A Mating Game
by Suzanne Mellows


FOREWORD 

It would be easy enough to introduce Authoress Suzanne Mellows' latest novel 
as a savagely incisive satire on American morals and manners, but somehow 
this sterile definition misses all the rollicking good humor and rich 
sensuality which characterizes this hilarious book. 

The story concerns a wealthy and eccentric Scottish-American who is trying 
desperately to produce an heir for his enormous fortune. Then his lawyer and 
his stockbroker both get into the act, competing with each other to be first 
with the fetus. Comic and moderately improbable characters stalk through the 
pages of the novel in legions: the only woman to have been elected Miss 
Sweden twice competes with Maxwell, a three hundred pound Galapagos turtle 
for a place in our memory, and Billie Joe Saunders, the bantam-weight rapist 
from Dixie, who is tragically eaten (in a strict digestive sense of the 
word) by Homer, a twenty-five foot python from the Amazon valley, not to be 
confused with Xenophon Pericledes, a Greek reptile expert who finds himself 
in the wrong track (shall we say) at a crucial moment while attempting to 
impregnate Lucy MacTarmack, who is the Curator of Reptiles at the Municipal 
Zoo. Are we clear so far? 

Since it takes Miss Mellows a whole novel to tell her story, perhaps we 
should not even attempt to summarize it in a brief introduction. It is 
rather the task of the publishers to take the long, considered, critical 
view of this novel, pointing out to the reader elements like the literary 
symbolism involved in the relationship between Marge, the girl in Luther 
MacTarmack's sleeping bag who fails to get pregnant because of what can only 
be viewed as a grievous defect in her moral character, and Wayne Brooksmith, 
the English sex criminal, who fails to impregnate Miss MacTarmack because of 
Homer's timely intervention. Furthermore, some serious thought must 
certainly be given to the theory of Wild Bill MacTarmack's that artificial 
insemination is a vile Communist plot, offering some reasoned speculation on 
what may or may not have happened to Miss Sweden when she disappeared into 
the sand trap on the thirteenth hole (of a golf course) with Mr. MacTarmack 
(Wild Bill, not Luther). 

At the end of the book, our author leaves us with several serious and 
thought-provoking philosophical and ethical questions which fairly cry out 
for answers. Was Lucy morally justified in photographing Maxwell and 
Penelope while wearing only a towel? Is Wayne Brooksmith's umbrella a device 
for keeping out the rain, a phallic symbol, or a satire on the oddity of the 
British upper classes? Who is Buckminster Fuller, and why did Luther fail to 
lose his virginity with the Radcliffe girl? What did the Harvard Dean of 
Students do with the pound of hashish he found under Luther's bed? What are 
the three longest rivers in North America and how do they relate to Morris 
W. Morrisson's passion for Swedish chicken soup? 

These are deep and murky waters, readers. Take notes as you go along, at 
least to keep track of the reptiles. 

-The Publishers 

 CHAPTER ONE 

AT THE MACTARMACK MANSION, FOUR P.M. 

There were thirteen Cadillacs, four Lincolns and one snobbish Mercedes 
sitting in the carpark, low average according to Mr. MacTarmack's 
groundskeeper, but inside, the Mansion was a hive of well-ordered, quiet 
activity. Men in white coats bent over sophisticated control panels and 
whispered calm, measured instructions to neat, graceful women in white 
dresses who scurried silently back and forth in the command room. A computer 
hummed discreetly in one comer, green lights flashing once every two seconds 
as an attentive technician puzzled over the controls. Despite the quiet, 
there was a distinct buzz of tension in the air. The critical moment was 
approaching. 

"I don't like the looks of these cardiograph readings," muttered 
MacTarmack's resident heart specialist. "Too damn much activity for a 
seventy-eight year old man." 

"Give us another minute!" pleaded his resident urologist in hissed 
undertones. "We're close, man, close!" The world-famous gynecologist who was 
directing the operation wrinkled his brow as he studied an oscilloscope and 
nodded in agreement. 

"I've got an orgasm on the screen in forty-five seconds," he said tersely. 
"Start the countdown!" 

"Come on, Wild Bill!!!!" chorused several nurses enthusiastically. 

A tall burly woman of about forty strode to the observation panel and looked 
into Mr. MacTarmack's bedroom, wrinkling her large red nose in distaste. 
Inside, there was a tall thin old man, obviously advanced in years but still 
well-muscled and rugged, making love to a full-breasted, twenty-five year 
old girl who was the only living woman to have won the Miss Sweden beauty 
competition twice. 

There was a look of grim concentration on MacTarmack's wrinkled face, but 
the former Miss Sweden seemed to have lost what little there was of her 
mind. With her long, finely tapered legs wrapped eagerly around MacTarmack's 
muscular back, she was thrashing her loins wildly up against the old man's 
still-powerful penis, groaning and gasping, her ripe, sumptuous breasts 
crushing willingly against the white hairs on the millionaire's barrel 
chest. Both of the lovers were covered with electrodes and surrounded by 
mountains of instruments. There were yards and yards of wires running from 
their sweat-glistening bodies to the control booth where the medical men and 
technicians were awaiting anxiously for the orgasm which would carry the few 
surviving MacTarmack sperm into the young beauty queen's waiting womb. 

"I think tha' wretched lass is doing it again," muttered Miss MacIntyre with 
her thick Scottish accent, still gazing unhappily through the control 
window. "If she kills my boss, she'll never win another beauty contest after 
I get through with her! " 

"Right, the broad is cumming again," announced the computer technician as he 
checked his tapes. "That makes five." 

"Well, I wish she'd call it quits," snarled the cardiologist in alarm. "I 
think she's slowing him down and I'm getting fibrillations on his left 
ventricle!" 

"Poor chick can't help it," muttered the urologist to the gynecologist, 
lowering his voice to avoid offending Miss MacIntyre, the millionaire's 
private nurse, 'The old man's fucking her brains out! His damn cock must be 
made of steel!" 

"I don't know why we can't use artificial insemination," responded the 
gynecologist, in a normal voice. "Ten minutes with a syringe, and I could 
impregnate dozens of women with his sperm. Even Miss MacIntyre!" 

"I'll have you know, Doctor, that I'm a decent woman and... " 

"Heartbeat, one hundred twenty! Respiration rate, forty per minute! Blood 
pressure... " the computer technician began to sing out. 

"Ten seconds to orgasm and holding!" called the gynecologist excitedly, as 
he studied his instrument panel. "Gentlemen, this could be it!" 

"Besides, Mr. MacTarmack thinks that artificial insemination is a communist 
plot "Quiet, woman!" shouted the gynecologist excitedly, turning a switch 
which automatically increased the adrenalin flow to MacTarmack's wildly 
pumping heart. "Another second... " An alarm bell suddenly rang, jarring 
everyone's nerves, and the heart specialist turned pale. 

"Heart failure! Christ, his heart is spasming out of control!" screamed the 
cardiologist as the needle on his control mechanism soared into the red. 
"Stop him before he kills himself!" 

"Oxygen!!!" screamed a technician as the room exploded into activity and the 
alarm bell continued to throb in their ears. 

"Plan A-2!" screamed the cardiologist to whom command of the entire 
operation passed by pre-arrangement the moment the computer signaled the 
imminence of heart failure. "Battle stations, everyone!" 

The interconnecting door to the bedroom door burst open with the 
cardiologist heading the attack with his hypodermic needle held high, like a 
cavalry officer leading a charge with his saber. Inside the room, 
MacTarmack's body was still jerking convulsively in the saddle of Miss 
Sweden's thighs, but his face had gone ashen gray, and he was gasping for 
breath. 

"Un liddle more, Herr MacTarmack!" beseeched the Swedish beauty queen, 
trembling on the brink of her sixth orgasm and ignoring the babble and 
confusion around her. Desperately, she seized the millionaire's withered 
flanks, bucking and heaving frantically beneath him as she struggled to 
finish what he had started. 

Quickly and efficiently, the team of physicians pulled MacTarmack's stricken 
body off the voluptuous form of the Swedish girl, and she lay gasping on her 
back, her thighs still immodestly spread apart, the tantalizing moist 
triangle of her throbbing pussy naked to every male eye in the room, no 
longer caring whether anyone looked at her or not. In fact, for the moment, 
no one did, since Mr. MacTarmack was worth just a fraction less than a 
quarter of a billion dollars alive, and he was very close to dying. Sweden 
produces a dozen beauty queens a year, but Scotland had produced only one 
Wild Bill MacTarmack in its entire history, and the assembled medical men 
were paid very well to keep him alive. 

While the heart specialist was reviving the millionaire with oxygen, 
adrenalin, and heart massage, the urologist and the gynecologist turned 
their professional attention to the spectacularly well-developed body of the 
Swedish woman, carefully inserting a delicate instrument into the still 
moistly trembling channel of her vagina. 

"Ah... dot feels gut!" she moaned, her hips still twitching convulsively as 
the gynecologist accidentally placed one thumb on the tiny pink pearl of her 
clitoris. 

"Lie still, you bitch," muttered the doctor irritably. 

"Anything?" prompted the urologist as his colleague crouched between the 
woman's lasciviously outstretched legs and peered through the view finder. 

"Not a trace of semen. Heart kicked up on him just seconds before he would 
have cum. 

Damn!" 

"We'll have to go to artificial insemination," advised the urologist. 

"Plot... directed by the Kremlin... weaken the species... " came a feeble 
voice from the other side of the bed. 

"Please, Mr. MacTarmack," advised the cardiologist, breathing a sigh of 
relief as he saw that his patient was still alive enough to worry about 
Communist plots. "Rest now, and we can talk about it later." 

"Did I... I... make it?" the old man's voice was weak and fluttering, but 
his iron will had not faltered. 

" 'Fraid not, Mr. MacTarmack," confessed the gynecologist unhappily, noting 
that the great MacTarmack penis was still twitching restlessly. "Another 
minute and you would have been there." 

"I am zo zorry," said the girl who had almost been the mother of 
MacTarmack's first child, taking one of the old man's hands and pressing it 
affectionately to the soft yielding mound of her right breast. "Next time, 
vee do better." 

"There will be no next time," announced the cardiologist firmly, peeling Mr. 
MacTarmack's fingers off of the woman's succulent breast. "Another effort 
would almost certainly be fatal. My patient is seventy-eight years old!" 

"No more sex?" moaned the millionaire. "Not for the rest of my life?" 

"I'm afraid not, Sir. We all have to stop sometime," said the cardiologist 
gently. The heart specialist was forty-seven and had stopped in his late 
thirties. "The next time would certainly kill you." 

"Und me? Vat becomes of me?" cried the girl unhappily, her mountainous 
breasts quivering with emotion as she thought about MacTarmack's promise to 
marry her if she succeeded in giving him an heir. 

"Stop by my office on your way out, dear, and I'll give you your severance 
pay and your return ticket to Stockholm," promised the resident urologist, 
his hand resting casually on the vee-shaped triangle of her pussy. "Now, if 
you would please cover yourself, we don't want Mr. MacTarmack becoming 
excited again, do we?" 

* * * 

"Perhaps we could find a judge to declare him senile," suggested Morris W. 
Morrisson blandly as the door to Wild Bill MacTarmack's bedroom closed 
behind them. "After all, he's just had a heart attack, and we could play up 
that experiment with the Swedish girl... " 

"Nothing senile about wanting to have an heir," retorted W. Scott McNalty 
with a frown, glancing suspiciously at the lawyer through his tri-focals. 
"He's continuing to manage his own stock portfolio, with my assistance, 
naturally, making sound and eminently sane investments. We of McNalty 
Economic Resources Incorporated would be obliged to testify against you." 

"Oh, you would?" snapped Morrison nastily, running his fingers through his 
dramatic, steel gray hair. "And we of Morrisson, Redundant and Morrisson 
would be obliged to drag you into court and sue your corporate pants off! 
Don't think I don't know what you're up to, McNalty!" 

The lawyer looked down contemptuously on the diminutive stockbroker and 
sneered as the other man nervously removed his thick glasses and polished 
them rapidly. In fact, each man knew precisely what the other was planning. 
Morrisson's legal firm had been battling with McNalty's investment 
corporation under the table for years now, each trying to become the sole 
agency for the handling of Mr. MacTarmack's affairs, and the canny old 
millionaire had contentedly watched the two corporations maul each other, 
certain that each was keeping the other honest. But this was a time for 
corporate guerrilla warfare and both McNalty and Morrisson knew it. 
MacTarmack had called them in to announce a revision of his will. Both men 
realized that the time had come for each of them to make a grab for the 
entire MacTarmack fortune, or lose control of it entirely. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," McNalty said, his glasses steaming 
up again as he attempted to look indignant. "And I have to be getting back 
to my office now. The Tokyo Exchange is about to close." 

Morrisson grunted noncommittally and the two men walked rapidly out of the 
mansion, McNalty scurrying ahead on his short bandy legs as Morris W. 
Morrisson walked along calmly behind him, sneering self-confidently. As 
Morrisson signaled to his chauffeur to bring the car up to the foot of the 
steps, McNalty ran quickly to the car park and flung himself behind the 
wheel of his Ferrari Dino convertible, quickly thrusting the key into the 
ignition and turning the motor over. It was still grinding furiously when 
Mr. Morrisson's new chauffeur politely opened the door for him. 

"Back to my office," the lawyer said quickly. "Hmmmmm, my colleague McNalty 
seems to be having difficulty with his splendid little car." 

"Dis vot you vant?" said Morris W. Morrisson's new chauffeur, handing him 
the distributor cap from a Ferrari Dino, over her shoulder as she drove the 
big car smoothly down the street. Morrison's new chauffeur was the only 
chauffeur in the world who had been elected Miss Sweden twice and Morrisson 
was very proud of her. 

* * * 

"Gentlemen, the corporate crisis we are facing today is the gravest since my 
great-grandfather, R. Spanniel Morrisson, founded this firm in the middle of 
the Revolutionary War! Not only are we fighting the sneaky and insidious 
maneuvers of McNalty and his crowd of low-minded money changers, but the 
legal situation with the will is very difficult. I don't know that it can 
successfully be overturned in a court of law, and I think we are going to 
have to live with it." 

Morris W. Morrisson paused for effect, glancing over the assembled members 
of his corporate staff. His company was like a well-oiled machine, powerful, 
dependable, loyal... His men knew how much the MacTarmack business meant, 
and several of them turned white with the notion of losing it. 

"The terms of the will are very specific," continued the lawyer. "Upon his 
death, the old man's entire fortune passes to whichever member of the 
MacTarmack Family has just produced an heir to continue the family name. If 
no one has produced an heir, the money goes to charity. Every last cent of 
it! Now, besides Wild Bill himself, there are only two living MacTarmack's, 
both distant cousins." 

Here Morris W. Morrisson paused while the lights were extinguished and two 
slides were flashed side-by-side against the wall from twin projectors in 
the back of the boardroom. 

"Here they are, the last of the MacTarmacks!" Morrisson returned to his 
lecture. "This rather attractive young woman is Lucy W. MacTarmack -- note 
the characteristic red hair -- the third cousin twice removed of Wild 
Bill's, and a resident of our fair city. There has never been any contact 
between Lucy and the old man, and the girl is probably unaware of their 
relationship. We have her name, address and complete file of background 
information." 

Mr. Morrisson and his pointer moved over to the rather blurred image of an 
unusually hairy young man in the next slide, cleared his throat and 
continued. "This is an equally distant relation, Luther MacTarmack, about 
whom our files are considerably less up-to-date. We know that in the middle 
of his junior year he was expelled from Harvard, where he was studying 
engineering, for the crime of having been found with a Radcliffe girl and a 
pound of hashish in his room after visiting hours. At this time, he seems to 
have dropped out of society and disappeared. We haven't been able to find 
him, and it is hardly likely that anyone else will succeed where we have 
failed. Therefore, we must concentrate our corporate efforts, gentlemen, on 
Lucy. If this young woman produces a child, legitimate or illegitimate, boy 
or girl, before Wild Bill's death, she and the child inherit approximately a 
quarter of a billion dollars. I need hardly remind you that this company has 
come to depend heavily on the revenues we receive for helping to manage the 
MacTarmack fortune and if it passes out of our hands, we are, quite frankly, 
ruined. I believe I can depend on your support?" 

There was a roar of corporate enthusiasm as Mr. Morrison skillfully brought 
the meeting to a close, passing out copies of his mimeographed game-plan for 
the impregnation of Lucy W. MacTarmack, issuing individual orders, slapping 
backs and shaking hands. The junior law clerk who had joined the firm only a 
few months before smiled bleakly at everyone in general and no one in 
particular and slipped from the room. He walked quietly out of the Morrisson 
offices, found the public telephone next to the elevator, and dialed a 
certain number. 

"This is me," he said guardedly as the distinctive nasal voice of W. Scott 
McNalty came slithering over the wire. 

"Right, what's happening?" 

"They're going after Lucy." 

"Ha! They've got their hands full with that vestal virgin. Do they know 
about Luther?" asked McNalty tersely. 

"Yes, but they can't find him." 

"Perfect." 

There was a dull click on the line as McNalty hung up. The sallow-faced 
young man smiled confidently to himself and walked contentedly back to his 
office. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

THE EMPLOYEE'S CAFETERIA OF THE MUNICIPAL ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS. 

Dressed in slacks and a white blouse, Dr. Lucy W. MacTarmack, Assistant 
Curator of Reptiles, was quietly munching a peanut butter sandwich and 
glancing through a scientific article on the highly peculiar mating habits 
of the Testudo Gigantea, or Galapagos turtle. The Zoo was the possessor of 
two of these enormous creatures and Lucy was patiently trying to coax them 
into mating. 

The Curator of the Monkey House, who had spent too many years with 
chimpanzees and was beginning to absorb some of their behavioral 
characteristics, was sitting at a nearby table with a number of his 
colleagues, strumming his guitar. With an impish glance at Lucy, he began to 
sing a song of his own composition. 

"If you want to find a true romance, Take this advice from me. Stay far away 
from a woman in pants, Or a gal with a PH.D." 

Dr. MacTarmack glanced up in anger, her face turning as scarlet as her 
bright red hair, realizing that her male colleagues were once again 
indulging in their usual lunch-hour pastime of ridiculing her. The guitar 
was slightly out of tune, and the monkey-man's singing voice was no threat 
to Frank Sinatra, but the song had its desired effect and the cafeteria 
rocked with cruel laughter. Jamming the remnants of her peanut butter 
sandwich into a brown paper bag, Lucy snapped her book shut and jumped to 
her feet, her graceful, attractive features contorted into an angry grimace. 

"Oh, I once loved a lady herpetologist, Who worked at the city zoo... " 

continued the Curator of the Monkey House lyrically, but Lucy was never to 
know where he had found a word to rhyme with 'herpetologist', since she 
stormed out of the cafeteria in a fiery rage, slamming the door explosively 
behind her to punctuate her displeasure. 

Male Chauvinist Pig! she cursed mentally. Why can't they respect me for what 
I am, a scientist? No, to them women are all the same, stupid giddy 
creatures to be ordered around and drooled over, only good for the bedroom 
and the kitchen! Suppose I do wear pants! When was the last time anybody 
ever tried to force-feed a python in a miniskirt? 

Still steaming with righteous indignation, the young redhead entered the 
Reptile Building where her supervisor, Dr. Mel Roberts, was sipping a cool 
beer behind his desk while he leafed through the most recent issue of the 
Herpetologists' Monthly Digest. He glanced at his assistant's angry features 
and understood the situation in an instant. 

"Boys in the cafeteria getting to you again, Lucy?" he inquired kindly. Dr. 
Roberts was a calm, almost lethargic man in his fifties whose only two 
visible interests in life were reptiles and the cultivation of African 
violets. Lucy found him less than brilliant, but he was sympathetic to her 
Women's Liberation philosophy, and let her generally run the Reptile 
Building under his nonchalant supervision. 

"Golly, a little, Dr. Roberts," she admitted, feeling a little sheepish 
about her wrath. "I guess they can't forgive me for being a woman." 

"Well, now, why don't you take a nice shower and forget about it? Our friend 
Maxwell is looking very interested in Penelope, and today just could be the 
day. Are the cameras ready?" 

Lucy instantly forgot her personal troubles. Maxwell and Penelope were both 
Galapagos turtles, each weighing about three hundred pounds. Maxwell had 
been practicing strict chastity for the past hundred and twenty-five years, 
but the two zoologists had noticed that he had seemed to be warming up to 
Penelope over the past twenty-four months. Turtles live a long time and they 
like to think things over for a decade or two before they make any rash 
moves, but Maxwell was still in the prime of life and if he decided to mate 
with Penelope, it would be the first time it had ever happened in captivity. 
At the moment, both turtles were sitting in a specially built cage in the 
corner of the office, gazing deeply and unblinkingly into one another's 
eyes. Turtles in fact, cannot blink since they have no eyelids, but somehow 
Lucy guessed that neither one of them would have blinked under the 
circumstances. 

"Everything's ready," she assured him breathlessly. "I'll just take that 
shower and be right back!" 

Dr. Roberts smiled peacefully and returned to the scholarly book he was 
reading, but only until his attractive assistant had disappeared into the 
bathroom. A shower stall was a necessity for the reptile house, since a few 
hours of handling snakes and lizards left one smelling a lot like a reptile, 
but for Dr. Roberts, the shower had one added attraction. He moved quickly 
to the corner of the office, lifted off a framed photograph of a Marine 
Iguana, (or Anblyrhynchus Cristatus, as it is known to specialists) and then 
carefully removed the heavy spike which held the picture to the wall. The 
result was a small but entirely adequate hole through which one could survey 
everything which took place in the shower room. After reptiles and African 
violets, watching Dr. Lucy MacTarmack take her showers was the major 
interest in Roberts' otherwise unexciting life. 

The practice was a trifle on the sneaky side, but the Curator of Reptiles 
could hardly be blamed entirely, since one of the reasons the boys in the 
cafeteria could never forget that Lucy was a woman was the fact that she was 
the most womanly woman any of them had ever seen. Dr. Roberts' right eye 
widened with simple lust as he watched the girl stuff her long auburn hair 
into a shower cap, and then unbutton the buttons on her blouse. The girl had 
the voluptuous figure of a young Greek goddess -- despite her Scottish 
ancestry and the fact that Scottish mythology had never once produced a 
decent-looking goddess. Roberts never tired of the moment when Lucy slid her 
white blouse off her smooth, well tanned shoulders, hanging it neatly on a 
peg, and then leaned forward and reached around back to unfasten her 
brassiere. The girl's breasts were high-placed and temptingly rounded, and 
Roberts gulped in ecstasy as he watched the tiny, pinkish brown nipples pop 
forward eagerly as Lucy absentmindedly rubbed her hands across the fullness 
of her succulent young bosom. But the best was still to come. Sucking in her 
flat smooth stomach, the tantalizing redhead undid the buttons on her slacks 
and then bent over quickly, removing pants, and white nylon panties in one 
clean efficient motion. She was naked! 

Roberts nearly whimpered with gratefulness as Lucy turned in his direction, 
affording him a delectable vision of all the sweet mysteries of her 
mouth-wateringly proportioned body. The soft curly pubic hair between her 
legs was sparse and only a little darker in tint than the auburn locks on 
her head, and the Reptile building's Peeping Tom could see the soft virginal 
lips of her pussy, glistening pinkly in their reddish fringe, as she leaned 
over and manipulated the faucet on the shower, selecting the proper water 
temperature before she immersed her lust-provoking form in the spray. God, 
he was thinking, what I'd give to be able to shove my... 

Behind him, there was a low rumbling sound, the noise of violent activity in 
the turtle cage. Reluctantly, Roberts turned his head to see what Maxwell 
was up to. Why now? he was complaining, until he saw that Maxwell had 
climbed up with his powerful forelegs on Penelope's massive shell. Hanging 
beneath his tail was his incredibly large Galapagos penis, normally 
concealed from view within the turtle's body, but now hardened and brutally 
thick. They were about to mate! 

Trembling with excitement, the Curator of the Reptile House reacted quickly, 
replacing the picture of the Marine Iguana (Amblyrhynchus Cristatus) and 
slipping into his white laboratory coat in order to hide his own 
irrepressible erection. Then he banged fiercely on the door of the bathroom. 

"Lucy! It's happening! They're mating!" 

In the shower, the girl shivered with eagerness as she heard her 
supervisor's excited words. This was the historic moment they had been 
waiting for! She would be the first zoologist to photograph the mating 
ritual of the Galapagos turtle. In her haste, she nearly forgot that she was 
still naked, but as her hand was about to touch the doorknob, she quickly 
wrapped a bath-towel around her moistly delectable figure. 

Fertilizing a three-hundred pound tortoise is not the easiest thing in the 
world, as Maxwell was finding out, and even though Penelope was cooperating 
to the best of her ability, she was only eighty-five years old and still a 
virgin. Lucy emerged into the office to find Dr. Roberts fussing with the 
camera she had positioned next to the cage. "Let me do it!" she cried, since 
Roberts was hopeless with mechanical devices. The Curator readily yielded 
his position as his pretty assistant swept across the room, the inadequate 
bath-towel barely covering the strategic parts of her voluptuous young body. 
Lucy bent quickly over the tripod and began focusing the camera just as 
Maxwell was consolidating his position on Penelope's plated back, his long 
green log-like penis probing up beneath her quivering tail. Lucy brought the 
camera expertly into focus and began snapping pictures, realizing that the 
occasion was of enormous scientific importance. 

