddering wave of 
convulsive muscle spasms, the slashing crash of overburdened nerve ends as 
they discharged their sensations into her mind. Her body jerked, thrusting 
faster, yet, sliding up and down the slippery pole of his young manhood in 
desperation to attain the crest, and . . . suddenly it was there for her! 

Oh, God! It's here at last! 

"Oh! Oh, oh, oh! AAAAAaaaaagggh! I'm cumming! Yesssss! Oh, darling, darling! 
I'm cummmmmmmiinnng!" 

. . . .And with her last cry of passion her body began to quake 
uncontrollably, as wave after convulsive wave of delicious sexual release 
swept through her, and her cunt milked at his cock, the internal muscles 
working spasmodically around his throbbing rod of deeply imbedded flesh. 

Peter waited, controlling his urge to plunder and rend her cunt with the 
massive penis that filled her. He waited until she had groaned out the last 
of her ecstatic orgasm, then, her body still spasming, he reached backward, 
grasping her ankles and raising her tapering white legs high to drape them 
again up over his shoulders. He pressured her legs downward, until the 
entire widespread genital plane was opened to him. In this position she was 
helpless . . . completely defenseless, pinned, immobile, to the mattress. He 
could do with her as he would, and his intentions were brutal in the 
extreme. God! He had waited . . . waited for this moment.. . to fuck her 
senseless with his cock! Man! 

Beneath him, she shook her head; her mind had begun to clear and rational 
thought returned to dominate her mind. She was trembling from head to foot, 
and still the subsiding waves of her orgasm were delicious, languorous. 

Then, she became aware of her obscene and humiliating position under him; 
her legs were over his shoulders, her thighs pressed back to mash the tender 
mounds of her breasts, her cunt open and vulnerable. My God! She was 
helpless in this horrible position. She could not move in any direction. 

Peter withdrew his deeply imbedded cock until just the tip of it remained in 
her. He laughed down into her face. 

"You've had your fun," he croaked. "Now, it's my turn . . . and I'm going to 
fuck you half to death!" 

He rammed forward with the strength of a young bull; all of his stored up 
energy was there driving his hips almost like a pile driver. The full, 
throbbing length of his aching cock sunk brutally into the coralline depths 
of her helpless, exposed vagina. 

She cried out as the massive cudget flicked past her cervix and collided 
with the extreme back wall of her vaginal vault. Her cry of pain was futile. 
It fell on deaf ears. 

Her cry only inflamed his cruel desire the more. He could hear the wet slap 
of his pelvis against her defenseless crotch, the racing sensations in his 
loins as he ravished her. Now, he dropped heavily upon her, mashing her 
lush, melon-ripe breasts tight to her chest. He ground his mouth into hers, 
plunging his tongue deeply into her throat, effectively muffling her outcry. 
His shoulders, pressed against the backs of her full, sculpted calves kept 
her secured and immobile in that vulnerable position as he battered into her 
like a steam pile driver gone out of control and ready to explode. Reaching 
under her, he forced his hands under the white, full cheeks of her ass, 
cupping them and kneading the warm soft flesh with his strong-fingered 
cruelty, pulling the rounded moons far apart. Damn! What a beautiful piece 
of ass! 

Into her still passion-steamed passage, he began to use long, hard strokes, 
withdrawing until only the bulbous head lay just inside the hot, viscous 
cunt-mouth, then charging forward strongly, driving with his hips until he 
felt the smack of their pubic bones and his scrotum screwed up tight into 
the widespread crack of her warm, white buttocks. 

Terri's head was clear, now; the drug was beginning to lose its devastating 
effect, and she wailed in fear and shame from her pregnable position. Now, 
she could begin to evaluate, to think somewhat clearly. My God! It must have 
been the drug, the drug he had given her! What had she done? Peter was 
raping her! And . . . worse, she might even become pregnant from her own 
stepson! Oh, God! Help me! Please help me! 

She groaned, again, as her naked, vulnerable cunt was plundered and plumbed 
almost beyond endurance. Her head rolled from side to side, her body 
recoiling with each jack hammer thrust, and she could do nothing . . . could 
not avoid it.. . it was impossible to fight back. Her arms were pinned down 
at her sides by her painfully pressed-back legs, and she could feel the huge 
stalk of his maleness sliding up and down the inside of her vagina like a 
smoothly oiled piston. 

It wasn't possible! She couldn't believe it! Suddenly, she was reacting, 
again . . . wanting it to go on and on! Shooting sparks of passion were 
being generated all over, again, in her loins. She felt as though her whole 
being were concentrated in the cusp of her crotch. It was a flaming hole 
that had to be filled with hard cock. She had to have it! She didn't care if 
he made her pregnant! 

Her voice came to her, strange and croaking. She was saying words . . . 
words that came to her from the depths of a passion-wracked body-mind that 
sought only the pleasure of that moment. She was only a cunt, a cunt that 
had to be fucked! 

"Fuck me, damn it! Fuck me harder!" she heard herself saying. "Fuck me . . . 
deep and hard!" 

Now, her vaginal lips flared open even more to receive the delicious, 
ravishing shaft deeper into her voracious passage. Her secret genitals 
spread wider yet as she consciously splayed her thighs outward to either 
side. Desperately, she fought to free her arms. With almost superhuman 
strength, she jerked her hands free and wrapped her arms around his back, 
her talon-like nails gouging red streaks down his back to the flexing 
muscles of his buttocks. Then, she strained to pull him deeper into her, as 
she shoved her golden down-covered pubic mound up hard to skewer herself, 
frantically, on the cudget of flesh that was her only connection with 
reality. It was almost as though she wanted to pull him bodily into her . . 
. a reversal of the process of birth. She drew his agile tongue hungrily 
into her mouth, sucking on it greedily, as the other mouth below seemed to 
be sucking him ever deeper into its seething, coral depths. Now, her 
luscious body matched him; her rhythmic lunges counter-pointed his battering 
plunges, and she wanted more. More! MORE! 

"Come on!" she screamed, her voice rising. She was desperate, now. "Fuck me! 
God damn it! Fuck me harder! Ram your cock in my cunt . . . deeper and 
harder!" 

"Groovy!" he hissed into her ear. 

. . . And he began to pound into her with newfound vigor. Ceaselessly, he 
jack hammered his blood-engorged cock deep and deeper, long and longer, hard 
and harder into her naked upturned loins. His strokes were cruel, brutal, 
and she loved every moment of it. 

Peter could feel the building explosion in him, back there in his balls, the 
hot, thickly white semen crowding against the cofferdam of blood-inflated 
flesh, ready to be spewed from the tip of his cock in an unending stream of 
ejaculation. 

She chanted up into his face, her own countenance twisted with rapturous 
passion. "Fuck me, Peter! Fuck me! Fuckme, fuckme, fuckme-fuckme, fuck me!" 

Wildly, he rammed his tongue far down into her throat, his clutching fingers 
kneaded and tore at her lush buttocks, pulling them up hard against his 
ramming pelvis as he slammed his spewing cock to the hilt in her softly 
pliant cunt. 

The stream of thick, viscous liquid jetted white and hot from him, shooting 
into her like molten metal; she could feel it as it splashed against her 
cunt walls, and his rod of jerking, pumping flesh expanded in her larger 
than ever before. 

It was magnificent! She rose to receive his final plunges in an ecstasy she 
could never describe. The supreme heights of sexual rapture and fulfillment 
were hers, again. She jerked her legs free, extending them to either side of 
him as his cock hosed a seemingly never-ending stream of hot, sticky sperm 
into her clasping and unclasping vaginal vault. She freed her mouth. 

"Oh, God! That's it!" she screamed. "OOOOOOoooooh, I'm cuuummmmmming! Again! 
AAA AAaaaaaaaaggggh!" 

He gave one last, convulsive thrust into her as the last dregs of his white, 
hot semen was pumped from his aching testicles. Then, he fell forward, full 
length on. top of her, exhausted and satiated beyond his wildest dreams. 

In a few moments, he rolled to his side, pulling his deflating prick from 
her sodden, semen-filled vagina. 

"like, man! The most!" he said, and was soon fast asleep, the drugs and 
exhaustion having finally taken their toll of him. 

Terri, also, slept, a wonderfully serene sleep of complete sexual satiety. 
For the first time in her life a man had shown her what sex was all about! 
God! It was beautiful! . . . But the young boy who slept beside her? He was 
her own stepson! Her own husband's son! 

 CHAPTER 5 

Frank Coppol was holding his weekly council. There was much business to 
attend to, reports to be made and acted upon and money to be received and 
paid out. 

He speared the speaker with his good eye. "Johnny," he said, his voice soft 
as usual. He was unruffled. "Johnny, that's your territory those whores are 
operating in. What do you know about it, so far?" 

Johnny Leonard, tall, sun-tanned and good-looking, a man who could be 
mistaken for a television or movie personality, was visibly nervous. 

"Not much, Frank. It seems to be a small operation . . . maybe five, six 
girls, at the most," he reported. 

"Who's the guy running it?" 

Leonard hesitated, glancing around the room for help that was not there. 
Helplessly, he said, "I don't know.. . . " 

"Find out! Bring him in!" Frank Coppol issued his orders still in that soft 
voice. 

"Right, Frank," he said, looking down at the rug. "Right away!" 

Coppol dismissed the problem as having been solved already. He looked around 
the room at the alert, expectant faces. It might have been a meeting of the 
board of an important financial corporation. There were twelve men present, 
all well-dressed and meticulously groomed. His good eye came to rest on 
another face. "Next item," he said briskly, "is Guido's report on that 
problem down at San Pedro. I'd like to know why there was a work stoppage, 
after we promised there wouldn't be any more?" 

* * * 

George Marklin was not in Colorado. He had merely gotten into his car and 
driven to Santa Monica where he had parked in a numbered stall in the 
carport of a well appointed apartment house, got out, mounted the stairs, 
knocked at the door of apartment 21B and was admitted by a svelte brunette 
who greeted him, warmly, put a dry martini in his hand and didn't object 
when he suggested after a few moments that they go into the bedroom and do 
some fucking. 

"You're not busy, tonight, are you?" 

"No, George . . . I cancelled out an all-night John when you called me," she 
answered, matter-of-factly. 

"I'll make it up to you," he promised. 

They were lying on her bed. She leaned over his loins to take the inflated 
head of his penis into her mouth. She was clearly an expert, and Marklin 
liked the way she did it. 

"How would you like to make a party of this?" he asked. 

"Sure, honey . . . anything you want," she agreed, removing her ovaled lips 
from the bulbous head of his cock; then, she added, "another girl . . . or 
another guy?" 

"Another girl," he said, reaching for the bedside phone. 

He dialed an unlisted number; soon a woman's voice came down the wire to 
him, "Hello?" 

"Pauline? Is Gloria booked up, tonight?" 

In the bedroom of her lavish home in Brentwood, Pauline looked across the 
bed at the redheaded Gloria, who lay, legs widespread, her hips hungrily 
undulating, waiting for the return of Pauline's exciting mouth to her 
sensate genitals. 

"No, she's not booked . . . but she told me not to, because she's having her 
menses . . . " she lied. 

"She's what?" 

"She's got the rag on!" Pauline said, more indelicately. 

"Oh, I see . . . that time of the month . . . " he said, enlightened. "I'm 
at Fran's . . . can you send Barbara over here?" 

Irritated, but not willing to show it, Pauline consulted a small book at her 
bedside table. "Barbara's busy . . . but I'll try to get hold of Joan . . . 
she's available. 

George remembered Joan. Yes, she would do, he decided. "Send her over . . . 
Fran's, Olive-wood Towers, 21B," he said. 

"I know the address!" Pauline said, testily. 

"Of course!" 

"Is that all, Mr. Marklin?" 

"Give my regards to Gloria!" 

The line went dead in her hands. Pauline slammed the receiver down. "That 
son-of-a-bitch!" she seethed. "Some day, he'll go too far! 

"What's wrong, darling?" Gloria asked. 

"That was George! He's always wanting to sample the wares! The bastard! Some 
day, I'll figure out a way of getting back at him!" Pauline fumed, her face 
working. 

"Don't worry, baby," the redhead soothed. "Come on back here to me . . . my 
cunt's getting all cooled off.. . and it needs some more of that wonderful 
tongue of yours. . . . " 

Pauline smiled, relaxing, "How could I forget," she said. 

* * * 

It was not really the work that had to be done, Jack Gordon, finally 
admitted to himself. Sure, there were the tender, bedding plants in the 
greenhouse on the Marklin estate that needed to be watered. They would dry 
out before Monday, but it wasn't zealousness for his work-although he did 
take a measure of pride in it-that seemed to draw him, beacon-like to his 
place of employment; rather, it was his employer's wife. It was her body, 
that vision of blonde female loveliness that drew him hypnotically. He had 
to see her! She had been in his mind all night long. 

In Watts it was easy to find a black prostitute. Last night, in desperation, 
he had paid a comely black creature to suck him off. It had been very 
business-like. He had paid her. She took out his cock, fondled it to 
rock-hardness before oval ling her lips over it to bring him the relief he 
needed. The whole affair had not taken more than ten minutes of her time. He 
was satisfied as to physical need; the little black girl had her money and 
he went morosely back to his room. It was not enough! Mrs. Terri Marklin was 
still there, in his mind. He couldn't shake it! He had to see her! 

. . . But he was not supposed to work this Saturday. At about 8:30 he drove 
down the boulevard toward the Marklin estate. Parking his battered pick-up 
truck several blocks east of the sprawling grounds, he walked, casually, 
along the sidewalk, turning into the long drive that led up to the large 
mansion house. Everything was quiet. No one stirred about the place. 
Actually, that was normal, Mrs. Marklin was a notoriously late-riser, 
usually getting out of bed well after her husband had gone off to his work 
at the studio. 

He left the drive to walk, noiselessly, in the grass, skirting wide to avoid 
observation from the house itself. 

"Shit!" he grunted once to himself. "Anybody'd see me they'd think I was a 
burglar!" 

Gaining the trellis where he had climbed to the portico several times, now, 
he cautiously ascended, little by little, until he stood on the floor above, 
the double French windows three paces away. 

