Housewife For Sale
by Jon Reskind 


FOREWORD 

Author Jon Reskind's brilliant new novel, Housewife for Sale, will be 
considered a classic in its field, a cutting cross-genre work that will defy 
final categorization for years to come. This is the opinion of the 
publishers; we feel that perceptive critical circles will agree with us. 

We realize however that the book will be met with a certain amount of shock, 
and without wanting to intrude on the author's creative integrity or the 
reader's interpretive facility, a certain parental pride compels us to point 
out a few facts about the interwoven theme of this complex piece of work. 

Housewife for Sale can be taken on several levels, and perhaps it is all of 
the various things people will name it during the generations it will be 
read. First, perhaps it is an expose of the gambling world itself, or the 
underworld that controls at least those areas explored within this important 
piece of literature. Certainly the loser's compulsion that makes people play 
against the odds when they are losing money they can't afford is clearly 
drawn not only in the portrait of the heroine but the terse poignant capsule 
of minor character George Stanos. 

It is also a psychological study in which the "compulsive loser" clinically 
speaking, meets "the frigid woman," such a long debated enigma in 
psychiatric circles, and they meet on the grounds that most vividly expose 
both syndromes: the body of a young woman, her body and her mind, jumping 
back and forth in symbolic hopscotch from the bed to the roulette table. 

Surely some will call this novel a study in sadism and perversion, 
brutality, man's inhumanity to man. The author must wince as he writes these 
scenes, but the wince is omitted from the prose, conducted through vivid and 
unwavering description to the indignant readers. 

But, our editors have wondered, are not the above themes merely devices, 
building blocks to compose perhaps the harshest metaphorical indictment of 
the time-payment plan by which America lives ever presented to the reading 
public? The author isn't saying, himself. (He refers to the book as a satire 
about a group of old friends, none of whom ever knew each other.) The reader 
will have to judge for himself. The reader will have to ask himself is he 
owes money on a car or is crushed under payments for a house or has ever had 
or seen a television half-paid-for repossessed for default, or if he knows 
anyone who has - the reader will have to ask himself if he is that 
different, that less irresponsible in one field of his financial dealings or 
another, from heroine Sharon Dolan, who finds herself so deep in debt that 
only her body will buy her out. We, the publishers, strongly recommend this 
book with the above interpretation in mind, but it would be hypocritical for 
us to recommend it be purchased or sold on credit. And under no 
circumstances should this book be given to the immature reader or one who is 
easily offended. 

-The Publishers 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Greater Los Angeles was suffocating under a heavy coat of brownish-purple 
smog. On the San Bernardino freeway, afternoon rush hour traffic crept 
along, stopped, moved again and stopped. There was a continuous blaring of 
horns. The heat was sweltering. 

"I bet it will be even hotter in Las Vegas," redheaded Sharon Dolan remarked 
to her friend Kitty Parker who drove the little Volkswagen bug that now 
crawled along behind a smoke-belching diesel-burning truck. 

"Honey," Kitty said, letting her skirt ride almost up to her panties, "Las 
Vegas is air-conditioned. All but the swimming pools, that is." 

"Sure Kitty," Sharon said grudgingly. 

A motorcyclist passed them on the right, glancing through the window to 
admire Kitty's thighs as he went by. "There's a man with the right idea," 
the voluptuous redhead said, shifting to low gear as the traffic slowed to a 
halt. Sharon wondered, curiously resentful, if her friend referred to his 
means of transportation or his appreciative look. Honestly, she couldn't 
imagine how Kitty could think about sex in this kind of weather. But the 
fact was she'd rarely ever seen a time when Kitty wasn't thinking about sex. 
"Anyway," Kitty continued, "you'd think with the goddamned energy crisis 
some of these people would join a car pool or take the bus or something." 
She shifted suddenly back to second and swung out around the trick as horns 
blared behind them. Sharon, aware of the trucker looking down through the 
window on her side, smoothed her own skirt over her thighs. "Cute, hunh?" 
Kitty asked. "What?" 

"The truck driver. A good looking man." 

"I didn't notice." 

"Well, you should have." Kitty sighed. "Anyway, I think we should have 
driven straight from work to the airport. Now we're going to have to fight 
this same traffic all the way back." 

"It's not this bad going the other way," said Sharon. "And we've got plenty 
of time." The slender twenty year old blonde sighed. "And I really do have 
to check my mail before we go. That's all there is to it." 

"I know," said Kitty. 

"In fact, I still don't quite understand why I'm going with you at all. You 
really should be taking Bill or somebody. I'm just..." 

"You're going, Sharon, because if I go off for a weekend and leave you alone 
in that apartment with nothing but your husband's letters for company, I'll 
probably come back and find a vegetable on Monday. And what in God's name 
would I want with Bill in Las Vegas. I can have Bill here any night of the 
week." 

That was the truth, thought Sharon. She sometimes wondered what Kevin would 
say if he knew her best friend and apartment-mate a little better. She 
couldn't imagine that it wouldn't bother her young husband to know that the 
girl his wife was going to live with until he'd finished Officer's School 
and flight training had a man staying with her almost every night of the 
week. And not always the same one either. But she recognized the fact that 
he might not even be surprised. Kevin certainly was more worldly than 
Sharon, broader minded in his outlook. And it had actually been Kevin who 
insisted that she not live alone. But she doubted that even he could imagine 
the sounds she was subjected to listening to night after night from the 
adjoining bedroom - the grunting, panting and moaning, the squeaking of 
bedsprings, the smacking of flesh upon naked flesh. Sometimes Sharon thought 
it would literally drive her out of her mind. 

"At last," said Kitty, whipping back into the right lane as their exit 
approached. 

Ten minutes later she swung the Volkswagen up the driveway into the parking 
lot behind the modern apartment complex where the two girls lived. As she 
pulled to a stop Sharon opened the door on her side and stepped quickly 
down, walking ahead of her friend to the entrance to the lobby where the 
mailboxes were situated. She took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and 
inserted the key. There was a "click" and the metal door fell open to reveal 
the familiar white envelope hiding in the cubicle. She didn't need to look 
at the return address; she knew from the shape that it was from Kevin. 
Hugging it to her breast as though she were protecting gold nuggets, she 
hurried to the elevator. 

"Hey, wait for me!" Kitty called behind her. 

Sharon opened the letter as the elevator was ascending, let the two of them 
into the living room of their apartment when they got there then hurried on 
into her own bedroom. Unmindful of her dress, she threw herself across the 
bed and removed the letter from the envelope and began to read: --Darling, 

I'm really in the army now. All last week we played war games in the rain 
and mud, which I suppose is still better than getting mixed up in the real 
thing. I feel like some kind of slimy amphibian that crawled out of a swamp 
about forty million years ago, and that seems exactly where I am in regards 
to my evolution toward the objective that got me into this mess - becoming a 
flier. Furthermore, except for a dyke master sergeant in the WACS who ran me 
off the road in a Jeep a week ago, I haven't seen a female since I got here 
- except for your face which is constantly before my eyes, your naked body, 
constantly on my mind. I find it hard to believe that I ever allowed you to 
refuse to sleep with me for those first four months of our engagement. Those 
hundred and twenty wasted nights which we could never have made up for in 
the one short month after we finally wised up. And yet, thinking now about 
that first time it finally happened, remembering, almost feeling it and 
dreaming about it as I dreamed about it last night until the poor kid in the 
bunk below me woke me up and told me I was talking in my sleep. The whole 
barracks was listening to me and you know what I was saying? I was saying 
the same thing I said that night when you slapped me. . . -- 

Sharon thought she must have blushed even now at the recollection of the 
words that had prompted the slap Kevin was referring to, and she shuddered 
to imagine the embarrassment he must have felt at uttering them aloud in his 
sleep in a barracks full of men. And even now they echoed in her ears: 
Sharon, Sharon, I want to do something to you I've never done to a woman 
before . . . I want to eat your pussy. " 

Then it was as though Sharon had unexpectedly taken a ride on a magic 
carpet, on a journey back through time and space to that night that now 
seemed so long ago. Suddenly she was away from Los Angeles. She was with 
Kevin again on that deserted stretch of beach south of La Jolla, parked in 
his Volkswagen van which had been converted into a camper with a bed in the 
back. She lay not fully clothed on her own bed, but there with Kevin, 
listening to the waves rolling rhythmically in. 

She had known that Kevin was going to try to be intimate with her that 
night. He'd as much as told her so, and she by arranging to have her parents 
think she was staying the night with Kitty, had as much as told him that 
tonight she wouldn't resist. She had fought him off long enough, she'd 
decided. Now she hardly cared or had the strength to fight. Though she had 
inbred feelings of guilt about sex, there was a part of her body that wanted 
it as much as he did. And as their marriage date was only two weeks away it 
hardly seemed to matter whether they did it now or put it off to that 
arbitrarily arranged date. And they had already come so close so many times 
that it was probably a miracle that it hadn't happened already. There had 
been many nights when they had actually lain completely naked like this 
together here on this same narrow bed, their hands and fingers running all 
over each other's bodies. She had stroked Kevin to fulfillment several times 
with her hand curled warmly around his hardened penis, and she had not 
minded that his hot impatient love liquid had spurted all over her. But 
somehow she had always managed to resist penetration, wanting to save it 
until her wedding night. Kevin wasn't a virgin, of course, and that didn't 
matter to her. What he'd done before they met was his business; what he did 
after their engagement was announced was all that mattered to her. 

Lying there with him that night, their nude bodies closely entwined, Sharon 
told herself that tonight she wouldn't resist if he insisted she go all the 
way. She wanted him. She wanted him so badly she actually hurt inside with a 
pain that was intractable. 

With a low moan, Kevin rolled over on his side and propped himself on his 
elbow, staring down at her in the dim light of the candle they used for 
illumination in the bus. 

"What's wrong," Sharon asked, knowing the answer already. 

Kevin hesitated for a moment, then merely took her hand and placed it on his 
erectly throbbing penis. 

"That's what's wrong," he said, his voice strained with desire. 

Beneath her fingers, Sharon marveled again at the feeling of his hardened 
penis. There was an awesome power there. It was a living viable thing that 
seemed to have a heart and mind of its own. She could feel the hard fleshy 
ridges of its length, the soft rubbery hardness of the head. 

Tentatively, her hand enclosed the trunk, and she began little up and down 
movements along the straining shaft, feeling the skin move but not the shaft 
itself. It was as though the flesh covered a warm flexible steel rod. 