Dr. Roberts, on the other hand, was having great difficulty keeping his 
attention on the two rutting tortoises. As Lucy- bent over, naturally, the 
towel covering her cock-taunting nakedness shifted its position slightly, 
and the zoologist's eyes were now treated to a delicious view of her smooth 
bare flanks and about forty percent of her glistening right buttock. He 
stood behind her, his eyes trained on the mysteries of her half-clad body, 
fear struggling with desire. Struck by a sudden inspiration, he attempted 
the lewd tactic of carelessly brushing his thigh against the towel, 
successfully uncovering the rest of her firmly-rounded ass-cheek. But Dr. 
MacTarmack was far too engrossed in what she was doing to notice. 

"Can you take a light reading?" she snapped briskly as Roberts feasted his 
greedy eyes on the lasciviously revealed half-moons of her trim little 
buttocks. "I've got to get this aperture right!" 

"Aperture... " echoed Roberts dumbly, bending over with lewd delight and 
gazing at the faint reddish wisps of the girl's pubic hair straying back 
between her thighs. "Aperture is all right!" 

"If you say so," Lucy responded, doubling her concentration as Maxwell found 
his way to the rough, leathery opening beneath Penelope's tail and began to 
inch his swollen instrument up into her willing body. Roberts, meanwhile, 
was beginning to lose his mind with lust as he maneuvered himself behind his 
unsuspecting assistant, feeling his fully erected cock throbbing wildly in 
his pants. Knowing that he was going too far, but no longer able to stop 
himself he reached carefully out and poked the knot Lucy had made in the 
towel to fasten it around her breasts. It took a minute of cautious 
concentration, but Roberts finally managed to undo it. 

"Ah! Oh, please, Doctor Roberts," the girl yelped with alarm, not moving 
from the camera as the towel slid off of her desire-provoking body and fell 
to the floor. "Would you cover me?" The coupling of the two gigantic 
reptiles was approaching a critical stage, and she feared that if she 
deserted her camera for as long as it took to cover her voluptuous body, the 
history-making photograph might be lost. Besides, Roberts was undoubtedly 
paying no attention to her, being a scientist... 

"Certainly, my dear," muttered Roberts, his eyes widening with savage lust 
as he surveyed the soft full globes of her flaccid young breasts. "Just 
keep... ah... photographing... " The Curator of Reptiles swept the towel up 
off the floor and held it in his trembling hands for a second, fighting a 
savage internal battle for self-control. 

Unfortunately, he lost! With an animal-like growl, Roberts tossed the towel 
into a far comer of the room, his mind totally possessed by the notion of 
burying his anguished cock in his redheaded assistant's soft and vulnerable 
pussy. Gasping with unbridled lust, he ripped open the front of his pants, 
exposing his hardened rod of lust-swollen flesh and moved in for the kill. 

Despite her enormous powers of concentration, Lucy was nervous about being 
stark naked in the laboratory, and she turned her head just in time to see 
Dr. Roberts sliding his stiffened penis in between her invitingly parted 
thighs. 

"Ahhhh! No!!!!! Doctor Roberts!" she screamed, backing away from the 
lust-maddened zoologist in horror. "What are you doing?" 

To someone who had studied biology, it should have been perfectly obvious 
what he was doing, but the girl's brain was unsettled by this unexpected 
turn of events, and she allowed herself to be backed into a comer formed by 
the turtle cage and the wall. Roberts was now totally beside himself and he 
tackled her delicate form like a football player, sending the girl sprawling 
on her back with her finely tapered legs scissoring apart while he crawled 
lasciviously on top of her, his rigid penis stabbing dangerously at the 
exposed triangular target of her delectable little pussy. 

"Why should they have all the fun?" he snarled, wincing as Dr. MacTarmack 
raked her nails through the skin on his cheek. "I can't take it anymore! 
I've got to have it!" 

"Please! Control yourself!" Lucy pleaded with the temporarily deranged 
herpetologist as she struggled to close her legs and defend the delicate 
pink lips of her untouched vagina from his obscenely probing cock. Roberts' 
only answer was a snarl of brutal lust as he buried his face in the tempting 
mountain range of her supple, yielding breasts, alternately sucking one 
sensitive little nipple, then the other, and back again, until she felt they 
were going to burst. 

"Can't help it," he grunted, pinning her arms to the cold concrete floor to 
keep her from scratching him again. "Gotta... have... your... body!" 

"But I'm a scientist!" the girl tried to reason with him, twisting her torso 
wildly as her boss made a nearly successful jab at the defenseless orifice 
of her vagina. "It's only an accident that I'm a woman!" 

"Accidents will happen," he muttered insanely, flexing his hips savagely as 
he made one supreme effort to implant his merciless organ into the softness 
of her unused little cunt. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw that 
Maxwell and Penelope had given up on their own attempts to mate and were 
calmly watching the two reptile specialists thrashing wildly around on the 
floor. The turtle is an intelligent beast, always willing to learn. 

This is madness, the girl thought helplessly, wrenching her lust young body 
just in time as Roberts attempted to skewer her unprotected vagina with his 
desire-bloated battering ram. My God, why does it always have to work out 
like this? Why can't I have a friendly intellectual relationship with a 
fellow scientist without having him go berserk? Why are men always trying to 
use me? 

The telephone rang. 

"Please... it won't take long," pleaded Dr. Roberts, nearly in tears as he 
found himself unable to effect a penetration into the sexy young girl's 
rebelliously twisting body. "Just a quickie!" 

"The phone... " she gasped at him, realizing that the peak of his savagery 
had passed. "Answer the phone!" 

With a muffled sob, Dr. Roberts gave in and rolled off of his assistant's 
nakedly stunning body, buttoning his pants as he stumbled towards the 
ringing telephone, swearing horribly. The moment she was free, Lucy snatched 
up the discarded towel and raced for the security of the bathroom, locking 
the door behind her. Her luscious body was still trembling with fright and 
shock as she listened to Dr. Roberts answer the phone, his voice quivering 
with frustration. 

"Yes? Yes, she's here. Visitors? All right, I'll tell her." 

There was a click and then the scratch of Roberts' pen as he jotted her a 
note on his blotter. Lucy put her panties on, reminding herself to recount 
this dreadful experience at the next general meeting of the Sisterhood of 
Science, an organization of female scientists, dedicated to the principles 
of Women's Liberation, which met every Tuesday night in a rented hall over a 
nearby bowling alley. 

She would not mention Dr. Roberts' name, of course, she decided, as she 
refastened her brassiere. She had always felt a little guilty about wearing 
a bra since one of the cardinal rules of Women's Lib was bralessness, but 
unfortunately Lucy was a trifle too voluptuous for the unfettered state. She 
shuddered at the notion of walking into the Zoo Cafeteria with her 
unrestrained breasts jiggling freely. There would be mass rape! 

As she stepped into her slacks, there was a click as Dr. Roberts closed the 
door of the Reptile House office, departing in disgrace for the day. 
Grateful that she would not have to face him until tomorrow morning, Dr. 
MacTarmack sighed deeply and reached for her blouse, buttoning it up to the 
collar. 

* * * 

Lucy studied the card before her on the desk. 

It Read: 

MORRIS W. MORRISSON, ATTORNEY AT LAW MORRISSON, REDUNDANT AND MORRISSON,INC.
 12 PARK AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY 

"I've heard of you, of course," she murmured shyly, looking up into the cool 
confident eyes of the handsome gray-haired lawyer who sat before her. Mr. 
Morrisson had recently defended the governor of an Eastern State who had 
been accused of maintaining a string of prostitutes in the Governor's 
mansion, and he had successfully kept the politician out of jail. During the 
Senate Hearings on the subject, Morrisson's face had appeared frequently on 
television, to the intense irritation of viewers who wanted to see "I Love 
Lucy" re-runs. His strong, noble features inspired trust and confidence and 
it seemed impossible that this man would ever stoop to anything mean or 
dishonest. His voice was deep and self-assured and Lucy found herself 
trusting him instinctively. After her terrible experience a few minutes 
before, even a convinced Women's Libber can use a father figure to lean upon 
in troubled times. 

"You have also heard of William MacTarmack, I presume?" Morrisson inquired 
gently. "The Investment tycoon? In their vulgar fashion, the newspapers 
refer to him as 'Wild Bill'." 

"Yes... I often wondered if we were related in some way," the girl 
responded, still puzzled over the purpose of Morrisson's visit. "Our names 
are the same and... " 

"You are related very distantly," the lawyer interrupted succinctly, "very 
distantly indeed, and before you get false hopes up, I should tell you that 
you are not specifically mentioned in his will." 

"Oh." For a moment, Lucy had entertained a fleeting hope that Wild Bill had 
passed on to the big stock exchange in the sky, and that she was the sole 
surviving relative, destined to inherit the MacTarmack millions. The girl 
had never dreamed of enormous wealth, but her Assistant Curator's salary was 
meager, and as a millionairess, she could have made some badly needed 
improvements in the Reptile House. 

"However, you are relatives, and my firm has established an international 
reputation for foresight. As a relative, however distant, of Wild Bill's, 
you will need expert legal and financial representation in the event that 
you do qualify in the future for participation in our client's last will and 
testament. We are here to offer you that representation, taking charge of 
all your legal and financial concerns, free of charge, naturally." 

"Golly," gasped the girl as Morris W. Morrisson extracted a two-hundred page 
contract from an alligator skin attache case and set it gently before her. 
"I don't have any legal and financial concerns. I've only got forty-seven 
dollars in the bank and... " The future can be faced with tranquility, my 
dear, with a good law firm at one's beck and call. If you would just sign 
here." 

Lucy had been told all about reading the fine print in contracts, but like 
most scientists, she was more comfortable with test-tubes than torts. She 
picked up her fountain pen. 

"What does it commit me to do?" she inquired, thinking herself fairly shrewd 
for having remembered to ask. 

"Just two things," responded Morrisson frankly. "It appoints my firm to 
handle your legal and financial affairs, under your direction, naturally, 
and it requires you to cooperate with any efforts we may make to gain for 
you a portion of the MacTarmack estate." 

"Gee, that's wonderful." 

"We lawyers draw our major satisfaction in life from helping people," 
Morrisson assured her, exhaling with relief as he watched the auburn-haired 
woman sign on the dotted line. "Congratulations, my dear, you have just 
acquired the nation's number one legal team to look after your interests. 
Now, as your personal lawyer, I would like to explain to you more clearly 
how we intend to act in your behalf. You don't happen to be pregnant do 
you?" 

"What? Of course not!" she replied, startled and blushing as she remembered 
the close call she had experienced a moment before. 

"No matter, no matter, that can easily be remedied since Dr. Williamson has 
assured us that you are a normally fertile young woman and... " 

"Doctor Williamson! Why have you been talking to my gynecologist?" the girl 
shouted, now angry and perplexed. What were these male chauvinist pigs up to 
now? "You've been spying on me!" 

"Now, now, my dear, nothing of the sort, but we have to protect our 
investment, don't we? Well, I'll come right to the heart of the matter, 
Lucy, we want you to get pregnant immediately. I should mention that it has 
to be done, ah... shall we say in the traditional fashion, since Mr. 
MacTarmack believes, and he may be right, who knows -- that artificial 
insemination is a communist plot designed to turn us into a race of 
Mongolian idiots. Do you have a father in mind, or would you like us to 
select one for you?" 

"Select one? You're out of your mind!" the angry young scientist stormed at 
the placid lawyer. "I'll marry when I'm good and ready!" 

"You don't have to get married, dear, just pregnant. Now I have several 
handsome young lawyers on my staff who would do very nicely. Of course, if 
you prefer a more mature man with a proven capacity in their matters, as 
your lawyer, I can offer my own services... " Morrisson smiled seductively 
and stroked one of her hands, giving her a sly 'Wink. 

"Get out!" 

"A quarter of a billion dollars goes to the first MacTarmack to produce an 
heir," explained the lawyer hurriedly, seeing that he had somehow mismanaged 
things. 

"I'm a woman, not a bond issue!" shouted the furious young scientist, 
jumping to her feet and striding to the door, determined to leave herself, 
since Morrisson showed no signs of obeying her eviction notice. She stormed 
out of the office and disappeared in the general direction of the Zebra 
cage. 

"Wrong, my dear, you are preferred, blue chip stock," smiled Morrisson to 
himself. "And I intend to cash in on you." The lawyer gazed quizzically in 
the comer where Maxwell was rutting gleefully with Penelope in their cage. 

Morrisson affectionately patted the top of the turtle cage. "Thataboy," he 
said pleasantly. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Three stern Mercedes rumbled pompously through the fields of waving grain, 
an unusual sight in Nebraska, and farmers paused in their honest labor to 
gaze upon the strange caravan. In the lead car, sat W. Scott McNalty, a 
dark-haired girl named Marge, a former FBI man turned cost accountant and 
the eminent gynecologist who had almost but not quite succeeded in making 
Wild Bill MacTarmack a father. In the following two Mercedes were three 
earnest young stockbrokers and several young women of proven fertility, all 
of them approximately as beautiful as Marge. 

"This is the largest single operation in the history of gynecology," 
murmured the gynecologist gratefully. "I wonder someday if I might be 
allowed to publish my notes..." 

"If you don't mind being slapped with a million dollar breech-of-contract 
suit, Doctor," McNalty squinted through his thick glasses at the medical 
man. "And may I remind you that the American Medical Association is likely 
to take a dim view of this extravaganza? Medical ethics and all that kind of 
thing?" 

"I don't know anything about ethics, but I just feel I'm going to love 
Luther," affirmed Marge solemnly. "The McNalty Company is bringing two 
lonely people together." 

It was hard to imagine that a honey blonde with a thirty-nine-inch bust 
mounted atop a staggering figure could ever be lonely for long, but the 
company allowed this romantic statement to pass without comment. 

"Let's just hope Luther doesn't turn out to be queer," muttered the 
gynecologist. 

"We're prepared for that," announced McNalty calmly. "Notice that slender 
young man in the last car? The one who looks a trifle... eh... " 

"Queer, Yeah, I wondered what a guy like that was doing on your staff," 
grumbled the ex-FBI man suspiciously. 

"Effeminate is the word I would have used," specified McNalty. "Very 
effeminate indeed, and for the very excellent reason that George, back 
there, is actually Georgia, a perfectly charming and very fertile young 
woman with considerable acting experience. My theory is... " 

"If Luther turns out to be a faggot... " 

"Precisely, we give him Georgia, with the hopes that before he discovers the 
truth it will be too late." 

"Mr. McNalty, you're a genius!" said the ex-FBI man sincerely. "J. Edgar 
himself wouldn't have thought of that." 

* * * 

Luther MacTarmack, who would have been a Harvard man except for that 
unfortunate episode with the Radcliffe girl and the pound of hashish, had 
been fortunate enough to discover that what he wanted to do in life and what 
he was good at doing were the same things, a happy coincidence not enjoyed 
by many. Of course, there had been a few anguishing days after the Dean of 
Students had come storming into his dorm room and terminated his academic 
career, especially since he had been in the process of demonstrating to the 
Radcliffe girl that he was the most disastrously incompetent lover in the 
entire Ivy League. But then, wandering aimlessly through Cambridge a few 
days later with nothing to his name but a few well-thumbed books on 
engineering and a few ounces of high quality Mexican grass, he had chanced 
to come upon a tent built in the form of a geodesic dome, a free standing 
geometric affair made with a complicated series of interlocking triangles, 
originally invented by the architect R. Buckminster Fuller. Entranced by the 
design, Luther had sat down immediately, rolled himself a joint and began 
sketching. His career had been born in that moment. 

When the three Mercedes rolled incongruously up to the edge of the commune 
where he was presently working, Luther was lying on his back on a scaffold, 
forty-five feet off the ground just under the roof of a half-completed 
geodesic dome. He was smoking his customary joint for inspiration as he 
happily worked out some last minute structural problems involved in this 
construction, which was going to be a residence for several dozen hippies 
who had dropped out of society. A geodesic dome was the most economical 
means of enclosing large spaces, and Luther was in considerable demand among 
the growing number of hippie communes springing up in various parts of the 
country. They were rarely able to pay him much beyond room and board while 
he was designing and building their dome, but Luther's wants were simple and 
he was a genius at constructing domes out of cheap, locally available 
materials. Every commune had an ample supply of marijuana, which was one of 
Luther's few real necessities, and a willing labor force of young men who 
worked under his orders. There was usually a single female or two who would 
offer the young engineer her own special form of reimbursement, but after 
the catastrophe with that Radcliffe girl, Luther had begun to regard sex as 
an engineering problem involving stresses and forces beyond his competence 
and left it alone. Right now he needed a husky steel plate to handle the 
stresses at the very apex of his dome, which the commune could not afford, 
and he was too deeply engrossed in concentration on the matter to notice a 
bald-headed stock broker with thick glasses making his way up the ladder. 

"You Luther MacTarmack?" 

"You a cop?" 

"No." 

"Then I'm Luther MacTarmack. But if you can't get me a five-pronged steel 
capping plate, I don't wanna talk to you." 

"I'll have one flown in by helicopter in the morning," promised McNalty, 
trying not to look down as he clung nervously to the ladder. 

"That's great, man! Hey, you wanta hit?" Gratefully, Luther offered McNalty 
a drag on his joint, but the stockbroker shook his head as he wiggled onto 
the narrow platform where the engineer was reclining comfortably. 

"Mr. MacTarmack, I have come to offer you the opportunity to become one of 
the richest men in America!" he announced majestically, having prepared for 
this moment ever since Chicago. 

"It's got to be stainless steel," mumbled Luther, still thinking about his 
metal plate. 

"Untold millions." 

"I don't want any untold millions, man. Hey, you trying to complicate my 
life?" Luther swung his legs carelessly over the side of the scaffolding and 
began to precede McNalty down the ladder. 

"Think of the future, boy. A lovely home -- a geodesic dome, naturally, and 
a beautiful young wife... children climbing on your knee... " 

"I think I'm gonna be sick," murmured Luther, turning a little pale as the 
notions of house, wedlock and children peppered his brain. "Hey, just forget 
that steel plate, man, I'll think of something else." 

McNalty's confidence returned quickly as he felt the solid ground beneath 
his feet once more. Having sold stock all his life, he had found that the 
blunt approach was inevitably the most effective. 

"Luther, I'll lay it on the line. You want to be rich, right? Everybody 
wants to be rich, but for most of us, it's hard to do. All you have to do is 
sleep with a beautiful woman and get her pregnant. Now what's hard about 
that?" 

Luther's mild brown eyes flashed over the three Mercedes and the former FBI 
man and the six beautiful and fertile women and all McNalty's assistant 
stockbrokers. He mumbled something about his hashish spiked with opium and 
then fainted. 

* * * 

"Oh Luther, it's going to be wonderful," said Marge happily as she explored 
the hut where the hippie engineer had been spending his nights. "I'm going 
to love being your secretary." 

Luther sat on his haunches near the door looking as if he were ready to flee 
at a moment's notice. His eyes followed Marge's sultry body as she poked 
through his designs and models of geodesic domes. The girl was wearing a 
miniskirt which was nearly indistinguishable from a loin cloth, and her 
long, finely tapered legs troubled him for some undefinable reason. Above 
the belt, the situation was even more disturbing for a dedicated young 
dome-builder with a nonexistent love-life. Her blouse was made of some 
translucent material and everytime Marge passed between him and the light, 
Luther could see the tantalizing outline of her alluringly swaying breasts, 
making his frontal lobes twitch. 

"What... what did that man mean when he said I had to get someone pregnant?' 
he asked with a quivering voice, thinking back to that day in his dorm room 
and remembering how the Radcliffe girl had mocked his total incompetence as 
he had striven manfully to lose his virginity. 

"Oh, he was just joking, sweetie," Marge assured him, coming over to pat him 
tenderly on the cheek. "Mr. McNalty is a little eccentric, and he likes to 
tease people, but he's crazy about geodesic domes and he wants you to be the 
most successful young dome-builder in America." 

"But... I've been building domes for ten years now and I never made a dime," 
objected Luther, thinking that it was about time that he had a joint. "So 
why does he want to invest my earnings? Why did I have to sign that contract 
making him my financial manager? Why do I suddenly need a secretary?" 

Wisely, Marge refrained from attempting an explanation. While the 
gynecologist had revived the unconscious Luther, McNalty had held an 
emergency meeting and conferred with his principal assistants. Since the 
notion of impregnating someone seemed to provoke the engineer into 
unconsciousness, it had been decided to skip a detailed explanation of 
MacTarmack's will, and get on with the job. Luther had signed the necessary 
contract while he was still groggy and by the time he had gotten both eyes 
open wide, McNalty and his three Mercedes had disappeared to a nearby motel, 
leaving him with his new secretary. 

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find lots of... ah... uses for me, boss," the girl 
breathed at him excitingly, standing so close to Luther that the unfettered 
tips of her breasts brushed temptingly across his chest. "I have all kinds 
of hidden talents." 

"But where will you sleep?" mumbled Luther. "This shack is all I've got and 
there's only one bed." 

"Mmmmmm, we'll manage, boss. I'm always ready to rough it." 

"You take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor," decided Luther firmly, 
unrolling his sleeping bag and spreading it out as far as possible from the 
bed. 

Marge nodded grimly, seeing that this was going to be more of a job than she 
had bargained for. According to the gynecologist's calculations, she was in 
her fertile period right now, and by tomorrow it could have passed and there 
were six other girls waiting with McNalty for their chance at Luther. She 
had to get him tonight! 

"Whatever you say, boss," the scheming brunette responded agreeably, patting 
the sagging mattress on Luther's single bed. "Maybe we could have a little 
smoke to help us get to sleep, eh?" Marge had noticed that Luther seemed to 
be dangerously un-stoned and her spirits rose quickly and she saw him squat 
cross-legged on his sleeping bag and begin to shake some brown marijuana 
into a piece of cigarette paper. Marge herself had never actually smoked 
marijuana before, but it seemed to relax Luther, and she realized she could 
hardly expect to seduce him in his present state of nervous agitation. She 
stood next to him, watching his expert fingers prepare the joint, her 
fingers slowly unfastening the buttons on her glimmering blouse. 

"Yes?" 

"I always sleep in the nude. You don't mind, do you?" 

Feeling the tingle in his backbone descend suddenly to the base of his 
spine, Luther looked up just in time to see Marge slip the blouse off her 
shoulders, exposing the deep-valleyed mounds of her seemingly enormous 
breasts. For some reason, the girl's wide brown nipples were already hard 
and turgid, popping out at the young engineer like two little blind eyes. 
She smiled at him nonchalantly, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she 
dropped the blouse casually over the back of a nearby chair. 

"Ah... no, of course not," stammered Luther, nearly spilling his marijuana 
pouch. "Sleep anyway you want." The young man's mind was whirling in 
amazement. The girls he met in the hippie communes were pretty wild, but 
they also tended to need baths, and clean or not, none of them had ever 
looked quite like Marge! She was now undoing a series of three buttons which 
kept her miniskirt clinging to her sensuously flaring hips, and when she 
completed the operation, gravity overcame modesty and the skirt slid 
beckoningly to the floor. 

Finding that his hands were shaking, Luther put the hand-rolled cigarette 
between his lips and lit it. Marge was now stark naked except for the 
frailest pair of transparent panties Luther had ever seen and the young man 
found he could not tear his eyes off the dark mysterious triangle beneath 
the flimsy panty fabric. Marge added insult to injury by bending over to 
pick up her skirt, and Luther felt his penis hardening slightly in his pants 
as the full-rounded moons of her buttocks poised a foot from his face, the 
material of the panties slipping wickedly into the crevice between her 
ass-cheeks as she bent. Her body was firm and delectable all over, and 
Luther found himself comparing it very favorably to the bony, flat-chested 
Radcliffe girl he had attempted to perforate a decade before during his one 
and only solo flight into the blue skies of sensuality. Unfortunately, the 
moment he recalled the incident with the Radcliffe girl, the minimal 
stiffness of his cock departed instantly. He shook himself out of that awful 
memory in time to see Marge playfully kick off her panties, her 
lust-provoking breasts jiggling merrily as she bounced down beside him on 
the sleeping bag and took the joint from his quivering fingers. 

"Aren't you going to get ready for bed, boss?" the naked girl asked him 
casually as she sat down beside him on the sleeping bag. "Don't mind me. I'm 
very cool about bodies." 

Luther knew he was blushing, his face becoming as red as his hair, but Marge 
seemed to have a talent for getting her way. Turning his back on her, he 
wiggled out of his pants and shirt and then quickly squirmed into the 
sleeping bag, still protected by the flag of his jockey shorts. The 
voluptuous young woman glanced at him appraisingly, noticing that his body 
was hard and athletic from ten years of climbing around on geodesic domes. 
She took a drag on his joint, feeling her head spin as the mind-altering 
drug flowed through her lungs and into her bloodstream, but finding the 
sensation entirely agreeable. She took another puff, holding the smoke down 
as long as she could, having heard that this was the proper way to get the 
desired effect. 

"Gee, I'm a little chilly," she complained. 

"There are some blankets on your bed," Luther pointed out. 

"Yes, but if I went over there, we wouldn't be able to pass the cigarette 
back and forth, would we?" she observed brightly, swinging her long naked 
legs around. "I'll just crawl in here with you until we've had our smoke." 

There was something overwhelming about the force of her logic, but Luther 
felt his face going pale again as she squirmed down into the sleeping bag 
beside him. The velvet-smooth surface of her thighs rubbed against his and 
the rosy tips of her tiny hardened nipples glided provocatively across his 
chest as the two young people lay facing one another. Passing the cigarette 
back and forth, belly to belly, it seemed to Luther that she was inching 
closer and closer to him. He wondered if he was going to pass out again. 