One thing he had decided: He did work on the estate, and that was in his 
favor, if he were caught in this voyeuristic gambit. He also had an excuse 
ready if young Marklin accosted him. Those tender, little plants in the 
greenhouse had to be watered, today! Man! What a crock! 

Jack listened. He heard nothing. The sweat stood out on his black face, 
glistening in the sunlight. She must be sleeping, he decided. Good! He could 
wait; he had never watched her as she got up, first thing in the morning. 
This would be something new. Did she sleep nude? Fervently, he hoped that 
she did. 

He moved, silently, to the place where he could look through the drapes. 
Kneeling as he had many times, he put his eye to the gap and looked into 
Terri's bedroom. She was sleeping . . . but who slept with her? Shit! It's 
the Marklin kid! 

* * * 

The coming of daylight had not awakened either Terri or Peter; exhaustion 
and the drugs had worked to induce a deep sleep, but when Terri did, 
finally, awaken to the new day, it was with the sudden realization that 
Peter Marklin, her step-son, was sleeping next to her, curled into a fetal 
ball; next the memories flooded in on her now clear-headed mind. Peter had 
made love to her . . . and she had responded, making passionate love, saying 
things she had never said before in her life. Oh, God! What if George were 
to find out.. . ? What if he were to return early . . . walk in and find 
them together?! 

Her mind raced. She had to get dressed and get Peter out of her bed . . . 
out of her bedroom, and somehow, out of her life. This sort of thing 
couldn't continue! It was an impossible situation! 

She sat up and slid her trim, white legs over the edge of the mattress to 
the floor; then, she stood to look around the bedroom for a garment she 
could put on quickly. Glancing back, apprehensively, at the sleeping boy, 
she moved silently to her double dresser, opened a drawer and rummaged in it 
for a pair of panties. 

Peter woke up; he was still slightly groggy from sleep and the after-effects 
of the marijuana. He sat up, saw Terri bending over the drawer and said, 
"Where in hell do you think you're going?" 

Terri thought fast. "I thought you'd like to h-have something to eat.. . " 
she lied. 

"Looks more like you were trying to split!" he barked. 

Leaping from the bed, he advanced upon her, eyes blazing with anger. "like 
maybe you didn't keep your end of the bargain!" 

"W-What do you m-mean . . . ? " she gasped, recognizing that she was in 
danger. She shot a glance at the bedroom door. 

"You know . . . like you promised not to run away, if I untied you!" he 
said, stalking her, now. 

"N-No!" she screamed. "No!" 

She bolted for the bedroom door. He was there, blocking the way, his hands 
grasping at her. She scuttled away from him avoiding his lunge at her. 
Around the bed, she scurried toward the French windows, unsnapping the night 
latch and swinging the glass door open to dash through it. Just as she 
stepped onto the portico, Peter caught her, pinioning her arms to her sides 
and dragging her back into the bedroom. 

Jack Gordon, just outside the French windows, stood to his feet just as the 
door swung outward to hide him from view. He had been an interested 
spectator of the action inside the bedroom. When Terri bolted for the door, 
his only thought had been for himself. He sure as hell didn't want to get 
caught looking in on them. It really was none of his business if she was 
banging her step-son while her husband-and his father-was away. Everybody to 
their own bag, man! 

The door remained slightly ajar as Peter dragged her back toward the bed. 
Jack could see clearly through the crack at the hinged side of the door. He 
was tempted to leave then, but he was drawn, hypnotically, to continue 
watching, not quite understanding, yet, the meaning of what he had seen and 
heard, so far. He knew there were people who indulged in sadomasochistic sex 
acts, beating each other to complete sexual arousal; sometimes, they were 
tied up to do this, so he was not particularly perturbed at the mention of 
Terri's having been tied up then released on her promise not to run away. 

Couple of weirdoes! 

Peter wrestled his step-mother to the bed, his young, strong body no match 
for her puny female strength. He flopped her face down on the bed and soon 
had the leather cufflets on her wrists, effectively, immobilizing her. 
Breathing hard, he rose to his feet and looked down at her, "like listen to 
me, you little bitch," he grunted. ". . . don't try that little caper, 
again!" 

Terri was crying. She had not cried out during the scuffle. She was sure in 
her own mind that it would have been futile. 

"P-Please, Peter," she pleaded, "h-haven't you done enough t-to me . . . 
already . . . ? " 

"Hardly!" he bit out. "like I told you . . . you're going to get fucked 
every way a woman can be fucked! The fun's just getting started!" 

He looked down at her nude form stretched out, face down, helpless, before 
him, the smooth, rounded moons of her buttocks attracting his lewd gaze. He 
would make good on his threat, God damn it . . . maybe she would believe it 
when her snooty little asshole was filled up with his hard cock! like, 
Groovy! 

The thought of sodomizing her to further humiliate and degrade her brought 
his virile cock to instant hardness. 

He kneeled down on the bed, reaching down to spread her legs apart and 
quickly wedging them open with his own knees, then, he leaned forward to 
knead and caress the milky, white globes. 

Terri was startled when he moved her legs apart, but she was helpless to 
stop him. She turned her head to look back and down as best she could, her 
eyes agonized and fearful. 

"Oh, God, P-Peter . . . don't r-rape me . . . again!" she begged, her 
feeling of complete helplessness overwhelming her. 

RAPE! Jack Gordon couldn't believe his ears. The little bastard had raped 
her? He had tied her up and raped her . . . and now he was going to do the 
same thing, again! This wasn't something Mrs. Marklin was doing because she 
wanted to . . . she was being forced! But, what could Jack do? Shit! He was 
a voyeur . . . watching from hiding . . . and he just happened to be 
watching at the wrong time! He couldn't call the cops! Wait, maybe he could 
. . . make an anonymous call to headquarters, then get into his truck and 
beat it. That's it! Make the call and get the hell out of there. It sure 
wasn't any business of his. If he were caught anywhere near there, he might 
be suspect himself . . . and if he barged into the bedroom to take some kind 
of action himself, that honky kid might try to shift the blame from himself 
to the black man . . . the simple gardener! 

Well, Jack Gordon wasn't that simple! Rape of white women by black men was 
always sensational in the news media; besides, who ever believed a black man 
in these cases? It was time to get the hell out of there! Right now! 

Peter was speaking, again, inside the bedroom, "I'll teach you now, you 
little bitch! I'm going to fuck you in the ass!" 

He grabbed her by the hip bones on either side and lifted her up to her 
knees; then, he spat on his hand and rubbed the saliva on the swollen head 
of his penis, working the thick foreskin back and forth over it several 
times. 

"Noooo!" she screamed. 

Peter leaned forward to clap a hand over her mouth. He hissed into her ear, 
"Shut up!" 

Terri struggled to escape. It was no use. Then, desperately, she bit the 
palm of his hand. 

The blow resounded loud in the room. Peter had slapped her full in the face. 
"Slut!" he roared, leaping from the bed to gather up his trousers from the 
floor. He unthreaded his belt from the loops and doubled it in his hand. 

Terri watched him in wide-eyed terror. "OOOOoooh, Goddd! P-Peter . . . no! 
NOOOOooooo!" 

The boy stuffed a gag in her mouth, but just before her words were cut off, 
she spat out! "Just like your fath . . . ! " 

"Maybe!" His eyes were wild, insane. 

The belt swished through the air to crack, cruelly, across the twin, white 
mounds of her buttocks, leaving an ugly, red welt. 

Terri's body quivered, the searing pain slashing through her whole being. 
She screamed, but only a squeaking muffled sound was released through the 
effective gag in her mouth. 

Outside, on the portico, the black gardener winced, experiencing the blow, 
vicariously, his face screwing up into a grimace of concern for his 
employer's wife. 

He groaned to himself, "The little son-of-a-bitch is a real weirdo! A 
monster!" 

Peter's arm descended, again; the loud whack coming clearly to Jack, and he 
could see the second stripe on those beautiful, white globes of female 
flesh. Shit! I can't let this go on! 

Jack Gordon stepped through the French doors, tall, solid, menacing and 
angry; his was a righteous anger that boiled up white hot within his black 
frame. 

"Drop it, honky!" he said, his voice deadly but surprisingly soft. 

The boy gaped, but recovered quickly. "like, what are you doing here, 
Gordon?" 

"I'd like to ask that same question!" 

"You're trespassing, nigger! like split! Get the hell out of here!" 

"Love.. . ! Peace.. . ! . . . And all that crap!" Jack taunted. "Where is 
it, now, man?" He advanced two more steps into the room. 

Young Marklin was no coward. He moved forward, making a cut with his belt at 
Jack's face. The belt caught him across the cheek, opening a long slanting 
gash. 

The black man's fist lashed out, the blow striking Peter flush on the chin, 
rocking his head back, and his body crashed backward, the back of his neck 
at the base of the skull striking the edge of the double dresser as he went 
down. The sickening crunch of bone told Jack, instantly, that the boy was 
seriously injured. Man! I'm in it, now . . . right up to my ass! 

He leaped across the room to kneel at the side of the fallen boy. His hand 
went out to feel for a pulse at the neck; there was no heartbeat at the 
jugular vein, and he put his ear to the young man's chest. He's dead! Dead! 
Shit! What do I do now? He looked up at Terri where she lay stretched out on 
the bed, her wrists tied, the two raw welts on her buttocks, her eyes 
streaming tears, pleadingly, muffled sounds coming through the gag in her 
mouth; her sheer helplessness was obvious to him in the uncontrolled 
trembling of her limbs, and he knew that this had been no lovers' game. It 
was for real! . . . And the dead boy on the floor was very real and very, 
very dead! 

In a daze, completely stunned at the turn of events that had brought him, 
unwillingly, into the situation, he rose, went to the bed and untied the 
ropes that bound her wrists. 

Quickly, she sat up, ripped the gag from her mouth and screamed . . . loud 
and long, hysterically. Jack sat down beside her and said, "Please, Mrs. 
Marklin . . . please settle down . . . there's no more danger . . . and 
screaming won't help now!" 

By degrees her heart-rending sobs subsided, and she threw her arms around 
the gardener. She felt safe, protected in his sinewy arms. Softly, he 
crooned to her as he would a small child, comforting her and reassuring her. 

She was still nude, and for the first few minutes of her hysteria, Jack was 
not aware that she was in his arms. She was another human being who needed 
another human being to comfort her. Later, he realized that she was the 
luscious white woman he had watched in secret, the woman whose body he 
lusted after . . . whom he wanted more than anything else in the world. 
Until, this moment she had been an unattainable dream; he had never thought 
she would be naked in his arms . . . like this, under these circumstances, 
or any other way. 

Now, she was more calm; she looked up into his face and saw the wound made 
by Terri's belt. She sat back, all practical woman, "We'll have to fix that. 
. . . " 

"Later . . . " he agreed, aware of the throbbing hardness between his legs. 
"We'll have to do something about him . . . first." 

Terri looked down at Peter for the first time. She had not known until then 
that he had been injured seriously. She had thought that he was merely 
knocked unconscious by Jack's blow. Now, she stared in open-mouthed, 
wide-eyed, heart pounding terror. "He's so-so s-still! Is he . . . ? " She 
was unable to say it. 

Jack finished it, "Yes, he's dead! The back of his head hit the dresser when 
he went down.. . . I hit him pretty hard.. . . " 

"Oh, my Godddddd!" she screamed. "Peeee-terrrrr!" 

She fell back on the bed in a dead faint, the shock of it too much for her 
over-taxed emotions. 

Breathing heavily, feeling the burden of what he had done, what he must 
still do, Jack went into the bathroom, soaked a small towel in cold water 
and returned to the unconscious girl on the bed. Tenderly, he bathed her 
face and neck, and idly allowed his hands to roam, feeling the swell of her 
breasts, the flat belly and the curve of svelte hips and thighs. Unbidden, 
lust for her swept over him. It would be easy! Man! She could be all mine! 
Then, with almost superhuman effort he threw the temptation from him, the 
vision sharp within him of what had happened to a black man, merely 
suspected of having sexual congress with a white woman; the incident was 
still strong in his memory over the years. That had happened when he was 
quite young, in Macon. Jack Gordon would not be a rapist! That's not my bag! 

But young Marklin was dead. He supposed that made him a murderer, but he 
knew that his interference had been right. It was a cruel fate that the boy 
had died. It was an accident; he had certainly had no intention of killing 
the young man. He had only defended himself, but self-defense, he also knew 
was a tricky thing in a California court. Being black already registered one 
strike against him. 

Terri was not coming out of her faint, yet. He decided that he had better 
look at her wounds. Turning her over, he examined the two red welts. 
Fortunately, the skin was not broken. They would be black-and-blue bruises; 
however, he decided it might be best to apply some soothing lotion. Again, 
he went into the bathroom, rummaged in the medicine cabinet, found a lotion, 
went back to the prostrate Terri and began to swab the liquid onto the welts 
across the lovely, half-moons of her buttocks. Wild emotions surged through 
him as he massaged the smooth, white skin. Damn! She was beautiful! 

With an effort, he withdrew his hands and his gaze. There were other things 
he must do. His mind raced. Peter's body couldn't be found there. He would 
have to take the corpse some other place . . . make it look as though he had 
met an accidental death. 

Loathing the task, he carefully dressed the dead boy with the clothing he 
found in the room, picked up the corpse and carried it down the stairs, 
depositing it in the room the boy had occupied. He propped the body up in a 
chair, his mind having conceived a plan to use the younger Marklin's car to 
stage the accident. 

He found the boy's car, a hot domestic, parked in the triple garage right 
next to Terri's familiar Jag. Opening the hood, he looked at the engine, 
grunted with satisfaction and went to find a small twig of the proper 
dimensions. He started the engine and placed the small twig in the 
accelerator linkage, holding it open at almost maximum r.p.m. It would work, 
he was satisfied. All he would have to do is reach in and pull the shift 
lever to drive and the car would lay down rubber as it surged forward. Now, 
he would have to find a suitable site for the staged accident. 