"Oh Sharon, I want you," he groaned, his thick rigid penis flexing in her 
hand. Then his mouth found hers and their tongues fought a heated battle for 
supremacy before he jammed his halfway down her throat with a viciousness 
she had never experienced in him before. He kept it there, and it seemed to 
her that his body tensed, and he moved closer to her so she found the 
stroking movements difficult because of the proximity of their two bodies. 
And still, she thought, waging a silent inner struggle with her own 
conscience, Kevin didn't know that she had vowed not to resist him tonight. 
He knew only that she had agreed to stay with him until morning. He knew 
only that this was his big chance, and now he was going to make his play. 

After a moment her fiance's body seemed to relax somewhat. He pulled his 
mouth away and began kissing her neck, her shoulders, her ears. 
Breathlessly, Sharon waited for his mouth to find her breasts. She thought 
that excited her more than almost anything else he ever did to her. It was a 
terribly sensual thing when his lips enclosed her nipples, when his teeth 
bit into the hard little buds .. . not painfully, but gently, as if his 
mouth was the mouth of a nursing baby. But tonight he did something 
different. As Sharon moaned distantly, rolling completely onto her back and 
arching her shoulders to thrust her warmly tingling breasts even more 
prominently into Kevin's face, he hardly even lingered over them. His tongue 
continued its excursion down over the virginal plane of her abdomen, and she 
was so lost in the wonder of the sheer tantalizing sensation that for a 
moment, she didn't even realized that he'd reached her pubic hair. 

It was only moments later that Sharon became abruptly aware of his 
intentions, and all of her moral upbringing suddenly screamed at her in the 
negative. She knew now what he was about to do, the most treacherous gambit 
ever employed in the seduction of an innocent female. After all, it was 
mentioned in most of the marriage manuals Sharon had looked at, and though 
some authorities referred to the act as perverted, there were several others 
who actually voice approval of its use in foreplay between consenting 
partners. He was going to put his mouth on her vagina! 

Then, as Sharon was rolling on her side, closing her thighs and pushing 
Kevin away, he had gazed up with a lustful leer between the naked 
nipple-peaked mounds of her breasts and said those shocking words: "... 
something I've never done to a woman before ... I want to eat your pussy." 

She still couldn't be quite sure she d slapped him. Of course, he'd never 
spoken like that to her during the whole time they'd known each other. Of 
course she went almost blind with shock at the perverted image his statement 
had prompted in her own mind. And in spite of all her shame she'd 
experienced a warped flutter of excitement far up in her own loins as she 
observed that image. But the slap had come as a reflex. She did it 
completely without thinking, feeling the sting on the palm of her hand, 
hearing the sharp crack almost before she realized she'd done it. Then Kevin 
merely raised up, glaring at her, and she drew her hand slowly back, her 
mouth open, searching for the words to say she was sorry. 

And instead, she'd said, hardly even believing it was her own voice she'd 
heard: "No Kevin. You don't have to do that. I want to really make love to 
you tonight. I don't want to save it from you any longer." 

Then she reached up to seize his shoulders and pull him down on top of her. 
He resisted for a moment, still angry or stunned, then he kissed her again, 
savagely as before. She felt his hands moving freely over her abdomen then 
his finger slipping along her desire-moistened cuntal slit, bringing with it 
something akin to rapture -exciting, pleasurable, sensual. Sharon splayed 
her legs wider, giving him freer access to her now open vagina, and after a 
moment, she realized that Kevin had put both his knees between her 
widespread thighs and was pulling them even wider apart. Abruptly, he pulled 
his mouth away from hers and he stared at her in silence for a moment, then 
seized her wrists to pin her arms above her head before growling: "Yes, 
Sharon. Yes, tonight I'm going to fuck you." 

He grinned as her nakedly defenseless body tensed, but now instead of 
repelling her, the lewd phrase only brought additional wanton excitement to 
her body, a body that was already aflame with desire. And even as she 
struggled to free her arms, she said from what sounded a great distance 
away: "Yes darling. Do it to me. Fuck me!" 

Kevin gawked at her in astonishment, releasing her wrists. Then as if 
fearing she would change her mind, he dropped one of his hands down between 
their bodies and guided his rigidly throbbing cock up toward the hair-lined 
coral-pink lips of her pussy. 

Sharon's eyes widened as for the first time in her life she felt the spongy 
thick head of a male penis beginning to part the fleshy layers of her 
love-starved vagina. She could feel his penis throbbing with its hot lustful 
power as it began to sensuously stretch the hungrily quivering little outer 
lips, and she tensed with the first electrical contact between his swollen 
cock-head, and the sensitive edges of her fevered cunt. 

The sensation was so powerful that she was shocked out of her wanton 
excitement and back to the stunning realization of what it really was she 
was about to permit him to do. Again her mind was flooded with the 
restrictions of her upbringing, and she suddenly felt that she was 
displaying a detestable weakness. Ever since she had known Kevin she had 
been firm in her unswerving resolution to retain the priceless gift of her 
virginity until her wedding night. She hadn't cared what other girls did or 
said. It was a gift that could only be given to one man and then one time 
only, and now all her previous rationalization faded. Her body stiffened, 
and she reached up, pushing against Kevin's chest. 

"No darling," Sharon moaned softly. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to 
now." 

"What?" Kevin gasped, staring at her as if he couldn't believe his ears. 

"Please, Kevin. I want to wait. We've waited all this time and it's only two 
more weeks." 

The color of sexual excitement seemed to drain from his face. It paled, then 
the color that returned was of rage. "Yeah. Only two more goddamn weeks. And 
only one more goddamn month until I go to Fort Ord." 

"But Kevin ..." 

"No. You can't do this to me. Besides, it's too late anyway," he added, 
dropping back down on her and pushing his hips suddenly forward. 

Sharon groaned and cried out in pain as she felt the first really harsh 
pressure against her tightly resisting virginal opening up between her 
widespread thighs, the lewd pressure building swiftly to a point that was 
almost intolerable. 

"No . . . Oooohh no!" she whimpered loudly, trying desperately to twist away 
as she felt the first blinding streak of white-hot pain in her resisting 
loins. It felt as if someone were ripping apart her thighs, shoving a 
burning axe handle up into her tiny little vaginal orifice. "Stop Kevin. 
You're hurting . . . me. Oh my God," she wailed. "Please stop." 

Kevin's eyes were glazed, dimmed with lust. 

They stared, unfocused, down at her. Then suddenly he shoved his hips 
forward in a vicious jerk, falling forward with his powerful hairy chest to 
crush the softness of her ripe young breasts. At the same moment his hips 
shot forward and the thick hot shaft of his implacably hardened cock slammed 
with a vengeance up into her virginal cunt. The soft warm flesh of her 
vaginal walls was no match for this barbarous intruder. They were forced to 
give way before it, and Kevin's long hard cock rammed relentlessly through 
the thin membrane of her hymen as though it were not there at all. 

"Aaaggghh!" Sharon screamed. She was being gored to death. His cock was like 
a red-hot sword ripping her apart at the seams, and she was sure she must 
have been irreparably injured. She would never be the same again, and Kevin, 
oblivious to all her pain, continued to grind his way deeper and deeper up 
into the previously secret, untouched caverns of her cunt until suddenly, 
with a loud groan of rapture, he gave a last quivering lunge and buried his 
cock to the hilt in her ravaged loins, his scrotum slapping teasingly down 
between her tightly clenched buttocks and his thickly haired pubic mound 
pressing down hard against the tingling bud of her clitoris. 

"Oooohhh!" the impaled young girl wailed, but Kevin acted as if he'd gone 
blind and deaf, flexing his monstrously throbbing cock deep up into the 
burning tightness of her violated cuntal passage to cause her whole body to 
jerk in agony. "Oh please," she groaned. "Please don't move." 

She whimpered piteously, unable to stop the flow of tears streaming down her 
face. Never in her life had she experienced such pressure, such pain 
anywhere in her body. She felt almost as if someone had shoved a corn cob 
deep into her vagina, and she was positive that not only had her hymen been 
ripped, but that her whole vaginal area had been lacerated all the way from 
pelvis to anus. She could feel every swollen vein of Kevin's throbbing penis 
pressing and beating against her tortured cuntal walls and his massive 
cock-head seemed to have penetrated so deeply into her that she was positive 
it was now lodged far up above her navel. 

Kevin lay atop her, and as the young blonde opened her tear-filled eyes to 
look at him, she could see he was regaining some of the sanity he'd lost 
during the excitement of his violent and almost forcible entry into her 
lewdly stretched little cunt. There was a look of near-despair on his face 
as though only now he realized the seriousness of what he had done to her, 
and perhaps even regretted it. "I'm sorry," he groaned, shaking his head 
from side to side. 

Sharon stifled her own sobs. It was too late for sorrow now, she thought. 
The deed had been done. But she knew it was as much her fault as his and she 
had to share the blame. And though she hurt as she had never hurt before in 
her life, she knew that was part of the game, part of the ordeal it was a 
woman's lot to go through. And she loved Kevin, truly loved him in spite of 
what he'd done to her. But she had learned something about him of which 
she'd never been aware before: he could be brutal, selfish, even ruthless. 

"I'm sorry!" Kevin repeated. 

She loved him. She loved him. That was all that mattered, she tried to tell 
herself. And what difference did one or two weeks make. She closed her eyes 
and nodded then said in a pain-hoarsened voice: "It's all right, darling." 

Again Kevin flexed to make his lust-thickened penis jerk powerfully far up 
inside her belly. This time she bore it stoically, shutting off the tortured 
nerve-endings down there, trying hard to ignore the pain, longing for the 
happiness, the beautiful feeling, the still inexplicable ecstasy she had 
always imagined a woman was supposed to derive from making love to the man 
she cared for. 

Slowly, gently now, Kevin began stroking his long hard cock in and out of 
her. It was still painful, but not as much as before, and somehow she 
succeeded in letting her mind drift, almost blocking out her awareness of 
the act and of the passage of time itself as Kevin continued to slowly and 
rhythmically fuck her. Then she was snapped back to reality as she felt his 
pace drastically increase and heard his breathing become rapid and ragged. 
She guessed what was about to happen and instinctively she forced herself to 
grind her pelvis up to meet his powerful thrusts, falsifying an enthusiasm 
she did not feel. And abruptly she felt the pressure increase in her already 
stretched vagina as the mushroom head of Kevin's hardened penis ballooned 
even larger in size. 