"Excuse me, boss, but as your secretary, it's my duty to point these things 
out to you," Marge said a little dreamily as her hand came to rest on his 
naked thigh. 

"Oh... what things?" gulped Luther suspiciously. He was getting a little 
high, but for some reason, he could not seem to relax his trembling body. 

"Well, the doctors all say you're not supposed to wear your jockey shorts to 
bed at night. The elastic's too tight and it cuts off the blood circulation. 
Could lead to gangrene." 

"Gangrene?" 

"That's what they all say, boss. Here, you hold the joint and I'll help 
you." 

The poor son-of-a-bitch is really helpless, Marge thought with satisfaction 
as Luther accepted the joint and obediently raised his hips so that she 
could slip her hands beneath the elastic of his undershorts and slide them 
down over his knees into the obscurity of the bottom of the sleeping bag. 
While performing this delicate operation, the girl cleverly ran her hand up 
and down over the limpness of his cock, finding it big enough to satisfy the 
most demanding women even in its relaxed state, but unquestionably unrigid 
and unready for action of any kind. 

Wow, I wish I hadn't smoked so much of that stuff, she meditated, creeping 
so close to Luther that his penis was crushed between their naked stomachs. 
I'm having difficulty concentrating and the room seems to be spinning... I 
wish he'd stop shivering and fuck me. I don't give a damn about McNalty and 
his crowd of jerks, but I sure would like to get laid. I wonder if he knows 
how to do it? 

"Oh Luther... " she whispered enticingly, pressing the soft warmness of her 
lips against his manly chest, wondering if somehow she was losing her knack 
for exciting men. The truth of the matter was that she was becoming 
powerfully turned on herself. The more she looked at him, the more she 
realized that beneath the shaggy red hair and the dirty overalls he 
customarily wore, Luther was a highly attractive male. But what was the 
cause of this damnably limp penis? Was he queer? Would she have to step 
aside and let Georgia/George have a try at him? 

It was time to turn on the heat. 

"Hey boss," she purred at him seductively, rubbing the full lust-arousing 
warmth of her yearning young breasts against his hairy chest. "I mean, 
excuse me, but I seem to be... that is... I want... " 

"It won't work, Marge," Luther suddenly confessed, having decided to blurt 
out the horrible truth and get it over with. "I tried it once, and I was 
such a failure that I get nervous just thinking about it." 

"And you never tried again?" 

"Nope. I couldn't face the humiliation of another failure." 

"But Luther, did that other girl... I mean, was she like me?" Cunningly, the 
girl reached for one of his hands and raised it to one of her softly 
yielding breasts. "Touch me and see." Luther touched and felt his cock 
jerking appreciatively against the warmly welcoming flesh of Marge's 
stomach. He had never in his life felt anything as pleasant as the resilient 
texture of her breast, and he began to stroke and caress it happily, running 
his timid fingers over the rigid little buds of her nipples. 

"And here?" cried Marge, sensing that she was finally getting somewhere. 
"Did she feel the same down here?" Lasciviously, she guided Luther's other 
hand directly to the slowly palpitating flesh of her pussy, taking one 
finger and pressing it to the moistly swelling button of her clitoris. With 
the curiosity of a structural engineer, Luther explored, since she seemed to 
be offering him this licentious opportunity, pushing his fingers into the 
warm wet curls of her pubic hair, lightly touching the trembling open lips 
of her pussy, and finally finding the courage to plunge one bold middle 
finger directly into the tightly clasped little orifice of her cunt. The 
girl groaned in pure ecstasy beside him. Luther reflected that this was the 
nicest thing that had ever happened to his left hand, and pushed it a little 
farther into the warmly moistening crevice. His cock stirred powerfully 
after its long sleep, and the girl seized his hand, holding his middle 
finger clasped tight within her aching vagina as she began to thrust her 
hips demandingly against him. 

"Tell me!" she panted lustfully at him. "That other girl... did she feel 
like me?" 

"I... I don't know," admitted Luther shamefully. "She never let me touch her 
there." Marge was going quickly and ecstatically out of her mind. She took 
one long last drag on the reefer with her one free hand and then butted it 
into an ashtray, feeling her mind reel into orbit as the marijuana destroyed 
the last barrier of her defenses. Meanwhile, her hips continued to thrust 
wildly forward and backward as Luther agreeably wormed his outstretched 
middle finger even farther into her desire-inflamed vagina, then 
successfully wormed an additional two fingers up into the pulsating little 
tunnel while keeping his thumb atop the throbbing little button of her 
clitoris. 

"Yes... yes... like that... " she gasped in pure carnal bliss. "You... what 
did this girl do to you, then... if you ahhhh... couldn't even touch her... 
ohhhh... " 

"We got under the covers and she let me lie on top of her," recalled Luther 
grimly. "And I tried to put it in." 

"And... oh harder, boss, harder... and what happened then?" 

"I couldn't find it," the engineer mumbled. "She wouldn't let me use my 
hands because she was ticklish. Am I doing this right?" 

"Oh Luther, just a little... more... I'm almost... " 

"And I kept trying, but after awhile she started putting me down, and then I 
wasn't hard enough to get it into anything, even if I could have found it." 

The two of them had established a comfortable and ever-accelerating rhythm 
by now, and Luther was thrusting his three fingers lewdly into the 
steadily-widening aperture of her cunt as Marge rocked her lust-stricken 
body wildly against him, her copious vaginal secretions lubricating their 
sex-play. 

"Boss... it's going... to be... different... from now... Oh Christ, I'm 
cumming!" 

"You're what?" asked Luther in some alarm as the girl's marijuana-fogged 
body seemed to fly into confusions. Her muscles all went stiff and he could 
feel her vagina pulsating powerfully around his invading fingers as her legs 
curled around his and her arms tightened around his neck, crushing her 
supple proud breasts against his chest. 

"I'mmmmmmmm cummmmmmmmmmmming!" she repeated in a strangely high voice. " 
Aaaaaaaggggghhhhh! " Luther held her tightly, filled with an -enormous sense 
of awe and happiness. Had he known it was this easy to satisfy a woman, he 
would have never have given up so easily after the fiasco with the Radcliffe 
girl. Marge was groaning and gasping in pure animal delight now, panting and 
sobbing as she enjoyed her orgasm to the last drop. She covered his face 
with moist kisses, licking his eyes and thrusting her anxious tongue 
lasciviously into his mouth as they kissed, and Luther felt his long-disused 
instrument throb hotly with a desire he had not " felt for a decade. 

"Oh God, Luther, that was good," she gasped gratefully as the spasm slowly 
subsided, leaving behind a warm rosy glow which seemed to infect her entire 
body. "Wow, I was cumming so hard!" 

"You... you had an orgasm?" Luther thought that she had, but he wanted to be 
sure. 

"Oh boy, did I have an orgasm, " she assured him. "Luther, you can do 
anything you want to me. 

"Gee, I didn't... I mean, I thought I had to put my... y'know... my thing 
inside of you for you to have one of those." 

"Luther, honey, where have you been all your life? Baby, everything goes 
into everything else and it always ends the same happy way. I don't think 
your chick from Radcliffe knew anymore about it than you did!" Marge 
explored with her hand, finding that the engineer's penis was fairly firm 
and erected to almost its full height. But thinking about the Radcliffe girl 
was having its usual deflating effect upon him. Marge decided she had to act 
fast. 

"For example, put your tongue in my mouth!" she ordered moving her moist 
lips to his face. Luther obliged, and their tongues met for a moment of 
wicked French play in her open mouth. The man's cock rose by another half 
inch. 

"Mouths are nice too, aren't they?" she tempted him evilly, ducking her head 
down under the sleeping bag and running her lips searingly across his chest 
and then his stomach, her hands still clinging to his pulsating rod. "You 
can do all sorts of things with your mouth, baby. Like this, for example!" 

With a lewd chuckle, Marge's tongue danced out between her open lips, 
licking the crimson tip of Luther's uncircumcised penis and causing his 
entire body to jerk spasmodically. He could hardly believe all of this was 
happening to him, poor shy old Luther MacTarmack, but unless he had smoked 
too much dope and gone completely around the bend, it was really happening. 
A sensationally voluptuous woman had been brought to him in a Mercedes, and 
she was now huddled obscenely between his legs running the moist ovals of 
her lips over his quiveringly rigid cock! 

He could feel the soft warmth of her breath on his loins as she moved even 
closer to him, her dainty fingers encircling the massive shaft of his 
hardening cock while the other hand delicately cupped his sperm-filled 
testicles. She touched him again, pushing the tiny point of her moist tongue 
into the wetness of his pulsating glans sending chills rippling up and down 
his spine. The sensation was excruciatingly pleasurable and the young man 
sucked his breath in sharply, feeling a strange erotic warmth filling his 
entire body. 

"Boy... it's nice having a secretary," he mumbled jubilantly as her soft 
tongue began to lash steadily back and forth across the swollen surface of 
his naked penis. 

"You like it?" she asked him coyly. 

"You bet!" 

"Then try this one on for size," she warned him wickedly, ducking back down 
beneath the covers and warming to her lewd task. Taking a deep breath, she 
maneuvered his blood-engorged cock so that it stood out at a right angle to 
his body and then enclosed it moistly inside her willing mouth, trapping the 
whole of the broad meaty tip between her parted lips. 

"Oh God," she heard Luther groaning in ecstasy and the thought that she was 
giving him so much pleasure filled her with an irrational sense of joy. In 
fact, Marge was having considerable difficulty getting her brain to function 
after the unfamiliar experience of smoking the mind-destroying marijuana and 
she kept having to remind herself of the mission she had been brought here 
to accomplish. 

I'll get him really steamed up first, she meditated wickedly, and when he's 
just about ready to cum, I'll climb on top of him and let him shoot it into 
me. God, a quarter of a billion dollars if I can get knocked up! If I'm a 
whore, I'm gonna be the best-paid whore in history. And if he gets me 
pregnant, he'll have to marry me! Wow! 

Luther lifted the cover of the sleeping bag, inspired by a lewd desire to 
see precisely what this dark-haired girl was doing which was causing him so 
much pleasure. It was an incredible sight. Her beautiful young face was 
contorted as the massive shaft of his slowly erecting cock penetrated the 
soft red barrier of her lips, glistening with saliva as she sucked him like 
a madwoman. Expertly, she was massaging the tender spongy sac of his 
sperm-bloated testicles with one hand while with the other she maddeningly 
stroked the stout base of his cock. Luther's eyes bulged as he focused on 
the point where his invading cock disappeared mysteriously into her slowly 
churning mouth and he could feel her tongue curling lovingly around it as 
she brought him up to the lewd heights of sexual arousal. Her cheeks 
alternately hollowed and puffed out as she sucked on him and Luther gently 
replaced the covers over her head and lay back in perfect contentment. The 
half-smoked joint was still smoldering in the ashtray, and the young 
engineer decided to double his pleasure, smoking a little more pot while 
Marge slavishly sucked his rampant shaft for him. 

Meanwhile, the young woman was trying hard to remember that she had come 
here to get pregnant at all costs, but her brain was whirling with the 
wildly obscene lusts generated by the bizarre act of huddling at the bottom 
of a sleeping bag lasciviously sucking the cock of a hippie geodesic dome 
builder. She had never done anything quite this perverted before and she 
felt her own body catching fire all over again as she pulled Luther's 
massive member farther and farther into the back of her willing throat. God, 
he's huge, she was thinking as she slaved over him. I could use a little of 
this every day for the next decade or two, and all that MacTarmack money 
would make it even nicer! 

Luther wondered vaguely why this strange young woman was not choking on his 
mammoth penis in her mouth, but the amount of marijuana now floating in his 
bloodstream was preventing him from thinking too profoundly about anything. 
He dropped the roach back into the ashtray as he felt great swirls of heat 
building dangerously up in his loins, and slowly he began to catch the lewd 
rhythm of this carnal act. The muscles in his stomach tightened and he 
started flexing his hips back and forth energetically, driving the long 
invading shaft of his cock deeper and deeper between the hard-haired girl's 
tightly ovalled red lips. Wanting to touch her somehow, he reached down 
beneath the covers, running his powerful hands into Marge's long thick hair 
and holding her head in a vise-like grip while he pummeled her savagely 
contorted mouth. 

"Oh God," he muttered ecstatically, knowing that nothing that had ever 
happened to him had ever been as good as this. The girl was murmuring and 
squealing beneath him, but Luther's muscular body was raging out of control 
and he could not have stopped himself now had he tried, and he was not 
trying. He was going to cum, cum like a herd of elephants on the stampede, 
and nothing, nothing could spoil the pleasure of this wild heady moment! 

Beneath him, under the covers, Marge only realized her error after it was 
too late. She felt the man's hot sticky sperm begin its lewd dash up from 
the huge swaying sack of his testicles to the tip of his hotly ejaculating 
penis. She tried desperately to wiggle away, realizing at the last minute 
that she had only a matter of seconds to impale her fertile womb on his 
fertilely spasming rod, but Luther was holding her head in a death-grip. 
Instinctively, she realized that there was no longer any escape, but she was 
far too stoned to realize how badly she had failed. 

Luther's cock exploded then, and Marge swallowed greedily, gulping like a 
madwoman as the hot thin stream of cum speared into the back of her 
imprisoned throat. She could swallow or strangle, since the man had been too 
long without a woman and had stored up enormous quantities of the white-hot 
fluid in his body. Exhausted and strangely happy, the dizzy brunette coughed 
and gagged as she choked it down, licking and sucking his slowly deflating 
instrument as the flow of sperm subsided to a trickle and then stopped 
altogether. 

"God... that was... good!" murmured Luther pantingly above her. His limp 
penis still lodged obscenely in her mouth, Marge smiled and purred at him, 
feeling the marijuana close in on her. 

Neither of them moved. Luther felt utterly at peace with the world and 
himself. Now that he knew he could do it, why, he would do it again! With 
Marge as his secretary, he would be able to do it whenever they liked and 
doing it this way, there was no problem about having children which they 
could hardly afford on his income. 

Marge thought nothing at all, and fell asleep with her lips still closed 
lovingly over the young man's flaccid penis. 

In the morning, he was gone. Wildly, Marge sat up in the sleeping bag, 
wondering how he could possibly have left without awakening her, given the 
fact that they had been sleeping in a highly peculiar position. Climbing 
hurriedly into her clothing, Marge ran out into the bright sunlight and 
spotted her red-haired lover high on his geodesic dome, fitting the brand 
new five-pronged steel capping plate into position. 

"Luther!" she wailed, realizing that her period of fertility was scheduled 
to end this morning and she had to get him to-make love to her again, this 
time in the missionary position. "Please come down." 

"Can't baby," he called back to her happily, as he directed the work of his 
team of hippie assistants. "See ya for lunch." 

Lunch would be too late. Repressing a sob, Marge turned and walked out to 
the main highway where McNalty and the former FBI man were waiting in the 
Mercedes. The driver started the motor and they started back towards the 
motel where the McNalty team had established its headquarters. 

"How did it go?" asked the myopic stock broker, peering at her through his 
thick glasses. 

Marge sniffled, realizing that she could not bear to confess to these 
hard-boiled money men that she had blown her mind with pot and Luther with 
her mouth, and managed to get nary a drop of his million-dollar sperm into 
the receptive depths of her womb. 

"I guess I didn't interest him," she murmured unhappily. 

"Goddamn, he must be made out of stone. What does interest him?" roared 
McNalty in a rare display of anger. 

"Geodesic domes," reported Marge dully. 

"We know that!" snarled the former FBI man. 

But wait," snuffed McNalty, his eyes suddenly widening as an idea invaded 
his brain. "A geodesic dome. What's it shaped like?" He was staring out the 
window at Luther's half-completed dome. With the special five-pronged 
capping plate they had had flown in that morning, it looked like a... 

A breast, said the ex-FBI man suddenly, putting his hand instinctively on 
one of Marge's. "It looks like a great big breast!" 

Precisely, chuckled McNalty contentedly. "And that is the answer to our 
problems." 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

HEADQUARTERS OF MORRISSON, REDUNDANT AND MORRISSON. 

Phones were ringing, messengers were dashing in and out with files and 
folders, and Morris W. Morrisson sat in the middle of it all like a Turkish 
pasha, winking lecherously from time to time at his new chauffeur, the 
Swedish beauty queen who was also now functioning as his private secretary. 
In the comer of the room a computer hummed obsequiously, occasionally 
spitting out a pertinent IBM card. In another part of the room, the Chief 
Surgeon of the British College of Gynecology who had been flown in for an 
astronomical fee, huddled over a pile of papers together with a leading 
representative of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Morrison watched with 
growing interest as the two men rose quietly and shook hands solemnly. Their 
faces bursting with barely suppressed excitement, they approached Morrison's 
desk like two knights reporting to their sovereign. 

"Sir, we have it," came the clipped accents of the Englishman. "Miss 
MacTarmack's fertility chart!" 

"Her fertile periods are written in red," added the detective. 

"Outstanding, gentlemen," marvelled the lawyer. "How did you do it!" 

"Intensive surveillance, sir, and pretty arduous, too, if you don't mind my 
saying so," explained the detective with visible pride. "For the past three 
months we've had a team in the basement of the girl's apartment building. 
They've managed to isolate the pipe which comes from Miss MacTarmack's 
toilet seat, and by examining the contents of the tube, we've been able... " 

"Ugh!" 

"My sentiments exactly, sir, but it was the only way. We were able to 
identify her monthly period by the presence of blood-soaked Tampax. I had to 
pay the men double time for this assignment, sir, which will naturally be 
reflected in your bill, since there were other things which came down the 
tube which... " 

"I don't want to hear about it!" said Morrisson quickly. "Aren't you afraid 
someone will spot your men?" 

"No problem, sir. They've identified themselves to the apartment super as 
special assistants from the White House working on a national security job. 
He's been very cooperative." 

"And once we knew when her periods were taking place, we were able to 
coordinate this with the findings of the psychiatrist we've had following 
her," put in the British gynecologist. "She tends to be somewhat 
short-tempered during her monthlies which reinforces deductions made on the 
ah, Tampax front. Thus, we were able to predict her fertile periods with an 
accuracy of plus or minus three hours." 

"And what does the shrink say?" muttered Morrisson. "Could he confirm my 
suspicion that she's frigid as an icebox?" 

"Quite the opposite, sir. Of course, he hasn't been able to examine the 
patient firsthand, but his observations indicate a normal woman who is 
perhaps slightly repressed sexually or is sublimating her sexual instincts 
with her work. We know, of course, that she has lost her virginity... " 

"Excuse me, but how do we know... " murmured Morrisson discreetly. 

"Well, the Tampax, sir," explained the Englishman primly. "Virgins don't use 
them." 

"Oh... and how do we know she isn't already screwing someone and taking 
precautions?" 

"We sent a team in to check out her apartment," explained the detective. 
"And she ain't got any precautions! No pills, no diaphragms, no nothing. 
Plus, we've been bugging her phone, and she's got a couple of boyfriends, 
but everything seems pretty platonic. At least she hasn't done any loving 
since we put a trail on her." 

Morris W. Morrisson studied the MacTarmack fertility chart on the desk 
before him, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction as the gynecologist 
and the detective quietly withdrew. 

"Get me our Athens office," he said finally, turning to his blonde 
secretary. "We move on Wednesday." The girl looked at him blankly so 
Morrisson patted her thigh lustfully and dialed Athens himself. 

* * * 

"All right, let's go over it again," said Morrisson patiently, using a silk 
handkerchief to wipe the droplets of perspiration away from his brow. "Women 
are intellectually equal to me, right?" 

"Is possible," said the confused young Greek." I have never meet one equal 
to me." 

"Neither have I," agreed Morrisson, thinking primarily of his Swedish 
chauffeur. "But we don't have to believe it, Xenophon, we just have to 
memorize it, okay? Now, women are intellectually equal to men!" 

"Women are intellectually equal to men," parroted the Greek sadly, stirring 
uncomfortably in his chair. For a moment, he thought seriously about getting 
out of this madhouse and fleeing back to the comparative sanity of the 
Reptile House of the Athens Zoo where he was Curator. Then he remembered 
that he was being paid two hundred dollars a day to cooperate and decided to 
stay where he was. 

"Good. When I meet a woman, I want an intellectual relationship," prompted 
Morrisson eagerly. 

"Really? When I meets woman, I want rip off her clothes and fuck her," 
marveled Xenophon, wondering how Americans could be so rich and so crazy at 
the same time. Morrisson sighed and used the silk handkerchief again. 

"Mr. Pericledes, you must try to understand! The woman you are going to meet 
believes that women are equal to men! She wants a man to respect her as a 
human being, as a person and not merely lust after her as a sex object. This 
Zorba the Greek approach is never going to get you into bed with her!" 

"Ah! Xenophon meditated on this perverse concept for a moment, finally 
understanding why American men have so much trouble with their women. In the 
tiny Peloponnesian village where he was born, a woman who announced that she 
was intellectually equal to an average billy goat would be thrashed severely 
by her husband. On the other hand, these Americans had promised to make him 
the richest curator of reptiles in the world if he managed to get this 
American madwoman pregnant so he swallowed his masculine pride and resolved 
to commit a few stock English phrases to memory. 

"Miss MacTarmack," he recited, improving slightly upon Morrison's version. 
"I want intellect relationship wid you and don't give a damn about you big 
tits!" 

The lawyer cleared his throat, wondering if they should abort the mission 
and send this imbecile back to the Greek Zoo before he made matters any 
worse. But that would be admitting defeat, and aside from his incredible 
thickness, Xenophon Pericledes was absolutely perfect for the job. After 
surveying all the bachelor reptile-house men and herpetologists in the 
world, Morrisson's agents had determined that Mr. Pericledes was stunningly 
handsome and possessed of a suave, lady-killing personality, the other two 
hundred candidates all being middle-aged married men with pot bellies. A 
Greek private detective agency determined that he had already acknowledged 
the paternity of six illegitimate children in the Athens district alone, 
answering any questions about the nature of his fertility. He was tall, 
black-haired and as well-muscled as the statue of Hermes in the Greek 
museum, and nearly any woman alive would have surrendered her chastity to 
him happily. But Lucy MacTarmack was a special case! She had to be handled 
with great precision or they would all be back to square one. 

"Now, Xenophon, let's review the battle plans. There is a lecture in the 
evening by an expert in African salamanders, right? It cost us a pretty 
penny to fly him in. And you happen to have two tickets, and the lecture 
happens to be at your hotel. Are we clear so far?" 

The Greek reptile expert smiled, revealing two bright rows of perfect teeth. 

"Right. I make a tour of the zoo and meet Miss Mac... uh... " 

"MacTarmack! Try and remember her name!" groaned Morrisson. 

"MacTarmack, and I invite her to lecture. I pick her up in taxicab and we go 
to hotel and get wet... " 

"Good, now if the street-cleaning truck is a few minutes late, what do you 
do?" 

"I make her wait and go buy cigarettes." 

"Good. Then what happens?" 

"I take her to room to dry off. We talk about intellect relationship until I 
get door closed, and then I fuck her." 

"Okay, now, you're going to be on your own and you'll have to remember your 
manners!" advised Morrisson seriously. "This lady will be very hard to 
seduce, and if you have trouble, what do you do?" 

"Well, I hit her few times, and... " 

"No, nooooooh," groaned the lawyer in anguish. "You cannot rape this lady in 
a downtown hotel room, man! We'll all end up in jail! It has to be handled 
quietly, don't you understand? Remember the pills!" 

"Ah, yes, pills. If she no want fuck, I put pill in drink." 

"Precisely. Then you wait five minutes after she has drunk her drink, and 
she will be in a semi-comatose state. Not unconscious, exactly, but drowsy 
enough for you to do your work. And she should be wearing nothing but a 
bathrobe at that point so it should be easy." 

"It will be easy." 

"Oh, and one other thing, Xenophon, between now and then, stay away from the 
ladies. I want you in top form for Wednesday night. Save those sperm for 
Miss MacTarmack." 

"But... " the Greek looked somewhat crestfallen. "I have two days." 

"Rest. Take long walks and cold showers." 

"But I have never go two days without," he exclaimed miserably, looking at 
Morrison's Swedish secretary. 

"Remember! Women are not sex objects, mere creatures to be lusted after. 
They are human beings with intellectual, emotional and artistic qualities 
equal to a man's." Morrisson quoted from one of the books on feminism he had 
been reading. 

"And nice to fuck," added the Greek persistently, still looking at the 
Swedish chauffeur/secretary. 

* * * 

Lucy MacTarmack shuddered involuntarily as she released the squawking 
chicken into Homer's cage, reminding herself as she always did that this, 
too, was part of a zoo-keeper's life. Most reptiles, particularly large 
ones, would only eat live food, and Homer devoured a pair of healthy 
chickens a week, feathers and all. It was cruel but necessary, and the young 
biologist reminded herself that her favorite dinner of Kentucky Fried 
Chicken was based on the same jungle principle of eat or be eaten. 

Homer, a twenty-six foot python from South America, raised his head 
curiously as the chicken retreated to a far comer of the cage. Chickens are 
not normally the brightest beasts in the animal world, but this particular 
hen took one look at the coiling three hundred pounds of cold-blooded 
reptile on the other side of the cage and understood immediately that she 
had laid her very last egg. 