He re-entered the house to see whether Terri had come to her senses. It was 
necessary to explain his plan to her; she had to be a part of it, because he 
would need her help to carry it out. 

Terri was in the living room, dressed, dry-eyed now. She came to meet him, 
"I-Is he really . . . gone?" she asked. 

Jack assured her, solemnly, that it was true. She sat down, wearily, a deep 
sigh escaping from her lips. "It was an accident . . . wasn't it?" 

"Yes, it was, Mrs. Marklin," he said, sadly. "Now, we've got to make it look 
like the accident happened with his car." 

"We . . . ? " 

"Yes . . . we!" he said with determination. "I have to have your help.. . . 
" 

Swiftly, he outlined what he planned to do. They were interrupted by the 
ringing of the telephone. Terri was startled. Jack motioned to her that she 
should answer it. 

"Hello . . . ? " 

Pauline's voice floated down the wire to her. "Terri . . . I want you to 
come down to the shop, today . . . about 2:30!" 

"But.. . I-I don't understand . . . you said . . . " she began. 

"I've changed my mind! It's important that I see you!" Pauline's voice was 
hard, decisive. 

"Yes, of c-course . . . I'll be there . . . " Terri murmured. 

Hanging up the phone, she turned to Jack and said, "I have to go downtown. . 
. . " 

"Drive Peter's car," Jack told her. "Meet me at the lake!" 

 CHAPTER 6 

Her mind seething with unanswered questions, Terri drove to THE CONTINENTAL 
to see Pauline. She could think of no reason for her to call, demanding that 
she come down to the dress shop. The tone of voice Pauline had used bothered 
her. Her employer had never been so angry-sounding before, but Terri's real 
worry was centered on Peter, the gardener, Jack Gordon, and their need to 
dispose of her step-son's body. In a way, she decided, she was an accessory 
. . . if the police ever got into the act. She had agreed to help Jack; he 
had explained to her how vulnerable his position would be . . . if they 
called the police and merely told them the truth; and additionally, she had 
been convinced that it would be better for her, too, if the story of her 
being raped did not have to be told. 

She had not yet sorted out the right or wrong of it. She was glad that Jack 
had come to her rescue, but she was bothered by a nagging doubt that what 
they were doing, were going to do was, somehow, not exactly the right thing. 

A startling thought struck her: Would she be, in some way, bound to Jack 
Gordon? Would he expect her to submit to his will . . . sexually? He had not 
intimated it, but she was sure that he had looked at her as only a man can 
look at a woman he wants! But that was impossible! He was a black man . . . 
the Marklin's gardener; he had merely heard the commotion in her bedroom and 
had come to help her. Then, another revealing thought flashed through her 
mind. Jack had come into her bedroom from the portico through the French 
windows! 

She wrestled with this new idea. He would have had to climb up the trellises 
to get there. Had he done it before? Then, she remembered that he knew the 
arrangement of her room. How? She didn't know the answer, but guessed it: He 
had climbed up there before this . . . maybe several times. Why? The answer 
seemed obvious when she applied herself to it. He had watched her in the 
privacy of her bedroom! That had to be it! Jack Gordon was a peeping torn . 
. . and he had been on the portico peeping just before he walked in to stop 
Peter from beating her. It all fit together like a jigsaw puzzle! 

* * * 

Terri was seated in the living room of the plush apartment Pauline 
maintained on the floor above her office. She was still puzzled as to why 
she had been summoned there on Saturday afternoon. She had agreed to begin 
work on Monday, following, as a model, to pay off her debt to the dress 
shop. Thus far Mrs. Riggs had said nothing to indicate the purpose of the 
interview. 

Pauline was speaking, "In view of the large amount you owe, I've decided 
that it must be paid back at a faster rate." 

"I don't u-understand.. . . " 

"The modeling fees will not be enough . . . the owner wants his money fast!" 

"I can't get it any faster . . . y-you already know th-that.. . " Terri 
stumbled. 

"Then, you'll have to get the money from your husband!" 

"No, n-no!" Terri said with alarm. "I can't d-do that!" 

"There is another alternative," Pauline said, smoothly. "You can entertain 
some men in one of my apartments!" 

"E-Entertain . . . men?" 

"Yes." 

"You . . . m-mean . . . sex . . . sexually?" Meaning dawned on her. 

"Yes . . . any kind of sex they may want!" 

Terri gasped, ". . . But that's p-prostitution! I'd be a.. . . " 

"Whore!" Pauline finished for her. "A very high-priced whore!" 

Standing up, Terri, cried, "No! I'd rather f-face my h-husband!" 

Pauline remained seated, calmly. "Sit down, Terri! I have another, stronger 
reason why you should cooperate. Gloria!" 

Terri was startled to see a beautiful, red-haired woman, lightly clad in a 
see-through wrapper, her nude body undulating curvaceously under it as she 
crossed the room. She carried an automatic carrousel-type of slide 
projector. Placing it on the low coffee table, she plugged in the power 
cord, sat down and said, "All ready, Pauline. . . . " 

Pauline nodded toward Terri, "Gloria . . . this is Terri. . . Terri. . . 
Gloria.. . . " 

Gloria smirked, "Yes, I recognize her." 

The redhead rose, crossed the room and switched off the lights. Swiftly, she 
returned to her seat and began to operate the slide projector. 

Terri had been curious as to what this elaborate show was all about, but her 
mere curiosity turned to instant anguish as the first color slide was 
projected on the pull-down screen on the opposite wall. Terri's face loomed 
bigger than life on the beaded surface, her eyes closed, the passion of the 
moment etched plainly on her countenance as she embraced the svelte slim 
figure of Pauline on her bed. 

She covered her eyes and moaned softly, her face coloring, rosily, "Oh, no.. 
. . " 

"You might as well watch the whole show!" Pauline snapped. 

The next slide was even more graphic, depicting Terri with her head between 
Pauline's thighs. 

Terri sobbed, "My God . . . h-how . . . ? " 

"Gloria!" Pauline said. "She does excellent photography work . . . wouldn't 
you say?" 

The agony of watching the rest of the slides was almost more than Terri 
could bear, but finally it was ended, the lights snapped on. She could only 
sit slumped in her chair, beaten, defeated. Pauline, she realized, held the 
winning hand in a handful of color slides; the pictures showed plainly that 
she had enjoyed the lesbian interlude. 

"Well . . . do you put that luscious cunt of yours to work or not?" Pauline 
demanded. 

Terri hedged, "W-Will you give me those h-horrible slides?" 

"Yes, I'll let you have them . . . when your debt is paid, but if you don't 
cooperate fully, I'll turn them over to your husband!" 

"I-I don't s-seem to have m-much choice . . . ? " Terri sobbed. 

"No, you don't have a choice!" Pauline gloated. 

"W-What do I-I have t-to do . . . ? " 

"Gloria will take you to the apartment . . . she'll explain things to you on 
the way over," the older woman said. 

* * * 

Gloria drove expertly through the city streets, chatting gaily, as though 
Terri were an old friend. 

"Actually, this is a pretty easy life," she explained. "All our Johns are 
business and professional people who do their thing in the afternoon . . . 
before they go home. There isn't much night work . . . that's up to you, if 
you want extra work, but all our dates are afternoons . . . sometimes a few 
mornings. That's the beauty of Pauline's set-up . . . nobody ever needs to 
know where you are . . . or what you're doing, because it's all day work. 
Most of the girls are married.. . . " 

"You . . .too?" 

"Yes . . . but he's a louse . . . I get my kicks with girls . . . and make 
myself extra money on the side with the Johns," Gloria went on. 

"Johns . . . ? " 

"They're the guys we ball. . . . " 

"Oh . . . ? " Terri murmured. "I guess there's a lot I-I don't know.. . . " 

"You'll learn fast. I did!" Gloria assured her. 

"Do you expect s-someone this afternoon . . . ? " 

"Yes . . . two as a matter-of-fact.. . . " 

"T-Two . . . ? " 

Gloria glanced at her sideways, "They're both actors!" she furnished. 

"Would I-I know them . . . would they know m-me . . . ? " Terri asked with 
growing apprehension. 

"Maybe . . . but you don't let on . . . and neither will they!" 

They arrived at the apartment building that was just like many another in 
the city, each striving for some distinctive individuality, but still 
organized along the same plan, row upon row of buildings with carports 
below, lavish plantings, and the inevitable swimming pool shimmering 
blue-green in the sunlight. 

"Drink?" Gloria asked. 

Terri used alcohol very rarely, but now she decided that a drink-perhaps two 
or threewould numb her enough for her to do what she had to do. My God! What 
had she gotten herself into? She was being forced to become a prostitute . . 
. a whore! God! She needed help. Never before had she felt so alone . . . so 
scared. 

Gloria fixed martinis. The clear liquid went down, smoothly. Terri tossed 
the first one off fast. She sipped the refill, waiting for the alcohol to 
work its magic on her brain so she wouldn't have to feel or think. It would 
be better that way. 

The door chimes sounded. Gloria headed for the door, "They're here," she 
said. "Put on your best party smile!" 

The redhead opened the door to admit two well-dressed men who greeted her 
warmly, obviously, well acquainted with her, as they both embraced her, 
taking liberties with her curvaceous body. Gloria murmured something to them 
that Terri didn't catch, as the group came to her to be introduced. 

". . . And who is this ravishing creature you've been hiding from us?" the 
taller of the two asked. Terri recognized him, immediately, as a popular 
leading man. His latest movie was showing, right then, in all the first-run 
movie houses. 

Gloria said, "Paul . . . may I present Terri . . . and Hal . . . Terri.. . . 
" Hal, she realized, played in a weekly TV show. 

She acknowledged the introductions, marveling that the almost formal 
greetings were a mockery . . . considering the reason for their being 
together. There must be some macabre humor working here, she decided, but 
she wasn't able to define it. 

Finishing her second martini with them, she accepted a third, and the room 
began to spin; she became gay and loose. 

Once, she caught Gloria's eyes in a warning that said, obviously: Take it 
easy! But she was caught up in the fun as the conversation bubbled around 
her. 

Finally, Paul rose from his chair and led her into the bedroom. She felt 
dizzy, almost faint from the gin she had slugged down, and she knew that 
this was the moment she had feared, the moment when she would become 
something else than a former starlet, a housewife . . . a respectable woman. 
In just a few moments she would join the long list of women who engaged in 
the world's oldest profession. Oh, God! She didn't want to go through with 
it! How could she? She was throwing everything down the drain. She would 
become dissolute, depraved. She would lead a sordid, secret life of 
prostitution. Could she live with herself . . . after? Help me, Lord! 

Paul took her into his strong arms, solidly and unzipped her dress down the 
back, a hand following to feel the warm, softness of her; then, down his 
hand trailed to the smooth protuberances of her full buttocks to pull her 
loins in tight to his hardening penis. She felt it hot against her abdomen. 
Her body slumped against him. She did not resist; after all, that's why she 
was there: To entertain them! She smiled to herself. The word was a 
euphemism for something more base. She was going to get fucked . . . for 
money . . . money she had already spent, represented by the dresses, shoes 
and accessories in the closet of her bedroom. Was it worth it, now? She, 
instinctively, knew the answer, but her alcohol befogged brain would not let 
her examine it in the cold light of reason. 

He found her mouth and kissed her long and hard, his tongue probing between 
her teeth and lips, tantalizingly. She moaned softly as he squeezed her 
buttocks, the wounds there painful under his exploring hands. Paul slipped 
her dress off her shoulders and let it slide down over the swell of her hips 
to the floor, then he maneuvered her slip straps over the smooth, bare flesh 
of her upper arms, slipping the flimsy garment down to drop on top of her 
dress on the floor. Next, he dexterously unsnapped her bra and hungrily 
kissed her breasts as her mounding bounty was released from its cloth 
prison. 

Terri had, momentarily, forgotten about the other man, Hal. As she stepped 
clear of her slip and dress, she saw him seated on the edge of the King-size 
bed, and was startled to see that he was completely nude, his long, thick, 
penis spearing out from his loins, as he sat, relaxed, enjoying the 
strip-tease. She straightened up and turned, her face flushing as she tried 
to cover her breasts with her arm. 

Paul gently removed her arm and turned her about to face Hal. "Look at these 
treasures we've found, Hal . . . aren't they beautiful?" 

Hal's eyes gleamed with lewd anticipation. "Nice!" he said. "But, let's get 
her panties off . . . I'm an ass-man, myself!" 

The taller man rid her of her panties, before she could react, whipping them 
down over her thighs in one swift movement. Dumbly, she stepped from them to 
stand in shameful nakedness before them. Her back was to Hal. 

Hal whistled. "Christ! Who did that to you?" He was off the bed and standing 
behind her now, his hands reaching out to trace the red welts across the 
creamy smoothness of her full-rounded buttocks. She winced when he touched 
them. 

Terri couldn't tell these two strange men how she came to have the wounds. 

"Some . . . j-john . . . last night.. . " she lied, drawing on her new-found 
vocabulary to explain it. 

"The son-of-a-bitch!" Hal snorted. "Some real weirdo!" 

Paul looked at the wounds, too. "How could a guy do that to a beautiful 
doll, like you?" 

"H-He tied me up!" she whimpered. 

Taking her in his arms, Hal said, "You don't have to worry about us . . . we 
just like plain fucking . . . with a little cock and cunt sucking on the 
side." 

Hal moved her to the bed where they sat on the edge of it. He took her in 
his arms and kissed her, probing deeply with his tongue into her mouth; then 
he pressed her back on the bed until she was lying beside him, his body 
pressed tightly against her, his rampant, hardened cock trapped between 
their bodies. She noticed that his silvery, blonde hair was natural, and 
that a small lock of it strayed, little-boy-like over his smooth forehead. 

Now, Paul stretched out on the other side of her. She knew without looking 
that he was nude, as his warm, muscular body pressed up against her back, 
the hardness of his male member pressing deep into the dimpled smoothness of 
the base of her spine. 

Terri couldn't believe that it was really happening to her. What was left of 
her reasoning mind tried to sort out her thoughts. She was so hopelessly 
trapped, now, that she could find no way out of the maze. 