"Oh Jesus..." he groaned. "I'm cumming. I'm going to cum." 

"Yes, Kevin," Sharon cooed seductively, bucking her hips even more wildly, 
now longing to end her ordeal. "Cum," she pleaded. "Cum in me now!" 

An instant later, Sharon felt the first hot impatient spurts of his semen 
spewing wildly into her vagina. He racked her body with a final energetic 
assault, grunting and laboring above her as she feigned her own excitement 
beneath him. 

Then gradually he slacked off and sagged in weariness on top of her, 
nuzzling his face in the curve of her neck before lifting his head to peer 
down at her apprehensively. "Did you?" he gasped, still trying to catch his 
breath. "Did you make it too?" 

Sharon nodded her head, lying. Then, weeping again, she put her arms around 
his chest, pulling his sperm-drained naked body back down against hers, 
clinging to him for comfort in her inner shame and guilt. 

Of course she hadn't really suspected the seriousness of her problem then, 
Sharon thought, as the memory evaporated and she went on reading her 
husband's letter. Failure in her first experience had seemed only perfectly 
natural. The sheer pain of the act of defloration should logically have been 
enough to prevent a woman from achieving an orgasm. She'd assumed that with 
a little experience, she would have no trouble climaxing as a result of the 
sex act with a man. 

But it hadn't happened. Never! She and Kevin had made love almost every 
night for the next month that followed that first experience. Then he'd gone 
to boot camp, and when he'd returned for leave they'd taken a hotel for two 
weeks, and still, though they had sexual intercourse often two or three 
times a day, nothing happened. She wasn't any closer the last time than she 
had been the first. 

She could only conclude she was frigid, that she needed help. But that help 
she could not even ask for. She'd lied to Kevin the first time; thereafter 
she had continued to lie to him, to assure him that she was wonderfully 
satisfied. 

Now, if she admitted to him that untruth, he would feel cheated, betrayed. 
It was the kind of admission she could not imagine a man with Kevin's pride 
would ever be able to forgive. 

CHAPTER TWO 

"Come on. We've got a plane to catch." 

Sharon was snapped suddenly from her reverie by Kitty's voice. She rolled 
over onto her back, looking up in seeming confusion at her friend, who'd 
already changed clothes for their Las Vegas flight. 

"Yes, all right," she said after a moment. "Just let me dash out a quick 
letter to Kevin." 

"Kevin, my ass!" Kitty snapped. "You can write Kevin from Vegas. I'm not 
going to miss that flight because of... " Kitty's voice trailed off and she 
smiled at Sharon tenderly. "There's nothing wrong? I mean, you didn't get 
some kind of bad news in the letter?" 

Sharon shook her head. "No. Just the same old thing. I was just thinking 
about him." 

"I think I know what you've been thinking about," Kitty said. She shook her 
head, looking at Sharon with mock reproval. "I swear, if I had it as bad as 
you I think I'd go straight to the bathroom and apply the old middle finger 
treatment. Either that or go out and find a man." 

She turned and went out of the room, leaving Sharon to stare at her open 
mouth, half angered and half embarrassed. Sharon wondered if Kitty could 
ever guess how close to truth she'd hit on that last statement. Not that she 
would ever under any circumstances consider sleeping with another man other 
than her husband. But she had yielded on several occasions to the temptation 
to finger herself to orgasm, though at the time she'd rationalized that 
shameful and degrading action as an experiment, the results of which had 
been at once encouraging and disturbing, depending on her point of view. 

For in the act of masturbation she had achieved the climax that had eluded 
her when making love with Kevin, and she couldn't quite understand what the 
significance of that was. On one hand it seemed to indicate that she was not 
entirely frigid, as she'd come to fear. But at the same time it seemed a 
sign of some perhaps even deeper psychological fault. 

In any event though, she supposed she didn't have time to worry about it 
now. If she was going to Las Vegas, their plane definitely would not wait 
for her to work out her own secret inner turmoil, though she still wondered 
why she'd consented to accept the invitation. Kitty had won the three-day 
holiday for two in a company sales competition at the department store where 
they were both employed. Though there were any number of eligible young men 
she could have taken along, she'd insisted from the beginning that Sharon 
accompany her, and she refused to take no for an answer. Sharon hadn't been 
strong enough to resist and, of course, she had been willing to admit that 
she was spending too much time in the house, too much time alone, too much 
time wrapped up in her own dreams. She did need to get out. She needed 
desperately to see some new faces, as with her job in the sales promotional 
department she restricted her contacts almost exclusively to the people she 
worked with, her roommate, and the various men she brought home. 

But she didn't have the slightest idea what she was going to do in Las Vegas 
for three days and nights. Kitty, no doubt, would immediately find herself 
an attractive male friend and have a fling, an option that wasn't open to 
Sharon. Also, Kitty would be able to do a little gambling, as part of the 
prize was a hundred dollars worth of chips at the casino in the hotel where 
they would be staying. But as one of Sharon and Kevin's first goals after he 
completed his tour of duty was going to be the purchase of a house in the 
country, hopefully on a beach somewhere as they both loved the ocean, she 
had vowed she would not gamble any of her precious savings. She'd read 
enough to know that gambling tables didn't have to be rigged to be in favor 
of the house. She also knew that a person in her particular mental 
condition, frustrated, bored and lonely, was exactly the kind who could get 
hooked on the games, who could lose all sense of perspective. 

"Sharon, get a move on it!" Kitty called from the living room, snapping her 
from her second moody reverie. Sharon rose quickly from the bed and went 
into the bathroom to wash up. She quickly unbuttoned her blouse and removed 
it, then hesitated, naked from the waist up except for her flimsy, tightly 
constricting lace brassiere. For a moment she contemplated her reflection 
silently. Her face could be considered beautiful, she thought; more than one 
person had thought so, though she sometimes tended to under-estimate her 
attractiveness. It was slightly oval, with delicate features accented by her 
large, deep blue eyes, which alone were enough to make any male turn for a 
second look when she passed. Her nose was dainty, a slight "ski-jump" shape 
which blended perfectly with her full ripe mouth with a slightly protruding 
lower lip that reminded one of a little girl's pout. Her complexion was 
lightly tanned, yet smooth and healthy from her outdoors childhood on the 
sea. It was a face that sent well with her long, sensuously graceful body. 

Chiding herself for her vanity, Sharon put the water to run and leaned over 
the sink to splash it onto her cheeks and into her eyes. She washed with a 
mild soap and dried quickly, then applied a few fine lines of mascara. Then 
she went back to the bedroom and quickly stripped down to brassiere and 
panties before putting on the T-shirt and tight bell bottom pants she'd 
decided to wear for the flight. Air-conditioning in Vegas notwithstanding, 
Sharon knew their trip from the airport to the hotel was going to be hot and 
uncomfortable. She would shower and change again after they got there, then, 
of course, change into something much more elegant. At least, she thought, 
that was one bright spot in the trip. She would finally have a reason to get 
dressed up, for a change, something she'd missed very much since Kevin had 
gone. Though it seemed somewhat a hollow thrill, as she didn't really have 
anyone to dress up for, and the last thing she was interested in was 
attracting the sexual attention of any of the strange men she might 
encounter. 

Sharon was just closing her suitcase when Kitty came in, expressing 
exaggerated gratitude that her roommate was finally ready to go. They locked 
the apartment and took the elevator back down, then went quickly out to the 
car. 

The drive in the opposite direction was, as Sharon had predicted, much more 
rapid and they reached the airport with plenty of time to spare. After 
checking their bags they went to the economy lounge for a cocktail, where 
Kitty chatted excitedly about Las Vegas in most of the cliche terms ascribed 
to it by media. By the time they boarded the plane, Sharon was in relatively 
high spirits, almost even excited. 

After they took off Kitty insisted on ordering them two more drinks, which a 
short, dark-haired middle aged gentleman with a New York accent insisted on 
paying for. "You girls going to Vegas or Denver?" he asked, toasting with 
the beer he'd purchased for himself. 

"Las Vegas," Kitty said. 

"Figured so. Divorce or gambling?" 

Sharon flashed an automatic angry frown, but Kitty simply giggled. "Well, 
since I'm not married and my friend here is hopelessly in love with her long 
lost hubby, it's not divorce. I won a company sales competition. The prize 
was a three day weekend for two." 

"Whatcha sell?" the man asked shrewdly. 

Kitty giggled again. "In fact, I sell women's lingerie." She arched her 
shoulders back in a teasing display of her full high-set breasts. 

"Too bad," the man said. "If you'd been in some other line I might've said 
you was lucky." 

Now, perhaps partly because the second drink was relaxing her, even Sharon 
laughed. 

"And what about you?" Kitty asked. 

"P.T. Barnum said there's a sucker born every day," the man said. "I'm just 
one of the statistics." He sighed as both girls laughed. "George Stanos. 
That's Greek, short for something you girls probably couldn't even 
pronounce. You wanna hear a story, sort of long and sad with a moral to it?" 

"If you're dying to tell it," said Kitty. 

"I'm just dying to get to that crap table at the Sands. But the story will 
tell you why, and maybe help pass the time." George Stanos cleared his 
throat. "I'm a cook. Greek food. You know the stuff. Except for three months 
last fall I've been a cook since I was twenty years old, and that counts 
four years in the army though the food wasn't Greek. The most I ever made in 
my life was last summer. Knocking down a little better than a hundred and a 
half a week. But I've got a house back in the old country. Nice little place 
in the Turkish Port, where I won't be able to go live because of this story 
I'm about to tell." He paused and cleared his throat. "You probably want me 
to get on with it? The last time I came to Vegas was about this time last 
summer. I had two weeks off and with some savings and vacation pay I had six 
hundred dollars, which I figured, given the house advantages on the crap 
table and the cost of a babe or two in this town we're going to -begging 
your pardon, ladies - might last me my two weeks and then might not last the 
two weeks. But I wasn't worried. Cooking's hard work; I wanted to blow off a 
little steam. 

"Now I walked into the Sands that first day. Just about broke even. I lost a 
hundred the next day. Figured I better go ahead and get myself a gal that 
night, just to be safe. Got to have something to tell the dishwashers when 
you go back on the job. I guess that gal was luck for me, though. She left 
about one; I was feeling pretty good, went back down to the tables. That's 
when the first streak hit. Sevens and elevens. Sometimes I needed a point, 
almost always six or eight. Rolled ace-deuce back to back twice in a row. 
Walked out at six in the morning with ten thousand dollars." 