Homer studied the unhappy fowl for a moment and then turned his plated face 
to stare unblinkingly at Lucy, perhaps contemplating a change of diet. It is 
biologically difficult for even the largest of the constrictor family to 
devour an adult human being, but surprisingly few pythons have studied 
enough biology to be aware of this fact, and they tend to go on trying 
anyway whenever they get the chance. Dr. MacTarmack quickly shut the door of 
the cage before Homer pursued this line of thought to its logical conclusion 
and watched the action through a panel of thick glass. Denied this tempting 
human morsel, Homer resigned himself to the more familiar prospects of a 
chicken dinner while the hen squawked miserably, dashing up and down 
frantically as she tried to find a way out of her dilemma. This was an 
unfortunate strategy since snakes tend to be attracted by moving objects. 
Lucy winced as the serpent struck across the cage, its enormous mouth 
opening to reveal its razor-teeth, and the squawking abruptly died, as did 
the chicken. 

The young biologist looked around her office, deciding that she had done her 
morning chores, and had not only to tidy her work area and await the arrival 
of the eminent Greek herpetologist who was making a tour of the Municipal 
Zoo this morning. Her workload was a little heavier now that Dr. Roberts had 
taken his extended leave of absence, but she was frankly grateful that he 
had decided to go away for awhile after his despicable assault on her virtue 
that day when Maxwell and Penelope had been preparing to mate. Of course, 
the nasty incident had not been entirely his fault, the girl realized, 
trying to be honest with herself. Men had been telling her for years that 
she had a magnificently exciting body, and when she had dashed half-naked 
into the office to take her scientific photographs, she had apparently 
tempted the usually gentle herpetologist beyond the limits of human 
endurance. She supposed it was not his fault, exactly, since he had merely 
yielded to the base instincts implanted in everyone for the purposes of 
ensuring the survival of the species, but why did all these men have to pick 
on her? 

Then there was that monstrous male chauvinist pig, Morrison who wanted her 
to get pregnant so she would stand a better chance of inheriting money from 
some old relative she had never even met. Why was it that no one ever 
thought of her as a person, a bright, friendly, interesting female human 
being? For Doctor Roberts, she was a vagina to be plundered, and for 
Morrisson, she was a womb to be impregnated, and to the boys in the 
cafeteria, she was a pair of large and luscious breasts to be drooled over! 

Damn, she said, as she straightened up the papers on her desk in preparation 
for the arrival of the Greek reptile curator. Why is that that every time I 
go out with a man and we start some fascinating conversation about books or 
films or something really cultural, he always has to ruin everything by 
trying to unzip my dress? Is that all men can think about? 

The door to her office opened, startling the girl out of her gloomy 
meditation, and Lucy looked up to see the Director of the Zoo enter, smiling 
as usual. Behind him was the most beautiful man Dr. MacTarmack had ever laid 
eyes upon! 

"Lucy, I'd like to introduce Dr. Xenophon Pericledes, who's your opposite 
number at the Athens Zoo. Dr. Pericledes, meet Dr. MacTarmack, our acting 
Curator of Reptiles, or Curatoress, I suppose I should say, since she's 
obviously quite a woman." 

"Ah! Man, woman, we all scientists, no?" said Pericledes gallantly, bending 
to kiss Lucy's hand in the best European tradition. "Some of my best friends 
is women." 

"Well, then you'll get along with our little Lucy," chuckled the Director 
patronizingly. "She's quite the women's libber, aren't you, Lucy?" 

Miss MacTarmack did not respond to this slightly insulting banter since she 
was finding herself inexplicably choked up. Xenophon Pericledes had not yet 
released her hand, and she discovered that the two of them were staring 
deeply into one another's eyes. "Well, I can see that the two of you are 
going to have a lot of snake stories to swap so I'll be getting back to my 
office. Sorry I can't make that salamander lecture tonight, Dr. Pericledes, 
but there's a meeting of the American Zoological Society, and... " 

"Is all right," muttered Xenophon, his eyes wandering lustfully over Lucy's 
lushly voluptuous young body. Zeus, he was thinking ecstatically. They pay 
me two hundred dollars a day to sleep with her? I pay them two hundred 
dollars! She is Aphrodite! 

"I... I'm so happy you were able to visit us, Dr. Pericledes," Lucy finally 
managed to stammer, freeing her hand and feeling as if a thunderbolt had 
just struck her. Don't let yourself get interested in him, she warned 
herself cautiously, feeling her head spinning slightly. In another minute, 
he'll start grabbing your breasts or stick his hand up under your shirt. 
You've been warned about these European males! 

"Pliz call me Xeno," said the handsome Greek smoothly. "I am interested in 
deep, meaningful relations, and titles we don't need." 

"Oh... I feel exactly the same way," cried Lucy joyfully. "It's so silly, 
this doctor and professor business." 

"Important is intellectual understanding, no?" Xenophon enlarged upon his 
theme, trying desperately to remember the phrases he had been up all night 
studying. "If people is interesting, what difference if man or woman?" 

"Oh, that's... that's so profound!" thrilled the girl, taking his arm to 
lead him to the crocodile cage. "No wonder the early philosophers were 
always Greeks!" 

She could not help but feel the impressive size of his muscle as she 
escorted him down the corridor which ran behind the row of reptile 
enclosures, but she instructed herself severely that she was behaving like a 
giddy teenage girl at the junior prom. This is obviously a very serious man, 
and he thinks of me as a fellow scientist, not a woman, she told herself 
primly. But he does have marvelous muscles! 

"This is our Crocodylus robustus," she pointed out proudly. "It's a female 
and the only one in the Western Hemisphere!" 

"What difference if female crocodile or male crocodile?" protested Xenophon, 
still clinging doggedly to the subject. "If good crocodile, all that 
counts!" 

"Well, female crocodiles do tend to be a little bigger and somewhat 
fiercer," Lucy pointed out, never before having considered the possibility 
that feminism could be applied to cold-blooded vertebrates. "But you're 
absolutely right!" 

* * * 

This could be the beginning of a very beautiful relationship, Lucy told 
herself as she covertly examined the noble Greek profile of the handsome 
reptile curator who sat beside her in the taxi. Imagine, our very first 
date, and we're going to a lecture on African salamanders! Most men would 
want to go dancing or invite me to a seductive dinner with lots of wine, but 
Xeno is so serious! And his ideas about men and women are so modem! 
Obviously, he's interested in me, but he knows how to control his emotions. 
First, we'll see if we're right for each other intellectually, and then, 
after we've become good friends, we can think about sex. Probably taking me 
to bed hasn't even entered his mind yet. A man like him can have all the 
cheap silly women he wants. He's obviously tired of mere physical love and 
wants a deep, profound relationship with a female human being. 

On the other side of the back seat, Xenophon Pericledes was also engaged in 
ponderous meditation, exercising all of what little self-control he 
possessed in an effort to keep his hands off the intensely exciting woman 
beside him. The light was poor, but his eyes kept twitching compulsively to 
the left as he surveyed her lushly tempting figure, particularly the roundly 
tantalizing half-moons of her buttocks, the outlines of which were clearly 
visible beneath her short skirt. Like many Greeks, Xenophon found a woman's 
behind to be the most stimulating part of her person, and despite the 
gratifying sumptuousness of her breasts, Lucy was the proud possessor of the 
neatest little ass west of the Acropolis. The knowledge that her buttocks 
would soon be nakedly revealed to him, along with the rest of her 
lust-inciting body, nearly drove him to distraction, but he struggled 
powerfully to remember Mr. Morrisson's instructions. Lucy was quite clearly 
different from the women he had known in Europe, and he realized that he did 
not have an inkling of how to handle her. The safest course of action was to 
follow the lawyer's directions to the letter and hope for the best. 

"Ah, here is hotel," he commented, slipping the driver a ten dollar bill. 
The taxi maneuvered around a large street-cleaning truck which was parked 
incongruously by the curb in front of the hotel. In the cab of the truck sat 
Morris W. Morrisson, and next to him behind the wheel was his Swedish 
chauffeur/secretary who had been made an assistant vice-president earlier 
that afternoon for meritorious services rendered to Mr. Morrisson on a 
waterbed in his downtown apartment. The Swedish girl turned the key over and 
started the engine as soon as Dr. Pericledes stepped out of the cab and held 
the door for the lovely Dr. MacTarmack. The cab door shut as soon as the 
girl was on her feet, and the cabbie spun away on another call. 

"Go!" barked Morrisson, watching as the young couple paused for a moment on 
the curb while Xenophon drew the attention of his lovely companion to the 
attractiveness of the city skyline. The street-cleaning vehicle lurched 
forward, its enormous circular brushes churning on the dry pavement, and as 
soon as the Swedish girl brought the truck alongside Xenophon and his date, 
Morrisson punched the button on the dashboard which activated the jets. The 
vehicle had been specially altered for the occasion, and high-powered jets 
of water streamed out of the side, catching the doorman of the Ashmount 
Hotel, several pedestrians, a newsstand and the two herpetologists. 

"Oh, God, what's happening?" screamed Lucy in fright as great bellows of 
water gushed in her direction, soaking her to the skin. For a moment, there 
was water all around them, splashing and surging from all directions, and 
the girl clung to her escort in fear and discomfort. 

"Oh, most stupid man!" shouted Xenophon, his supply of curse-words in 
English being severely limited. "You have done us most bad!" 

"That's the most incredible thing I have ever seen!" declared Miss 
MacTarmack, absolutely drenched with cold water as the street-cleaning 
vehicle disappeared around a comer, its jets still pouring out gallons of 
water in all directions. "I'm going to write to the mayor!" 

"This city gets crazier by the day," commented the doorman morosely, the 
water squeaking in his shoes. The other pedestrians who had been soaked were 
all standing at the curb, screaming for taxis. 

"Oh, damn!" Lucy found herself filled with a crushing sense of 
disappointment. "It would have been so much fun to hear that lecture on 
African salamanders, but if we stand here on the street another moment, the 
two of us are going to catch our death of cold. What do we do now?" 

"I have bathrobe in my room," offered Xenophon, shivering a little. "You 
stay here and I go get." 

"Wait, I'll come with you." Lucy's water-soaked blouse had become almost 
completely transparent, and she was desperately anxious to get off the 
street before some passing male saw her and an embarrassing situation 
developed. 

"Oh," the Greek paused as if this idea had not occurred to him. "But to go 
to a man's room in hotel... " He even managed to blush a little. 

"Oh, aren't you silly!" said Lucy, taking his arm. "Xeno, you're so 
old-fashioned! Obviously, this is an emergency, and no one's going to think 
a thing about it. How fortunate that you happen to be staying at this hotel! 
Come on, dear, I'm freezing." 

They did draw a few curious stares as Xenophon led the shivering young woman 
up to the luxurious room which Morrisson had rented for him, particularly 
since every enticing curve and indentation of Lucy's splendid body was 
revealed through her clinging wet clothes, and the girl breathed a sigh of 
relief when the bedroom door closed behind her. Xenophon immediately swung 
open his closet door and produced two light cotton bathrobes, and the girl 
gratefully accepted one and retreated to the bathroom, dully wondering why a 
man would bother bringing two bathrobes along on a trip. 

Absolutely quivering with cold, she peeled off her water-drenched garments, 
skirt, blouse, brassiere and panties, hanging them over the edge of the 
bathtub to dry. It occurred to her now for the first time that she was more 
or less compelled to wait in Xeno's room until all the moisture had 
evaporated from her clothing, and she wondered vaguely if the Greek visitor 
would seize the opportunity to make a pass at her. Grimly, she recalled how 
violent Dr. Roberts had become that day when he had accidentally viewed her 
voluptuous figure, and she nervously pulled the bathrobe tight around her 
neck. Unfortunately, there were no buttons, merely a cord around the waist, 
and it was difficult to keep the thin material from separating and revealing 
forbidden portions of her deeply mature young breasts. 

Well, it's no worse than one of those sexy evening gowns, she decided, 
wistfully wishing that the bathrobe had been made out of heavier cloth, 
since if she chanced to stand between Xeno and the light, her Greek escort 
would be able to see right through this frail cloth. It was also a little 
short, barely covering her taut little buttocks, and she would have to be 
careful about bending over or crossing her legs. Well, she decided, you'll 
just have to make the best of it. 

And besides, Xeno is such a perfect gentleman! 

Meanwhile, the Greek seducer had quickly shed his clothes and slipped into 
the other bathrobe, leaving his drenched garments where they fell on the 
floor in his haste to get drinks mixed before Lucy emerged from the 
bathroom. He poured healthy doses of brandy into two brandy snifters, 
dropped one of Mr. Morrisson's pills into one and then stabbed at it 
furiously until it dissolved. 

"Ah! You are there!" he cried a little guiltily as she swept out of the 
bathroom in a cloud of steam, her high, widely-spaced breasts jiggling 
lusciously beneath the thin bathrobe as she walked toward him with 
unconscious sensuality. She looked to Xenophon like the ancient Greek 
goddess of love making one of her periodic house calls to earth from Mount 
Olympus, and he felt his experienced cock rearing up like a stallion beneath 
his bathrobe. "I have brandy for not catch cold!" he announced, turning to 
one side to conceal his growing erection. 

"Why Xeno, you really come prepared!" she laughed musically. "But your 
things will never dry that way! Here, let me hang them up." 

She blushed a little as she scooped up his soaking-wet jockey shorts off the 
rug, forgetting for an instant that as the bathrobe gaped open in the front, 
she was carelessly revealing the richly rounded mounds of her breasts to his 
lust-widened eyes. Xeno's cock climbed another inch, and he readjusted his 
bathrobe quickly, lest the rigid rod of flesh escape from confinement. Then 
Lucy made her major tactical error of the evening by turning around and 
bending over again to pick up his soggy shirt, accidentally exposing the 
smoothly curved surfaces of her buttocks. Xenophon felt his head swimming, 
and he quickly reached out to steady his nerves with a brandy. It tasted 
good, and he finished the drink in one gulp. 

This was Xeno's major strategic error of the evening. It was the wrong 
drink. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

"Shit!" said Xenophon in his native Greek, sinking weakly down onto the edge 
of the bed, his head whirling as the drug penetrated his blood stream. "I 
don't feel so good. " 

"Xeno!" his redheaded companion cried in alarm, bending over him 
solicitously and stroking his cheek with concern. "Speak English, dear, I 
can't understand you." 

"What?" muttered Xenophon thickly, tumbling over sideways on the bed, 
forgetting what little English he knew as Morrisson's drug numbed his brain 
cells. Another woman would have gone shrieking for a doctor, but Lucy 
MacTarmack did have her Ph.D. in biology, and knew enough about the human 
organism to make a few quick diagnostic tests. She took his pulse rate and 
found it normal, noting that his eyes were somewhat dilated but showing no 
signs of pathology. There was the smell of brandy on his breath and his 
glass was empty, but one gulp of alcohol could hardly have reduced him to 
this state. Or had he had more than one gulp? He did not seem to have a 
fever and as nearly as she could determine, his blood pressure was normal. 
In short, he was not sick, merely half-conscious, and drunkenness was the 
most obvious diagnosis. Had he been drinking to work up courage for their 
date? 

"Xeno!" she asked him firmly. "Have you been drinking?" 

"Women are intellectually equal... " he murmured thickly, trying to open one 
eye and failing. 

"Equal to what?" 

"Just equal... " His voice was slurred and weak, and Lucy felt a wave of 
tenderness sweeping over her. Most men were so roughly aggressive with her 
that it was a relief to be with a man she could mother. She was now 
convinced that the Greek herpetologist was a terribly shy man who had been 
knocking back brandy all evening to steel his nerves for their date, and the 
shock of being doused with water and then taking another quick drink had 
been too much for his system. He would be all right in the morning, but she 
would nurse him through the night just to be sure that he did not become 
seriously ill. Of course, the hotel clerk would place some lurid 
interpretation on her spending the night in a man's room, but no truly 
liberated woman should care what a hotel clerk thought of her behavior. 
First she would make Xeno comfortable. 

Her hands trembling a little, she unfastened the knot in his bathrobe in 
order to remove it, trying to be cool and professional about the operation, 
but somewhat nervous over undressing an adult male, even if he was nearly 
unconscious. She opened the bathrobe, her eyes stealing automatically to the 
half-swollen shaft of his penis, emerging lewdly from the bushy black hair 
on his loins. Dragging her widened eyes away from his blood-hardened 
erection with an act of willpower, she rolled him over onto his stomach and 
pulled the robe off him completely, involuntarily remarking to herself how 
well-formed his athletic young body was. Then she covered him lovingly with 
a blanket, and stepped back to survey her work with satisfaction. As far as 
she could tell, Xeno had drifted off into a profound sleep. 

Listlessly, she wandered around the hotel room, looking for something to do 
to pass the time. Xenophon had a few books in his suitcase, but they were 
all in Greek. There was nothing on the television she wanted to see. She 
drank the brandy he had poured for her and settled down to read a year-old 
National Geographic some previous tenant of the room had left behind, 
carelessly scanning a boring article about cannibals in East Borneo while 
she consumed a second brandy. An hour passed with incredible slowness, 
during which Xeno mumbled occasionally in Greek and Lucy drank a third, and 
then a fourth glass of brandy. Beginning to feel a little thick-headed 
herself, she tried to make herself comfortable for the night on the couch, 
but it was too narrow and without covers she felt chilly and exposed, still 
wearing only the skimpy cotton bathrobe. 

Why not go to bed? There was certainly no point in worrying about what other 
people thought since the hotel personnel must already be assuming the worst. 
And there was nothing to be feared from Xeno since the Greek herpetologist 
was hardly in any condition to become amorous. And the bed was plenty big 
enough for two. Having made up her mind, the young scientist drained her 
brandy glass and turned out the lights, realizing with shock that she was 
quite delightfully drunk, and feeling a slight tingle of excitement over the 
idea of going to bed with a naked man, even though the gentleman in question 
was out cold. Feeling exceptionally daring, she stripped off her bathrobe 
and crept nakedly between the sheets next to Xeno's unconscious figure. 

Except that Xeno was not unconscious. He was feeling numb and his mind was 
in a state of total confusion, and when he felt the bed squeak under Lucy's 
weight, he set what little remained of his intelligence to work, trying to 
figure out where he was and who was in bed with him. 

"Would you be kind enough to tell me your name?" he inquired discreetly in 
Greek, hoping that the lady, whoever she was, would not be upset by the fact 
that he had unaccountedly forgotten who she was. The room was in shadows and 
he could see nothing beyond the familiar and tempting shape of a woman's 
naked body stretched out by his side. 

"Poor Xeno," came the giggle in response to his question. The girl's voice 
was low and throaty as she turned on her side with her back to him, the soft 
warm moons of her buttocks brushing carelessly against his hand. What was he 
waiting for? Did it make any difference what the girl's name was? There was 
only one reason why they would find themselves in bed together. Or had they 
already done it? He strained his mind, trying to recall, but the pill he'd 
accidentally swallowed had introduced partial amnesia in his head, and the 
handsome young Greek could not remember what he had been doing recently, or 
with whom. Finding to his immense relief that he was not paralyzed, he 
quietly moved his hand down beneath the sheet and felt for his penis, 
determining that it was half-erected and quivering lustfully. Nor did it 
feel as if it had been used thus far this evening, a situation he would have 
to remedy immediately. If word ever escaped that he, Xenophon Pericledes, 
had spent the night with a woman and failed, to make violent love to her, 
the whole Acropolis would rock with lascivious laughter. 

Lucy MacTarmack had drifted off into a troubled, brandy-washed sleep, but 
she stirred vaguely in her slumber as she felt the man's hand come to rest 
lewdly on her thigh. He's still sound asleep, she warned herself. Don't move 
or you'll wake him up, and it's better that he sleep. 

But if Xeno were sleeping, he was having an exceedingly strange dream. The 
man moved closer, his lips running softly over the milk-white softness of 
her shoulders, and Lucy took a deep breath, trying to decide what she ought 
to do. Awake or asleep, he was certainly getting amorous, and although she 
had grown very, very fond of him, it seemed a bit premature to let herself 
go quite so quickly. The young woman had never taken a vow of chastity but 
her previous sexual experiences had been limited to some uncomfortable 
sessions in the back seats of cars during her college days. Since then she 
had been saving herself for the right man, and Xeno looked like he had all 
the qualifications, but other than the fact that he was a reptile curator 
who believed profoundly in women's lib, she knew hardly anything about him. 

"Xeno, darling, I think... I think we ought to talk if you're feeling 
better... " she tried to reason with him, but the demented Greek merely took 
the opportunity to slip his hand under one arm and place it fully on the 
delectable softness of one succulent breast. 

"I love you!" Xenophon murmured affectionately, still completely fogged over 
the identity of his bedmate, but deciding that a few loving words would help 
soften her up. The breast he held in his lusting hand was large and supple, 
and he toyed delightedly with the girl's resilient flesh, tweaking her tiny 
nipple between his fingers until he felt the little brown button respond by 
springing into life. 

"Good Heavens!" Hearing him speaking Greek, Lucy realized that he still had 
no idea who she was and the idea of having a love session with a man under 
those circumstances upset her. Peeling his fingers off of the trembling 
mound of her breast, she turned over to face him, determined to try to make 
him wake up enough at least to remember her name. Unfortunately, the moment 
she rolled on her back, Xeno impatiently pushed down the covers and threw 
one leg over her finely-tapered thighs and another arm across her waist. His 
bronzed athletic body was lying close beside her now, and the girl could 
feel the man's pulsating cock pressed tightly against the soft vulnerable 
flesh of her thighs. His penis was now fully extended and hard, and Lucy 
realized with a strange shiver that it had been her enticing young body 
which had aroused him to this peak of rigidity. What difference did it make 
whether or not he knew her name? She was weakening fast and she knew it. 

Operating in a kind of drugged dream, Xeno raised himself up over the girl, 
now slightly maddened by the shimmer of the faint light across the 
magnificent peaks of her pale-fleshed breasts. Quickly dropping his head 
before she could block him, he fastened his lips greedily over one swollen 
nipple and sucked it voraciously up into his mouth, listening to the woman 
making tiny bird-like cries which were somewhere in a neutral territory 
between protest and joy. 

Seeing that he was successfully turning her on, the experienced Greek lover 
instinctively applied even more pressure, running his lips wickedly down 
into the tempting valley between her sumptuous breasts. She gasped 
gratifyingly as he worked his lecherous way down over the flat quivering 
plain of her stomach, and the Greek felt her restraining hands on his head 
as he tried to continue his explorations into the erotic jungle of her soft 
reddish pubic hair. 

"No, Xeno, please, not there," she begged, wiggling unsuccessfully to avoid 
letting the man touch his searing lips to the most intimate part of her 
body. "We've just met!" 

"Xenophon Pericledes at your service, Madam," the drugged Greek muttered 
uncomprehendingly, still too confused to understand a word of what the 
American girl was saying. While she pondered his hellenic syntax, he slid 
his thumbs lasciviously into the sweet warm tangle of her pubic hair, and 
dropped his head to send his tongue darting like a lizard into the moistly 
flowering slit of her vagina. 

"Oh God," Lucy cried, trying to remember to keep her voice down lest someone 
hear her groaning and call the police. A scandal was the last thing she 
wanted, but her body twitched spasmodically as Xeno's darting tongue slashed 
into electrifying contact with the soft little bud of her tender clitoris. 
As she twitched, Xenophon took the opportunity to push her unwilling legs 
even farther apart, giving him total access to the sweet mysteries of her 
loins, as he slid his palms flat against the fleshy surfaces of her thighs 
to bare the moist pink flesh of her delicious vagina. 

The girl lay still except for an occasional involuntary twitch, and Xenophon 
grinned mercilessly to himself as he moved in for the kill. To his confused, 
drug-filled brain, the identity of this fair stranger was still a mystery, 
but no woman in Greece could resist this kind of tongue lashing for long. 
Xenophon had personally experimented upon several hundred women in Athens, 
Salonika and Larisa, and the result had always been the same. They 
struggled, they pleaded, they groaned and in the end they always yielded! 

Lucy jerked helplessly, suppressing a long heartfelt moan as she felt Xeno's 
thumbs torturously drawing apart the moist hair-fringed lips of her cunt 
until the entrance to her naked vagina was totally exposed to his probing 
tongue. She sighed again deeply as he licked his obscene way into her 
palpitating little cunt, hardly able to believe that such a depraved 
degenerate business could bring her so much wicked pleasure. Her buttocks 
began to grind remorselessly down into the mattress as she tried to escape 
this maddened assault upon her defenseless loins, but escape was impossible 
and... and, the truth of the matter was that she was not struggling quite as 
hard as she might have. Lucy had not yet admitted it to herself, but her 
body had started to surrender the moment his searching fingers had found 
their way to the turgid tips of her breast. She had been suppressing her 
lusts and violent sexual passions for far too long, and the moment the Greek 
had touched her, a fire had begun to smoulder deep in her loins. 

But why did he have to go about it in this bizarre unnatural way? It was 
humiliating and embarrassing to be pinned to the bed like this, to have her 
helplessly naked cunt licked and tickled like an animal. All right, she was 
ready! Why didn't he take her in the normal way? 

"Please, Xeno," she begged him piteously. "Come on top of me now. It's okay, 
dear." 

But the drug-maddened Greek did not seem to be listening, or comprehending 
at the moment, and Lucy felt the lewd flames of forbidden passion shoot 
higher and higher within her ravaged loins until she knew she could stand it 
no more. Xeno's mouth was slavering into her gaping cunt now with a blind 
Greek fury, sucking the tiny glistening jewel of her clitoris into his mouth 
and worrying it wickedly with his tongue until she feared she was going to 
lose her mind. What more did he want? How could her surrender be more 
abject, more complete? 

__ "Please, Xeno," she beseeched him, hearing her own voice crack with 
emotion. "Oh, honey, fuck me, don't you understand? I need it now!" 