By common consent, all three moved to the center of the huge bed to lie 
lengthwise, now. Paul recaptured her lips as she lay on her back between the 
two nude, virile men, their cocks, on either side, pressing against the 
contours of her masterfully sculpted thighs. His hands roamed over her body, 
seeking all the wonders of her luscious body, and against her will she began 
to enjoy having this strange man run his hands over her. Again, momentarily, 
she had forgotten about Hal. 

Suddenly, she felt his lips on her sensitive breasts. She started with 
surprise; Hal withdrew his mouth, for a moment, and Paul was whispering in 
her ear, "It's all right, Terri . . . Hal and I often work together. We know 
how to arouse a woman . . . the right way." His mouth captured hers, again, 
his tongue searching her oral cavern, voraciously, and she felt the warm 
moistness of Hal's mouth on her breasts, her nipples becoming hard and 
spiky, their areolas puckering pinkly as he sucked on them. 

The spark of passion ignited by Paul's hands and tongue was being fanned, 
nurtured to glowing life by the seeking mouth on the voluptuous, sensate 
globes of her marvelous, white, satiny-smooth breasts. She couldn't resist 
the flashing fire that began to flame through her loins. Pressing her thighs 
close together, she tried to deny the heightening desire that seared her 
there. If she had to do this thing, and do it she must-she was 
convinced-there was no reason why she should enjoy it. Whores, she had 
heard, didn't really become involved with their Johns. They just did it for 
the money; it was a purely business transaction. 

Hal began to kiss her belly, then his searching mouth was just above the 
soft, golden down of her pubic mound; his hands were reaching down to open 
her legs, gently but firmly. There was no doubt in her mind as to his 
intentions; as a matter-of-fact, she had almost expected it. Experts like 
these two men would, naturally, want to tantalize and tease at her sex, 
licking and sucking her into complete submission. 

She groaned when Paul squeezed her breasts, rolling the hard nipples between 
his thumb and forefinger, then breaking the deep kiss to use his mouth on 
them, making them move back and forth, rapidly, between his lips while 
simultaneously maintaining a strong sucking pressure. It was a breathtaking 
sensation. She reached down to cup her breast to him, offering it to him, 
almost as a sacrifice, her other hand reaching up to caress his cheek. The 
sudden realization that she could not keep herself from becoming involved, 
from reacting . . . from enjoying and cherishing these two virile men at 
this moment, was a surprise to her. She had hoped that the alcohol and her 
determined detachment would keep her from becoming a participant in this 
sordid situation. Then: Why were both men giving her all of their 
attentions? Where was Gloria? Wasn't she supposed to be a part of this 
action . . . this entertainment? 

Hal spread her legs apart, his head following, his mouth and teeth moving on 
the soft, ivory flesh of her inner thighs. He nipped, gently with his teeth, 
his mouth like fire on her as his lips followed, kissing warm and wetly; 
finally, his probing lips found the furrow of her womanhood, moist from the 
dews of her womb, and his tongue moved there, up and down the narrow slit, 
stabbing searchingly into the opening of her vagina, as her hips began to 
undulate, grinding in a tiny circle, underscoring her mounting desire. Oh, 
God! She was all warm and moist down there. She was responding to them, 
against her will! She couldn't let them subdue her completely like this! Oh, 
Ooh, their tongues are driving me crazy! 

Then, below, Hal moved to kneel between her legs. With his thumbs on either 
side of the sparsely, blond hair-fringed cunt, he parted the lips of her 
vagina to expose its moist coralline depths. Secretions of viscous fluids 
formed there in droplets, a trickle of it beginning to run down the inner 
side of her thigh. His mouth descended, now, his tongue blazing a passage 
that soon the rest of him would follow. His lingual member, agile and moist 
moved in a tiny circle around the inside of her cuntal lips, eliciting a 
moaning mewl of pleasure from her lips, as at the same time, he felt her 
thrust her loins up toward him and her head began to thrash from side to 
side on the fluffy pillow. 

Hal pushed his face down into her crotch, his tongue lashing into her open, 
waiting cunt, the strength of her upward thrusts signaling to him the fact 
that she was hot and almost ready to fuck. God damn! What a woman! He 
inhaled deeply of the heady perfume of her femaleness, and lost himself in 
the taste of her juices, their pungent flavor inciting his massive cock to 
rock-hard readiness. Deeper and deeper he plunged his tongue into her; her 
moans of pleasure coming from deep in her chest almost incessantly, her 
loins moving with him in rhythmic counterpoint to the lashing tongue deep in 
the pink depths of her cuntal passage. 

Without let-up, without mercy, he moved his tongue in her, pausing to nip, 
occasionally, at the ragged, tender flanges with his teeth, but his 
thrusting tongue, mouth-fucking her with abandon moved her closer and closer 
to the desired level of desire. She was a blazing inferno of passion. 

She could stand it no longer. Even though they had bought her body, she had 
to have them . . . had to have them both! Suddenly, she heaved her hips up 
off the bed, mashing her crotch hard into Hal's face and groaned, "Oh! 
OOooh! Yes! Yes! Yesssss!" 

Hal withdrew his probing tongue and looked up at her, his eyes smiling, "Yes 
. . . what?" he asked. "You know the words!" 

Terri remembered the litany Peter had insisted she learn. Did men need it? 
Was it something they needed to build their egos . . . to debase a woman by 
insisting that she ask to be fucked? All right! She would ask; she would beg 
. . . she would use those vile words! 

"Fuck me!" she said, her voice unreal to her. "I w-want both of y-you to 
fuck me! I want your long, hard c-cocks in me . . . fucking me until I can't 
stand it!" 

"All right, baby! You'll get it . . . but good!" he said. His face 
disappeared in the vee of her loins, again, his tongue this time, licking 
her clitoris, maddeningly. She felt herself slipping into insane pleasure, 
as the crashing sensations in her crotch built to mammoth waves of rapturous 
desire. She moved her hips in time to Hal's mouth and thrust her breasts 
upward into Paul's face, wanting them, wanting more and more. She knew that 
it was only a matter of minutes until she would explode in orgasmic frenzy, 
yet neither of them had touched her with their deliciously massive pricks. 
She knew both men were virile, their rampant members, rock-hard and ready. 
Oh, God! How she wanted them to fuck her, now! 

Then, suddenly, disappointingly, the two men were exchanging places, their 
bodies sliding along her body, one on either side. She had wanted Hal . . . 
wanted him to start it; his mouth had made her so hot and ready for him! She 
felt frustrated, for the moment, as though they were only teasing her! Why 
didn't they get started on the fucking part? Dimly, she knew that she was 
involved, now, as much as she could be. She had lost that fight! 

Her next sensation drew a delicious sigh from her, as she felt Paul move his 
hands over her cunt, a finger, then two . . . and finally three fingers 
moving in and out, gently, the opening stretching to receive them, and she 
reasoned that his purpose was to stretch her, in advance of his entry into 
her. How nice it felt! 

Meanwhile, Hal was kissing her, the pungent taste of herself on his tongue 
that probed deep into her throat. She liked it, liked Hal . . . liked the 
way his hands moved on her body, caressing the melon-like mounds of her 
breasts. She took his tongue fully into her mouth and sucked on it, gently 
and slowly at first, then ever more violently. In a few moments, he forced 
her to trade, and he sucked and chewed on her tongue; then, as he tired of 
that, he began to suck on her lower lip. It was all so maddening . . . so 
tantalizing; her ecstasy was building to the breaking point. She began to 
imagine that she was a huge, impregnable, concrete dam, behind which was 
impounded millions of acre feet of green water . . . and the dam was about 
to break! 

Paul moved her helpless and unresisting legs apart and wedged himself 
between them, running his hands caressingly over the smoothly tapering 
columns; then, a hand reached down to fondle his hardened and massive cock. 
He worked the foreskin back and forth several times over the swollen, 
reddish-purple head, a few drops of the thick, colorless, lubricating fluid 
spreading over the shiny, blood-engorged head. When he removed his hand his 
prick stood rampant and ready, its rigid length throbbing and jerking with 
his heart-beat. He was ready to take her, now. He watched Terri's undulating 
loins; her flowered-open, moist cunt beckoning to him, bidding him enter, 
and he knew that she was more than ready to receive him. 

Now, he slid both his hands under her grinding buttocks, feeling the warm, 
soft flesh of them, the muscles working in his palms, as he spread her wide; 
then, he moved his body in position over her, the pulsating head, of his 
rock-hard penis brushing and teasing the coral vaginal opening. 

"OOooh . . . " she moaned, "now! Fuck me, now!" 

Her obscene words were like a spur to him. He lifted her hips, pulling them 
toward him, forcefully, the bulbous head of his hard cock going into her 
moist, hot channel, the elastic flesh of the cuntal opening stretching even 
more than his three-fingered entry had earlier. He stopped short, allowing 
only the giant head to penetrate for the time being. He felt her loins move 
toward him, as her cunt tried to absorb more of him into the seething, 
sensate passage. 

He squeezed and massaged her hips, and widespread thighs and shoved his 
tumescent prick slowly and with inexorable pressure deeper and deeper into 
her, feeling the contracting ring of muscles in the walls of her moist 
vagina sucking him, tantalizingly, setting off sparks of sensation in his 
member that drove him to distraction; then, with a final flexing of his 
hips, he drove the final few inches of his monstrous cudgel deep, deep up 
into her writhing belly, the head flicking past her cervix to lodge solidly 
against the back wall of her vaginal vault. He flexed, expanding it inside 
her, and was gratified to feel her countering contraction, the walls of her 
cunt moving on him, caressingly, clasping him in a sheath of wildly sensate 
flesh that fit him better than a pair of quality gloves. Meanwhile, his 
hands moved on her, incessantly, caressing and massaging her quivering 
thighs, her smooth, flat belly, his thumbs tracing down the hollows of her 
flexing groins; finally, a hand moved down between them to search in the 
writhing crack of her moon-like buttocks for the secret puckered and tiny 
hole that nestled there. Moistening a finger in the copious, viscid liquid 
that dribbled from her cuntal opening, he moved it down to probe into her 
warm, spongy back passage. He found it and pressed into it, slowly and 
tenderly. Her body jerked once, then her trembling loins screwed down on the 
finger, absorbing it, fully, until his palm was flat against the flexing 
muscles of her white, sculpted ass-cheeks. He heard her groan of pain and 
satisfaction. 

"Oh! OOOOOoooh!" she moaned. "That hurts . . . so good!" 

Terri's mouth worked with the rapture of her passion. She felt every 
manipulation of Paul's below; while above, Hal's mouth and hands were 
driving her insane, his tongue in her mouth almost imitating Paul's cock in 
her searing cunt. Her breasts, under his hands, seemed to be a mass of 
exposed, sexually aroused nerves, nerves that seemed to be inter-connected 
to all parts of her body, a sophisticated communications network, specially 
designed for the transmission of sex sensations. Uncontrollably, she moved 
her breasts, against the hard muscles of his chest, and her arms went around 
him, pulling him close to her, her taloned fingers tearing and scratching at 
his back. 

Within her, every fiber of her being responded to the two men, the fires 
building in her loins roaring out of control, consuming her, goading her to 
complete submission. 

Suddenly, she could stand it no longer. She had to move on to the next 
phase. She had to have Paul's cock moving in her, surging in and out, 
wantonly, recklessly, the hard length of him spearing her, relentlessly. Oh, 
God! I've got to have his delicious cock fucking me . . . hard! 

When she had felt Paul's massive prick entering her, spreading and 
stretching her pussy, pausing, momentarily, then sliding on into her fully, 
she could have died from the pure joy of it, the sensations of his expanding 
and contracting shaft eliciting involuntary movements of her own, her cunt 
acting on its own to suck him up, full length, into her quivering belly. 

Then, as she felt his practiced, expert hands on her, bringing her body to 
life, his finger slipping into her anus, sending welcome pain to her, the 
thought flashing through her mind: How fast she had learned, the pain making 
her jerk, involuntarily, biting Hal's lips, pushing her tongue deep into his 
throat, she had hung on for hear life, trembling from head to foot with 
anticipation, and she wanted them. Oh, God! How she wanted it.. . needed it, 
her greed for both of them rising like monster snake-coils in her body-mind. 

Paul knew that she was ready, that she was ready to accept his lust-inflated 
cock into her, poundingly . . . that she wanted the length and breadth of 
his massive cock to rock her, plumb the depths of her cunt, to the core of 
her very being, rocking her with sexual power to bring her to the heights of 
ecstasy, and he was ready, too, the ache in his swollen cock almost too much 
for him to bear. 

Slowly, then, with long, smooth strokes, he began to piston smoothly in and 
out of her moist, clasping cuntal passage, not grinding or ramming, but a 
steady stroking motion that did not hit all the way to the bottom, yet. He 
didn't want to rush himself, rush her; he stroked her, waiting for her 
response that he knew would come, shortly . . . then he would give her 
everything he had! But not yet! Wait! 

Her breath came, deeply, her eyes began to glaze as the sensations in her 
loins became a raging fire, unquenchable except in soaring orgasm; her hips, 
began to move upward to him, her cunt slithering up his shaft, trying to 
absorb the whole of it deep up into her quivering belly, then, she ground 
her hips, back into the mattress on his up-stroke, his penis coming almost 
all the way out. 

Now! Paul could wait no longer; she was responding, ready, fucking back; 
with a deep-throated grunt, he flicked his hips and drove his cock 
powerfully into her, ramming with all his might, until his sperm-filled 
testicles smacked tight up against the tightly clenched crevice of her 
buttocks and his pubic bones crashed painfully into hers. He poised there 
for a moment savoring the delightful sensations in his loins and hearing her 
groans of helplessness up into Hal's mouth. 

Hal broke the kiss of deep passion and shifted his body on the bed, 
straddling her chest, his buttocks, crowding down against the heaving, white 
mounds of her breasts. The shocks of Paul's pounding cock came to him 
through her body, as she heaved her loins up to counterpoint his driving 
rush into her. He reached out to her head, putting his hand behind the base 
of her skull and lifted it up, slightly. She opened her glazing eyes to look 
directly at his long, thick, lust-inflated prick. In spite of her own lust, 
she tried to turn her head aside. Oh, No! Dear God! What is he going to make 
me do? 