A large swallow of vodka and tonic went down Sharon's windpipe. She coughed 
so violently she spilled the rest of her drink. Tears filled her eyes. She 
stared, embarrassed, at the rather comical looking little man sitting across 
the aisle opposite Kitty. The first time she tried to speak she had no voice 
and what she wanted to say came out only in a whisper. The second time she 
managed better, though it was still only barely audible: "Ten thousand 
dollars?" 

"Now don't get excited," said George Stanos. "This is just the beginning." 
He signaled the stewardess to bring Sharon another drink, then continued: 
"The next morning I tried to decide whether to stay or get out of town with 
a new hat. But I felt lucky and any gambler will tell you the worst mistake 
you can make is setting a limit on how much you'll let yourself win. Set the 
limits on your losing, but don't turn down any chances to break the bank. 
And I woke up feeling lucky, shrewd even. I had a nice big steak for 
breakfast and a manicure and a massage by a big Swedish blonde. I went down 
to the casino, where a lesser man would have gone straight to the crap 
tables. But I walked past a roulette table and just as I was going by I saw 
a color: red. The wheel spun and it was red. I still saw red so this time a 
bet I hundred and won. I let it ride and won again. I backed off for a few 
plays, until I saw another color, which was black. And so on. Once I saw a 
number, which happened to be thirteen. That's the way it went. Thirteen was 
my lucky number because when I quit for dinner that was how many more 
thousand dollars I'd won at the roulette table." 

Sharon took her drink from the stewardess and drank half of it down in a 
gulp. She was computing the incredible sums the man mentioned in her mind. 
Twenty-three thousand dollars. That was better than half the full cost of a 
house in California, though with today's inflated real estate prices not 
necessarily the maximum one could pay even for a modest piece of property. 
And somehow, incredible as the story seemed, she sensed that every word of 
it was true. 

"Well I don't want to bore you ladies," said George Stanos. "To make a long 
story short, I went back to the crap tables. I stayed three more days. The 
best day I had was seven thousand. My total profits for the trip were 
forty-one thousand. And I woke up one morning with the sure knowledge, 
though for the life of me I don't know where it came from, that my luck was 
over. I dropped a post card to one of the dish washers back in L.A., told 
him to tell the boss that George Stanos, Big Shot, had had enough Greek 
cooking to last him a life time and was going home. I bought a one way 
ticket to Athens, with layovers in Nice and Venice. I won another ten grand 
in Nice, though it took me four nights to do it and by this time I was 
getting to consider that hard work for deflated wages. I lost six grand in 
Venice, which took me a week and was a downright frustrating experience. Any 
fool would have known the run was over. I got back on the plane. I looked 
around Athens for a week, checked the real estate racket, picked out my 
little place and stayed in it two nights. Then I went back to Monte Carlo." 
George shook his head, laughing softly. "The house cost me seven grand. Fact 
is, it's really what we'd call an apartment here in California. I had three 
pretty good months in Italy and France. Few dames. Some good food. Lot's of 
casinos. The American Consulate there in Nice, good sympathetic people, took 
care of my plane ticket back home and gave me twenty dollars pocket money 
and a receipt for my passport. I still had ten dollars of the pocket cash 
when I got back to L.A." 

CHAPTER THREE 

It was dark by the time they landed. They took a limousine into the neon 
jungle of the city, down the wide strip lined with the famous hotels, The 
Sands, The Dune, a montage of bright and contrasting color looming up out of 
the flatness of a seeming boundless desert. The limousine let them off at 
their hotel, the name of which attested to the generosity of their company, 
and a snappy bellhop took them up to their "suite", two adjoining rooms with 
a bath and a small entrance that in a brochure might have been called a 
lounge. By Las Vegas standards it was certainly nothing special, but it was 
a class well above anything Sharon was accustomed to staying in. 

"It's really nice, isn't it?" she said after the bellhop had gone. 

Kitty shrugged. "It's all right. Honey, this is not a cheap town." 

"I know," Sharon laughed, still slightly high from the drinks they'd had at 
the airport and on the plane. "I've got a feeling I'm going to look like a 
ragdoll in comparison to the way women are dressed around here. Did you see 
those gowns standing around the lobby?" 

Kitty scowled. "Those hookers!" 

"What?" 

"Honey, those were whores! If you showed up in the casino dressed like that 
with your angelic face the whole town would probably turn over and stand on 
its head in sheer confusion. You look exactly as you're supposed to look, 
and I'll guarantee if you're really serious about remaining faithful to 
Kevin during these three days you better prepare yourself to fight them off 
with a stick." 

"Kitty!" Sharon exclaimed in legitimate indignation. 

Kitty laughed. "I'm just kidding, honey. Do you want the bath first?" 

"I don't care." 

"Go ahead." 

"All right." 

Kitty went into the bath and quickly stripped off her T-shirt and pants, 
then brassiere and lacy bikini pants. She turned the shower on and waited 
until the water was hot, then stepped beneath it and took the bar of soap 
and began briskly scrubbing over her softly glistening flesh. George 
Stanos's story had been troubling her ever since she heard it. She couldn't 
imagine how a man could be so irresponsible with money to do what he had 
done. She supposed greed was a basic part of the nature of mankind. Wealth 
bred a desire for more wealth. But she knew what she would have done in his 
situation. If she had found herself forty thousand dollars ahead after a few 
nights in a casino, she would have taken the money to a real estate agent 
and bought the house she and Kevin were so anxious to have. Then it could 
never have been taken away from her. But she could see how it would be 
different with a man like George Stanos. He was a nice enough guy, of 
course, and in no way had he gotten fresh with either of the girls on the 
plane ride or the trip into the city. But she didn't doubt for one minute 
that when he gambled, he was playing not so much because he wanted the 
money, but because he wanted to play the game. Perhaps, without even 
realizing it himself, he was playing because he wanted to lose. She knew 
that some psychiatrists had drawn a connection between what was called 
compulsive gambling and sexual maladjustments, and though she hated to make 
such a snap judgment about any man, Sharon could not help but believe that 
George Stanos's case must be typical of this particular syndrome. 

But there was one thing Sharon did know as surely as she knew that night 
followed day: If she had a chance to play roulette, which from George's 
story had seemed a much easier game to play than craps and certainly had a 
more acceptable name, she would be playing for one reason and one reason 
only - the money. 

Sharon chose a sleeveless gown that came just to the knees, dressed and 
brushed her hair while Kitty showered. Then they went down for dinner, which 
was included with their room. They decided to take it in the dining room 
tonight, then go straight to the casino; tomorrow night they would have it 
in the club and catch the musical revue. 

"That George Stanos," Sharon remarked, cutting into a thick rare steak. "Can 
you imagine losing all that money?" 

"I can't imagine winning it," Kitty said. "But I guess he was telling the 
truth." 

"He was telling the truth," Sharon said with certainty. She hesitated, then 
continued: "I made a decision not to play at all. And that story only 
re-enforces it. I brought just enough cash for the expenses that aren't 
covered with the hotel, and I'm really glad I did that. There's something 
weird about this town. I can sort of feel it. All this money around. Las 
Vegas is just the sort of place where someone could be tempted to do 
something foolish. I'm glad I decided not to play before coming." 

"Not to play?" Kitty asked. She'd been listening to Sharon open mouthed. 
"But, of course, you're going to play. You can't come to Las Vegas without 
playing the tables." 

"I can and I am," Kitty said firmly. "I told you. I didn't even bring the 
money to play." 

"But your chips," Kitty said. "You get a hundred dollars in chips. It's part 
of the prize." 

"That's yours f" 

"We each get a hundred dollars." Sharon looked up sharply at her friend. 
"Each of us? I didn't realize that." A fantasy darted like a bolt of 
lightning through her mind. Then she got control of herself and shook her 
head. "But that's still yours, Kitty. And I don't want it. I really don't." 

"Sharon, I won a three-day trip for two and we split it straight down the 
middle. You have a hundred dollars in chips at the Casino coming and you 
might as well play them. You can't eat them, you know." 

Sharon shook her head. "It would be different if we were a married couple, 
or something. That's what they have in mind when they make the prize a trip 
for two. But if I played with those I'd feel as if I was playing with your 
money." 

Sharon returned her attention to her steak, realizing that had been one of 
the most difficult things she'd had to say in a long time. Because she would 
have liked to try the tables under those conditions - when she and Kevin had 
nothing to lose and everything to win. 

Kitty laughed softly at her friend and ate a bite of her own steak before 
she spoke: "Sharon, I'm going into that casino for one reason, to get laid. 
I'm going to stand around and look sexy, sipping a drink and playing one 
chip at a time until somebody I like picks me up and takes me to a room. Now 
if you're doing the same, all right, you don't have to take your half of the 
chips. We can give them to one of the little old ladies feeding quarters 
into the slot machines in the foyer." 

Sharon looked up, hesitating. She blushed red, knowing her grudging desire 
must show in her eyes. At last she looked away, nodding self-consciously. 
"All right. I'll play half the chips . . . but if I win I'll pay you back 
the hundred." 

Kitty giggled inwardly. Sharon was funny sometimes. Probably came from not 
getting enough cock, she thought. 

The naive young blonde bride experienced a unique surge of excitement as she 
and Kitty walked into the expansive and elegant casino. The air was filled 
with cigarette smoke; there was a constant din of voices and laughter, the 
shuffling of cards and the rattle of dice; there was an air of calm 
desperation about the place, of wealth and worldliness about the men and 
women who peopled it. 

Kitty went straight to the cashiers and changed the two hundred-chip 
vouchers. The distinguished, expensively dressed change-man pushed out two 
stacks of twenty-five dollar chips, and she shoved one to Sharon. Sharon 
hesitated before taking them and shoveling them into her purse. Five dollars 
per bet seemed somewhat extravagant to her, as she earned somewhat less than 
four dollars an hour at her job in Los Angeles, but she thought it would 
probably appear in bad taste for her to ask for something smaller, if in a 
place like this that really existed. Then the two girls ambled among the 
various gaming tables, Sharon excitedly observing the play, Kitty looking 
about like a rubber-necked tourist, not at the games but the men. As they 
passed the first roulette table, Sharon slowed, then stopped, and her friend 
seemed to pause only reluctantly. Perhaps this was understandable as there 
were only five players, two old women and one elderly man and a very 
attractive well-dressed blonde with lots of diamonds. Sharon picked a color, 
black, and watched the wheel turn. 