Tears of shame welled up in her eyes as she imagined the depraved picture 
she must be making, stretched out spread-eagled on the hotel mattress, 
caressing her lust-swollen breasts with her hands until her taut brown 
nipples felt as if they were going to pop. Her voluptuous young body was in 
perpetual motion now and the room was filled with the base vile sounds from 
between her lasciviously outstretched legs as Xeno licked her unprotected 
pussy into a lather. She had never dreamed that it was possible for a man to 
humiliate her like this, her, a leading light in the Sisters of Science! Oh 
God, how had she ever let herself be trapped into this ridiculous position, 
lying submissively beneath a temporarily demented Greek reptile curator 
while he thrust his long spear-like tongue up into the quivering tunnel of 
her unused little vagina? She tried to blame it on the excessive amount of 
brandy she had consumed but what was left of her scientific mentality 
reminded her that the liquor had not destroyed her conscience, but merely 
lowered her resistance somewhat. She was a little drunk, perhaps, but not 
that drunk! 

Meanwhile, Xeno's condition was getting slightly worse instead of better. As 
his own raging lust increased, his blood circulation naturally soared, 
having the effect of bringing even more of the mind destroying drug to his 
frontal lobes. He had given up even trying to decide who the owner of this 
lovely cunt was, as distorted fantasies of sexual fulfillment bubbled 
uncontrollably through his brain. Mumbling lewdly to himself, he pushed 
Lucy's legs up into the air, sliding his hands down to seize the churning 
cheeks of her buttocks. Pulling them apart, he bared the whole flat plane of 
her pelvis to his lustful vision, catching sight of the tight little 
puckered hole of her anus nestled snugly beneath the aperture of her 
saliva-wet cunt. 

Something fairly fundamental snapped in the Greek zoo-keeper's already 
weakened mind, and his tongue flashed out instinctively, searing its way the 
length of her loins into the tempting elastic circle of her anus. 

"Aaaaaaagggggghhhhhh!" the girl shrieked, slapping her hand over her mouth 
to keep from making too much noise. "No Xeno, not there, baby! Oh, please, 
can't you do it the normal way? Not even animals do what you're doing!" 

If Xeno understood this bit of biological moralizing, he gave no sign of it, 
chuckling lewdly as he stabbed a second time into the tight fleshy ring. He 
was really on fire now, and the thought of yielding to an old Greek 
temptation shook him to the core of his being. He struggled against it 
briefly, knowing in advance that his conscience always lost this 
particularly perverted temptation and feeling the long rigid shaft of his 
cock throbbing wildly. He had to have it! 

For a man whose brain was burdened with a thought-destroying drug, Xenophon 
moved with exceptional speed, throwing himself unexpectedly off of Lucy's 
passionately trembling body, and then quickly gathering her up in his 
muscular arms and rolling her firmly over on her side on the bed so that she 
was curled up in a ball with the shining half-moons of her vulnerable 
buttocks facing him. Before the redheaded girl could react, he dropped his 
body heavily down behind her and fastened his arms around her waist so that 
they lay close together like two spoons. His frantically quivering penis was 
lodged indecently in the temptingly moist furrow of her buttocks, and the 
Greek nearly groaned with anticipated joy. She was trapped! 

Freeing one hand, he took the cannon-like pole of his penis and ran it 
lewdly up and down along the wet quivering crevice of her cunt, passing the 
bulbous meaty tip over the softly yielding flesh of her anus. Her delicious 
young body jerked at this bizarre, unnatural contact but the girl was still 
passive and resigning, lying weakly in his arms, apparently not yet aware of 
the monstrous perversion he intended to inflict upon her. Then he ran his 
middle finger down the same forbidden path, feeling her hips answering him 
gratefully as he massaged the tiny quaking organ of her clitoris. She 
murmured a little unhappily as he passed the tip of his finger directly over 
the sensitive pink opening to her rectum, but made no attempt to break away 
or bring an end to this obscene love-play. 

Lucy gasped, realizing that she had never before in her life understood what 
it meant to be genuinely turned on by the carnal presence of a man's body. 
True, he was acting a little strangely, differently than she would have 
expected a lover to behave, but after all, Xeno was a foreigner, and 
different nationalities presumably had different ways of doing those things. 
A girlfriend in the Sisterhood of Science had once explained to her that 
Frenchmen were inordinately fond of oral love, convincing Lucy to steer 
clear of Frenchmen, and there had been some kind of joke over what Greeks 
were supposed to enjoy doing, but she had not quite understood it, even 
though some of the more experienced Sisters of Science had snickered 
knowingly, and she had been too embarrassed to ask for an explanation. She 
assumed that Xeno was going to take her from behind, and although this would 
not have been her preferred way to begin the deep meaningful intellectual 
experience they were destined to share together, perhaps this was the Greek 
way of doing things. All she really knew for sure was the fact that her 
unused, inexperienced little vagina was practically crying to be filled with 
the man's rampant cock. She had felt vague stirrings of lust before, but 
never anything like this and the walls of her unfilled cunt were flexing and 
expanding with unquenchable desire. 

"Come on, Xeno," she begged him, as his outstretched middle finger continued 
to toy with the tightly clenched oval of her anal orifice. "You can do it 
now, my lover! I'm ready!" 

Since she seemed to have difficulty communicating linguistically with Xeno 
recently, Lucy ground her buttocks back against him lasciviously, pressing 
the flaccid nether spheres desirously into his loins, trembling as she felt 
the huge rigidity of his male member crushing into the furrow between her 
widespread ass-cheeks. 

This movement of hot flesh against flesh had the effect of removing any last 
doubts in Xenophon's mind. So she wanted it, did she? Well, by God, she 
wasn't going to have to wait much longer, as far as he was concerned! The 
soft heat radiating from her anus was incredibly powerful and it seemed to 
draw his cock in as he maneuvered the pulsating instrument into position, 
placing the mighty scarlet glans lewdly against the tiny resisting entrance 
to her rectum. 

A horrible suspicion began to filter into Lucy's mind. You don't suppose... 
He's just confused from the brandy... or is this what the Sisters of Science 
were talking about? 

Then, without warning, Xenophon shoved forward with all his might and Lucy 
buried her face in the pillow to keep from screaming. Whatever else 
happened, she must not let loose and start shouting. Municipal employees who 
became involved in scandals of the flesh were inevitably discharged from 
their jobs. But Xenophon's rampant spear of hardened flesh had just 
bull-dozed its lascivious way into the delicate confines of her body and she 
groaned in horrible anguish, feeling the long thick mass of rigid male 
hardness fight its way into the vainly resisting channel of her rectum. So 
this was what the Greek joke had been about! 

"No! No, Xeno, not there, please!" she begged him, still futilely hoping 
that an unfortunate error had been made which would be corrected as soon as 
the Greek realized that he had taken a wrong turn at the last crossroads. 
But if there had been a mistake, Xeno showed no evidence of being aware of 
the fact, and digging his fingers viciously into the softly yielding flesh 
of her thighs, he thrust his blood-engorged cock another wicked inch up into 
her tortured rectum. 

"Nooooooooohhhhh!!!!!" she moaned in agony as the pain seemed to fill her 
entire body. She was certain that this lewdly unnatural assault was destined 
to rend her rectum permanently, stretching her fragile nether passage 
completely out of shape. She wiggled frantically, but the man was easily ten 
times too strong for her, and she had no leverage, nothing to grab hold of 
but the flexible mattress. Xenophone grunted with savage joy, pushing 
himself even further into her suffering rectum and virtually paralyzing her 
with discomfort. 

"Uggggghhhhhh!" she grunted, feeling the virginal pink flesh of her anus 
stretching close to the bursting point as the man inexorably forced his 
brutal way deeper into her aching belly. She had never before appreciated 
precisely how long and hard a man's cock could be! And now he seemed to have 
penetrated her helpless rectum to the hilt, pushing his punishing rod into 
the darkly mysterious tunnel until his sperm-filled balls slapped lewdly 
against the insides of her thighs. She found herself gasping desperately for 
breath, feeling his elongated penis quaking and pulsating within her as if 
it were a time bomb about to explode. Virtually out of her mind with pain 
and humiliation, the panting redhead made one last desperate attempt to 
escape, falling back with a sob as Xeno's fingers dug fiercely into her 
skin. He obviously had no intentions of letting her escape from him now and 
the man was lasciviously rocking his body back and forth as he tried to 
widen the tightly clenched rectal opening. 

Lucy collapsed in despair, feeling that she had somehow been dragged to the 
bottom of the barrel, and knowing that she would never be the same again 
after this experience. How could she ever have been so mistaken about a man? 
In her mind, she had already decided that Xenophon Pericledes would turn out 
to be the man of her dreams. Instead he had turned out to be a monstrously 
perverted sex criminal! And he had her pinned to the bed, so that she could 
not escape. She could hear him behind her, mumbling and chuckling in drunken 
Greek as he flexed the savagely invading shaft of his penis. Then he began 
to thrust slowly in and out of her, being very cautious despite his 
drug-addled brain not to withdraw his bulky cock all the way from the 
suffering channel of her anus. Sobbing with humiliation, Lucy remembered how 
a few minutes before in a burst of unbridled passion, she had begged Xeno to 
fuck her, using the obscene word aloud for the first time in her life. Well, 
you're getting what you asked for, she told herself grimly, even if it isn't 
precisely what you had in mind. You 'll know better the next time you jump 
naked into bed with a complete stranger! 

"Ugh," she grunted in discomfort as the Greek probed extra-deep, stabbing 
high into the moist mysteries of her widely-stretched anus, thinking that it 
was a physical miracle that the man had successfully penetrated this 
virginal opening at all with his enormous organ. She would never have 
believed it possible, but the proof was thrust wickedly at least seven 
inches up into her dilated rectal passage. The truth of the matter was that 
the pain had passed with surprising quickness, yielding to a vague sensation 
of discomfort which was disappearing in turn. Moisture was gathering in the 
violated depths of her body, lubricating Xeno's pistoning cock, and 
gradually she could detect a great warm feeling growing in her loins. Her 
tiny brown nipples were erected again, for some reason, and she caught her 
hips in the act of twitching as the energetic Greek pummeled her straining 
little anus. Good God, what's happening to me? she asked herself in dismay, 
sensing a strange tingling sensation beginning to spread insidiously 
throughout her body. 

To anyone else, the answer to Lucy's naive question would have been 
tolerably obvious. The girl's body was trembling with long-suppressed 
excitement, her voluptuous breasts shaking wildly as Xeno pounded into her 
with one fierce pile-driving blow after another. She was scarcely conscious 
of the fact, but her hips were rocking lasciviously backward and forward as 
the man's virile hardness needled ruthlessly in and out of her inflamed 
rectum. Without realizing it, she had climbed back up to the heights of wild 
ecstasy! Somehow the very perversity of this anal rape had stimulated 
something inside of her, and she was beginning to react like a madwoman. 

A fantasy floated into her mind, and she saw herself naked on an enormous 
bed surrounded by three Xeno's. They were fucking her in every possible way, 
and all at once, in her mouth, her ass and her empty cunt. And suddenly she 
was cum... mmmmm... ming. 

"Oooooo... aaaaaaa... ggggggg!!!" the scream came out, high-pitched and 
clear as the spasm swept massively over her. 

Xeno could feel the cum seize the girl's lush over-stimulated body, the 
sudden tightening of her anal flesh clenching his taut penis like a vise. 
Skewering her with all the strength in his body, he felt the sperm gathering 
in his own heavy balls, bubbling furiously out the long quivering shaft of 
his cock and spurting vilely into the soft battery depths of her rectum. It 
had never been quite this good for the Greek, and he groaned incoherently, 
reminding himself to determine this young woman's name at the earliest 
opportunity. 

Whoever she was, the lust-stricken creature he held in his arms seemed to 
have gone completely out of her mind. He could feel her anal passage being 
flooded with the white-hot fluid of his semen, and her rectal muscles seemed 
to be caressing his wildly ejaculating cock like a thousand tiny fingers as 
her voluptuous young body strained under the lewd impact of her orgasm. 

Then suddenly, the woman's muscles all seemed to go limp and weak as if the 
plug had been pulled out. She collapsed into a pillow, weeping gently and 
Xenophon eased his slowly deflating organ out of her still quivering anus 
with a sigh of deep relief. 

It was over, and Xeno felt his brain orbiting his body like a satellite, 
hesitate for a moment, and then fly off into space. By the time the weeping 
girl pulled her anguished body out from between the cum-soaked sheets, and 
headed for the sanctuary of the bathroom, he was out like a light. 

* * * 

"She was observed leaving the hotel shortly after midnight," reported the 
private detective in a matter-of-fact voice. "Her cheeks were tear-stained 
and her clothing was still damp." 

"Hmmmmm, apparently our boy didn't have to use the pill on her," mused 
Morrisson contentedly walking down the hotel corridor towards Xeno's room. 
"Otherwise, she'd just be waking up now. Wonder why she was crying?" 

"Maybe our lover-boy couldn't rise to the occasion," suggested the 
detective. 

"T'ain't likely. That girl could get an erection out of a Greek statue!" 
affirmed the lawyer confidently. "Look, have your man continue the 
surveillance. I want to know the moment she discovers that she's pregnant. 
Ah, here's the room." 

The door was unlocked, and Morris W. Morrisson pushed his way in without 
bothering to knock, finding Xenophon sitting nakedly on the edge of the bed, 
rubbing his eyes sleepily while he tried to recollect the events of the 
previous evening. At the moment, he was a very confused Greek. 

"Woman is intellectually equal... " he began identifying Morrisson, the 
private detective and Morrisson's Swedish chauffeur/secretary/vice 
president. 

"You can forget that now," snapped the executive. "Give us a report, man! 
Did you screw her?" 

"Her?" Vague memories stirred in Xeno's benumbed brain. He had been assigned 
to have sexual intercourse with someone. But why? 

"Lucy MacTarmack? Wake up, man! Did you get it in there?" 

"Ah! I remember," said Xeno joyfully, as he recalled his instructions about 
getting the redheaded woman pregnant. Then the smile faded abruptly as his 
memories of what had actually happened became somewhat clearer. "Yes... I... 
uh... got it in... there," he mumbled. 

"Well, why so glum, man?" laughed Morrisson jubilantly as he patted Xeno's 
naked shoulder. "With a little bit of luck, you could be a father in nine 
months, and a rich one too." 

"I do not think I be father this time," he murmured uncomfortably, feeling 
the hot gaze of the Swedish woman on his finely muscled young body. 

"Why?" the smile froze on Morrisson's face. "I thought you got it in!" 

"Well... I... is very dark at night... not see too good... " 

"Pericledes, what are you trying to tell us?" muttered the lawyer, suddenly 
feeling vaguely uncomfortable. 

"Is little mistake... two holes very close together... I is confused and... 
" 

"What is he trying to say?" anguished Morrisson. 

"Oh Christ, why did we have to pick a Greek?" groaned the private detective. 
The Swedish Chauffeur/secretary/vice president grinned lasciviously at Xeno, 
shaking her hips slightly as the notion excited her. 

"You don't mean?" 

"Is true," confessed Xeno unhappily. 

"Oh sweet suffering Christ!" agonized the lawyer, taking his head in his 
hands and facing the hotel room in some agitation. "And it won't be too long 
before that chick puts two and two together and realizes that we're after 
her! This leaves us no choice but Emergency Plan A?" 

"Plan A?" echoed the detective unhappily. "That's a little extreme, isn't 
it? I mean we could all wind up in jail... " 'There's no choice. She'll be 
on her guard, now. We'll have to do it the hard way!" 

"Next time, I be most careful... " Xeno was attempting to reassure the 
lawyer, following him around the room with the sheet draped around his 
waist, and looking like a Greek statue suddenly turned into flesh and blood. 

"You... you pervert!" shouted the lawyer angrily. "You're off the job!" Xeno 
backed away, looking hurt while Morrisson turned to his secretary. "Honey, 
get this idiot packed and on the first plane to Athens!" he ordered 
severely. "I want him out of the country in case she tries to file charges 
against him." 

The Swedish woman nodded as the lawyer stormed out of the room, his mind 
already whirling with the devious mechanisms of Emergency Plan A. The door 
slammed as the private detective followed his employer into the hall, 
leaving Morrisson's chauffeur/secretary/vice-president alone with the 
bewildered Greek. 

"I... I... never to again," groaned Xeno miserably as the Swedish girl 
deftly undid the buttons on her blouse. "I have failure!" 

"You do one more time, okay?" came the throaty voice of the blonde woman. 
"Diss Morrisson, he only know one trick." 

"Huh?" the Greek looked up in amazement as the Swedish girl quickly 
dispensed with the last of her clothing and strode sensuously toward him, 
taking the sheet away and dropping it on the floor between them. 

"Woman is intellectually equal to man!" Xeno proclaimed happily as he ran 
his fingers over the girl's smoothly yielding flanks, pulling her eagerly 
toward the bed. 

"Ja!" said the two-time winner of the Miss Sweden beauty contest. "OH ja!" 

 CHAPTER SIX 

"Hey Luther, when ya gonna get it up?" called the leader of the commune, a 
tall stocky man who had been a project officer for the Department of 
Agriculture before dropping out of society to lead his personal band of 
chosen people into the promised land. 

"Listen, Frank, I got it up," explained Luther with quiet professional 
pride. "You missed the big erection while you were zonked on acid." 

"Oh wow! You mean it's up? So fast?" 

"No sweat, baby. We got the parts we needed and the boys all gave me a had 
with screwing the joints. We're getting the interior fixed up now, and you 
can move in whenever you want." 

"Fantastic!" marveled the hippie leader, running his hands through his long, 
disorderly hair. "I didn't know you could get it knocked up that fast. In 
fact, you told me it would take a month." 

The two men were conferring in the shack used by the commune as their 
headquarters while waiting for the dome to be completed. His day's work over 
with, Luther was relaxing with his customary reefer, and the male members of 
the commune were coming back tired from their work in the fields or on the 
construction team. A trio of young women, all naked to the waist, were 
preparing their communal dinner of bean soup. The commune was getting a 
little tired of bean soup, but they had over-planted on beans, and the crop 
had to be used up somehow. Luther watched a droplet of sweat roll down 
across the chest of one of the cooks, linger hesitatingly on the tip of her 
nipple and then fall unnoticed into the soup as he chatted with the hippie 
leader. 

"It would have taken a month if I'd had to scrounge for parts, or improvise 
things, but with my financial managers taking care of my supply problems... 
" 

"Your what?" 

"My financial managers. I just tell 'em what I need, and they have it flown 
in for me by helicopter... " 

"Damn, I saw that chopper, but I thought it was just the fuzz looking for 
our marijuana crop again. They were bringing you parts?" 

"Yup!" 

"And who pays?" the hippie demanded suspiciously. 

"Uh... never thought about it," admitted Luther, now a little perplexed. 
"They do, I suppose." 

"Why?" 

"Huh? Well, that's a good question. I'll have to ask my secretary." 

"Your secretary? Luther, since when do you have a secretary?" demanded 
Frank, now clearly realizing that something exceedingly strange was going on 
in his commune. 

" 'Bout a week now. Whenever I need a part, or some materials I can't lay my 
hands on, she orders it for me, and it comes that same day." Luther 
explained happily. "Beats the hell out of using scraps from junkyards." 

The communal leader accepted a bowl of bean soup from one of the 
bare-breasted cooks and stirred it meditatively for a moment. Luther, who 
never paid much attention to what he ate, took his bowl gratefully, feeling 
a vague stirring of lust in his loins as he surveyed the girl's small firm 
breasts. Since the night of love he had shared with Marge, he had 
entertained frequent thoughts of sex, but for some reason the girl was now 
returning every night to the motel even though she continued to turn up 
every day to take his orders for construction materials. Now that he knew 
that it was possible, even for him, he was determined to try it again. But 
Marge had seemed somewhat depressed during the week and he had not had the 
courage to ask her. 

"Listen, Luther, I think we ought to get to the bottom of this," asserted 
the commune leader stoutly. "Nobody gives anything away for free." 

"Oh, they explained all that," repeated Luther cheerfully. "They make their 
money by managing my finances." 

"But you don't have any finances!" exploded Frank. "Now, I want you to 
finish that soup, go back to your hut and get an explanation out of your 
secretary. Understand?" 

Luther sipped his soup, still covertly watching the three bare-chested girls 
who had prepared it. He was feeling exceptionally lusty tonight, and he 
remembered the hot carnal scene which had taken place the time Marge had 
crawled into his sleeping bag. The young architect did not frankly care who 
paid for his construction materials as long as he could go on building 
bigger and better geodesic domes, but he would try to remember to make 
inquiries about the matter. After he had enjoyed the girl's temptingly 
voluptuous body. 

Yes, indeed, he thought lasciviously, butting his reefer into the remains of 
his bean soup. Yes, indeed! 

* * * 

"They've just called from the airport," reported the ex-FBI man tersely as 
he put down the phone. "Betsy's landed and they're bringing her over in a 
car. Should be here any minute now." 

W. Scott McNalty nodded, the tension of the long operation beginning to tell 
on his pale features. Behind his thick glasses, the stockbroker's eyes 
seemed to squint into nothingness as he reviewed the tactical situation in 
his mind. The whole business was costing him tens of thousands of dollars a 
week, not to mention the fact that his best financial minds were cooped up 
with him here in the Paradise Hotel, two thousand miles from the New York 
Stock Exchange. He and his men were surrounded by stunningly beautiful (and 
fertile) young women whom they could not touch, since the girls were 
reserved for Luther MacTarmack, who did not seem to want them. Tonight, they 
were going to play their top card, but with Luther, anything was likely to 
be a long shot. Marge had done her best, and failed, and McNalty gazed at 
the unhappy young woman who had been acting as Luther's assistant for a 
week, and wondered how any man alive could resist that supple, willing young 
body. He had other girls who were due to become fertile over the next few 
days, but a man who would turn down a night with Marge could not be expected 
to respond to normal stimulation. The telephone rang and McNalty picked it 
up, handling the receiver as delicately as if it were a bomb. 

"Yes?" 

"This is me," came a hushed confidential voice from far away New York. It 
was the young lawyer on Morris W. Morrisson's staff who was secretly in the 
pay of the McNalty organization, reporting faithfully on the efforts to 
impregnate Lucy MacTarmack. 

"Go ahead!" 

"They had a try at you-know-who and came within inches of getting her! This 
was two weeks ago, but I just found out about it. They're gearing up for a 
massive attack in two weeks when her fertile period comes around again, and 
this time, they aren't taking any chances." 

"What are they going to do?" barked McNalty. 

"I haven't found out yet. They're keeping it a tight secret, and my guess is 
that the old man is going for something on the illegal side. My source says 
that it's rough but sure-fire." 

"Your source?" 

"Ah... yes, I've made friends with Morrisson's secretary/chauffeur, a 
Swedish... " 

"Good! That gives us two weeks and we may need every day of it. In the 
meantime, we, need all the information we can get, and you keep pumping that 
chauffeur." 

"Right, boss," said the voice. "We're having a meeting tonight, and I'll 
pump till the dawn's early light." 

McNalty rang off, vaguely satisfied with the knowledge that his rival was 
apparently doing no better. He considered the odds carefully. On one hand, 
Luther was a man, and they could have fourteen tries at him in the following 
two weeks if need be, since the man's batteries re-charged fairly quickly. 
If they could only get him started! Morrisson was laboring under the sever 
disadvantage of being able to make only one try a month, whenever Lucy went 
into her fertile period. The negative side of the coin was the fact that 
they seemed to be having difficulty getting Luther started in his rich new 
sex life and unfortunately, it was biologically impossible to rape a man. If 
worse came to worse, Morrisson always had the option of... the 
stock-broker's face suddenly went pale. 

"Oh my God!" he cried suddenly. "He's going for broke! He's going to have 
her raped!" 

"What?" snarled the former FBI man, remembering that J. Edgar Hoover had 
always disapproved of rape. 

"Of course, that's it! Morrisson waits till the day when the girl is 
super-fertile and then sends a team of cocksmen in and they criminally 
assault her! Five of them, ten of them! It can't fail! The will says nothing 
about producing an heir under illegal circumstances, or even knowing who the 
father is! If Morrisson gets that girl knocked up, he gets his hands on a 
quarter of a billion dollars. We've got to stop them." 

"But how?" muttered the former FBI man morosely. 

"That's your job! Get back to New York and set up some protection for that 
girl! We won't know exactly when her fertile period is and Morrisson will, 
so you'll have to protect her around the clock. Hire an army if you need to, 
but make sure Morrisson and his sex maniacs don't get through to her!" 

"Yes, Sir," snapped the former federal agent promptly, jumping to his feet 
and feeling much better about his new assignment. What he was doing with Mr. 
McNalty was of questionable legality, but preventing an innocent girl from 
being ravished was right up his alley, just like those "Your FBI in Peace 
and War" programs they used to love on the radio in the good old days. He 
disappeared out the door just as a limousine pulled up in front of the 
Paradise Motel, bearing the girl named Betsy. 

* * * 

"I'm Betsy," the young woman announced quietly as she entered Luther's 
shack. "I have come." 

Luther looked up quickly, verifying with his own eyes that she had indeed 
come. He had been feeling surprised and sad, returning to his abode and 
finding that Marge had apparently decamped, but the sight of this new girl 
cheered him up immediately. 

For a moment, he sat still on the edge of his bed, staring at her in total 
stunned amazement. She was, if possible, more beautiful than Marge, a tall 
golden-haired creature with a face which could have launched a thousand 
geodesic domes. It was impossible to tell what her figure was like, since 
she was clothed from neck to ankle in a long white gown which merely hinted 
at the proportions of her breasts and the womanly swells of her hips. With a 
stately measured stride, she strode to the side of his bed and knelt humbly 
before him. 