He held her head firm in his hand and moved his cock to press against her 
red-lipstick-covered lips. Crooning in a low voice to her, he said, "Baby . 
. . I want you to suck it . . . good! Open your jaw . . . turn your lips in 
over your teeth and take it into your mouth!" 

"Oh, God, no!" she squealed. "I've never . . . " 

"Never sucked a cock . . . ? " he queried. 

"N-No!" 

"Every good whore does . . . how come . . . ? " 

"I-I'm not a-a whore!" she croaked. 

"Then what the hell am I paying you for . . . if you're not!" 

Oh! I forgot! I forgot why I'm here! I am a whore, now! I'm a whore . . . a 
whore, a whore! God! How can I ever live with myself, again? 

"All right!" she groaned. "I'm a whore . . . but this is the f-first t-time 
. . . " 

"So, you suck cock! O.K.? " 

The shiny cowl of his hardened prick brushed against her lips, and she 
opened them, reluctantly, as he moved forward to enter the soft, spongy head 
into the warm moist cavern of her mouth. She ovaled her lips to receive it, 
and heeding his directions, folded her lips over her teeth, as his rampant 
prick came into her oral cavern, a huge presence that made her feel like 
gagging. She controlled the feeling with an effort and moved her tongue 
experimentally, licking at the hard shaft of flesh, then swirling her tongue 
around the head. The pungent flavor was not unfavorable to her; she began, 
after a few moments to feel somewhat comfortable. She even sucked in on it 
several times. 

Below, Paul rammed into her extra hard; her body jerked, her head moving 
forward, and without warning, her whole mouth was filled to bursting with 
Hal's pulsating cock. She closed her eyes and sucked, desperately, while 
Paul drubbed into her cunt below furiously, the wonderful hardness of his 
penis, the power of his strokes almost overwhelming her with fiery pleasure. 
Paul began to fuck faster and faster, his hard shaft moving in and out with 
the ease of a well-oiled piston, grinding his pelvis into hers with every 
inward plunge, and she could feel the bulbous head flick past her cervix, 
painfully-a pain that turned to instant pleasure as she felt herself filled 
beyond reason. 

As he thrust into her, Paul used his hands, pulling her ass up close and 
tight, the other hand, a finger still embedded in her anus, drubbed in and 
out in rhythm with the larger phallus in her pussy. He could feel the 
presence of his finger through the thin separating wall of flesh; 
occasionally, he would move the finger in such a way that the extra bulge 
would come into contact with the sensitive underside of his blood-engorged 
cock. The sensations were wild . . . unbelievable. 

The fiery dam in his balls would have to break, soon. He could feel that his 
orgasm was near, the ache in his prick was becoming almost unbearable. 
Suddenly, he pulled his finger from her back passage; there was a faint hiss 
and a slight popping sound as it came clear; then, looking down between 
them, at the straining loins, he watched with fascination as the hard pole 
of his male flesh cleaved her cunt, coming out ivory-white, glistening with 
moisture, pulsing . . . alive, then sliding back into the coral depths of 
her cunt, buried to the hilt until none of the tube of hardened flesh could 
be seen. 

Above, Hal pressed his cock deeper and deeper into her mouth, the thought 
that it was too long and thick for her gave him an extra thrill of pleasure. 
He was no sadist, but the pride he felt concerning his genitals led him to 
bizarre lengths, at times. The tingling sensations in his balls that 
demanded more of the same, incited him to thrust his lusty prick further and 
further into her mouth, until the very root of the hard shaft of flesh had 
disappeared completely. He looked down to watch the hardness of him slip 
into her red mouth, watched as her lipsticked lips crept over him, eating 
him, devouring him completely, and his hair-covered balls were pressing 
against her chin. It was all in her mouth! Damn! It's part way down her 
throat, too! 

Terri choked momentarily. She tried to move her head to force him to 
withdraw that massive rod from her mouth, but he held her head, tight and 
straight, keeping it deep in her throat. He could feel the motions of 
swallowing she made, and its sensations were wild and crazy. Then, he too 
knew that he would come to a spewing orgasm soon. The load of semen in his 
testicles demanded release. God damn! I've got to fuck her in the mouth! 

Hal began to plunge in and out of her mouth, fucking her there as though it 
were another cunt, matching the rhythm that Paul had established as he 
rammed deeply in and out of her cuntal passage, below. 

Suddenly, Terri surrendered to the salacious sensations of the double 
ravishment. She reached up to grasp Hal about the hips to pull him in closer 
to her, consciously, trying at the same time to relax her throat muscles, so 
that he could go into her deeply, easily. Her feeling of revulsion, at 
first, when Hal's cock entered her mouth, almost made her sick. It had been 
hard for her to breathe . . . even to think straight. Then, with the growing 
excitement in her crotch as Paul had thrust into her voraciously moist cunt 
between her widespread legs, she had begun to accept more of Hal's huge 
prick into her oral cavern; finally, she had been able to take all of it 
deep into her throat. To herself, it was an unexplainable paradox. That 
which she had reviled she had come to accept . . . even to like it . . . 
yes, she even loved it now, and wanted it! Dazedly, she wondered whether or 
not the two virile men, together, would tear her apart as they thrust with 
ever more powerful strokes into the two orifices of her body. Two men! She 
was actually being fucked by two men at the same time. Again, the thought 
crossed her mind: Where was Gloria? Even then she could never have guessed 
Gloria's activities during the time she was coupled with the two men. The 
soft click of her camera shutter as she recorded on super-sensitive film the 
progressively lewd action on the bed would not have been heard by the dazed 
girl. Gloria was following the previous orders given her by Pauline Riggs, 
and of course, the red-head always did what Pauline demanded; besides, she 
was a slave to the agile tongue that Pauline used to send her to rapturous 
heights of ecstasy and to keep her submissive to her will. 

Now, to Terri, the mounting ecstasy at the very core of her being began to 
explode within her. She could feel the coming orgasm. It wouldn't be long, 
now! Soon! Soon! Then, she was aware that Paul was almost ready to come 
spewingly into her hungry cunt. He was pounding into her like a jack-hammer 
out of control, his long, thick, tumescent prick buffeting her with a power 
she had never yet experienced. 

Not for an instant, had she ever thought that Hal would ejaculate directly 
into her mouth. Had she thought about it, before, she would have been 
instantly, ill . . . repulsed, but he did! He came, his semen jetting in 
scalding cascades of viscous white sperm, forcing her to swallow, again and 
again to clear it from her throat. 

She was helpless, out of control, as her own orgasm came to her soaringly, 
the rapture of the moment dimming her eyesight, muffling her ears and there 
was nothing in the world for her but cock and cunt . . . and cock and mouth. 
COCK! CUNT! Oh, God! I'm cumming! I'm cumming . . . but I can't scream it . 
. . with his cock in my mouth! Oh, oh, OOOOooooooh! AAAA A AAA 
AAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! 

Below, her loins heaved against Paul, squirming and jerking quiveringly, 
expectantly, up against him, waiting for the moment when he would explode 
inside her. Faster and faster, harder, longer, Paul slaved, pistoning her, 
smoothly, until with a groan his cock hosed his milk-white and viscid cum 
deep into the heated depths of her cuntal passage, splashing with force 
against the back wall, as his member pumped it out, wildly. 

She clutched at Hal when she felt herself, finally, coming to climax; she 
would have screamed out, wantonly, with her pleasure as she felt that great 
dam break in her, but for the massive throbbing presence in her throat of 
Hal's spewing cock. He pressed his organ into her even more deeply, hurting 
her lips as they were mashed against her teeth, and the deliciously pungent 
flavor of his semen splashed-into her mouth to be swallowed. 

All three came together, within seconds of each other; the two men greedily 
clutched her to them, rubbing, massaging and smoothing her with their hands, 
their great cocks boring into her, until at last, slowly, they released her, 
the heights of their orgasms subsiding, their virile members pulsing less 
and less and becoming flaccid, and they rolled their bodies away from her at 
almost the same time. Paul leaned backwards; his deflating cock popping out 
of her satiated and sperm-filled vagina, as he moved to lie alongside her, 
again, and said, "I've had some good ones, in my time . . . but, baby, 
you're the most!" 

Hal moved to her other side and groaned, "Christ! I'm turned inside out!" 
His hand trailed, languidly, tracing the marvelous contours of her 
coral-tipped breast. 

She was too overcome to speak. She had had a wonderful experience. Never, in 
her wildest dreams would she have thought that she would have intercourse 
with two men at the same time. 

Then, in the midst of her joy, she remembered, the memory flooding back. She 
was not there primarily to satisfy herself, but to entertain; she was the 
courtesan, the prostitute . . . the WHORE! She was a full-fledged Whore! 
Unbidden, a tear trailed down her cheek. She rubbed it away with the back of 
her hand; fortunately, neither of the men observed it. 

Paul and Hal lit cigarettes and smoked, relaxed and amiable. After a few 
moments they arose and began dressing. Terri lay on the bed, naked and 
alone. She felt a chill and pulled a sheet over her lush body. 

Hal took out his wallet and began to extract bills. 

"Terri, baby," he said, "You try harder.. . you ought to be worth a little 
more!" He exchanged glances with Paul as he handed Terri a fifty-dollar 
bill. Numbly, she took it, not even looking at it, as Paul matched Hal, 
placing another fifty on the first. 

Paul looked down at her and smiled. "I'd like to spend a night with you . . 
sometime, soon! O.K.? " 

"All right.. . " she answered. 

"Damn! You beat me to it, Paul!" Hal interjected. "But, I'm greedy . . . I 
want her for a whole weekend!" 

Terri smiled, wanly, "All right . . . whenever you say . . . but I'll have 
to . . . m-make arrangements . . . in advance.. . " she lied, not having the 
vaguest idea of how she could possibly get away from George for a weekend of 
whoredom and debauchery. 

Both men kissed her a tender goodbye, leaving her on the bed with two 
fifty-dollar bills clutched in her hand. When they were gone, she looked 
dumbly at the money and burst into great sobs of sorrow . . . a sorrow so 
profound that words could not possibly describe her misery. 

Gloria, the red-head came into the bedroom, after Paul and Hal had gone. She 
saw the two fifties. "You understand, don't you Terri that this is a fifty 
percent split.. . ? " 

Terri nodded, dumbly, and extended her hand. Gloria extracted one of the 
bills and said, casually, "There's a couple more Johns due in about twenty 
minutes . . . so rustle your ass and get yourself ready for them!" 

". . . But, I thought. . . " 

"That was all for today.. . ? " Gloria laughed. "Hardly! After that, 
there'll be two more . . . beyond that I'm not sure, although, Pauline could 
be sending some more, later.. . " 

"You . . . ? " 

"I'll take my share, from now on . . . unless there are others who want two 
for one, like Paul and Hal," she explained. 

"Are there m-many like that. . . " 

"A few . . . then there are those guys who want two women! There're more 
like that . . . they sometimes like to watch while the two gals eat each 
other . . . things like that.. . " the red head told her matter-of-factly. 

"Oh . . . ? " Terri questioned. "Can I-I have another martini?" 

"Sure . . . if you think it'll help." 

"It will!" Terri assured her. 

". . . But, just take it easy! Guys don't like it with a sloppy drunk 
woman!" 

"I just don't want to feel," Terri said, miserably. 

"Check!" Gloria said, her eyes agleam. "I understand . . . maybe we could . 
. . you and I . . . have our own little party . . . after." 

 CHAPTER 7 

Terri never knew how she was able to get through the remainder of the 
afternoon and the early evening hours. Through a self-imposed alcoholic 
haze, she dimly remembered a long succession of men. She was fucked by at 
least four more men, mostly nearing middle-age, obviously successful, 
somewhat wealthy, well-dressed, neat, clean, but running to slight paunch 
and flabbiness. All were married, disillusioned and disenchanted with their 
wives, and were looking for stimulating sex and lost youth. She fucked and 
sucked, even allowing one of them, paunchier and older, to sodomize her, her 
feeling of complete debasement and worthlessness leading her to agree, 
readily. 

It was 7:30 before she could leave the apartment with Gloria who drove her 
back to THE CONTINENTAL so she could pick up Peter's car. She wasn't able to 
leave sooner, because the lovely red-head had made good on her intimation of 
a private lesbian party after the last John had departed. 

Terri had been too tired, too emotionally drained to object, but when 
Gloria's tantalizing tongue had driven her up the walls, she had exploded in 
a phantasm of orgiastic excess. She had responded in kind, the red-head 
guiding her, teaching her how to arouse another woman and bring her to 
ecstatic heights. 

On the drive through town, Terri's senses began to return as the effects of 
the gin began to wear off. She was cold sober as she began her drive on the 
freeway, eastward toward San Bernardino in Peter's car. There was one more 
rendezvous she must make. Jack Gordon was waiting for her. Then cynically, 
the thought flashed across her mind: I suppose he'll want me t-to make 
l-love to him, after w-we . . . She couldn't make herself think about the 
grisly task even. 

But, her thoughts rambled on: I'll never be the same . . . after today. I've 
been changed . . . changed into a whore in one day! It's impossible! I'd 
never have believed it! 

The hundred and thirty dollars in her purse was real enough. She would have 
to believe it. That's what she had taken away with her from Gloria's 
apartment. 

. . . But, Jack . . . Jack Gordon! He's a black man . . . a black man who 
killed . . . trying to protect me from the very thing I've just been doing . 
. . except none of them wanted to whip me . . . t-to get their k-kicks! 
Could I let him f-fuck me, now . . . tonight? Oh, God! I don't know! I owe 
him something . . . Peter could have hurt me seriously . . . disfigured me . 
. . or maimed me! And I am grateful to Jack! He didn't intend to hurt Peter 
. . . only tried to make him stop h-hurting me! Oh!! ? ? I'm so mixed up! I 
don't know what to think . . . about anything! 