The ball seemed to settle into red as it slowed to a halt, at the last 
minute skipped out again. The machine stopped; the ball dropped on black. 

"I won," Sharon said, giggling. "How much does a color pay?" 

"Even odds," the blonde woman said without looking back at her. 

Kitty smiled and leaned over to whisper in her ear: "She seems to see you as 
competition. The man must be loaded." She shrugged. "But I didn't come up 
here to hustle. Let's look around." 

Sharon picked up her ten dollars and moved away only reluctantly. They 
stopped next at a crap table, where there was a young Latin type who aroused 
Kitty's interest. But he was obviously uninterested in her, completely 
engrossed in his play. Sharon couldn't understand the game at all and was 
relieved when her friend moved on. They watched blackjack for awhile, at 
which none of about seven players seemed to be winning, then came to another 
roulette table, just as a girl in a short skirt approached with a tray of 
drinks. 

"Play a chip and get a free cocktail," Kitty whispered, tossing one of her 
own chips onto red. 

Sharon fumbled in her purse, not prepared, not understanding about the 
drink, and also played five dollars on red. She felt a stab of 
disappointment as the ball settled on black. She'd completely forgotten 
about the drink, which Kitty thrust into her hand. 

"We lost," she said, sipping absently. 

"Not me," said Kitty. 

"It's black, isn't it?" Sharon asked, watching the croupier sweep away her 
chip. 

"Yes, but I have the eye of a very nice looking man. So would you, if you 
were in the game." She nodded at a tall, elegantly looking man of about 
forty, who was now toasting them with a drink. 

"Oh," Sharon said without interest. 

"I think I'll walk," Kitty said. "Want to come." 

Sharon didn't take her eyes off the spinning wheel. "No, I don't want to 
cramp your style." 

"O.K. Good luck." 

"Yeah. You too." 

On the next spin Sharon played even. She held her breath as the wheel 
turned, sighing deeply as the ball fell into the number two slot. She was 
back to where she started, and she suddenly had a feeling. She didn't even 
know where it came from, but she let the ten dollars ride and won again. 
Then she picked up her chips. This time she'd had no feeling. It would have 
been as if she were betting "blind". She didn't play for three more spins, 
during which red came up every time. But as she watched this she began to 
think about the law of averages. Black was due sooner or later. But it came 
not on the fourth spin, when she hesitated. On the fifth she thought she 
knew. She put down twenty dollars. She won. 

It wasn't exactly the kind of night George Stanos had described on the 
airplane. But at sometime after midnight when Sharon pulled herself away 
from the table and cashed in all but the original hundred dollars worth of 
chips, she was just over four hundred ahead. She was also feeling a little 
woozy from the free cocktails she'd been served while playing, but she had 
her wits about her and she thought it was time to go. The young blonde took 
the elevator up to their suite, went triumphantly to the door and started to 
turn the handle. Then she hesitated, hearing a low moan from inside, 
followed by a familiar squeal. 

Kitty was in bed with a man! 

Sharon felt a surge of anger. The suite was too small, too intimate, and it 
would be more uncomfortable for her even than their apartment, where at 
least the bedrooms were separated by the living room. Then, miraculously, 
her anger turned to relief. As long as Kitty and her lover, whoever he was, 
were going to be keeping her awake, she might as well go back down to the 
casino. She hadn't left because she felt her luck was changing; to the 
contrary, she felt she could have kept on winning. It just seemed improper 
for her to be out so late, especially considering her husband's curfew at 
camp. It seemed so inherently unfair to Kevin, though she'd reminded herself 
that what she was doing she was doing for him as much as for her. Because 
whatever she won during their three days here in Las Vegas, no matter how 
great or how insignificant the amount, every cent of it was going into the 
savings account toward the purchase of their house. 

Sharon returned to the same table where she'd played before. The waitress 
was just passing, recognized her and served her another of the gimlets she'd 
been drinking all evening. She watched five spins, the last four of which 
were red. On the next she bet fifty dollars on black. When she won she felt 
as if she could almost have hugged Kitty for having taken the man up to 
their suite. She'd known, even as she left, that it wasn't really time for 
her to quit. 

Sharon had won two more fifty dollar bets, employing the same system of 
waiting until the law of averages had been severely strained before playing, 
when the man standing beside her first spoke: "It's not basically 
scientific, you know. But it does work as well as most of the so-called 
"systems" people apply to roulette." 

Sharon turned to look with surprise at the tall, handsome, casually dressed 
gentleman. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean black can come up a hundred times in a row if it decides to." 

Sharon sensed immediately that the man must know the casinos very well. He 
seemed at home here. Nor did he seem to be making a pass at her; he was just 
talking. But she did know that she was having right now what must be termed 
beginner's luck. If she was going to continue to win during the next two 
nights of their stay here, it probably wouldn't hurt her to understand the 
game a little better. That, and perhaps the second cocktail she'd had since 
coming down, was what made her decide there was no harm in pursuing the 
conversation. "But I thought that according to the law of averages a coin 
flipped a thousand times will come up heads five hundred?" 

"Maybe. Or maybe if you flip it a million times. Einstein says that two 
parallel lines will cross eventually at some point in infinity. It's a 
toss-up between black and red on each given spin, though eventually they 
will balance out. Well, not quite a toss-up." He nodded at the table. 
"You've still got your zero and double zero." 

Sharon watched the croupier rake in the bets, all of the bets. The ball had 
stopped on the double zero. "Are you a gambler?" she asked. "You haven't 
even been playing." 

"I play poker, but the game was stale tonight. And a little backgammon. Got 
a game in Monte Carlo on Sunday, as a matter of fact." 

"You'll go all the way to Monte Carlo for one game of back - whatever that 
was?" 

"It's a big game." The man took a chip from his coat pocket and pitched it 
casually onto the number thirty-two. Sharon's mouth dropped open as she saw 
that it was a hundred dollars. She watched the spin of the wheel, looked up 
at the man's unconcerned face. She gasped as it stopped and she saw he'd 
won; she gawked at his virtually disinterest as he accepted six 
five-hundred-dollar chips, plus three more for a hundred, and dropped them 
casually back into his pocket. 

"You won over three thousand dollars just then?" 

"Yes," he shrugged. "But it's blind luck. I couldn't do that again in a 
month, or maybe I could do it on the next play. No sense in trying though. 
There's a little gambler in me, but not that much." 

"But you play poker and that other game?" 

"Games of skill. A good man, the best man, should never lose twice in a row. 
Though even that happens." 

Sharon had never been so astonished in her life. Her own play now seemed for 
nothing. It seemed almost a waste of time. She could stand here all her life 
betting the colors and she'd never get that far ahead. "I guess I should be 
playing numbers too?" she asked. 

"I wouldn't advise it, unless you're tired of the game." 

Sharon stared at the man for a moment. Then she found a ten dollar chip and 
played it on thirty-one. She turned and gazed up with a sense of exquisite 
triumph when she won and the croupier paid her three hundred and twenty 
dollars. 

The man grinned. "We're cheating the gods. Are you going to let it ride?" 

Sharon hesitated, then shook her head. "No. Maybe I'm not that much of a 
gambler either." 

"Smart. And you're not a hustler either. I knew that the first time I saw 
you, and . . . believe me, that's a compliment in this town. What's your 
name?" 

Sharon giggled self-consciously. She liked this man. She really did. He was 
sort of strange and nice and, she somehow knew, harmless as far as she was 
concerned. "Sharon. Sharon Dolan." 

"Jack Golightly," the man said, then grinned. "I know it sounds corny. "In 
fact, it's Jack Golightly, Jr." 

"It really sounds kind of fitting for a gambler," Sharon said. 

The waitress came by and Jack Golightly plucked two drinks from the tray. 
"Careful of this stuff while you're playing, though," he warned as he handed 
Sharon hers. "You know, they don't hand them out free because they want to 
see you win." He toasted. "Been in town long?" 

"Just tonight. I'm with a girlfriend," Sharon said, then added: "My 
husband's in the army. He's in O.C.S. now." 

"Well, he missed the war. You can be thankful for that, anyway," Jack said. 

"And I am. I really am." Sharon smiled nervously, then turned back to the 
table. 

Sharon lost on black the next time she played. Jack advised her, pointing 
out that it still wasn't scientific, that the next time she decided to bet 
she should increase her play by fifty percent. She did so and won. She won 
three more times in a row. She now combined her system of waiting for the 
eventual adjustment of the law of averages, playing only when it had been 
stretched, with Jack's system of using a fifty percent raise to follow any 
losing bet. By three-thirty she was thirteen-hundred dollars ahead and 
drunk. By four-thirty, when Jack took her arm and led her against her 
complaints out of the casino, she was down to nine-hundred profit and 
staggering so badly he had to hold her up. 

"We'll get some coffee down you," Jack said. "I've got a kitchen in my place 
upstairs." 

"You're place?" Sharon looked at him stupidly. "I don't know if that is 
proper." 

"It's proper, and furthermore you need it." 

"You promise you'll let me leave." 

"As soon as you're sober enough to walk." 

"I guess I would have lost all my winnings if you hadn't dragged me away," 
Sharon remarked as they got on the elevator. 

Jack didn't answer. They got off on his floor and he helped the swaying, now 
very drunken blonde housewife to the door. Sharon was impressed as she 
looked around at the elegant lounge they entered. Jack's suite made her and 
Kitty's place look like a studio apartment in a government housing project. 
The only problem was that it was spinning like a top around her. She 
stumbled to the couch, turned and fell into a precarious sitting position. 
Jack went into the kitchen and in a moment returned with a steaming cup of 
coffee. He sat down beside her and put his left arm around her shoulders to 
support her swaying torso in an upright position. She leaned against him, 
touching him with the supple warmth of her bare shoulder and upper arm. 

"Here," Jack said. "Try sipping a little of this." 

He held the cup up to her mouth until she had taken four or five swallows. 
Then she reclined backward and slipped slowly sideways into a prone 
position. As she did so the skirt hiked slowly up her thighs, and as she 
shifted to make herself more comfortable it was pulled all the way up to her 
panties. Jack could see her pouting little vaginal mouth through the near 
transparent lace, and she had put the panties on over her garter belt. .. 
that made them easy to come off. He smiled; it was that as much as anything 
else that made him decide to fuck her. Tonight, of course, would have been 
his only chance in any event, as he had to catch his plane to Nice tomorrow 
afternoon. But if the circumstances had been just a little different, he 
would probably have been unable to succeed even if he had made a play. But 
the knowledge that he had easy access to what he was dead certain was a 
beautiful love-starved cunt, with no drawn out ritual of undressing to 
impede the seduction, tilted the scales. He really wanted to possess this 
virginal young cunt, and he could see that this was his big chance to have 
her. 