"You are the master," she informed him in the same quiet, self-assured 
voice. Luther felt his heart, and certain other portions of his anatomy, 
warming immediately. Marge had been a trifle on the bossy side, even if she 
had offered him the voluptuousness of her naked body in bed, but this woman, 
Betsy, was soft and submissive, in fact, unusually so. Who was she? What did 
she want? 

"Ah... I'm happy to... uh... meet you, Betsy," he stammered as she gazed at 
him with her clear guileless eyes. "Nice of you to... drop in. Ah... what 
exactly am I the master of?" 

"The geodesic dome," she explained, seeming a little startled as if the fact 
were perfectly obvious. "I have traveled around the country, following you, 
looking at your domes, all of them. They are so beautiful... " 

"Gee," muttered Luther, flattered but wishing his first and only disciple 
would not feel the necessity of kneeling at his feet. "Glad you like them. 
Ah... were you figuring on staying a while?" Luther was never surprised at 
the strange things which life occasionally did to him, and after Marge's 
unexpected and unexplained arrival and departure, it was beginning to strike 
him as natural that beautiful women would find their way into his life. 

"I have come to learn the secrets of the geodesic dome," she informed him, 
placing her hand softly upon his knee, her bosom heaving with emotion. "I 
want to become your apprentice." 

"Golly, there's no secret about it," explained Luther, delighted to find 
that Betsy was not only gorgeous but shared his life-long fascination with 
the geodesic structure. "I can give you the basics in a few minutes if I can 
find a pencil... " 

"No, the basics I have already mastered," she told him in the same ethereal 
voice. "I need to know the inner mystery of the geodesic dome, to understand 
the rich human sensuality of it all." 

"Sensuality?" repeated Luther, a little perplexed. Despite all, the engineer 
was a very practical man who thought of geodesic domes as superb structures 
for keeping the rain out at minimum cost. But the more he thought about 
it... 

"I never realized how... how sensual they were," he admitted frankly, a 
little disturbed that this girl had seen such a fundamental truth before 
him. "Must be why all the hippies like them, because hippies are usually 
very sensual people, even if they don't take baths too often. I've been 
working on a design for a geodesic bathtub and... " 

"They are the most sensual things in the world," she murmured, blushing 
unexpectedly and lowering her eyes. "I... I have to show you what I mean. Do 
you remember the design you did for that commune in Kentucky?" 

"Ah, how could I forget? But it was too big, so I had to build them a normal 
dome. But someday, I'm going to get a chance to put up a really big dome, 
and then I'm going to use that design. It's absolutely original and you 
could enclose a thousand square miles with it," Luther chattered happily, 
seeing that this mysterious girl had really made a careful study of his 
work. "I've got the drawings around here somewhere if you'd like to take a 
careful look at it... " He looked around the room, failing to see the folder 
in question, a fact which perplexed him. He had been showing it to an 
uninterested Marge just the other day... 

"I have it." Betsy told him in a matter-of-fact tone. 

"Where?" 

"Open my dress," she suggested, her blush deepening. 

"What? You have my plan under your dress?" 

"Please," she begged him, putting her hands on his thighs and inching closer 
between his knees. "I have to show you what that design has meant to me." 

Inexplicably, Luther found his hands shaking, and he suppressed the 
immediate desire to roll himself a joint to calm his nerves. The girl's 
dress unbuttoned from the neck all the way to the hem, and the engineer 
undid them one after another, slowly revealing the smooth milk-white texture 
of her skin as he pushed the cloth aside. Down he went, working his way 
between the superbly formed swells of her breasts until he had unfastened 
the garment to her belly-button. 

"Now take it off," she ordered. Luther's mind was going into orbit, and he 
could feel his penis rearing up in his jeans like a stallion. He had not yet 
seen the rich fullness of her proud young breasts, and his fingers had swept 
lustfully over the softly yielding surface of her skin, feeling the tiny 
turgid little nipples through the cloth. Impatiently, he slid the gown off 
her creamy supple shoulders and let it fall loosely around her waist. 

"Buckminster Fuller!" he swore softly in amazement. Betsy had meant what she 
had said about domes being sensual! Each full voluptuous breast had been 
tattooed with the design of the MacTarmack Kentucky dome, the dome he had 
never built, complete and accurate in every detail. Her chest was the ground 
and the rosy pink button of her nipple was the pinnacle. Both breast/domes 
were identical, and Luther nearly fainted with joy as Betsy rose 
majestically to her feet, her taut young breasts bearing the fruit of his 
genius and her gown sliding to the ground, leaving her completely naked. 

"My heavens, Betsy!" he muttered, no longer thinking very clearly as the 
girl took a step forward, putting her arms around his neck. Luther had known 
moments of lust before, and his interest in geodesic design amounted to a 
mania, but the combination of the two was almost intolerably exciting. 
Without thinking to ask permission, he touched his trembling lips lightly to 
the fluttering little tip of her right breast, feeling the nipple stiffen 
immediately as if it were trying of its own accord to fight its way into his 
mouth. 

"Oh, Luther," the girl murmured, pressing her desirable body even closer. 
"Yes, kiss them like that. I love it, my darling." 

The young engineer was nearly beside himself by this point, and he wrapped 
his arms hungrily around her waist, crushing her delectable body against his 
while he went wild over the tantalizing peaks of her breasts, kissing and 
licking the hotly turgid little nipples as he moved his open mouth from one 
succulent breast to the other. Behind her, his lecherous hands explored the 
smoothly inviting surfaces of her buttocks 'and flanks. While she thrust her 
pelvis demandingly against his loins. Inexperienced as he was in sensual 
matters, Luther did not require any guidance from Johnson and Masters to 
tell him what to do at this point. Lifting her bodily into the air, he lay 
her gently down beside him on the bed and got to work divesting himself of 
his superfluous garments. 

"Oh Luther," the blonde girl moaned, now obviously stricken with a yielding 
lust which was just as strong as the man's. "Please, if you don't mind... I 
mean, could you... make love to me? I've been waiting so long for this 
moment." In point of exact fact, she had been waiting since the previous 
Wednesday when McNalty's agents had located her working in a birth control 
clinic in Saint Louis and offered her an astounding amount of money to get 
pregnant. But the girl had thrown herself into the part she was supposed to 
be playing so thoroughly that she had now convinced herself that the 
geodesic designs she bore on her naked breasts were the most beautiful 
things in the world, and that Luther was an authentic genius. Now, more than 
anything else in the world, she wanted to make love to him, to feel his hard 
manly chest crushing the softly yielding mounds of her decorated breasts and 
his long pole-like cock thrust deeply within her willing, empty womb. 

Luther's thoughts were none too coherent as he struggled out of his jeans 
and his underwear and stretched his trim athletic body out beside the girl, 
his cock already hard and pulsating with a vibrant life of its own. Could he 
really make love to this strange but intensely exciting young woman who had 
so unexpectedly dropped into his life? The memory of the perverted act Marge 
had performed on him flashed through his mind, and he wondered what new 
amorous tricks Betsy would have in store for him. Would she take his long 
pulsating pike into her mouth and suck him the way his dark-haired 
secretary, Marge, had done? Somehow, it all seemed like an impossible dream, 
the kind of fantasy he had after too much hippie home-brewed wine drunk 
after too much hashish. For the years he had wandered rural America building 
domes for anyone who would give him room and board, obscure and penniless, a 
kind of engineering Johnny Appleseed, and now suddenly he was a man with a 
financial manager who helicoptered him parts, and a private secretary who 
blew him and a disciple who offered unimaginable erotic delights. Luther was 
accustomed to spending a lot of his time in private fantasies, but this all 
seemed a bit too much. 

He touched the girl, almost certain that she would dissolve into nothingness 
as he ran his hand slowly down from her inspiringly tattooed breasts to the 
temptingly blonder triangle of her pubic zone. Betsy was lying on her back, 
her arms thrown licentiously up over her head and her thighs slightly spread 
in an attitude of total erotic surrender. Luther caressed her gently, 
restraining the powerful impulse to leap on top of her freely offered body 
and stab his rigid cock into the soft confines of her vagina. But he 
realized that a girl who would have her breasts tattooed with an 
architectural design was a very special kind of individual who required 
delicate handling. He had to take his time, arousing her slowly and surely, 
making sure that she genuinely desired him as a man, and not merely a 
designer. 

"Oooooooohhhhhhhh," the girl moaned sincerely as Luther ran his artist's 
fingers in a long languid caress down between her mountainous breasts, 
across the flat, yielding plain of her stomach and into the inviting jungle 
of her pale blonde pubic curls. The girl's pussy hair was nearly as blonde 
as the golden locks on her head, and she shivered involuntarily as she felt 
the man inch his exploring middle finger lewdly into the quivering wet flesh 
of her cunt. Her tiny brown nipples hardened automatically, and she could 
sense the highly sensitive bud of her clitoris swelling and tingling. Betsy 
had been reluctant to take this job despite the enormous amount of money 
McNalty and his associates were paying her, but she had accepted his 
proposition because the idea of making violent sexual love to a complete 
stranger had somehow excited her. And the moment she had laid eyes on Luther 
MacTarmack, she had convinced herself that the two of them were babes in the 
arms of destiny. He was an architectural genius, and he would fill her womb 
with seed and make her a mother. A very rich mother! 

She had been worried that Luther would turn out to be cruel or sadistic, but 
stretched out nakedly in his arms, she sensed with a woman's instinct that 
there was no viciousness in his character. He was stroking her gently, 
almost respectfully, running his hands questioningly over her quivering 
flesh and she found her unprepared body reacting to him with savage 
intensity. She had come here with the express purpose of arousing him, but 
he was arousing her instead! Slowly, her thighs fell involuntarily apart as 
Luther bent over her tingling body, running his lips wickedly down past her 
hips into the softly moist hair surrounding the entrance to her vagina. It 
seemed horribly indecent to let a man press his open mouth against the 
pulsating pink flesh of her pussy when they had only known each other for 
fifteen minutes, but when Luther's tongue snaked out to lick the 
desire-flushed button of her clitoris, Betsy groaned again and forgot about 
propriety. What difference did it make? It felt so good! 

Luther, meanwhile, was having the time of his life, having decided that 
Betsy was worth two of Marge in bed. His secretary had been a trifle 
businesslike about sex, but his new disciple was so compliant and submissive 
that he found his brain whirling in disbelief. With a girl like this, he 
could do anything he wanted! Any lewd depraved perversion which popped into 
his head was possible, and it did not even look as though he was going to 
have to ask permission. It was all his for the taking! 

Betsy saw him rise up over her like a conquering hero, and felt the heat 
from his hands as he forced her milk-white thighs even farther apart, 
crouching now between her obscenely outstretched legs. There seemed to be 
tiny licking flames of lust racing through the sinews of her loins, sparks 
flashing erratically across the switchboard of her nervous system, and the 
girl felt her hips begin to rock back and forth as Luther sucked her 
clitoris in between his moist lips and lashed it unmercifully with his 
tongue. 

"Oh Luther... " she gasped, feeling what little remained of her maidenly 
virtue disappearing into thin air. "God, this is making me feel... so... 
funny!" 

The girl's wild and obvious passion was having a distinct effect on Luther's 
feelings as well, and the young engineer felt his rigid cock quaking like 
mad as he ran his lips up over her twisting writhing body to plant a warm 
wet kiss on her open mouth. Wickedly, their tongues met and danced, first in 
her mouth and then in his. His hard, manly chest was cradled now in the 
succulently soft cushions of her breasts, and he could feel the turgid 
little pebbles of her breasts drilling furiously into his skin as Betsy 
panted desperately for breath. As he covered her with his body, the girl's 
arms wrapped automatically around his neck and her thighs went even wider as 
she offered up her wetly throbbing vaginal slit like some erotic oriental 
sacrifice. The bulging glans of Luther's pulsating penis was lodged between 
the moistly fluttering lips of her vagina. To penetrate her welcoming womb, 
he need only flick forward with his hips and the job would be done. 

But still he waited! 

Beneath him, Luther could still feel Betsy's tattooed breasts pressing 
insistently against his chest, and he raised himself up on his arms to look 
one more time at the design of his geodesic dome turned into flesh. Her 
hotly quivering breasts began to excite him beyond endurance, and suddenly 
he realized with a jolt of massive stimulation that what he really wanted to 
do was to take her there, to possess those lovely geodesic breasts, to 
baptize them with his sperm! It was the most wickedly perverse idea Luther 
had ever had, and he was not even totally sure it was possible, but once the 
notion had infiltrated his mind, he knew he was going to have to try it, no 
matter what the consequences were! 

Meanwhile, Betsy was twisting and groaning unintelligibly beneath him, her 
over-stimulated body arching mindlessly up into the air as she begged for 
the impalement he seemed to be denying her. Luther was moving now, 
slithering up her torso towards the large and lovely breasts which were 
exciting him so powerfully. His hands were positively trembling as he 
reached down to take her softly resilient mounds between his fingers, 
kneading and massaging the pleasant flesh while Betsy whimpered with 
unbridled lust. Luther was in heaven. As he crushed and squeezed her swollen 
young breasts, the sensuous lines of his geodesic design seemed to alter and 
mutate into new and fascinating forms. Without quite realizing what he was 
doing or why, the young architect pushed forward again, laying the torrid 
length of his lust-bloated cock directly between the two shimmering mounds 
of her tits. 

She got the idea, and the notion of being fucked there somehow filled Betsy 
with a perverse kind of crazed desire unlike anything' she had ever known 
before. Closing her eyes and crooning softly, she cooperated, putting her 
hands on the sides of her white rounded breasts and pushing inward, trapping 
Luther's cock in a warm soft tunnel of flesh. It was like an artificial 
cunt, and the harder she pushed on her own breasts, the greater the pressure 
on the man's hotly throbbing instrument. 

"Good God, you're driving me wild!" Luther groaned in something approaching 
pure ecstasy. 

"Take it, baby, take it!" the girl urged him lewdly. But the young man felt 
vaguely guilty about having all the pleasure himself and leaving none for 
her, and he reached behind his back and probed boldly into the gaping wet 
flesh of her pussy, stabbing immediately into her cunt with three stiffened 
fingers. 

"Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!" she sighed in pure animal pleasure, bending her knees 
and rocking her hips up to meet his invading hand. It took a moment's 
experimentation, but before long the lust-crazed couple had established a 
mutually satisfying rhythm, with Luther plunging his lascivious fingers 
deeply into Betsy's inflamed vagina and at the same time thrusting the 
hardened flesh of his cock between the caressing spheres of her breasts. Now 
totally out of her mind with the pressure of an approaching orgasm, the girl 
pushed savagely on her breasts from the sides, trying to give him everything 
she had as he rocked wildly back and forth above her, swinging his body like 
a pendulum. With every forward stroke, the scarlet tip of his expanded glans 
appeared high on her chest, depositing a fragrant drop of male sperm which 
glistened on the whiteness of her skin. 

Betsy's eyes were open, and focused on his face, her nostrils widely dilated 
and her breath coming hard. Luther studied her, with the part of mind that 
was still cold and scientific. Despite the wildness of his own erotic 
excitement, he watched the spasm sweep over her fragile body like a 
hurricane. It seemed to begin in her neck, and the man's eyes widened with 
wonder as all the tendons abruptly went tight, standing out like cords. Then 
it spread to her thighs and Luther felt her cunt quivering wildly, clutching 
at his hand like a thousand tiny fingers... 

"Ahhhhhhh... I'm cumming!" she groaned. "Luther, baby, I'm cummmmmmmming!" 

Luther found himself gasping for breath, feeling a sudden wild surge deep 
down in his testicles as the white-hot sperm started its mad dash for 
freedom. Betsy was still pushing hard on her breasts and the pressure was 
excruciatingly intense as Luther's turgid cock suddenly jerked 
spasmodically, sending vast streams of steaming cum spurting across the 
girl's heaving chest. There was a trail of sticky whiteness running from 
between her red-welted breasts across her naked chest and up to her cheeks, 
as the semen poured out like water from a fire hose. Luther groaned with 
simple bliss and collapsed on the bed beside her, slowly removing his wet 
hand from the satisfied depths of her cunt. 

For a long time, neither of them spoke, each panting heavily as they 
gradually disentangled. Betsy ran her fingers through the cum between her 
ravaged breasts and looked at it uncomprehendingly as she remembered 
precisely what it was she had come here to do and realizing how stupidly she 
had failed. 

"The hell with them," she muttered to herself. "I can't see myself as a 
mother anyway!" 

"Huh?" said Luther, rolling a joint, and using a droplet of the moisture 
from Betsy's cunt to seal the cigarette paper. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

As the ex-FBI man raised the window silently and crept into her apartment, 
Lucy MacTarmack was having a nightmare, dreaming she was running naked 
through the Municipal Zoological Gardens and being pursued by Morris W. 
Morrisson, who was waving a thick contract at her; the keeper of the Monkey 
House, who was waving his guitar at her; and Dr. Roberts, who was also naked 
and waving his penis at her. 

She stirred restlessly in her sleep, pushing away the blankets and exposing 
in the half-light of early dawn the magnificence of her thighs protruding 
from her wholly inadequate shortie nightgown. The ex-FBI man carefully 
lowered the window behind him lest his illegal entry be noticed from the 
outside, and stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, surveying the sweet 
mysteries of the young woman's sleeping body. The shadowy red hairs of her 
pussy were just visible beneath the nightie, and as she sprawled in the 
shameless abandon of sleep, the ex-FBI man suddenly felt tempted to try and 
settle this absurd contest of fertility by lowering his pants and 
impregnating her on the spot. 

Of course, it was a bad idea. For one thing, she was not due to be fertile 
for another day yet, and secondly, she would undoubtedly scream for help, 
which would be distracting, and thirdly, J. Edgar Hoover had always warned 
his men to avoid raping defenseless women unless absolutely necessary. But 
the clincher was the fact that he was here to keep Miss MacTarmack from 
getting pregnant, not help that band of legal scoundrels, Morrisson and 
Company, to get her knocked up. Taking a deep breath and dragging his eyes 
off of her lasciviously exposed pubic region, the ex-FBI man reminded 
himself that he was here, breaking and entering, with a very specific 
mission in mind. Dr. MacTarmack had evidently been feeling tired and 
run-down recently, because she had stopped into a pharmacy a few days before 
and purchased a bottle of multiple vitamin pills. One of the ex-FBI man's 
subordinates had questioned the clerk in the pharmacy (posing as an Internal 
Revenue Agent) and determined that the pills were blue and meant to be taken 
one a day, at breakfast. Consulting the McNalty gynecological expert, the 
ex-FBI man had ordered the fabrication of one hundred blue birth control 
pills of the same size and shape as the vitamin pills. 

Stealing into the bathroom, he located the bottle of vitamins and carefully 
dumped them into his pocket, reminding himself to take a few at the next 
opportunity, since he too had been feeling tired and run-down recently, as a 
result of chasing all over the country trying to get some people pregnant 
and keep other people unpregnant. Dreaming of the good old days when he had 
spent his time pursuing spies and Mafia chiefs, the ex-FBI man carefully 
filled the bottle with ninety-eight blue birth control pills, subtracting 
two for the two vitamins Lucy had apparently already eaten. Then he recapped 
the bottle, wiped away his fingerprints, and left the bathroom. 

Lucy had rolled over onto her stomach, now dreaming that she was being raped 
by Maxwell, the three hundred pound Galapagos turtle. The hem of the nightie 
was stretched across the middle of her back, leaving the lust-inciting 
cheeks of her buttocks shimmering in the moonlight. 

The FBI man wrestled with the lecherous urge to bend over and kiss each of 
the shining globes, but the iron discipline of the Bureau was still with him 
and he fought back the evil temptation. He left, breathing heavily, and took 
a vitamin pill as soon as he got back to his car. He was going to need his 
strength since he had met a fascinating Swedish girl that afternoon, and he 
had an amorous appointment with her that very night. She had been the only 
woman in history to have been elected Miss Sweden twice, and the FBI man was 
looking forward to the experience with trembling excitement, since as far as 
he could remember, J. Edgar Hoover had never said anything about Swedish 
girls. 

* * * 

"Looks like he got away O.K.," said a man hiding in a nearby alley as he 
watched the ex-FBI man work his way down the fire escape and into his car. 
"Pretty good operator." 

"Yeah, sure was nice of 'em to do our work for us," muttered a second man. 
"How much did you have to pay that guy in the pharmacy?" 

"Couple a grand. It was those super-fertility pills that cost a small 
fortune, and coating them so they'd look like birth control pills disguised 
as vitamin pills was another expensive job. Morrisson's secretary making the 
exchange was a sensational idea. The federal fuzz was so busy looking at her 
tits, he never saw her make the switch." 

"And now?" 

"And now the first time somebody looks hard at the MacTarmack bitch, she 
gets pregnant," confided the first man grimly. "Come on, let's get back to 
headquarters." 

* * * 

Morrisson stood at the lectern with a Halloween mask over his face, a 
pointer in his hand, his notes before him, and a blackboard behind him, on 
which several diagrams had already been sketched. The lawyer was feeling at 
the top of his form, having gone several rounds that morning with his 
Swedish chauffeur/secretary/vice-president who had taught him some things 
about anal-eroticism that he had never dreamed were possible. It was the 
beginning of the big operation, and he felt titillated by the notion of 
engaging in anything as blatantly criminal as this. With a contented chuckle 
at his own extreme cleverness, he tapped his pointer on the lectern and 
called the meeting to order. Conversation died instantly and four pairs of 
eyes were instantly focused upon him. 

"Gentlemen, when the company which I represent goes out looking for 
qualified personnel," he began solemnly, "we are never satisfied with 
anything less than the best. We wanted trained specialists in a certain 
field, men with proven abilities and solid careers behind them, and we were 
willing to pay the kind of price a real expert can demand for his services. 
You four are the result of a long and arduous search, but I am confident 
that we have in this room the four most competent specialists in the field 
of carnal violence currently at large in North America." 

There was a round of grateful applause, and Morrisson smiled and paused in 
his presentation while the woman who had been Miss Sweden twice brought in 
drinks and packs of cigarettes for each of the four men. Beneath the lectern 
Morrisson had a concealed bull whip as insurance against the possibility 
that the sight of his secretary/chauffeur/vice-president would inspire one 
or more of the four experts to demonstrate his prowess on the spot. 
Morrisson had no particular objection to the boys getting in a little 
practice, but they were only a few days from blast-off, and he wanted them 
to save their sperm. When Miss Sweden (two times) swayed provocatively out 
of the room unraped, the lawyer continued his presentation. 

"Now, for obvious reasons, we cannot acquaint you with the identity of your 
employers, but you're going to be working together as a team, and members of 
a good team should know each other, so let me do some introducing. Lester 
Jones, will you stand up and take a bow?" 

A tall blond-haired man in his middle thirties lumbered to his feet, smiling 
awkwardly as he acknowledged the polite patter of applause. 

"Les, it's great to have you on the team!" said Mr. Morrisson proudly. "For 
the record, boys, Lester here has chalked up only three arrests for 
aggravated criminal assault out of seventeen kills, all in the great state 
of California. How does it feel to be back East, Lester?" 

"Well, Sir, I'm looking forward to the challenge of raping an Eastern 
woman," said Lester. "It's a great opportunity for me to study new 
techniques." 

"Right you are, Les, and the Mister New-Techniques-of-Lechery is none other 
than New York's own Mel Polanski. A little applause for a really great 
rapist!" 

A short stocky man with enormously powerful shoulders and arms rose to his 
feet, smiling broadly at these compliments. 

"Boys, every schoolboy and his sister is familiar with Mel's exploits over 
the years, and he hardly needs any introduction. Mel holds the New York 
State Police record for having carnally ravished both the oldest and the 
youngest women ever assaulted in their jurisdiction. He is the only living 
man to have scored a kill in the Statue of Liberty during visiting hours and 
the first man in history to rape a Congresswoman, and a Republican at that! 

Gallantly, Lester Polanski raised his glass and toasted the speaker, 
grinning proudly and shaking hands with his colleagues before sitting down 
and permitting Morrisson to get on with his introductions. 

"Gentlemen, I'm sure all of you have read newspaper reports about a new 
young talent operating in the deep South. He has never been arrested or 
identified by the police and it was only with the greatest difficulty that 
we were able to track him down. He's only nineteen years old, and I know 
he's going to be watching you older men for what he can learn. But despite 
his tender years, this boy has already struck terror into the hearts of 
thousands of Southern Belles. Gentlemen, the pride of Dixie, Billy Joe 
Saunders!" 

A short, slender youth who hardly seemed big enough to rape his little 
sister, Billie Joe stood up shyly, grinning sheepishly as the older men 
around him pounded him heartily on the back. The commotion in the room was 
so great that it was several minutes before Mr. Morrisson, perspiring freely 
under his Halloween mask, could restore order. 

"Billie Joe, would you like to tell us what your most exciting experience so 
far has been in this very demanding field? From your dozens of successful 
rapes from the shores of South Carolina to the banks of the Rio Grande, what 
is the one which stands out in your mind?" 

"Well, Sir," replied the diminutive youth, a strikingly handsome young man 
with a deep Southern accent, "Ah think it must be the day ah scored with a 
white woman and a black lady, and then an Indian gal and a Mexican girlie 
and then an Eskimo chick, all on the same day." 