Following Jack's directions, she turned off the freeway at the Cal Poly 
campus and followed the winding grades northward towards the lake. She drove 
carefully and slowly, keeping a sharp watch for the old, battered truck that 
the black gardener drove. She found it, easily, parked just off the road 
near one of the locked entrances to the recreational area. She parked behind 
the pickup and Jack detached himself from the dark shadows of nearby trees 
and sauntered over to the car, his senses alert to anything amiss. 

He leaned down and said, softly, "Anybody follow you?" 

"Wh-Why no! I don't think so!" 

"Good! Follow me to a place I found!" 

He was gone, striding away to clamber into the pick up. The motor roared 
into coughing life, and he eased it back onto the road to drive ahead for 
about a half mile. There he parked off the-pavement and waited for her to 
follow suit. 

Terri opened the door and got out, her heart pounding with fear and a morbid 
excitement. 

Jack used a small flashlight to peer into the inside of the car. "Leave 
anything of yours in here?" he asked. 

"N-No . . . " Terri answered, checking to make sure she had her purse. 

Then, she watched in fascination as the big black man restarted the car and 
maneuvered it around until it was pointing into the darkness. She didn't 
know what lay out there, but she assumed it must be the waters of the lake. 

Jack wiped the car of his fingerprints as well as hers, then rummaging in 
the bed of the pickup, he scraped back a cover of leaves and lifted out the 
blanket-covered body of Peter Marklin, her step-son. Carrying his grisly 
burden to the souped-up car, he unwrapped the body and placed it in the 
driver's seat. With a handkerchief covered hand, he started the engine, 
opened the hood, placed a sugar cube that would dissolve in the water in the 
accelerator linkage, bringing the motor to a full-throated roar, closed the 
hood and returned to the driver's side of the car. There, he adjusted the 
safety belt around the corpse and placed its lifeless hands on the steering 
wheel; next he released the emergency brake and closed the door. 

Terri stole a glance at the dead boy's face. He looked quite natural, she 
decided, but could not bring herself to dwell on the thing they were doing. 
She turned and walked toward the pickup truck, her eyes blinded by quick 
tears. 

It has to be for the best! Oh, God! Please let it be! 

Jack stood clear of the car, ready to leap out of the way, if necessary. His 
hand went out to the shift lever; he yanked it hard into drive. The car's 
wheels spun, kicking up gravel and dust, as it shot forward for ten feet and 
arched out into space. There was a mighty splash followed by an eerie 
stillness. Jack walked to the edge of the steep cliff and looked down to 
make sure. The car containing the corpse of Peter Marklin was nowhere to be 
seen. 

Her ear-splitting scream speared into the blackness. 

"OOOooooh! Peeeeeeeterrrrrrrrrr?" 

Suddenly, she was in Jack's arms; great sobs of pain, sorrow and relief 
wracked her body. 

"Mrs. Marklin! Be quiet! Somebody might hear!" he warned. 

She could not hear . . . would not hear, and the desperate black man did the 
only thing he knew to do. He slapped her full in the face, commanding, "Shut 
up!" 

Startled, shocked, she cringed away from him, a hand going to her face in 
disbelief of the fact that he had struck her. She turned and fled, blindly, 
into the darkness. 

Jack caught her within ten paces and pinioned her arms to her side, holding 
her from behind. She struggled silently in his arms, only guttural grunts 
emitting from her throat, but her strength was as nothing compared to his, 
as he held her tightly and whispered in her ear with urgency, "Stop it! 
We've got to get the hell out of here . . . right now! If we're caught.. . 
they'll pin a murder rap . . . on both of us!" 

MURDER! 

Oh, God! Help me! 

She slumped back in his arms, drained and helpless; then, she turned to face 
him, in the circle of his arms . . . muscular arms, the arms of a strong and 
virile man . . . the arms of a man who with the strength of those same arms 
had killed . . . for her. 

MURDER! He murdered Peter.. .for me! 

A primeval lust was suddenly in her . . . a desire to give herself to this 
beautiful, black man. At that moment in time there was nothing more she 
wanted . . . and the knowledge of her desire was frightening. She whimpered 
deep in her throat, a low, animal-like moan that defied description or 
interpretation. She moved her hips, rotating them, undulantly, against his 
loins. He was hard . . . hardening rapidly. She raised her head, parting her 
lips, her tongue coming out to lick them wetly, in mute, universal signal, 
offering her lips to be kissed, and by inference her body to be used, 
sexually, the undulant hips making it specific. She wanted to be fucked! 

Jack was shocked but pleased. Her signals were not wasted on him; the 
tingling sensations, beginning in his scrotum and expanding warmly up into 
his penis where the concupiscence began to swell and harden his cock into 
instant rigidity, caused it to jerk, spasmodically, against her grinding 
loins, sending his own involuntary signals back to her, letting her know of 
his quick response, of his readiness. She wants it! She wants me to fuck 
her! Oh, shit! I never thought it would ever happen to me! Me! A black man . 
. .fucking a white woman! 

. . .But, not now! Man! Not now! We've got to get the fuck out of here! Now! 
Now, God damn it . . . or there'll be nothing but a big shit-pile of 
nothing! 

Brusquely, firmly, he spoke to her, "We've got to get in my truck and split, 
now! While we're riding along . . . you can think it over . . . change your 
mind if you want to. If you do, I'll understand . . . and no apologies . . . 
and we'll split.. . go on our own ways . . . O.K.? " 

He meant every word he had spoken. 

Dumbly, she allowed him to put her in the passenger seat of the old pick-up 
truck. He picked up the blankets and made a few passes at the tracks laid 
down in the gravel by Peter's car before it made its plunge into the lake. 
Satisfied that the car's tracks would be difficult to see, he got into the 
driver's seat of the old truck and kicked the ancient motor into spitting 
life. Then, driving carefully, always within the posted speed limits he 
drove back down to the freeway, turned east toward the grape vineyards, 
turning finally on a lateral road connecting to the old highway to the 
south, thence to a dirt track that led deep into one of the extensive 
vineyards. He braked to a stop, turned out the lights and sat back, relaxed 
in his seat, a great sigh escaping from him. 

"Well, it's done!" he said. "But it'll only be a matter of time . . . a few 
days, maybe a week, before he's found . . . " 

Faltering, she asked, "Wh-What will you do . . . n-now?" 

He was pensive for a moment. "I hadn't figured it out, yet.. . but in a few 
days, I'll probably light out for San Francisco. There's nobody . . . or 
nothing to keep me in L.A." 

"D-Do you h-have to go . . . run away . . . ? " 

"No! I don't have to run . . . but it might be best if I do. The fuzz is 
going to be asking a lot of questions . . . and I'll be a lot harder to find 
in San Francisco . . . " he explained. 

"Jack," she said his name, softly, "I haven't changed my mind." Her hand 
crept out to find his thigh, her hand trailing upward to his groin to find 
the hardness of his sex. She was not disappointed. It was hard and 
throbbing, jerking against the rough material of his trousers. She traced 
its outline with her fingers, then grasped it in her tiny hand. 

The pressure of her hand on his pulsating cock was almost more than he could 
take. He had the impression that if there was one more movement of her hand 
he would come on the instant. 

"Let's get more comfortable!" he said, thickly, not trusting his voice. 
"I'll get a blanket from the back." 

She released his cock reluctantly, surprised at her own boldness in 
initiating the sexual stimulation, opened the truck's door and stepped down 
into the sandy soil of the vineyard. She heard Jack rummaging in the bed of 
the truck for the blanket. He found it, and shook it, moved a few feet out 
among the heavy-leafed vines and spread the cloth on the ground. 

Terri stood, thoughtfully, watching him. She had gone this far, she decided; 
therefore, she might as well go the whole way. She would do everything she 
could to make this a wild, orgiastic session; Then, she knew that she had 
never felt that way before . . . sex had always been less than enjoyable for 
her, in the past-especially with her husband, George-but her new-found 
eroticism, her extended knowledge, forced upon her within such a short space 
of time . . . and a self-knowledge that burned, searingly, into her brain, 
led her to the decision she had just made. She would fuck this virile black 
man, bound to her by a macabre twist of fate; she would fuck him, wildly, 
wantonly, with everything she had, offering him the whole of her for their 
mutual enjoyment. The lewd salaciousness of her thoughts began to tingle 
through her as she remembered her hand upon his cock, moments, before; she 
had found him huge, and the thought of that length and breadth, felt through 
his pants gave her a delicious, anticipatory thrill that sparked, glowingly, 
in her crotch. 

She could barely see him, as he moved in the darkness, kneeling, now, to 
further straighten the blanket on the ground. Leaning back against the 
fender, she removed her shoes and stockings, then reaching back, she 
unzipped her dress and stepped out of it; her slip followed, and she stood 
in only panties and bra. She hesitated a moment before deciding that she 
would present herself completely naked to him. The effect on him would be 
more stimulating, she reasoned, remembering that he had already peeped upon 
her in the privacy of her own bedroom. The fact that he had no longer 
bothered her in the least. Without hesitation, she unsnapped her bra and 
removed it, freeing her voluptuous breasts to the soft, evening breeze. 
Then, she wriggled out of her flimsy white panties, adding them to the pile 
of her clothing on the fender of the pick-up truck. 

Above, a lazy sliver of yellow moon peeped down through a hole in the high, 
scudding clouds, revealing the alabaster whiteness of her body, sculpted by 
the master hand of nature, her high, proud breasts showing in curved light 
and shadow. 

Jack stood to his feet, his task with the blanket finished; he had forced 
himself to do the simple job well, stalling to allow her time to think . . . 
or to act. He would not force his attentions upon her. It had to be of her 
own free-will . . . or there would be nothing between them at all. He had 
been overjoyed when she had told him that she had not changed her mind, and 
when she had fondled his hardening penis, he had felt like jumping out of 
his skin. Shit! This can't be happening to me! Pretty soon I'll wake up and 
find out it was all a dream . . . a black man's hopeless dream! 

He looked back toward his truck and gasped for pure joy. God! She was 
standing there, completely nude, and he knew that her words had been 
translated into action. She had meant it. She would be his to fuck, as he 
realized that she was, symbolically, offering up the whole of herself to 
him. 

Playing her new role of the complete wanton, she walked toward him, across 
the loamy sand, feeling its rough, pebbly texture on the soles of her feet. 
She held her head aloft, her eyes looking at him, steadily, and her hands 
came up to cup her breasts, in provocative sexuality. 

Jack watched her, marveling again at the vision of pure loveliness that was 
her, remembering that he had watched her, before with only a wishful hope. 
Now, before his eyes the hope was becoming a reality. Involuntarily, his 
cock jumped, pushing against his trousers begging for release. 

Swiftly, he stripped off his shirt and undershirt, his muscles rippling 
under the shiny black skin that reflected back to her in the dim moon-glow; 
then, he loosened his belt, zipped down his fly and shrugged his pants down 
over his lean, muscular legs. He kicked off his shoes, and standing on one 
leg, alternately, stripped off his socks. Something held him back, however, 
from removing his own shorts. Was it modesty, or a desire that it should be 
she who removed them? If she removed them for him, it would be the final 
signal to him that she really intended to give herself completely to him. 

He stood, tall, lean and powerful, waiting for her to reach him; he had made 
up his mind that he would not touch her first. It had to be-all of it-for 
now, her show! 

In pristine, unashamed nakedness she stepped on the blanket, feeling its 
wooly softness, and took the final step to stand before him. She looked up 
into his face and said, softly, "Here I-I am . . . " 

His strong arms went around her, as she leaned in tight to his strong body 
and tilted her head up, her mouth opening, slightly, her moist lips inviting 
his kiss. He tilted his head down and captured her soft, red lips. His kiss 
was hard, meaningful, and he was surprised when her bold, searching tongue 
slipped out to encircle his lips then burst through his teeth, probingly, 
asking to be sucked. Her tongue was like a writhing, coiling snake in his 
mouth. He gasped with the power of the sensations generated in him. Below, 
his majestic cock leaped against her avidly undulating loins. 

Terri felt the hardened penis move against her through the confining cloth 
of his shorts. She broke the kiss and said, "I've got to see it and feel 
it!" 

She knelt on the blanket, reached for his shorts and pulled them down to his 
ankles. His prick stood spearing out from his body, long, thick and massive, 
blacker than the rest of him, as it rose from its roots among a mass of 
curly, black hair with the heavy testicles swinging freely below. 

A gasp of disbelief escaped her. It was huge . . . a veritable monster of a 
cock . . . larger than, she had ever imagined a man's penis could be. 

"Oh! It's so big!" 

He grinned in the darkness, pleased with his attributes. 

With trembling hands she reached out to touch it, gently, her fingers 
tracing its length and circumference, one hand going, finally, to his sac to 
caress the large, egg-shaped balls they held, while her other hand, tiny and 
white tried to hold his giant cock. Her hand would not reach around it, as 
she worked the thick foreskin back to reveal the purplish, bloated head. 

Jack, standing above her, could not wait; he put a hand on either side of 
her head and moved-his hips forward, bringing it to her lips. Involuntarily, 
her lips rounded, her mouth opened and she slipped her red lips over the 
spongy, throbbing corona. She sucked it hard two or three times, then her 
tongue began to lave it, running all around the head, until, finally, she 
split the tip of it with the probing, agile nib of her tongue. The delicious 
torment was too much for Jack. He moved his hips back several inches and 
withdrew his penis from her mouth. 

"That's enough of that . . . for a while!" he croaked. 

"All right," she smiled and lay back on the blanket, her knees still under 
her, her feet supporting her buttocks, and her thighs spreading wide open to 
expose her cunt to him, completely. 

Jack's breath sucked in, sharply, from the sudden excitement in him, for the 
obscene position she had taken. She leaned back on her elbows looking up at 
him; her lips were wet and parted in a provocative little smile of shameless 
anticipation, and her roundly firm breasts rose and fell with her own sexual 
excitation, their coral nipples distending and spiking out like a pair of 
ripe berries. 

He fell to his knees before the open gates of her shrine. His mouth watered 
as he gazed hungrily at the moist, tight cuntal opening between her 
wide-spread thighs and noted that she rotated it, sensuously, expectantly, 
waiting for him to do as he would there. 