Jack bent down and lifted Sharon's limp, nylon-clad legs onto the couch, 
then pushed a cushion beneath her head. She smiled sleepily without opening 
her eyes. She was almost sound asleep now, lying flat on her back with her 
left leg slightly cocked at the knee. Jack could plainly see the shadow of 
her vaginal crevice and the full ripe mound of warm creamy flesh that 
denoted the beginnings of her deliciously proportioned buttocks. Softly 
curling strands of blonde pubic hair peeked out from under the tight elastic 
legbands of her panties. It was all he could do to keep from spreading her 
legs wide and tearing immediately into the young, hardly protected cunt 
lying so helplessly there before him, and it was only by exerting all of his 
professional gambler's willpower and patience that he was able to hold 
himself back. 

Sharon was not aware of it when Jack eased her shoes off her feet and teased 
soft wet kisses along the bottom of one of them and up the sensitive back of 
her calf. Nor did she know what was happening when she vaguely felt her hips 
being raised, having not the slightest awareness of her scanty little nylon 
panties being drawn slowly down off the curves of her ripely contoured 
buttocks and the silken flesh of her smoothly tanned thighs. 

She didn't feel her legs being spread apart or her right leg being bent and 
lifted until the knee touched the back of the couch, or the left leg being 
pushed off to trail to the floor. She didn't know anything about Jack's 
kneeling up between her thighs and sliding down so his head was almost at 
her ankles to stare with quickening breath up at her soft blonde pussy hair 
and the wide coral pink lips of her now completely open and defenseless 
young cunt. But to Jack her vaginal lips were like magnets, drawing his own 
lips irrefutably toward them. Her cunt called out, begging to be touched, to 
be kissed to be eaten like the most succulent piece of forbidden fruit from 
the Garden of Eden, and he could feel the hardness of his penis surging up 
in his trousers, an ache beginning in his cum-filled balls. He didn't know 
when he'd ever felt more alive, more excited, more determined to fuck a 
woman and make her like it, drive her out of her mind until she was begging 
for more and more, and he put his hands on her warm inner thighs to push 
them carefully even farther apart. 

It was not until her smoothly tapered legs were completely spread that 
Sharon began to attain some semblance of a state of awareness, but it was at 
best only a vague feeling and she was still incapable of evaluating with any 
accuracy what was really happening to her. She knew her naked buttocks were 
pressed onto some kind of soft rough material, that her legs were spread 
wide apart and warm hands were stroking the insides of her thighs. She knew 
it felt good; beyond that she hadn't bothered to make anymore precise 
judgment. 

But Jack Golightly sensed that Sharon was coming out of her stupor to some 
degree and he paused momentarily, waiting to see if there would be any kind 
of protest. He felt the sensuous blonde momentarily stiffen, then her legs 
relaxed to fall completely open again. He grinned and licked his lips. Maybe 
she knew, but more than likely she didn't. But either way she wasn't 
stopping him. 

Then quickly he slithered forward until his face was just above the soft, 
wetly glistening little slit between her thighs. He didn't think he'd ever 
seen such a mouth-watering cunt; the vaginal lips were perfect, looking 
almost as if they belonged on a fourteen year old girl instead of a married 
woman, and her pussy hair was milk-maiden blonde, the tiny cuntal mouth it 
lined delicate and kind of timid. 

Slowly, savoring every second, Jack lowered his face, his tongue creeping 
like the red shinning penis of a dog out from between his teeth. He licked 
once, slowly and gently, his tongue moving all the way from clitoris to 
anus. He was rewarded by a barely audible moan, and his tongue traced the 
wetly teasing path back up to where it had just come from. Now he felt the 
tendons of Sharon's inner thighs draw tight and her entire pelvis rose 
slowly up toward his face. Whether she was really unconscious or not, her 
sweet young cunt was responding. He could already taste the first slightly 
saline secretions of her feminine musk as of its own volition her pussy 
began to prepare itself for love-making by seeping out its warm, slickly 
welcoming lubricant. 

Sharon was dreaming. Kevin was making beautiful love to her, doing it as he 
never had before so that now it felt wonderful instead of painful and 
distasteful, and she was responding as she'd never responded to anything 
before except the lewd manipulations of her own middle finger. 

Then abruptly she was in full command of her senses. 

Her eyes opened, her body tensed and she struggled to sit up. She found 
herself pinned to the couch and things were happening to her she couldn't 
even begin to comprehend. She was naked from the waist down; her legs were 
spread and when she tried to close them she met a resistance that felt like 
a man's head. 

Then, raising her head to peer down between the ripe mounds of her still 
fully clothed breasts, Sharon saw. And the sight was almost enough to make 
her pass out right then and there. 

"No, Jack!" Sharon gasped, still hardly able to believe her eyes. "No, you 
can't! You can't!" 

Jack knew it was now or never, and instead of answering he drove his tongue 
the full length straight up into the warmly perfumed depths of her tight 
little pussy, at the same time using his nose to titillate her tiny, 
unconsciously pulsating clitoris. 

"Aaaaggghhhh. No, oh God, no!" 

Jack heard the girl's terrified cry of protest and knew that now he couldn't 
stop until she was so aroused she could no longer help herself. She wouldn't 
let him near her again if he let up the contact for even a few seconds, but 
if she continued there was a chance that pretty soon she would start to like 
it, and with this in mind he tightened his arms about her thighs to hold 
them wide apart and buried his rapacious tongue even deeper into her 
heatedly quivering pussy lips between her open legs. 

Fear and repugnance were battling for supremacy in Sharon's jumbled mind. 
Instead of a sweet dream about her husband this was a nightmare too horrible 
to comprehend. But still the earlier pleasure of the erotic dream was not to 
be denied. Her nerve-endings were being serenaded by the velvet tongue that 
licked and sucked and caressed her all at the same time. It was at once 
wonderful and terrible, outrageous and beautiful. 

But she knew she had to protest. She had to stop it right now no matter what 
mixed physical sensations she might be experiencing. 

"No, noooooo!" she whimpered, flinging her arm up against her forehead and 
clenching her eyes shut as if in the hope that this would make the maddening 
sensation go away. "Stop. Oh God! Please stop!" 

It was only now that Jack ventured to look up, and as he saw her contorted 
face he knew that at least he was making progress, and even as he stared at 
her he flicked his tongue down, thrusting it in a swift licking motion over 
the little quivering bud of her clitoris. 

"Oh Jack," Sharon squealed. "Please don't. You can't do that. Please! It's 
horrible!" 

Jack's tongue traced a zig-zag pattern down through Sharon's pubic curls all 
the way from her clitoris to her wildly puckering little anus as he'd done 
before, then came back up and speared into the seeping hole of her wetly 
pulsating cuntal opening. He repeated the same maddening process seven or 
eight times in rapid succession, flicking his tongue wildly in and out 
between the lips of her pussy, beginning to tongue-fuck in earnest as he 
felt her first signs of unwilling acceptance. 

Sharon moaned piteously as she felt the powerfully jolting sensations 
overriding all other emotions and body functions. "Oh Jack! Please! My 
husband has never done that to me. Jack? Jack!" 

The handsome gambler's teeth clamped down onto her sensitive little clitoris 
and began to nibble gently. Gasping, she fell back against the couch, 
weakened and confused by the intense feeling, experiencing a sudden and 
uncontrollable hunger that began down there between her helplessly trembling 
thighs and spread relentlessly over her whole body. But she had to make one 
last protest. She just had to, and after a moment she again raised her head. 
"Please," she groaned. "Please. I have a husband. And that is dirty and 
perverted!" 

Jack looked up triumphantly, his face shining with his own saliva and 
Sharon's wetly flowing cunt-juice. He could hear the strength going out of 
her protest. He knew, already, what he'd won. Now it was time to hammer it 
in. 

"You know and I know," he said through his own hastened- breathing, "that 
you're enjoying the hell out of what I'm doing to your hot little pussy." 

"No," Sharon sobbed. "Don't talk like that to me. I'm married. I have a 
husband." 

"So?" Jack asked with a grin. Again he lowered his chin and ran his tongue 
along one side of her outer layer of cuntal flesh, still watching her face 
as he did it. She grimaced, but not in disgust. She was desperately fighting 
to regain her self-control, and he knew the poor little bitch was losing. 

She was his now. He knew it. He had her to do with as he wanted. She might 
think she was still capable of fighting, but her love-starved cunt was in 
command of her body, and it was going to betray her. 

Satisfied with his victory, Jack let his eyes feast on the now fully 
blossomed pussy lips, which had grown considerably in size and richness of 
color since he'd began. There was life in those lips, and no masterpiece in 
any museum could ever compare with the picture before him framed so 
delicately in the soft blonde pubic curls. They were as beautiful as a royal 
flush betting into four aces, which couldn't even happen without a crooked 
deck, and the little single drop of seeping pussy juice clinging to one of 
the curls of hair looked like a little translucent pearl. 

"Look down at me," Jack commanded. 

There was something in his voice that made the erotically quivering 
housewife raise her head, and she watched, petrified, as he placed his 
thumbs on her vaginal opening and peeled her softly yielding pussy lips 
apart as though it were sections of succulent tropical fruit being 
separated. The soft golden curls of her pubic hairs gave way to expose the 
flaming beauty of her vertical little cuntal mouth to his lust dimmed gaze, 
and she moaned in shame as he breathed against the sensitive lips, the 
expelled air grazing the raw nerves. Then her entire body reacted in a spasm 
of shame and humiliation as he spoke down between her thighs, almost into 
the cuntal opening itself: "I'm going to eat your pussy, Sharon. I'm going 
to tongue fuck you, and if you're telling me the truth that not even your 
husband has done that for you before, then the fact is that I'm actually 
doing you both a great big favor." 

Sharon saw Jack's face drop, his tongue coming out to probe wetly into her 
hotly throbbing vagina. Then she saw nothing. That last shattering jolt of 
delight was more than she could take. She was forced to let everything go 
and now her body responded automatically, jerking convulsively as she ground 
her buttocks down into the couch in an effort to escape his worming tongue 
as it wiggled up one side of her cunt and down the other in a maddening oral 
rape. A groan bubbled out of her throat and she jerked her head from side to 
side, her eyes tightly closed, her teeth gritted. 