"That's incredible, Billie Joe, and now that you mention it, I remember 
reading it in the newspapers. There was good press coverage as I recall, and 
the Eskimo girl later wrote an article for Playboy!" Morrisson reminded the 
group proudly. "That's right, Sir, and ah'm particular proud of that day, 
'cause it proves us Southern boys ain't the bigots we's supposed to be. When 
ah rapes a woman, ah concentrates on raping her fer herself, without 
thinkin' about race, creed, religion, or national origin, jes' so long as 
she's an American citizen." 

Morrisson tended to become emotional at intensely moving moments like this, 
and the lawyer was forced to lift his Halloween mask and wipe away a tear. 

"Boys, I think you'll agree with me that this is the kind of patriotic 
attitude that makes our country such a fine place to live and rape in. 
Billie Joe, we're all proud of you, son, and we know you're going to do just 
beautifully on this magnificent team. But time is short, gents, and I hasten 
to present the anchor man on your dauntless foursome. He has never before 
worked in North America, but without fear of contradiction I believe we can 
call him the British Empire and European Common Market champion, and the 
only sex criminal ever to be given top billing on Interpol's most wanted 
criminal list! Stand up, fellow, and meet your colleagues! This fine English 
Gentleman has committed not only two hundred successful rapes, but is also 
an accomplished voyeur, exhibitionist, sodomist, fetishist, a real pervert's 
pervert. Boys, I give you Mr. Wayne Brooksmith!" 

Standing his furrowed umbrella against a nearby chair, Mr. Brooksmith smiled 
genially at his fellow rapists, acknowledging a polite round of applause. 
Morrisson realized that the American sex criminals were slightly offended 
that a foreign expert had been brought in as anchor man, but the lawyer had 
shrewdly concluded that his presence would stimulate the Americans to try 
even harder. Brooksmith was a specialist on hard-to-get women, as at least 
one member of the British Royal Family knew very well, and the lawyer had 
guessed that his talents might be needed. "And now, gentlemen, let me give 
you your marching orders, or I suppose I should say, your raping orders." 
Morrisson paused for a round of raucous laughter, and then pushed the button 
beneath his lectern. The room fell into gloom and a full-color slide flashed 
against the wall behind him. "This, gents, is the target," he announced 
solemnly as the four rapists feasted their eyes on the lust-provoking female 
features on the wall. "Her name is Lucy MacTarmack!" 

* * * 

"We could have avoided a great deal of unpleasantness if the two of you had 
confessed earlier," snapped W. Scott McNalty coldly, staring through his 
thick bifocals at the two crestfallen women before him. Marge sniffled 
loudly and blew her nose in a handkerchief while Betsy gazed bleakly at the 
floor, wishing she were back in her St. Louis birth control clinic. 

"We tried... " offered Luther's former secretary weakly. "Just got carried 
away, I guess." 

"Carried away!" retorted McNalty sternly. "You were sent in there to get his 
sperm into your cunts, not to have fun! Instead, the two of you indulge in 
unthinkable perversions! What is happening to American womanhood! Now, 
unfortunately, Luther is becoming surly and unreasonable about the whole 
business and we are being forced to take extreme measures." 

"Oh please don't hurt him," begged Betsy tearfully. "He's such a... a 
beautiful man!" 

"Women!" shouted McNalty in a rare fit of temper. "You give them a simple 
job like getting pregnant and they get all emotional on you instead. Now 
Luther wants the two of you back, and he won't look at the other girls I've 
been sending him. He's become very uncooperative! All he had to do is sit 
around in his shack and impregnate the gorgeous fertile women I've imported 
at great expense so he can inherit a quarter of a billion dollars, and he 
won't do it! You can't treat money that way!" 

"Why don't you send us back?" pleaded Marge. "This time we'll keep our minds 
on the job, and I know we can get pregnant!" 

"Pregnant? Sure you can, in another month. I need somebody pregnant now, or 
the opposition's going to get ahead of me. I've got exactly one fertile 
woman left, by George, and this time I'm going to see to it personally that 
Luther's million dollar penis gets into the right orifice!" 

McNalty's temper tantrum was interrupted by a disturbance at the door of the 
Paradise motel as three burly men bundled and angry and bewildered Luther 
MacTarmack into the room. There was plastic tape across Luther's mouth and 
his hands were tied behind his back. 

"Here he is, boss!" announced one of McNalty's goons. "Where do you want 
him?" 

"Take him into the bedroom, strip him naked, and tie him spread-eagled and 
face up on the bed!" ordered the stock broker crisply. 

"Please! Oh no, you can't torture him," screamed Betsy, throwing herself to 
her knees in front of the turbulent McNalty. "It's not human!" 

"Don't be ridiculous, girl!" snapped the man scornfully. "I'm going to have 
him raped!" 

"But a woman can't rape a man!" objected Marge. 

"That's what I was thinking," admitted McNalty testily. "But when I heard 
that bastard Morrisson is going to play dirty, I realized that we had to 
try. Now get your clothes off, the two of you, because you're going to 
help!" 

"But we're not fertile now!" objected Marge, obediently unbuttoning her 
blouse while Betsy slipped out of her gown. 

"No, but she is," responded the stockbroker, pointing to a naked lady who 
had just appeared from an adjoining bedroom. "Linda, this is Marge, and 
Betsy, who will be giving you a hand with the stimulation, but please 
remember what's supposed to go where! Would you like me to draw you a 
diagram? Fit Tab A to Slot B?" 

"I think we can remember, Boss," said the new girl meekly. Linda was 
black-haired and sumptuous with great Earth-Mother breasts and smoothly 
rounded thighs, exuding the kind of rich sensuality which could have 
stimulated a corpse. "The doctor says I'm ready right now." 

"Great. Let's go!" called McNalty briskly, opening the door to the bedroom 
and striding in like a field marshall about to begin the greatest battle of 
his career. Luther had been stripped and tied, but the elastic tape had been 
removed from his mouth. His kidnappers had caught him, however, just before 
his first marijuana cigarette of the day and an unstoned Luther tended to be 
a stubborn nasty Luther. Fortunately, he was stoned most of the time, and 
the world seldom got to see how tough he could be when he wanted. His large 
penis was lying flaccid and limp between his legs and his eyes blazed at the 
stockbroker as he entered the room with the three naked girls. 

"What is this?" he shouted in a rage. "I thought you were supposed to be my 
financial manager!" 

"I am," announced the stockbroker grimly. 

"And I'm going to make you a millionaire." 

"I don't want to be a millionaire," growled Luther. 

"Everybody wants to be a millionaire!" screamed McNalty, beginning to 
tremble with excitement. "Not wanting a million dollars is... is 
un-American! What are you, some kind of communist?" 

"Maybe we'd better get started, Boss," suggested Linda, gazing despondently 
at Luther's limp instrument. "Do you want to run the show or should we just 
improvise?" 

Realizing that this was no time to get involved in a discussion of the 
morality of high finance, McNalty nodded shortly, noticing his three naked 
assistants had already taken places next to Luther on the bed. He leaned 
over and picked up the lifeless shaft of the young architect's cock, 
gingerly placing his other hand on the dark muff of Linda's pussy. 

"Now let me make one thing perfectly clear," he said levelly. "What I have 
in my right hand, goes into what I have in my left hand. Do we all 
understand each other? I know you people are members of the swinging 
generation and have other ideas about where things go, but this is the way 
it's done if we want to have babies, right?" 

"I don't want to have babies," asserted Luther. "I hate children." 

"Don't pay any attention to him, girls," warned McNalty, deciding that 
anyone who hated money and children was a subversive. 

"Get in there and turn him on. As soon as he's hard, Linda, you get in the 
saddle and ride!" 

"I won't do it," snarled Luther in a black rage. "I'm not an animal." 

"All men are animals," dictated Linda, crawling toward him on the bed. "Come 
on, baby, it'll be fun. Start giving him some kisses, Marge." 

"Ah Luther, honey," purred Marge as she snuggled down beside him. 
"Cooperate, baby. You're making it so hard for us." 

"I'm not going to make it hard for you," insisted the architect, trying to 
avoid Marge's hungry mouth as she covered his face with moist kisses. 

"Run your breasts across his chest, Betsy," directed Linda briskly. "I know 
a tit man when I see one." 

"You, my disciple!" mumbled Luther accusingly, his words distorted by the 
presence of Marge's tongue wickedly exploring his mouth. 
"Noooooooooohhhhhhhhhh... " He felt himself weakening fast as Betsy leaned 
across his torso, her heavy mature breasts jiggling provocatively as she 
trailed the hardened little buds of her extended nipples over his sensitive 
flesh. Meanwhile, Linda had taken the fleshy column of his penis into her 
softly expert fingers and begun caressing him delicately, pushing his heavy 
foreskin back to expose the scarlet glans of his quivering tool. Luther 
groaned in agony as he felt that familiar warmth invading his loins, and 
realized that he was going to have an erection whether he wanted one or not. 
Grimly, he held out, trying to produce some lust-killing fantasies, 
imagining himself being led off to the electric chair, or falling head first 
into a pile of horse manure. 

The horse manure fantasy slowed him down a little, but he could feel Linda's 
hot breath as the black-haired girl crouched between his outstretched legs, 
furiously massaging his resisting penis. 

"How 'bout a little lick?" he heard her tempting voice from between his 
thighs. Despairing, Luther closed his eyes and tried to fantasize being 
castrated by a Russian agent with a rusty caviar knife, but when he felt her 
honey Ups closing provocatively over the bulging tip of his cock, he knew he 
was losing another battle. 

"Careful, that's how I made my mistake," warned Marge as Linda sucked his 
slowly stiffening penis into the unnatural sanctuary of her mouth. Luther 
felt his rod beginning to rise involuntarily, and he launched into a new 
fantasy picturing himself being hacked to pieces by a tribe of African 
bushmen. It was useless. He was as hard as a railroad spike and the girl's 
tongue caressed him expertly, sucking his bulbous shaft into the back of her 
throat and her hands gently massaged the sperm-filled sac of his testicles. 

"The average man has a quarter of a billion sperm in his body," announced 
McNalty encouragingly as he repeatedly polished the steam off his glasses. 
"In Luther's case, every one of them is worth about a dollar, and more if 
the market improves." 

"Hmmmmmmm," purred Linda, the man's iron-hard rod of flesh lodged deeply in 
her throat. 

"Take it easy, girl," warned Betsy. "You'll never get pregnant that way." 

Luther felt his hips beginning to jerk spasmodically, and for a moment he 
considered trying to foil them by cumming now, in a place where it would do 
McNulty no good. But Linda craftily withdrew his saliva-glistening member 
from her mouth, waving it in the stockbroker's face like a battle trophy. 

"Now we're getting somewhere. Keep the pressure on him, girls!" 

"Traitors," snapped Luther in disgust as Marge took one of his tightly tied 
hands and forced his helpless middle finger into the moist opening of her 
vagina, keeping it there by clamping her thighs together and continuing to 
cover his vainly resisting face with intoxicating kisses. Betsy, the girl 
with the geodesically tattooed breasts, was stretched out by his side, 
crushing the suppleness of her decorated breasts into his ribs, and covertly 
rubbing her tiny pink clitoris against his kneecap. Linda, struggling to 
keep her mind focused on the one-quarter billion dollars involved in this 
perverse erotic spectacle, rose up over him like a goddess emerging from the 
sea. Positioning the pointed shaft of his penis beneath the gaping aperture 
of her pussy, she slowly lowered her loins down upon him, directing his 
bulging scarlet glans past the swollen pink lips of her pussy and into the 
clasping tunnel of her vagina. She was impaled. 

"Aaaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!" she groaned involuntarily, wiggling her 
hips lecherously as 'she tried to force Luther's enormous pike all the way 
up into her tight little cunt. She had not been prepared for anyone quite as 
big as this, and it took some considerable amount of effort on her part to 
adjust, particularly since Luther was resisting fiercely, bucking and 
heaving in a desperate effort to throw her off. 

But his wild resistance was futile, since every desperate wiggle sent his 
massively pulsing cock inching farther and farther up into Linda's willing 
little cunt. He was feeling powerfully stimulated now, from the combined 
efforts of all three girls, and a crushing sense of depression swept over 
him. How could he help himself? The girl's cunt was soft and tight and 
tantalizingly wet, and Linda was beginning to rise slowly up and down, 
fucking herself into oblivion with the use of his borrowed cock. 

Next to him, Marge suddenly groaned with the faint sobbing sound she always 
made in the throes of an orgasm, and Luther realized that the bizarre 
sex-spectacle they were performing had driven his traitorous secretary into 
a premature cum. He was holding out pretty well himself, trying to picture 
himself chained to the wall of a salt mine in Siberia being flogged by a 
Mongolian idiot when his concentration was utterly destroyed by Betsy. The 
tall blonde girl suddenly thrust her hands between her legs and gasped 
painfully. 

"Oh Lutherrrrrrrrrr," she sang, closing her eyes and crushing her supple, 
sex-charged body against his in a desperate effort to communicate her orgasm 
to him. Luther snapped his eyes shut, recognizing that he was in danger, and 
got back into his Siberian salt mine, where he was now having his genitals 
eaten by wolves while chained to the wall. 

"Come... on . . you... son... of... a... bitch," gasped Linda, riding up and 
down on his thighs with his long quivering pole reducing her vagina to 
rubble as she slaved frantically to make him cum. There was perspiration 
trickling down through the valley between Linda's ponderous breasts, 
trickling lewdly across the flatness of her stomach and into her loins where 
it mixed obscenely with the orgiastic juices now gushing copiously from her 
inflamed cunt. The girl realized she had not more than a minute of 
self-control left to her and doubled her efforts to drive the captive 
engineer into a brain-shattering orgasm. 

Luther recognized that she was turning the pressure on, and stubbornly 
gritted his teeth in an effort to avoid the cum they were trying to force on 
him. He did not know who these people were or why they had suddenly swooped 
into his life, but he was determined to stay in control of his own destiny. 
They were toying with his emotions, sending him one beautiful girl to fall 
in love with and then abruptly taking her away and sending another. Some men 
would have enjoyed this constant turn-over, but for a shy man like' Luther, 
it took too much emotional energy away from designing domes. 

But Linda was doing her work with maximum diligence, trembling herself on 
the edge of a powerful orgasm and Luther gritted his teeth in agony as he 
watched her slide inexorably into a fit of sheer physical pleasure. Her 
flexing, clasping cunt bore down on him with intolerable pleasure, and he 
felt himself losing control as the girl threw her arms over her head in 
ecstasy. 

"Oh... Christ! I'm cummmmmmmmmming!" she screamed as Luther searched his 
mind desperately for a fantasy which would turn him off. The bubbling hot 
sperm was gathering in his testicles, preparing for its mad impregnating 
rush into the girl's receptive womb and he wracked his brain for the one 
thought guaranteed to stop him cold... 

The Radcliffe girl! 

Her face tumbled from his memory into his consciousness and Luther 
gratefully felt his wild excitement passing as he recalled how she had 
mocked and scorned him a decade before when he had fumblingly done his 
inadequate best to remove her Ivy League virginity. He remembered her 
deprecating laughter as Linda the Earth-Mother collapsed across his chest in 
pure animal joy and McNalty hovered anxiously over the bed, trying to see if 
Luther was cumming or not. His cock slowly wilted with the horrible memory, 
and Linda wiggled desperately, trying to bring him back. 

"Oh cum! Damn you, no man gets soft on me at a moment like this!" she raged 
at him furiously, but the red-haired young architect closed his eyes tightly 
and remembered the face of the Dean of Students when he found the pound of 
hashish beneath his bed. He felt his penis wilt some more, and permitted 
himself a victory grin. 

"Did you cum?" demanded McNalty in cold fury as Linda collapsed panting on 
the bed, her open gaping cunt empty of Luther's sperm. 

"Nope!" responded the young man proudly. "I cum when I want to, buster, and 
if you're finished with your little experiment, I think we'd better have a 
talk!" 

McNalty stared at him for a long time, realizing that the engineer's 
personality had undergone a remarkable change in the past few days. As long 
as he was privately convinced that he was a hopeless failure with the 
opposite sex, Luther had been pliable and weak, taking constant refuge in 
marijuana to avoid facing the horrible truth about himself. But now, having 
proven to himself that he could dispense orgasms to girls like a Rockefeller 
giving away dimes, he had suddenly become a man! 

"If I turn you loose, will you hit me?" inquired McNalty timidly, noticing 
for the first time how large and impressive Luther's biceps were. 

"If you turn me loose and tell me the whole story from beginning to end, I 
will consider not hitting you," equivocated Luther. 

It was the best he could hope for under the circumstances. McNalty nodded 
weakly to Marge and Betsy, who carefully untied him. Luther sat up in bed, 
rubbed his wrists and decided he would take both of them to bed tonight. But 
first, he wanted a little information! 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Lucy MacTarmack was feeling tired and remembered that she had forgotten to 
take her vitamin pill that morning as she opened Homer's cage to feed him 
his weekly chicken. The young herpetologist realized that she was working 
too hard, since Dr. Roberts showed no signs of returning from his extended 
leave of absence, and she had fallen into the habit of staying late in her 
office in the Reptile House long after the other curators had gone home for 
the night. The deserted zoo in the evening was a frightening place, but she 
had begun to find her empty apartment almost unbearable at night, 
particularly after the unfortunate episode with Xenophon Pericledes. 

It's tough being a liberated woman, she told herself somewhat sadly, 
wondering why it was that someone as attractive as people said she was 
should have such difficulties finding the right sort of man. She opened the 
door of Homer's cage, and the giant reptile looked at her with his usual 
glassy reptilian stare as she extracted the protesting chicken from its box. 
It was then that she heard the door to her office open and close. 

Startled, Lucy stuffed the chicken back into its box and hurried down the 
corridor, a little frightened. The night watchman had a morbid fear of 
snakes and never came within a hundred yards of the Reptile House. Had Dr. 
Roberts returned? Was it Xenophon, come back from Athens to say he was sorry 
and plead for another chance? 

Wrong. It was, in no particular order, Lester Jones, Mel Polanski, Billie 
Joe Saunders and Mr. Wayne Brooksmith. 

"This should be our lady now," smiled the Englishman politely as Lucy 
entered her office, looking a little frightened at finding herself with four 
strange men so late at night in the heart of the Municipal Gardens. How had 
they gotten in? Brooksmith hung his umbrella on the coat rack and removed 
his jacket. 

"I ain't so sure," said Mel Polanski, taking a photograph out of his breast 
pocket and comparing it to the face of the voluptuously attractive girl 
before him. "Hair is all different." 

"Not a great photograph," put in the Californian, Lester Jones. "Could you 
let us see yer profile, honey?" 

"Ha wanna see 'er tits," growled Billie Joe Saunders who was barely tall 
enough to reach the portion of Lucy's anatomy he had in mind. 

"Would you gentlemen mind explaining what you want?" the girl snapped 
indignantly. She was badly frightened already, but had decided that the best 
strategy was to brazen it through. "Yes, dear lady, we'll come to that in a 
moment. You aren't Miss Lucy MacTarmack, by chance?" 

"Doctor Lucy MacTarmack!" she replied bitingly. 

"A thousand pardons. I never raped anyone with a doctorate before, 
gentlemen; I think this may be a historic first." 

"I once did a chick with a Master's degree from Berkeley," put in Lester 
Jones. "But she didn't put up much of a fight." 

"Really?" inquired the Briton archly. "Didn't realize she was being raped?" 

"I kept telling her, but it didn't seem to make much difference. That's 
higher education for you," concluded Lester gloomily as he unzipped his 
pants. "If you guys'll step out of the room, I guess I'll get started." 

"What are you doing?" gasped Lucy, despite the fact that it was fairly 
obvious what they were doing. 

"One moment, young lady, we have a procedural question to resolve her. 
Lester, why should we step out of the room?" Lester had removed his shirt, 
revealing huge muscles and a barrel chest, but he left his white jockey 
shorts in place. 

"Hell, man, I can't do my stuff with an audience," complained Lester 
peevishly. 

"That's a California rapist fer ya," muttered Mel Polanski sneeringly. "I 
once did it in Times Square on New Year's Eve." 

"Didn't anybody stop ya?" marveled Billie Joe. 

"In New York? I had three guys trying to help. But I caught pneumonia and... 
" 

"Gentlemen, we must get organized," pleaded Wayne Brooksmith. "I have a 
plane to catch, and this may take some time. Now, young lady, you are to be 
raped, and you will kindly remove your clothing!" The four men closed in on 
her slowly, and Lucy backed desperately into a comer, her mind working 
furiously as she tried to plan an escape. 

"Wait a minute," objected Mel Polanski. "Who ever heard of asking her to 
take her clothes off? First we knock 'er out and then we rip 'er clothes 
off." 

"Oh, how quaint!" groaned the Englishman. "To think you were all once part 
of the British Empire." 

"Don't hurt me please," begged Lucy, terrified by Mel Polanski's proposal. 
"I'll take my clothes off." 

"Now you stay outa this!" flared the New Yorker. "I say we do this the 
American way or not at all!" 

"We gotta tie 'er up," urged Billie Joe, "with her silk stockings." 

"She isn't wearing stockings," Brooksmith pointed out with a groan. 

"Then we beat 'er up," concluded Billie Joe. "Why should we beat her up?" 
asked Lester Jones. "She isn't going to put up that much of a fight." 

"Ah dunno. We always beat 'em up down home," muttered Billie Joe. 

"My dear, I think it would save time if you were undressing while we 
thrashed out these details," said Brooksmith, patting Lucy's hand 
reassuringly. "My friends and I won't hurt you if you're sufficiently 
cooperative." 

Lucy was doing an admirable job of keeping her nerves under control, but she 
realized quite clearly that escape from her present situation was quite 
impossible. She was trapped by four strong men who had obviously come here 
with the intention of raping her, and they were unlikely to go away without 
satisfying their bestial instincts. Two of them wanted to be violent, and 
two were inclined to be peaceable, and she decided that the safest course 
was to obey the Englishman's orders and keep her wits about her. Swallowing, 
she undid the buttons on her skirt and let it drop to the floor. The men 
seemed to be more interested in arguing with one another than watching her, 
so she slipped out of her panties and kicked off her shoes. The discussion 
gradually died as the soft, reddish hairs of her pubic region appeared. 

"Sheeittt," whistled Billie Joe in admiration, stepping up close and 
examining Lucy's mouth-watering pussy as if he had never seen one before. 
"Hey, let's compromise. She's already undressed halfway. At least let me rip 
'er blouse off. Back home they always screams and kicks a little. Ain't 
hardly no fun if there ain't some rough stuff." 

"Sounds reasonable," nodded the Englishman. "Go ahead, if you must." 

Lucy MacTarmack squealed in terror, looking down at the little man as he 
planted himself firmly on both feet before her and gathered the fragile 
material of her blouse in his hands. 

"All right, baby," he snarled at her as he yanked viciously at her blouse, 
nearly knocking her over. 

"Hey, Billie Joe, the blouse didn't come off," observed Lester Jones as Lucy 
supported herself against a desk. The cotton blouse had proved tougher than 
it looked and the buttons had held. 

"Well, ah be damned," muttered the Southerner, examining the blouse with 
professional interest. "Maybe you better take it off, girly. Ah'll try 
rippin' your bra off." 

Lucy's mind rebelled at the notion of stripping herself stark naked in front 
of this foursome of hardened sex criminals, but she had learned from girl 
friends in the Sisterhood of Science that a girl threatened with rape should 
only offer resistance if there was a reasonable chance of getting away. When 
faced with overwhelming force, it was best to obey orders in the hopes that 
they would take what they wanted and not hurt you in the process. 

Quickly, she unbuttoned the blouse with trembling fingers and then got rid 
of her brassiere, lest Billie Joe decide to test his strength against it, 
too. Suddenly, she was naked, and the four rapists fell silent, lost in 
admiration for her splendidly voluptuous form. Cold fear was making the tiny 
buds of her nipples stand out fiercely, and she was breathing hard with 
poorly concealed fear, making the deep, proud swells of her breasts rise and 
fall provocatively. Lester Jones took off his underpants, having been 
appointed by Morrisson to lead the attack, and the girl's eye focused on the 
rising shaft of his penis, looming long and muscular... 

There was a hissing noise in the room, and Lucy felt her blood run cold, 
immediately recognizing the sound for what it was. 

It's Homer!" she explained to the uncomprehending men. "We've got to get out 
of here!" 

"Who's Homer?" snapped Lester Jones, who was in the act of maneuvering her 
up against a desk. 

"We'll take care of him, Les," Wayne Brooksmith decided, assuming that Homer 
was the night watchman. "Now, who has the gun?" 

"Gee, don't you have the gun?" said Mel Polanski. 

"You mean we left it at the hotel?" groaned the Englishman. "Suppose we get 
broken by the fur." 

"I left his cage open accidentally," cried the girl in despair. 

"Broken by the fur?" repeated Polanski uncomprehendingly. 

"He means busted by the fuzz," explained Lester Jones. 

"... and he's hungry!" screamed Lucy in an agony of fear as Homer poked his 
head around the comer and saw what looked to him very much like breakfast. 
Lucy was terrorized by the insane notion that the great python would go 
instinctively for her since she was naked and therefore more digestible than 
a man wearing belt-buckles and shoes. Lester Jones, who was also naked and 
steering his long burly instrument unceasingly toward her soft triangular 
pubic zone, glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the hysterical 
redhead's pointing finger, seeing the first fifteen feet or so of Homer. His 
erection wilted as if my magic. The snake was undulating gracefully towards 
them, his forked tongue darting out hungrily, looking from one potential 
victim to another in puzzlement like a customer in a Chinese restaurant, 
pondering the menu. Homer had never eaten a human being before, and he 
wanted to pick out the one who looked tenderest. 