Her husky voice came to him, . .Now, you c-can eat m-me for a while . . . " 

"I used to dream about this," he told her, "after I'd watched you . . . in 
your bedroom . . . " 

"Y-You watched m-me.. . ? " she said, pretending shock. 

"Yes!" He reached out to place the palms of his hands flat against the 
inside of her thighs, his thumbs resting on the soft, moist flanges of her 
pussy; then lying back, flat on her back, she shifted her legs to place her 
feet flat on the blanket, her knees flexed upward and splayed to either 
side. 

She moaned, audibly, as he spread her cunt wide, preparing to use his tongue 
on her, the whole of her slit exposed to him. Pursing his lips, he blew a 
stream of warm, moist air directly into her. She shivered deliciously. 

"I should also tell you . . . I used to jack-off while I was watching you," 
he confessed. 

"J-Jack-off. . . ? " she questioned. 

"Masturbation . . . I used my hand to get relief!" 

"Oh," she said, understanding him instantly. "But, now there'll be no need 
of that . . . you've got the real thing!" 

She moaned, again, as he tantalized her with another stream of air from his 
rounded lips, directed at her cunt. 

"Oh, do it, Jack, p-please," she murmured between passion-clenched teeth. 
"Go on . . . and eat me!" 

With a rapidly expelled sigh of pleasure, followed by a guttural, throaty, 
noise, he moved forward, sinking the full length of his' long, slippery 
tongue, snake-like into the hot, throbbing moistness of her waiting, 
expectant pussy. 

Terry moaned, ecstatically, as her buttocks jerked, involuntarily, as his 
warm, spiraling tongue probed into her, rotating wildly against the soft 
ridges of the lining of her throbbing, aching vagina. 

"OOooh!" she groaned. "That feels so gooooooood!" 

Her pleasure-sounds came from her throat incessantly, as he withdrew to lick 
upward, the soft tip, circling the quivering, erect clitoris, in its hooded 
shrine at the top of her female furrow. Then, his lips closed around it, and 
he sucked the miniature phallus up into his mouth, his tongue continuing its 
maddening licking against the pulsing, pink bud. She groaned with mounting 
sensuality as the wildly searching tip of his lashing tongue worked its way 
up and down the narrow slit. From the lower belly, down it went, pressuring 
its way over the elastic-rimmed cuntal opening and into the crevice of her 
flexing buttocks, where it paused, briefly, to pay homage to the puckered 
brown anus nestled, secretly, there. 

Desperate hands clawed at the kinky, wooly thatch of his hair, attempting to 
guide his face to the palpitating opening of her vagina. He grunted as he 
slithered his tongue into the moist pinkness of her soft flesh, and she 
shifted her hips to raise her crotch to him, using her hands to press his 
mouth firmly over the tight, fiery hole of her cuntal passage. 

His rounded, sucking lips were glued to the clasping, viscous orifice, and 
he thrust his tongue deep up into it, causing her soft, white thighs to 
tighten about the sides of his black, bobbing head. He felt the satiny warm 
flesh of her passage pulsing and contracting around his t e a s i n g I y 
probing tongue. Again, purling mewls of pleasure came from her throat. 

"Oh! OOOoooh, Jack, wait!" she chanted. "Let me up . . . I w-want to suck 
you . . . at the same time!" 

Jack lifted his head, and she rose to her knees, pushing him backward by the 
shoulders until he was stretched out full-length on the ground, lying back 
on the blanket, his black skin shining in the weak, silver rays of the 
waning moon, his thick and long-hard cock standing up at an acute angle, up 
along his flat, muscular abdomen. 

She turned about, then, to come down over him, straddling him on all fours, 
her knees snug against his ribs on either side of his body in the classic 
sixty-nine position, her beautiful face directly above his rampant, 
throbbing cock, her sculpted, full-rounded buttocks spread so that the 
flowered-open, pink furrow of her loins was lowered within a tongue's length 
of his hungry mouth. 

Jack groaned as her fingernails scratched lightly over the length of his 
rock-hard prick and she moved the skin back and forth, massaging and 
stroking it with gentle movements, while her other hand slipped down to 
cradle his balls, lovingly. He groaned, again, between clenched teeth and 
thrust his loins upward to her, until finally he felt the warm, moistness of 
her ovaled lips slide down, lasciviously, over the throbbing, aching head of 
his blood-engorged and sensitive cock. 

He looked down through the arch of her thighs and saw her round, 
melon-breasts hanging down, stark-white, against the black of his stomach, 
the spiky nipples brushing against him, tantalizingly. In the darkness, 
below, her face was in dark shadow, but he could imagine the thick length of 
his prick absorbed up into her mouth, her face contorted, prettily, as she 
sucked and licked in wild abandon. 

Suddenly, the white ass-cheeks above his face, rotated, waggling for his 
attention, as below, she increased the swirling motion of her tongue around 
the bloated, spongy head of his jerking prick. 

His hands went up to catch at her hip-bones and drew her flexing buttocks 
down to him, again, plunging his long, lashing tongue deep up into the moist 
walls of her vagina, eliciting a deep, humming vibration from her throat 
that communicated itself to his cock buried in her voraciously sucking 
mouth, and she screwed her cunt down onto his wildly probing oral member, 
beginning to move up and down it in a steady fucking rhythm. 

With his loins tensing and jerking, he began to move, sawing his massive rod 
of erectile flesh in and out of her rounded, sucking lips, and he realized 
that she was taking all of his thick length, absorbing it up into her 
throat. The rubbery head throbbed and jumped with every nerve-tingling 
tongue-lick on every out-stroke, the smooth, moist feel of her lips sliding 
along his length on every in-stroke. Her breasts danced up and down on his 
torso, the ripe-berry nipples alternately pressing into him then brushing up 
and away to dangle freely in the evening air washing over them. 

The pressure of the need for release began to grow in his testicles. It 
wouldn't be long, now, before his prick would hose his spewing sperm, thick 
and warm into her mouth, unless he could get his cock into her cunt where he 
wanted it. Somehow, he felt a little cheated. He didn't want just a 
blow-job, this first time, with Terri, the first white woman he had ever 
touched in his life. 

It was almost as though she had been reading his mind, for suddenly, she 
stopped, raising her head and allowing his jerking penis to slide from her 
voracious, red-lipped mouth. Crawling forward, quickly, she rose to her 
knees, her back still to him, poising the clasping lips of her widespread 
cunt just above his throbbing, aching cock; then, she reached back to grasp 
the stiff, black rod of flesh and guided it to the seethingly hungry 
opening, as she plunged herself downward to impale her excited vagina on the 
hardened length of him. 

"Oh, God!" she gasped as it raced up into her. "It's so big!" 

As she enclosed the fleshy rod of his great cock up into the moist warmth of 
her female channel, he grunted aloud with the sharp, sweet, almost painful 
sensation. The blunt, rubbery head plowed all before it, folding the walls 
of her passage in waves of coral flesh, until it battered deep up against 
the far back wall of her womb, flicking past the hard, rigid neck of her 
cervix. 

Uncontrollably, she began to ride up and down it, moaning aloud as she 
writhed and heaved her loins around on his belly, screwing and squirming 
with wild abandon, her teeth clenched, face contorted with the urgency of 
her need. 

He raised his head to watch her wild contortions. Her white buttocks, 
heaved, wide-spread, their white, softly rounded protuberances grinding down 
into the black skin of his belly. The puckered, tight and tiny hole of her 
anus caught his eye where it nestled in the secret crevice of her ass. 
Instantly, he slid his hand up under her posting buttocks, his long, middle 
finger extended, and as she rode down the length of his prick, he gently 
wormed his fingertip inside the throbbing, spongy flesh of her backside, 
causing her to squeal with the sudden pleasure-pain of it. Momentarily, she 
paused to let her rectum adjust to the unexpected invasion of his finger; 
then, with quickened movements, she returned to her joyful labors as she 
skewered herself down upon the dual presences in her loins, absorbing both 
deeply up into her seething belly. Each of her downward plunges drove his 
cock to the hilt, his finger to the flat of his palm. 

Terri began to squeal and moan, incessantly, captured in the throes of her 
ecstasy; the double ravishment of her loins that she inflicted on herself 
giving her an intense pleasure-pain of sexual rapture. She reached down 
between his thighs and cupped his balls in her hands, squeezing and 
massaging them, the sperm-swollen heaviness of them moving through her hands 
within the heavily wrinkled sac; actually, she handled them as though she 
would squeeze their vital fluids from them up into her seething, palpitating 
cunt. 

"Oh! OOooh! OOOOooohhh! God!" she began to chant. "I'm going to cum! OOOhhh! 
Fuck! Oh, Gooooddddd!" 

Her hips bucked over him with insanely wild abandon, as she lunged up and 
down, faster and faster absorbing both his long finger and longer, harder 
and thicker cock up into the orgasm-bound passages; and finally, she was 
there, awash in the surf of her passions from which she swam, gaspingly, 
giddy from the pressure of the depths. 

"AAAAAaaaaaaggggghhhh!" she screamed. "I'm cummmmmmmmiiiiiiinnnnnnggggg!Oh, 
Goddddd! I'm there! OOOooooooooooooohhhh! Fuuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkkkkkk!" 

Then, suddenly, as she screamed out her obscenity and fucked his finger and 
cock with her asshole and cunt, Jack felt it begin for him. It surged from 
him in a burning stream of jetting cum that hosed the full length of his 
rigid, impaling cock, its blood-engorged head pumping the thick, hot, viscid 
and white semen deep up into the churning crotch above him. His breath had 
come ever faster to him; now, with a loud groan of intense pleasure, he 
heaved up to her, slamming his hardened rod up into her, nibbling, open 
cuntal passage, his jerking cock spewing in short surging spurts, almost 
incessantly, it seemed and he lifted her off the ground with the terrific 
force of his final thrust. 

"Oh, shit!" he said, "Oh, shit! You've got the sweetest cunt this side of 
heaven!" 

Her body convulsed spasmodically, as wave after wave of her orgasm passed 
over her; at last, with a sigh of complete satisfaction, Terri crawled off 
his rapidly deflating penis and crawled up beside him to smother his lips 
with her own before she collapsed and snuggled her white voluptuousness into 
his circling, strong black arms. 

They rested; they even may have slept for a few moments in their 
satisfaction with each other. When she could speak, she murmured in his ear, 
"Why don't we go back to my place . . . ? There's nobody there . . . won't 
be until late Monday afternoon." 

Unhesitatingly, the black man, so enthralled, so taken with his new, white 
lover, agreed. "All right . . . a bed'll sure be a lot more comfortable than 
this rocky ground!" 

"You'll stay with me through the night. . . ? " 

"Wild elephants couldn't keep me from it!" he said, the vision of himself 
occupying the big bed in her plush bedroom with her beside him, white, 
blonde and sexy, almost blotting out his reasoning mind, completely, but 
love is blind-so it is said-justice, too is not depicted as blind for 
nothing! . . . And Jack Gordon's love for Terri was unreasoning . . . and 
blind! 

 CHAPTER 8 

Johnny Leonard had all the information he needed. Acting on Frank Coppol's 
orders, he decided the time had arrived to make his move against the 
prostitution ring operating in Coppol territory; a ring that was not paying 
off to Frank, and that was one of those things people did not do to Frank. 

Sunday morning, at a late brunch, Johnny issued his orders: Bring them all 
in, today; they'd meet with Frank in the afternoon! 

"How about the Johns?" a heavyweight type asked him. 

"Send them on their way . . . just bring in the girls . . . and the guy 
who's running it!" Johnny told them. "You've got the names and addresses!" 

* * * 

Jack and Terri had made a night of it. They had returned to her home gone 
directly to her bedroom and copulated, neither of them caring or thinking of 
anything but sex. Jack had fucked her three more times before dawn, then 
they both slept a sweet sleep of sheer exhaustion. 

Awaking about noon time, Terri had looked over at his sleeping form, his 
nude, black body, long, lean and muscular contrasting sharply with her own 
white loveliness, and playfully she had reached out to his flaccid penis, 
lying limp and long between his legs, to caress and massage it to alert 
erectness. He awoke and she was suddenly enveloped in his strong arms, 
again. 

"Don't you ever get enough?" he asked her with a grin. 

"No," she said. "It's still like a new toy.. . . " 

"That's no toy you've got in your hand!" he came back. 

Later, satiated, but hungry, now, they showered and dressed, went to the 
kitchen where she made coffee, and they snacked from Greta's well-stocked 
refrigerator. 

They were sitting at the kitchen table over a second cup of coffee. Jack had 
just lit a cigarette when the fat man walked in the back door. 

Jack started to rise from his chair, startled, "What.. . ? " 

The second man stood behind him. He said, "Sit back down, quiet like . . . 
and nobody gets hurt! We just want the girl!" 

Terri screamed. The fat man slapped her once, hard, across the face. The 
cold steel against Jack's back reminded him not to interfere. 

The fat man told her, "Get your purse . . . or whatever you need! You're 
going to have a talk with Frank!" 

"F-Frank . . . ? Frank . . . wh-who?" she asked, cringing away from him, not 
wanting to be hurt, again. 

"Frank Coppol!" he grunted. "He don't like people holding out on him!" 

"I-I don't u-understand. . . . " 

"You will!" the second man with the gun snapped. "All working whores payoff 
to Frank . . . or they don't work at all!" 

". . . And some of them can't work again after we've finished!" the fat man 
said, his face folding up in a smile at his own humor. "Take the John out 
and put him in his car . . . send him on his way with our regards!" he 
finished. 

The situation was, on the instant, crystal clear to Jack. As the gun in his 
back prodded him to his feet, he looked at Terri with old fury. "Let me get 
my wallet," he said. 

"O.K. . . . but careful like!" the man behind him warned. 

Jack took his last twenty dollar bill and tossed it on the table. His voice 
was steely, "I can't pay your full price, but I never took anything for 
nothing in my life!" 

Terri recoiled. He may as well have struck her. 

"Oh, J-Jack . . . ! " she sobbed, her eyes scalding with quick tears. "Y-You 
don't u-under-stand!" 