"Ohhhh my God! Jack, please, don't." The rapacious licking was more than she 
could bear, and she could feel her stomach muscles rippling like wind on 
water. She wailed in animal passion as his tongue scoured her inner thighs 
and made another hot swipe around the bud of her fully erected clitoris 
before snaking back into her cringing pussy lips. "Oh God, Jack! Oh dear 
God. Stop! Please stop before it's too late." 

"It's already to late, baby. We both know it!" 

Jack raced his tongue even faster up into the dilated hole between the 
writhing blonde's open thighs. He used his nose with devastating effect to 
tease against the sensitively throbbing little clitoris, each nudge bringing 
a low moan from deep within the shamelessly aroused young wife's throat. 

Again she raised her head to look down over her breasts. Now her mind was 
clear enough to see everything, the obscenely bobbing head framed between 
her widespread nylon clad knees, the inviting nakedness of her lower body, 
the unwilling jerkings of her own quivering ass-cheeks. Her dress was 
bunched up above her hips and she could see the black lacy garter belt 
holding up her sheer hosiery even as the gambler's face bobbed up and down 
over the soft blonde hair of her lions, and she watched the assault with 
horror and shame, her mind in a maelstrom of repulsion, embarrassment and 
unwanted desire. Above all else was the simple realization itself: This was 
no dream. It was really happening. Really happening to her. 

The unwanted jolts of forbidden pleasure and little zephyrs of pure 
wantonness pervaded Sharon's entire being as Jack's powerful hands released 
her silken thighs and slipped under her buttocks to cup and squeeze the 
soft, yet firmly contoured flesh of her hotly trembling ass-cheeks. His 
tongue and mouth continued to grind further and further into the succulent 
valley of her defenselessly squirming cunt, and without volition Sharon dug 
her shoulders into the couch, sucking in her stomach muscles and raising her 
pelvis so that Jack's face buried itself even deeper. Debased sucking sounds 
of his labors echoed throughout the suite as his hands pulled apart the 
fleshy crevice of her buttocks, one of his fingers adventurously exploring 
up against the opening of her tiny puckered little anus. The feel of the 
finger there caused Sharon to clench her eyes tightly shut and ball her 
hands into a fist of frustration. But no longer did she try to convince him 
to stop. 

She was thinking now of Kevin, of that time the first night they made love 
when he had offered to do this to her and she had refused. What a fool she 
had been! What an utter hopeless fool! But there was no way she could have 
even dreamed of the bliss her body was capable of. And now ... if she'd only 
known! If she'd only imagined! How different everything would have been! 

At last, unable to hold back any longer, Sharon began to moan low in her 
throat, not even trying to conceal her lewd forbidden pleasure. The vision 
of Kevin faded completely from her mind as she began to let herself feel 
everything Jack was doing to her, began to arch and grind her hips even more 
wildly, and wantonly scissor her thighs open and closed about his ears. 

"Ooooh yes," she moaned. "Oh it's so good. I can't stand it! I can't stand 
it!" 

Jack heard the innocent blonde housewife's whimpers of delight as his hands 
kneaded the soft globes of her pliantly yielding buttocks, and the sound 
caused a surge of even greater lust to shoot through his own lions. He drew 
her limply co-operating legs far up high around his neck, continuing to 
orally fuck into her even more helplessly open-splayed pussy as he felt her 
lock her ankles together behind his neck in consent and voluntary 
submission. He ran his tongue in lewd circles around her fully erect little 
clitoris, nuzzling his nose back and forth as he rammed into her hotly 
pulsating pussy, feeling the soft, hair-lined lips push up against his 
mouth. She squirmed and thrashed, welcoming the maddening assault, trying to 
bring more and more of his hot hungering mouth into contact with her 
sensitive flesh. 

Then she whimpered as his outstretched middle finger again sought out the 
tightly clenched ring of her anus, and a low moan was wrenched from her 
throat as he probed teasingly at the puckering little opening. Then abruptly 
his mouth moved down, down, all the way down where his tongue flickered like 
summer lightning against the anal hole itself. 

Sharon's eyes bugged wide open as she felt the obscene touch and felt the 
wild sensational pleasure surge like a seismic wave through her body. This 
was dirty, she told herself. Evil. She must stop it. She must make him 
understand that he couldn't do it. 

"Oh God," she cried. "Oh God, Jack! Don't do that. Please!" 

But even as she protested vocally, she used her heels to bury Jack's head 
even tighter against her upturned buttocks as if endeavoring to rape her own 
tortured rectum with his slavering tongue. She flailed her head from side to 
side, trying to shake off her shame at the realization of her own 
treacherous submission. She began sobbing again in deep, unashamed 
humiliation as the hotly grunting man now wormed his heated tongue straight 
up into her forbidden rectal opening. 

"Aaaagghhh!" Sharon cried. "Oh God!" 

Her body was boiling with the exquisite tingling of raw nerve-ends as Jack 
started his voracious licking of her cuntal crevice again. She knew now that 
further fight was useless; she no longer wanted to deny this intense delight 
he was inflicting on her, and suddenly, as the nerve ganglions of her pussy 
began a wild vibration, she realized she was closer than ever to the kind of 
fulfillment she had never enjoyed with a man. Of her own volition she gave 
up the fight, spreading her thighs wider and shoving her desire-filled loins 
even harder to Jack's face. Now her only wish was to aid him and she ground 
her erotically pulsating cunt in complete abandon against his face, 
relishing to the pit of her heart and soul the insane delight surging 
through her loins. 

Jack sensed that the end was near, and he knew that for Sharon this was a 
previously unbridged gulf. He wormed his middle finger deep into her saliva 
moistened anus, at the same time intensifying his tongue fucking over her 
hotly jerking little clitoris. 

Sharon writhed and twisted, wild uncontrollable mewls of passion bubbling 
from her throat, her face contorted into a grotesque mask of feral lust 
almost frightening in intensity. She was close to orgasm now. She was so 
close she could hardly stand it. This was it. This was really it. 

"Oooh! Oh God!" she cried as Jack screwed his tongue back up into her hotly 
clasping cunt. She was only vaguely conscious of his hands continuing to 
tease her anus and clitoris with fingers of flame, and she gasped hoarsely, 
wailing with a breath that came more and more rapidly as his tongue burrowed 
ever deeper into her wildly twitching pussy and she could feel it trembling 
far up inside her, touching everything, licking all of her hot inner warmth. 

Then suddenly the towering storm of lust overcame the drunken young wife. 
She had made it. She was suddenly swinging wildly, soaring higher than she 
had ever thought possible. She was there, and from a distance that seemed 
too far away to comprehend she heard her own voice suddenly cry out in 
unashamed triumph: "I'm cumming! Oh, don't stop. Don't ever stop! Oh? Oh? 
Ah? AHHHHHHH! AAIIIEEEEE! I'M CUMMMMMIII NNNNGGGG!" 

Jack's head was almost knocked off his shoulders by the violence of her 
pelvis thrust as Sharon jerked and heaved her wildly churning pussy up 
against his face. Her legs locked around his head and her heels beat a 
crescendo of sheer implacable lust against his shoulder blades. Then at last 
the storm ended and her ravished body settled back on the soft cushions of 
the couch. 

For a few moments longer Jack continued to kiss and nibble at Sharon's 
vaginal lips. Then he felt the last delicate tremors subside and he pulled 
his head up to gaze at her face. "Well?" 

The only answer was a sudden flooding of tears into Sharon's eyes. He 
ignored them and stood up and began to strip of his clothes, at last 
dropping his shorts around his ankles to leave himself completely naked 
before her. 

She shook her head. "I'm so ashamed," she sobbed. "I'm so, so ashamed." 

"Don't be. You needed that." 

"But I'm married. And I love my husband." 

Jack shrugged, then got back onto the couch and kneeled over her, his own 
face suddenly twisted in hungry passion. Then her eyes trailed down his 
broad chest and flat stomach to the erect penis standing up like a telephone 
pole from his brown pubic hair. She gasped as his hand began to stroke his 
thickened hardness, pulling the foreskin slowly back to reveal the weeping 
eye of the glans. It was so big! she thought. It was much bigger than 
Kevin's, and she was terrorized by the immensity of its girth and length. 
Remembering the pain of each insertion she'd experienced at the hands of her 
husband, she knew the worst fears of her first penetration now really would 
come true. It would split her apart, fill her with excruciating agony, kill 
her! 

"It's my turn now," Jim said, watching her face fill with distress. "I'm 
going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked 
before. And you're going to love it!" 

Jack's obscene words both frightened and excited her, but she couldn't tear 
her eyes from that monstrous rod of flesh he held in his hand. Sharon gaped 
at it in terror as she found her errant mind wondering if he really could 
bring her again to completion. He had once. But could he do it again? And 
could she possibly stand the enormous penetration? 

"Put it in for me," Jack ordered, leaning suddenly forward onto her. 

"Oh no. Please, no! Don't ask me to do that!" Sharon whimpered. 

"Take it," he snarled, and in his heated desire for her curvaceous young 
body he suddenly grasped her arm above the elbow and dug his fingernails 
into the flesh, and Sharon realized hopelessly that she had no choice. He 
was going to fuck her whether she wanted him to or not. 

"Put it in!" 

Knowing protest was useless, Sharon dropped her hand between their bodies to 
encounter the white-hot immensity of his lust-hardened flesh. "Oh," she 
moaned softly as her fingers entwined around the thick hardness, fear 
welling even stronger in her as she fully comprehended its enormity and 
power. 

"Go on," Jack said, lowering his hips down between her widespread thighs. 

Then he dropped heavily across her, the hardness of his mammoth cock 
pulsating against her upper thighs, his face looming almost angrily above 
her. Forcing herself not to look or think about what was happening, Sharon 
guided the thick fleshy shaft up to the passion-drenched mouth of her pussy. 
The bulbous head scraped electrifyingly against her ultra-sensitive cuntal 
lips, then pressed slightly inward, causing shivers of new unwanted pleasure 
to surge throughout her abdomen. She dared not move as she felt the pressure 
increase and her small, relatively unused cuntal opening starting to 
stretch. Pain came suddenly and sharply, but she was too frightened and 
shocked by what was happening to even venture to cry out in protest. 

"Oh Jesus, you're a tight little cunt!" Jack breathed into her face. 

He pushed forward again and the ponderous cock-head slowly forced its way up 
into her tightly resisting pussy. 