"Oh, Christ," cried Mel Polanski, frightened but not panic-stricken. "We've 
gotta get out of here!" 

"Can't you call him off?" quivered the Englishman, backing fearfully away 
from the mammoth reptile. 

"We've got to move slowly," recited Lucy, making a desperate effort to 
control her terror. 

Obviously the girl was not frightened of snakes in general, but Homer was a 
potential people-killer and it would take a trained crew to get him back in 
his cage without tragedy. "We stay together and walk deliberately to the 
door... slowly now. If we run, he'll strike!" 

Fortunately, a rapist is a man accustomed to living with tension, and the 
team obeyed orders, except for Billie Joe Saunders, who remained rooted to 
the spot, paralyzed by stark, agonizing fear. Lester, Wayne, Mel and Lucy 
inched their way to the door, all without noticing that the slender youth 
was still cowering behind the desk. 

"We're gonna make it," breathed Mel gratefully as he put his hand on the 
door knob. "Hafta rape you in the bushes, Miss." Worried that she would 
capitalize upon the confusion to make a bid for freedom, Mel lifted the 
naked herpetologist into the air and threw her over his shoulder, turning to 
get out the door. Then, a number of things happened in quick succession. 

First the door opened, and Luther MacTarmack burst in, followed by Marge, 
Betsy, and W. Scott McNalty. 

Second, Homer slithered closer to the desk and coiled for a strike. 

Third, Luther took in the situation in a glance and shouted something about 
saving his cousin from a fate worse than death. 

Fourth Wayne Brooksmith hit Luther over the head with his umbrella, 
irritating the normally calm engineer. 

Fifth, Luther hit Wayne Brooksmith with his fist, knocking him halfway 
across the room. 

Sixth, Marge, and Betsy screamed simultaneously as they noticed Homer. 

Seventh, Billie Joe Saunders sprinted for the door, issuing a rebel yell; 
Homer struck with deadly precision at this fast-moving object; Luther kicked 
Mel Polanski in the testicles and grabbed Lucy and everybody got out of the 
Reptile building fast, and disappeared into the night. 

Except Billie Joe, who disappeared into Homer. 

* * * 

Thirty seconds of blinding confusion later, Lucy found herself still naked 
in the back seat of a limousine, alone with the strange red-haired man who 
seemed to have kidnapped her from her kidnappers. She was tired, bruised, 
frightened and upset, having caught a glimpse as they bundled her out of the 
Reptile House of Bille Joe's head 'and shoulders disappearing into Homer's 
capacious mouth while his legs kicked spasmodically. From a scientific point 
of view, it was interesting to know that a Python could swallow a human 
being, even though Billie Joe just barely qualified for that honor. Lester 
Jones had vanished into the night, covering his nakedness with Wayne 
Brooksmith's bent umbrella, followed by the Englishman and Mel Polanski. 
They had still been arguing as they hurled themselves over the wall. And 
now, she was again a prisoner! 

"Oh go ahead!" she spat at Luther, who was removing his jacket. "Go ahead 
and do whatever dirty thing you want! I can't stand it anymore!" Luther 
gulped uncomfortably and covered her nakedness with his jacket as the 
limousine rocketed through the darkened city. Mr. Scott W. McNalty was at 
the wheel and Marge and Betsy were crowded into the front seat beside him. 

"Ah... I wasn't going to do anything to you, cousin," the young engineer 
explained mildly. "! just came all the way from Nebraska to save you from 
the dirty things those other fellows wanted to do to you." 

"Cousin?" Lucy repeated in amazement, taking a second look at his fiery red 
hair. 

"Luther MacTarmack at your service," he replied courteously. "When the 
people who were trying to rape me failed, I found out a guy named Morrisson 
was trying to have you raped, and I figured it was time for cousins to stick 
together." 

"They were trying to rape you too?" 

"It's a little complicated, but as I get it, whichever one of us first has a 
kid gets a pile of dough from our uncle, Wild Bill MacTarmack." 

"Oh that business again?" the girl cried in near despair. "Look, can you 
have them take me home? I've got to get some clothes on and -- and I can't 
stand anymore of this!" 

The car pulled up in front of the Plaza Hotel and a young woman waiting on 
the curb handed a raincoat into Scott McNalty who passed it over his 
shoulder to Dr. MacTarmack. 

"I thought I was in charge there for awhile," admitted Luther sheepishly 
"When I got them to fly me to New York so we could rescue you, but now they 
say we've got to go to a meeting." 

"Tomorrow!" pleaded the girl, covering her nakedness with the raincoat. 
"Tomorrow," said W. Scott McNalty, "would be too late." 

* * * 

"You double-cross me on this, McNalty, and I'll sue you for a trillion 
dollars," warned Morrisson threateningly as the two men hovered next to the 
door of The Plaza Hotel bridal suite. "Morris, would I double-cross an old 
friend?" 

"I found the double agent you had planted on my staff," growled the lawyer 
bitterly. "We put him in charge of our office in Outer Mongolia." 

"Outer Mongolia? Is that where your fertility pills come from?" replied 
McNalty acidly. "Nice little trick that was!" 

"Damnit, if I hadn't gotten those birth control pills away from her, we'd 
really be helpless now, wouldn't we?" 

"Scott, let's get serious! Do you think this mad plot of yours can possibly 
work?" 

"Listen, Morris, we made our first mistake when we failed to cooperate from 
the beginning. Now what are the three major inherited characteristics of the 
MacTarmack family?" 

"Well, red hair, obviously, and the men all have enormous cocks, and... 
stubbornness?" 

"Precisely! There is a red-headed mule weighing down one of the branches of 
the MacTarmack Family tree, and it's showed up in these two youngsters. We 
can't bully them anymore than we could bully Wild Bill. Believe me, my way 
is the only way, because it's going to be their way!" 

"Sounds like abject surrender to me," grumbled Morrisson. 

"Abject surrender is the only way to deal with a MacTarmack. Oh, by the way, 
I think you should let me do the talking." 

"Why you? I'm the lawyer!" 

"Ah... I think Dr. MacTarmack hates you, Morris. You know how sticky women 
can be about attempted rape. Come on, let's go." 

Lucy MacTarmack stiffened as the two men entered the room, glancing 
nervously at her cousin, who smiled at her reassuringly and took another 
puff on the funny looking cigarette he had just rolled for himself. 

"Doctor MacTarmack," abruptly inquired the stockbroker with the thick 
glasses, "What is the one thing you would like more than anything in the 
world?" 

"What?" she repeated in surprise. 

"Just answer the question, dear." 

"I... I would like to be head of my own reptile research center... -" Lucy 
stammered after some hesitation, glancing back and forth between the two men 
anxiously. Somehow the attempted rape had unnerved her and she was feeling 
less sure of herself than before. The thing she really wanted most in the 
world was a man, of course, someone strong and gallant like her cousin 
Luther, but she could hardly tell them that. 

"I guessed as much. And Luther, what is your heart's fondest desire?" 
inquired McNalty. 

At the moment, Luther's fondest desire was to take his cousin Lucy to bed, 
but it hardly seemed polite to say so, after all she had been through. He 
thought for a moment before responding. 

"I want to build the world's biggest geodesic dome," he informed them in 
clipped tones. "My own design, the one you had tattooed on Betsy's uh... 
breasts." 

"Precisely! Just as I suspected!" crowed McNalty happily. "Now, as the 
representative of the McNalty-Morrisson Foundation for Herpetological and 
Geodesic Research, I am in a position to offer you both precisely what you 
desire. The philanthropic foundation which my dear colleague, Mr. Morrisson 
and I, represent is passionately interested in our charming friends in the 
reptile world, and we have decided to fund a zoological garden which will 
specialize solely in reptiles, naturally to be headed by yourself, Doctor 
MacTarmack, with a life-time unbreakable contract... " 

"How wonderful!" Even suspecting a trap, Lucy could not restrain her 
enthusiasm. 

"Wait!" As you know, the major difficulty in keeping our little scaly 
friends happy in this climate is temperature control. Since this will be the 
largest reptile collection at New York's latitude, we have decided to 
enclose the entire reptile research center with a geodesic dome, which will 
be the largest structure of its kind in existence. The man who builds it, 
naturally, is going to go down in history as the greatest dome builder of 
all time. I take it you would accept the commission, Mr. MacTarmack?" 

"I reckon so," muttered Luther suspiciously. "Fine! Now in return for all of 
this, there's just one tiny, insignificant little favor you have to do for 
Mr. Morrison and I, as your joint financial managers. You have to go to bed 
immediately and get pregnant. Now!" 

"You're out of your mind," shouted Luther, while Lucy simply blushed, too 
stunned to say anything. 

"Not at all," responded the stockbroker smoothly. "Here is the contract, 
already signed by Mr. Morrisson and myself committing us to finance the 
MacTarmack Reptile Research Center. We have reason to believe that Doctor 
MacTarmack is going through her fertile period tonight, and therefore you 
will have to act promptly. If she is pregnant by tomorrow morning, you both 
get the dreams of a lifetime, plus a claim on the MacTarmack millions. Think 
it over, kiddies." 

McNalty smiled at them myopically, laid the contract carefully on the table 
and the two men left the room. 

* * * 

"Gee!" said Luther MacTarmack, looking at his cousin Lucy and blushing 
immediately. "Crazy situation." 

"Yes, asking two total strangers who happen to be two sensitive people to 
jump into bed and start procreating like rabbits is so... ah... " 

"Insensitive?" suggested Luther, passing Lucy his funny-looking cigarette. 

"Oh, that's the exact word! It's wonderful to meet someone who understands 
how a woman feels about these things!" 

"I've always been very sensitive," admitted Luther, closing his eyes and 
remembering how Lucy had looked when he had first seen her: lusciously naked 
and struggling futilely in the arms of a rapist. He felt the warm stirring 
of lust deep in his groin, and fantasized himself working on the world's 
largest geodesic dome while his beautiful cousin planned the design of her 
snake cages. 

"After all, we hardly know each other," she repeated. "Even if we are 
distant cousins." 

"That's what I was thinking when I was coming all the way from Nebraska to 
rescue you," Luther reminded her. "I was thinking how I hardly knew you." 

"But you came anyway," the girl responded softly, putting her hand tenderly 
on his shoulder and giving him a cousinly squeeze. 

"Well, shucks, it was the least I could do," Luther stroked her radiant red 
hair absent-mindedly, watching her take an inexpert puff on his funny 
cigarette and pass it back to him. 

"I bet you're the kind of man who could accept a woman as an intellectual 
and emotional equal," Lucy sighed. 

"Sure," agreed Luther cheerfully. He had been thinking of her as his 
intellectual and emotional superior, but the notion of equality appealed to 
him. So did the partially revealed swell of her right breast which he could 
see beneath the raincoat. Lucy had not been given the opportunity to change 
into normal clothing, and was still totally naked beneath the improvised 
raincoat she was wearing. Her lush full breasts were rubbing insistently 
against the rough material of the garment, and the girl could feel her 
nipples becoming taut and distended. 

"I feel so... so grateful to you," she murmured softly, unconsciously moving 
closer to him on the couch where they were sitting. "I never realized I had 
a knight in shining armor in my life." Luther put his arm around her 
protectively, since it seemed to be the thing to do under the circumstances, 
and pulled her even closer. 

"Cousins oughta stick together," he affirmed solemnly, crossing his legs to 
hide the enormous erection which had begun to show itself. 

"I... keep asking myself if what I'm feeling is just gratefulness or... " 
she murmured softly, putting her face against his broadly masculine chest 
and stroking his cheek. Her raincoat opened even wider at the throat, and 
Luther nearly choked as he gazed down at a pair of breasts which made Marge, 
Betsy and Linda all look flat-chested. Without thinking, he unbuttoned her 
raincoat to the waist and covered one of her trembling little nipples with 
his hand. Lucy did not seem disposed to protest, and her hand dropped 
accidentally into his lap where it rested, apparently by chance, on the 
throbbing hardness of the engineer's genital equipment. 

"My mother always said that MacTarmack men all had... " her blush grew 
deeper, but she did not take her hand away. 

"That's what my mother always said too," remarked Luther, his words muffled 
a little as he drew the raincoat down over the girl's temptingly white 
shoulders and kissed the tiny brown buds of her nipples, one after another. 
"Said it was the only reason she let my old man hang around the house. Ah, 
what were you saying about being grateful?" 

The girl seemed to be preoccupied with the lewd business of caressing 
Luther's long vibrant penis through his pants and had difficulty 
concentrating on her answer. 

"It's just that... I want to have... a deep meaningful relationship... with 
a man... " she stammered. "I mean, it would be terrible if I just gave 
myself... I mean... just because I was... ah... grateful... " Luther undid 
the belt of her raincoat, surprised that his fingers were working so well 
under the circumstances, and while he was at it, he undid the belt on his 
pants, kicking them off with a maneuver which would have amazed Houdini. 
Lucy immediately wrapped her delicate fingers around the enormity of his 
cock, confirming everything she had ever been told about MacTarmack men. But 
somehow the size of him did not worry her as it might have. She was a 
MacTarmack woman, and presumably, she could handle it! Instinctively, she 
began to caress his burgeoning member, sliding her fingers up and down his 
long pulsating penis and pulling the uncircumcised foreskin back as far as 
it would go. 

"We'll... give... this... ah yes... careful consideration... like that, my 
darling," the voluptuous girl moaned in simple pleasure as Luther stretched 
her our on the broad comfortable couch, his lips still lasciviously 
exploring the lush magnificence of her breasts, sucking and biting her 
bursting little nipples until she thought she was going out of her mind. 

"Examine the fine print... " agreed Luther as he rolled on top of her, 
feeling her long, finely tapered legs scissoring welcomingly apart. "Let's 
not rush into anything... ahhhhhhhh!!!!" he groaned ecstatically as the 
swollen tip of his cock brushed lewdly across the softly yielding flesh of 
her moist young cunt. To his surprise, he found that she was completely 
ready, the pink lips of her vagina moist and open as if they were begging to 
be pierced. 

"The MacTarmack Reptile Research Center... " she was still desperately 
trying to talk business as Luther maneuvered the broad glans between the 
flowering lips of her pussy, and wormed the giant shaft slowly up into her 
violently fluttering cunt. 

"Ooooooooooooohhhhh!" she sang in sheer contentment as he rammed himself 
home, feeling his battle-hardened cock slide smoothly all the way up to her 
cushiony cervix. Despite her comparative lack of experience, Lucy was 
intensely excited and there was no resistance as the man's monstrous cock 
penetrated her to the hilt. She tried to concentrate on the contract, and 
the Reptile Center, and how she had almost been foully raped that night, but 
somehow her well-trained brain could not concentrate on anything but the 
joyful wet sensation of having a great MacTarmack cock thrust mercilessly up 
inside her hotly tingling vagina. Of its own accord, her lust-maddened body 
was twisting and bucking beneath him as Luther began to settle down to some 
very serious fucking. "Oh Luther," she sobbed in a burst of wild emotion. 
"How did this happen?" We only met an hour ago!" 

"Shut up and fuck!" replied Luther, surging into her with renewed power. 

"Yes, Luther," replied the card-carrying member of the Sisterhood of 
Science, surrendering herself to the man who had saved her, and mentally 
resolving to skip next Tuesday's meeting of the Sisterhood and make love to 
Luther instead. If she had only realized it could feel this good, she would 
never have wasted all these years! 

Luther was really hitting his stride now, feeling his passion going up like 
a prefabricated geodesic dome as her full-mounded breasts crushed 
maddeningly against his chest, her hardened little nipples digging into his 
skin like buttons on a coat. Marge, Betsy, Linda, and even the Radcliffe 
girl were all behind him now. and the young man felt his body filling with 
lustful energy and self-confidence. He had a decade of poverty and 
self-denial to make up for, and by God, he was going to start making up, and 
now! Bracing himself on his knees and elbows, he flicked his loins forward, 
in a brutal series of frontal assaults, driving his huge cock deep into her 
inflamed vagina like a battering ram. 

Visitors to the Municipal Zoo who had noticed the serene, dignified features 
of the Assistant Curator of Reptiles behind the Rattlesnake cages would 
hardly recognize her now. Her statuesque, lust-provoking body was jerking 
and twisting relentlessly and her face was contorted into a mask of 
undisguised passion as she bucked and heaved beneath the engineer who was 
giving his all. Her lips moved soundlessly, as if she wanted to beg him to 
fuck her even harder and deeper, but could not find the words, and her 
milk-white skin was covered with a light layer of fragrant musky 
perspiration. She was racing for fulfillment, for ecstasy, and there was 
nothing which could conceivably stop her now. 

"Oh God... please... I love it so... " she groaned lasciviously, wrapping 
her arms tightly around his neck. 

Luther's experience with women was comparatively limited, but the young 
engineer realized that his cousin was trembling on the brink of a 
mind-shattering orgasm, and he worked like a demon to make it come true. She 
groaned in insane delight as he slipped his sinewy hands beneath the wildly 
churning cheeks of her buttocks, lifting her ass-cheeks clear into the air 
as he pummeled her widely spread loins, squirming down into her with every 
ounce of strength in his rutting body. He could feel the hot moist flesh of 
her cunt clasping and unclasping around his fiery cock, and the sensation 
inspired him to even greater efforts. She was moaning and crying as if she 
were being tortured, and just as Luther began to wonder if he was hurting 
her with his lust-maddened roughness, she spoke the words he had been 
waiting to hear. 

"I... I'm... cumming," she informed him in a curiously weak voice, almost as 
if she were surprised, and Luther realized with a shock that she had never 
before had it like this. Mentally, he thanked Morrisson and McNalty for 
making all this possible, watching with amazement as Lucy seemed to sail off 
into an epileptic fit. Her nostrils flared wildly, and her long red hair 
thrashed back and forth on the couch as she screamed out the fury of an 
orgasm which seemed to go on forever. Her eyes were open and unseeing and 
her long elegant thighs gripped him tightly as if she was irrationally 
afraid that he would desert her in the crucial moment. Her lips pulled back 
over her shining white teeth, and her fingers dug fiercely into the flesh of 
her back. 

Luther hesitated for the tiniest fraction of a second, wanting to enjoy her 
cum to the fullest, swelling up with pride as he realized that he had done 
this, alone and unassisted, and could do it again whenever he liked. Then a 
hot burning sensation deep in his loins reminded him that he was not 
finished yet, and he went back to work with a vengeance. Her lushly 
disturbing body was slippery with sweat and Luther was forced to struggle to 
control the wild gyrations of her lust-inflamed muscles as her head flailed 
madly back and forth. She seemed almost inhumanly excited as her first 
orgasm dissolved and she began to gather steam for the next one almost 
immediately. 

"Oh yes, fuck me, Luther," she gasped, using the obscene word for the first 
time in her life without shame. After everything that had happened to her, 
the frenzy of surrendering herself at last to a strong dominant man was 
nearly driving her out of her mind as the thick lubricating liquids from her 
cunt poured copiously out of her vagina as Luther battered it into 
submission. Their bodies seemed almost glued together as her mobile hips 
answered every thrust and parry from his loins. The room was filled with the 
sound of wild sex: the harsh panting of Luther's breath, the girl's sharp 
bird-like cries of ecstasy and the obscene slap of the man's sperm-filled 
testicles against the unprotected cheeks of her ass. 

It was time. As Lucy rose again to the heights of her second orgasm in a 
matter of minutes, Luther felt the intolerable pressure building deep in his 
loins, his hips grinding remorselessly into the tenderly yielding flesh of 
her pussy. He began to cum, and it started slowly, like gentle rain, then 
increasing in fury like a tropical storm. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" he moaned in the throes of the wildest physical sensation of 
his life, stepping up the speed of his stroke until the wild movements of 
his buttocks became a blur. The hot viscous cum began its wild mindless rush 
up from the deepest recesses of his balls, and Luther crushed his lips 
against Lucy's open mouth, nearly crushing his cousin's rib cage with his 
arms. The semen poured into her receptive womb as he ground his teeth in 
sheer ecstasy, his cock exploding inside of her lust-shattered vagina. He 
felt her long smooth legs wrap firmly around his buttocks, pressing him home 
as his life-giving seed spilled recklessly into her womb, and for a long 
time the two cousins lay still, feeling their respective orgasms ebb and 
die. 

"Hey Luther?" she murmured in his ear, feeling his cock still twitching 
restlessly in her satisfied cunt. 

"Uh... yes, Lucy?" 

"Honey, this is a hell of a time to say so, but I think I'm in love with 
you." 

Luther thought this over for a few minutes, deciding that being in love was 
as much fun as building a dome. He felt all warm and happy inside, and his 
slowly wilting cock stopped wilting. Lucy tossed her hips teasingly and the 
process became irrevocably reversed as the inconquerable MacTarmack cock 
began to re-harden. 

'This is a hell of a time to say so," he repeated with a lascivious grin, 
"But I think I want to do it again." 

"You can only get me pregnant once, you know," she instructed him with a 
grin. 

"Hang on, cousin," he murmured in her ear as his vibrant manhood returned. " 
'Cause we're going for twins!" 

 CHAPTER NINE 

"But is it sure?" 

"Christ, Morris, she's been examined by fifteen specialists and they all 
agree she's pregnant! Let's get out there and tell Wild Bill the happy news. 
He's going to be a great-uncle!" 

"O.K., let's go. Can we take your car?" 

"What's the matter, the Mercedes have a flat tire?" inquired McNalty 
considerately. 

"No, my chauffeur quit and I can't get used to the idea of having a male 
driver again," Morrisson reported gloomily. 

"At your age, Morris, you should resign yourself to male chauffeurs," 
advised Scott McNalty, opening the door of his Ferrari for his colleague. 
"After all, even Wild Bill had to give up chasing the ladies and he thought 
he could go on forever!" 

"I didn't want to go forever," complained the lawyer bitterly, as the two 
men roared off in the direction of the MacTarmack Estate. "Just as long as 
Wild Bill did. And I was doing fine with that Swedish girl. She was so... " 

"Sexy?" 

"No, that's not the word." 

"Lust-inspiring?" 

"Yes, but what I'm trying to say is... " 

"Licentious and uninhibited?" 

"Of course, Scott, but the thing about her I liked best was... " 

"All those delightful little perversions? Cunnilingus? Anal eroticism?" 
suggested the stock-broker eagerly. 

"Yes, yes, but besides that she made the most heavenly chicken soup you've 
ever tasted," confessed Morrisson unhappily. 

"Chicken soup?" 

"I happen to be very fond of chicken soup, Scott," admitted the lawyer 
soberly. "Listen, have you seen the estimates on the MacTarmack Reptile 
Research Center? That thing is costing us a bloody fortune!" 

"Which we'll get back a hundredfold as soon as Wild Bill kicks off," McNalty 
assured him as the Ferrari pulled up in front of MacTarmack's front door. 
"Could be any day now." 

"If he ever kicks off." 

"If something goes wrong, we can always void the contract," observed the 
stockbroker reassuringly. 

"No we can't. I wrote that contract myself, and it's iron-clad. We're 
committed to all those damn snakes if we have to sell the spark plugs on 
this Ferrari to do it." 

McNalty shuddered at the thought and was getting out of his car as the door 
to the mansion opened and Mr. MacTarmack emerged in a track suit, followed 
by the supple figure of the only woman to have won the Miss Sweden contest 
twice, also wearing a track suit. Morrisson gazed at her in agony, noticing 
that she seemed to have put on weight since she left him. 

"Hello, boys!" boomed Wild Bill. "Care for a little jogging? Come on! Does 
wonders for your heart!" And he bounded down the steps, and trotted off 
across the fields of his private eighteen hole golf course with the Swedish 
girl in hot pursuit. The lawyer and stockbroker scrambled off after them, 
double-timing to catch up, although Morrisson was clearly winded after about 
twenty steps. 

"We've come to bring you great news!" panted McNalty, holding his thick 
bi-focals on with his hands as he jogged along next to the 
multi-millionaire. 

"Yes, it's great news!" agreed Wild Bill with his deep voice. McNalty 
noticed that his client seemed to be in the pink of good health and a 
sinking feeling began to creep into his heart. Could Wild Bill have heard 
the news somehow? 

"An heir! A new generation of MacTarmacks!" shouted McNalty. 

"Three of 'em!" agreed the eccentric Scot. 

"Three of what?" gasped Morrisson, his face turning ashen gray. 

"Three kids!" laughed MacTarmack. "You boys haven't been around much lately, 
but I've been up to my old tricks again. First, I got Miss MacIntyre, then 
my cardiologist's widow -- poor man dropped dead of a heart attack while 
jogging - and then my little Swedish friend here. Incidentally, she makes a 
dynamite chicken soup!" 

"They're all pregnant?" screamed Morrisson, falling to his knees, his hand 
across his heart. 

"Every last one of 'em, boys!" chuckled MacTarmack as he jogged away into 
the distance towards the seventh hole. McNalty sunk down next to the lawyer, 
who was having a cardiac arrest and sincerely hoping it would kill him. 
Together, they watched the former Miss Sweden (two times) prancing after the 
father of her unborn child until they both disappeared into a sand trap on 
the approach to the thirteenth hole. McNalty watched for a long time, tears 
streaming down his cheeks, but after five minutes, he saw what looked like 
Miss Sweden's panties come flying through the air, and understood 
everything. From the mansion came Miss MacIntyre with oxygen to revive 
Morrisson and a bowl of Swedish chicken soup for McNalty. 

"You were right, Morris," the stockbroker said brokenly. "Absolutely right." 

"I told you it would never work," gasped the lawyer from beneath his oxygen 
mask. 

"I meant the chicken soup," said McNalty. "Delicious." 


THE END