"I understand!" he snapped and strode from the room. 

"J-Jaaaaaaaaackkkkkkkkk!" she screamed. SMACK! 

"Shut up!" the fat man snapped. "Pick up your money . . . put it in your 
purse, and let's go!" ; 

Terri could only obey, as silently, now, completely cowed, she did as the 
fat man bid her. 

Oh, God! What have I done! What have I done? 

* * * 

"They're all here, now!" Johnny Leonard reported. 

The girls were led in one by one to be seated before Frank Coppol, who sat 
back, relaxed, behind his big desk, the surface of which was polished to a 
high gloss. Everything in the room reflected good taste with no expense 
spared. 

There was Pauline Riggs, sullen and haughty; Gloria put on an amused smile; 
then, there came Barbara, Joan, Marie and Francine who were frightened, 
pale, sobbing. Last, to be brought in was Terri. Pauline Riggs gasped, 
audibly, when she saw her, "Oh, my God!" 

Terri ignored her, but her eyes clashed, momentarily, with those of Gloria, 
who smiled, somewhat wanly, and said, "Welcome to the sorority.. . . " 

They had all been escorted separately into the big office, having been held 
in individual rooms until all were present. Now, the door opened and George 
Marklin was escorted into the room by two guards. He saw Terri. His face 
paled, eyes widening, mouth gaping open. 

He croaked, "Terri! What are you doing here?" 

George could have been no more surprised than was his wife. The room spun as 
her vision dimmed. Her faint was short-lived as a glass of good brandy was 
placed to her lips, and she was forced to sip its reviving warmth. 

Frank Coppol watched with easy amusement, spearing each of them with his 
good eye, missing nothing. 

"All right," he said, "She'll be all right now!" 

Terri was allowed to settle back in the cushions with the brandy glass in 
her hand. She was confused. The turns of events happening too fast for her 
to grasp the full meaning of what was going on. 

Johnny Leonard began to speak, "Here's the story, Frank. Marko, here," he 
indicated George Marklin, "got together with Pauline Riggs, who manages an 
exclusive dress shop.. . . " 

Marko? He called my husband M-Marko . . . ? ! Terri thought in confusion. 

"She extends credit to women who like nice things, but can't really pay for 
them. Then, she springs the trap.. . . Work it out . . . pay off the debt by 
taking on the Johns she books for them. Now, they work it real cool . . . 
they only work in the afternoon, and the Johns are all high pay business and 
professional types. She keeps the gals stashed in three pretty nice 
apartments that Marko keeps for that purpose. Pauline and Gloria are the 
enforcers and make the pick-ups from the girls. Pauline and Marko split the 
take . . . and Gloria gets a bonus on the side . . . and the crazy thing is 
it was working! That's about it!" 

Coppol gave a short laugh. "Smart!" he chuckled. "But not smart enough, 
Marko!" 

"My name's George Marklin . . . and I'm a movie direc . . . " George began. 

Coppol's eye stopped him, "We know who you are . . . you're Gorgonio Marko, 
born in Naples! You took the name George Marklin when you came over here to 
work in the movies, but you had to have more . . . you had to get back in 
the rackets, and prostitution was the one you figured you could get by with 
. . . select girls . . . rich Johns . . . afternoons only . . . you figured 
you'd never hurt us enough for us to notice you . . . isn't that it?" 

"It's all a mistake! You got the wrong man!" George croaked. 

"We've got the right man, Marko!" Frank said with finality, then with a 
smile, he continued, "But what went wrong with your system? It's a small 
irony, isn't it, that your wife was caught in your little trap . . . and you 
didn't know it?" 

Marklin shot a malevolent glance at Pauline, "You shitty slut!" he screamed. 

Pauline faced him, "Shut up! You bastard!" 

"It's a little late for recriminations!" Frank Coppol interjected. "Now, you 
all listen to me!" 

The room became silent; all eyes turned toward him, as he went on, "Nobody 
pulls crap like this on Frank Coppol! We're going to settle this to my 
satisfaction. We'll start with you, Marko! I'm going to give you three days 
to make arrangements to go back to Napoli! If you're still around after 
that, they'll have to send you home in a box! Understand? . . . Ordinarily, 
I don't do this . . . I'm being lenient. . . but I kind of like your 
ingenuity . . . maybe you can work with the boys in Italy!" 

Marklin nodded, dumbly, glad that he had gained a reprieve. He knew that he 
should have been a dead man. 

like a judge in his chambers, Frank dealt with each in turn: Francine, 
Barbara, Joan and Marie, each in her own way, stated that she had been 
trapped into the prostitution gambit, had never wanted to do it.. . and 
wanted to get out of it, now. 

Frank warned them, "Don't ever work in my territory, again! Break your 
promise . . . and you wind up broken! Believe me . . . we have methods that 
will remind you . . . nobody crosses me! Remember who I am . . . I'm Frank 
Coppol . . . and my family runs Southern California!" 

The four frightened women understood him, and were grateful that their 
punishment had been so light. 

With mounting horror, Terri began to understand clearly what was happening. 
This man wielded more power than any man she had ever known or heard about. 
She knew that her turn would come soon; it would be a chance for her to 
speak in self-defense. What could she say? What would she say? Then, the 
stark memory of that instant when Jack Gordon had tossed a wrinkled twenty 
dollar bill onto the kitchen table came flashing across her mind. She was a 
whore! Oh, God! What can I do? 

Frank's good eye pinned Gloria to her chair; she tried to stare him down, 
defiantly, but it was she who wavered after long moments. 

. . And you, Gloria West, model, photographer . . . married to an insurance 
company executive . . . what makes you tick?" 

Gloria glanced at Pauline, briefly, not aware that she had done so. Frank 
saw it; his eye gleamed, and before she could answer, he had supplied it for 
himself, "I think I know . . . you make it with girls, eh?" 

The redhead looked at him, steadily, her eyes defiant. 

"Yes," she said, simply. 

"And, you and Mrs. Riggs are the 69 twins . . . I gather?" 

Pauline shot him a murderous look. "You assume a lot of things, Mr. Coppol!" 

"I assume nothing, Mrs. Riggs! I know! Now, we'll consider your cases 
together!" He was pensive for a moment. "Guido!" he said, "I'm turning the 
madame over to you . . . you should be able to use her in that house near 
the docks at San Pedro!" 

Guido looked her over, critically, and agreed, "O.K., Frank . . . I need 
some new blood down there!" 

Pauline sprang to her feet, eyes flaming, "I'm not a piece of merchandise! I 
won't be pawed . . . and manhandled like a common prostitute!" 

Frank's eye stabbed at Guido. In two strides he stood before her, stocky and 
muscular. He said, softly, "You don't have a choice! From now on, you do as 
I say! You work for me, now!" 

". . . But, those horrible working men . . . they'll want to.. . . " 

"Fuck you . . . or anything else they want! You name it! Now sit down and 
shut up, until 

Frank's through . . . then I'll begin training you the way I like for my 
girls to be trained!" Guido said, coldly. 

Pauline remained standing, defiantly, "You can't force me to.. . . " 

She didn't get a chance to finish. Guido's hand slashed out to catch her 
full on the side of the face. "That's all, bitch!" 

The woman sank into her seat whimpering, a hand to her face, her eyes 
widened in disbelief, an unnamed horror building in her. She couldn't 
believe it was possible that they would make her work for them as a common 
whore . . . and on the docks! The vision of the rough stevedores, sailors 
and human flotsam that inhabited areas like that repulsed her. They were 
going to use her body for their own lustful satisfaction! She was trapped! 
Oh, God! They couldn't do that to her . . . not to Pauline Riggs who only 
wanted gentle sex with other women. 

Coppol turned his attention to Gloria as Guido regained his own chair. 

"Johnny!" he said. Johnny Leonard was instantly alert. 

"Yes, Frank!" 

"We'll send this redhead down to Tijuana. I owe Jose a favor for helping us 
with that last shipment out of Mexico." 

Leonard shifted, uneasily, "What about immigration . . . we don't want to 
run into trouble with them.. . . " 

"No trouble to get her in . . . but she'd have a hell of a time to get back 
into the U.S. Anyway, she'll be Jose's problem, after you turn her over to 
him!" Frank explained. 

"O.K.. . . It's as good as done!" Johnny agreed. 

With a horrible sinking feeling that seemed to turn to lead in her belly, 
Terri knew that she would be next.. . and last. 

Frank Coppol's good eye looked her over carefully, "Now, Mrs. Terri Marklin, 
beauty contest winner and former movie star . . . what do you have to say, 
for yourself?" 

Terri looked at him, steadily; she was dry-eyed and composed. During the 
time he had addressed himself to the others in the forlorn group, she had 
come to a decision, a decision, she knew that would change everything for 
her, perhaps. She spoke, softly, her voice hardly, audible. 

"I-I was t-tricked," she began, "forced t-to play the p-part of a whore . . 
. I am a wh-whore . . . and now . . . I'll just have to keep on being one. I 
like nice things . . . maybe I could keep on getting nice clothes . . . 
meeting rich people . . . and getting some kicks doing it.. . . " 

A smile spread across his face. He chuckled, "I like people who face things 
realistically and honestly, and I'm going to give you your chance." He 
swiveled to face Johnny Leonard and went on, "Johnny, let Terri get whatever 
she needs . . . send one of the boys with her to help her pack, then take 
her to my place up on Wilshire. She'll be under your supervision . . . but I 
want her available to work directly for me, anytime I want her . . . 
understand?" 

"Of course, Frank," he smiled. 

"All right, then . . . everything's settled! Frank Coppol said and rose to 
his feet. The meeting was over. The fates of eight human beings had been 
determined by this man who had acted as judge, jury and executioner, working 
within a framework of unwritten law, outside the legal jurisdiction of city, 
county, state and nation. His word was law . . . and he was supreme. There 
could be no appeal, and his sentences would be carried out to the letter. 
Such was the power wielded by this Capo, the family leader, Frank Coppol who 
controlled all vice, rackets and crime in Southern California. 

Terri rose to her feet with the others; the fat man came to escort her. No! 
That was not the right word. He was assigned to her as a guard. She was a 
valuable property, now. 

Frank Coppol smiled and came to her, "I like you," he said. "You treat me 
right . . . and I'll see that you're taken care of . . . properly." He 
grinned, lewdly, his meaning unmistakable. 

"I-I understand," she said smiling up at him. 

* * * 

A week and a half later, a fisherman discovered Peter Marklin's car in the 
lake. He was identified, and the police began their investigation that ran, 
almost at once, into blind alleys. His father and stepmother were nowhere to 
be found, their estate sold. 

Then, about two months later, in San Francisco, Jack Gordon's rented room 
was invaded by several street people types. 

"like we heard you know something about what happened to Brother Marklin?" 

"like what, man?" Jack asked. 

"Well, you know, like he was found dead at the bottom of a lake!" 

"That's too bad! Sorry, I can't help you, man.. . . " 

The leader continued, "Let me lay it on you . . . like some of our people 
are sleeping up there, you know . . . blowing a little grass . . . and doing 
a little banging . . . and like they're not too stoned to see and hear 
what's happening . . . so we know, man! We got the word . . . and you're 
it!" 

Several days later, an unidentified black man's body was found floating in 
the bay. He had been emasculated, and the penis was stuffed into his mouth. 
San Francisco police were baffled by the senseless crime. The notes on the 
incident went into the police files as one of the city's unsolved crimes. 
The newspapers carried it for awhile, comparing it to lynchings in the 
South, then, they too dropped it. 

* * * 

Terri, of course, never heard from or about Jack Gordon. He had walked out 
of her life, forever. She did, however, hear about Pauline Riggs. A week 
after the session in Frank Coppol's office, she was knocked down and run 
over by a huge tractor-trailer rig. She was killed, instantly. The 
newspapers duly reported it, quoting the truck driver, "This woman ran right 
out in front of me . . . I couldn't avoid hitting her! It was almost like 
she wanted to be hit . . . like she was committing suicide." 

* * * 

A month later, Terri was being driven to Palm Springs by the fat man. He was 
her constant companion, now; he drove her to her assignations and picked her 
up, depositing her safely back again at the apartment Frank Coppol 
maintained for her. He took Frank's payoff from her take and provided her 
with protection. 

As they drove along the desert highway, they chatted. 

"Do you know these people I'm supposed to spend the weekend with, Mr. 
Trombatori." 

"Call me Al," he said amiably. Then, "All I know is the guy's a rich, hot 
one . . . something to do with electronics . . . and Frank's working with 
him. . . . " 

"Oh?" she rounded her red lips, prettily. "Is he married?" 

"Yeah . . . Frank said she was a beautiful doll . . . an AC-DC type . . . " 
he supplied. 

"MMMmmmmnnn . . . just the kind of setup I like!" she said. 

Terri's mind seethed with anticipation. She would get to take care of both 
of them . . . for a whole weekend. It would be easy to satisfy the man, she 
decided. It always was . . . then, she'd be free to be with the woman, a 
beautiful doll, Al had said. That's what she really looked forward to, what 
she really lived for, and it was a good life. She had almost everything she 
had ever wanted: Clothes and sex . . . all kinds of sex! 

She looked at the fat man named Al and said, "Al . . . how come you never 
give me a tumble?" 

He looked at her with startled eyes. "You don't know?" he asked. "No!" 

"You're Frank's girl! It's hands off . . . for everybody! Didn't you know 
that?" 

"No . . . no, I didn't know that.. . . " She was thoughtful for a moment. 
"Is that good . . . ? " 

"For you!" he said. "You're a lucky broad!" 

"Then, you'll never.. . . " 

"Never!" he said. "Unless Frank gives the word!" 

"Will h-he ever do that?" 

It was the fat man's turn to hesitate, thoughtfully. "As long as you play 
ball with Frank.. . keep your nose clean . . . do as he says . . . your 
set!" he told her. 

"Is that part of the code, too?" 

"It's the code! But don't worry Terri . . . everything is O.K. . . . and 
you're an O.K. gal! Frank won't ever get tired of you!" 


THE END