"Please Jack," Sharon whimpered. "You're too big for me. I can't stand it. 
You're already hurting me!" It was a plea for mercy, as though in spite of 
everything that had already happened she still believed implicitly in his 
chivalry. And it was a futile plea. 

Jack relentlessly continued the brutal impalement. He could tell he was 
stretching this naive little wife's pussy to the point it had never been 
stretched before, but at the same time she was so well lubricated from his 
tongue fucking that he knew he could not be hurting her too badly. She was 
just nervous, tense, frightened by the newness of what was happening. She 
would get over it soon, just as soon as she felt the full pulsing length of 
his long hard penis scraping at every hidden spot of delight up in that 
musk-scented honey-sweet little pussy, and he felt his cock-head swelling 
even larger at the mere thought of it. 

Inch by inch Jack thrust deeper into Sharon's cringing cuntal passage. She 
was really weeping now, whether from pain or shame he couldn't tell and he 
doubted if she could either. The sleek sensual feel of her nylons and the 
roughness of her lace garter-belt against his hips and bare buttocks only 
served as a goad, and he could hardly stand this exquisite torture any 
longer. Suddenly he jerked his hips forward and in one final thrust his 
hard, hotly throbbing cock roared up into the previously untouched depths of 
her womb. 

"Aaaaggghhh!" Sharon wailed as the implacably hardened pole of male flesh 
cut deeper up into her belly than anyone had ever penetrated before. He had 
filled her almost to the bursting point, and she could feel every muscular 
ridge of his thick corrugated penis through the tortured walls of her 
vagina. 

The impalement completed, Jack lay still for a moment. Never before, not 
even with the virgins he'd deflowered, had he ever known such a tight little 
cunt. It seemed to grip his cock like a fist covered in a velvet glove, and 
he couldn't resist flexing to throb even deeper up into her. 

"Aaagghhh!" Sharon cried out. "Don't move. Please don't move." 

Delighted with the subservient plea for mercy, Jack flexed again and again, 
hearing Sharon groan abjectly with each further twitch of his sunken cock. 
Then gradually he began short little movements in and out of her lewdly 
stretched cunt, and as her passage became more accustomed to his monstrous 
intrusion, the whimpers of pain and protest slowly evolved to little chants 
of pleasure. Now he began to rotate his hips, bringing his maleness down 
against her wetly clasping vagina until the mushroomed head was beating 
relentlessly against her tortured cervix. He rocked above her, thrusting 
with longer, smoother motions, rising and falling, rising and falling on her 
proud young breasts up and down between her lewdly splayed thighs on the 
couch. 

Sharon had begun moving her hips up and down in unison with Jack's motions. 
Already she was beginning to feel little jolts of pleasure surging through 
her body. Already she was experiencing more sensations than she'd ever known 
with Kevin, and her mouth opened and closed in unvoiced comments, prayers 
for forgiveness and commands to her body to ignore this intense delight 
mingled with pleadings for more and more of the sheer raw sensation. Shining 
little beads of perspiration seeped to her forehead; her neck tendons grew 
taut; she panted with carnal joy and the room swirled around her as the 
gambler's giant throbbing cock buried so deeply up inside her vagina played 
a symphony of lust upon her tortured flesh. 

Then, she forgot Kevin. She forgot herself. She forgot everything, and 
suddenly the whore in her voiced its final submission: "Oh yes. Do it to me. 
Don't stop. Fuck me! Fuck me!" 

Those were the words Jack had been waiting to hear. He rammed his thick 
rigid cock violently inward as Sharon shoved her cunt lewdly up beneath him 
in final offering. She had never known anything like this in her life. She'd 
never imagined there could be such ecstasy between a man and a woman, such 
joy to be had from the lewd licking of her love-starved pussy and the 
penetration of the mammoth penis sliding so violently up into her slickened 
cuntal channel to ram at the heart of her womb. She was filled with the most 
insane pleasure she had ever experienced and she wanted more and more of it. 

"Of fuck me! Fuck me, fuck me!" Jack did as she asked, thrusting into her 
with ever increasing force as her tightly locked young vagina continued to 
flood out the warming lubricant. He lengthened his strokes, drawing his 
engorged rod of male flesh almost all the way out of the fleshy cuntal 
sheath and plunging back downward with quickening strokes as her cunt 
hungrily devoured it. Jesus, he thought, she was really going wild. He heard 
her grunt in complete abandon, felt her squirm her wildly sucking pussy up 
and down on his throbbing cockshaft, taking the control of what they were 
doing away from him completely in her own mad rush to completion. 

"Aaaaggghhhh . . . ooohhhh," Sharon moaned as his lust-thickened cock 
pistoned in and out of the quivering warmth of her loins. The wildly fucking 
man's sperm-inflated balls slapped down hard against the nakedness of her 
unprotected anus, and through his taut-stretched scrotum he could feel the 
delicious softness of her ass-cheeks and the hot dampness in the heated 
crevice where her warm viscosity and his own saliva had seeped down from her 
wetly pulsating cunt. His throbbing sac seemed surely to split apart from 
his mounting pressure and he fought desperately for control against the 
burning need to spew his white hot sperm up into the deepest depths of her 
churning little belly. He began ramming into her with increasing fury, 
determined to bring her to an orgasm before he came himself. 

Sharon cried out with every punishing fuck-stroke up into her gratefully 
accepting young pussy. She screwed her tongue into Jack's mouth and throat 
in unison with each new thrust that buried his burning shaft deeper into her 
loins. She pulled her legs back even higher, offering him more and more of 
her femininity, and he glanced downward at his wetly glistening cock, 
watching it fuck in and out of her hair-lined pussy lips, certain he would 
go mad unless he came soon. Quickly, in an effort to bring her along faster, 
he slipped his hand beneath her buttucks and once again began to tease at 
the rhythmically flexing hole of her tiny anus. 

"Aaaggghhh . .. oh, yes .. . put your finger in there. Hard!" 

Sharon rotated her buttocks down hungrily against this new invasion, 
pressing and flexing with her stomach muscles as though she were trying to 
void something from her bowels, opening the rectum so it could accept even 
further this new and lewder degradation. 

She felt a stab of pain as the palm of his hand rested flat against her 
naked ass-cheeks and the extended middle finger sank its full length into 
her clinging rectal passage and began moving in and out of the hotly 
skewered little opening in time with each thrust of his penis. Then the pain 
changed, mingling with pleasure until at last only the lewd delight 
remained. Before long she was consciously attempting to impale herself on 
Jack's middle finger all the way to the knuckle, shoving back against it at 
the same time she strained to devour more of his rock-hard cock up into her 
heaving belly. 

Jack mercilessly dug into her tight little anus, his finger feeling the hard 
thrusting flesh of his own cock through the thin membrane separating her 
cunt and rectum. Beneath him the previously timid girl writhed in complete 
abandon. Her motions, together with the guttural croaks of delight and the 
tightness of her vagina, pushed him finally beyond the limits of self 
control and he realized his orgasm was only seconds away . . . 

"Cum now," he growled, praying she would obey. "I'm going to cum inside you. 
Cum with me ... " 

Hearing these obscene words, Sharon began grinding up and down even more 
frantically on the two simultaneously impaling rods. Her toes flexed and 
splayed out, her resilient young breasts heaved beneath her dress and her 
nylon-clad legs scissored wildly open and closed around his naked buttocks. 
Then her eyes opened wide in disbelief as she felt the first beginnings of 
her second orgasm. 

Jack grunted and hammered even deeper as he felt the spasming walls of the 
shamelessly aroused housewife's vagina seeping the warm sticky fluid of her 
second climax. With demoniacal strength she shoved her pelvis completely up 
from the bed, rotating her softly haired cunt lips around his thick 
pistoning penis with renewed fury. Then she was screaming, "Yes, oh God! I'm 
cumming again. I'm going to cum. Cum in me. Cum in me. CUM IN ME!" 

Sharon convulsed beneath the gambler in wildly fucking contortions, her 
mouth and cunt both sucking furiously as she covered his lips with her own, 
her panting, rasping breath breaking into great gasping sobs, her pussy 
clenching, milking him of his hotly spurting sperm, her anus expanding and 
contracting frenziedly about his impaling middle finger embedded far up in 
her rectal channel. 

Spurred on by her continuing climax, Jack thrust deeper and deeper into her 
wildly convulsing vagina and anus, forcing her thighs even wider apart in 
his determination to impale her to the hilt. He fucked into her as though 
his pelvis were driven by atomic fury, wracking her ripe young body with 
shattering lunges. Then he gasped as he felt the sudden boiling waves of 
sperm break completely through his resistance, and he was instantly lost in 
incredible sensuality as the powerful spurts of semen spewed deep into the 
warm heart of Sharon's greedy little pussy, filling her hungrily contracting 
belly to the bursting point. The walls of her vagina continued to work in 
spasms around his penis as if they were trying to milk him forever dry, 
squeezing, massaging, clasping and unclasping to drain out every wonderful 
life-giving drop of his hotly ejaculating semen. 

Then Sharon's wildly ravished body dropped suddenly back on the couch, her 
belly still rippling from the aftermath of her galactic upheaval. She stared 
up in almost delirious gratitude for a moment. Never had such bliss been 
experienced. She was fulfilled completely. She was finally a woman. 

Then her eyes closed. Jack withdrew and slipped off the couch, looking down 
with continued appreciation at her half-naked body. She was sound asleep 
now. She was really satisfied. He knew that. Tonight had been a big night 
for her. 

Might as well let her sleep a few minutes, he thought. She deserved it. He'd 
wait until he was ready to retire before taking her up to her room. 

CHAPTER FOUR 

The first thing Sharon felt when she awoke the next morning was pain. Her 
head felt as if someone were using a baseball bat atop her skull. She tried 
to open her eyes, but the blinding rays of sun coming through the window 
caused her to clench them shut almost immediately. She lay on the bed in 
torment, remembering after a moment that she was in her room in the little 
suite she and Kitty stayed in at the Las Vegas hotel. Then other various 
messages began to pour into her brain, things she could hardly sort out, 
hardly even bring herself to believe. 

Her first really cohesive thought was that she was still dressed, lying atop 
the covers. As she dared to open her eyes again, she found a piece of paper 
lying on the bed beside her with a scribbled note in Kitty's hand-writing. 
Squinting, she read it: --Looks like you had an even rougher night than I 
did. When you wake up. if you wake up, I'll be down at the pool. Join me. It 
might help. 

Kitty 

Then suddenly the whole horrible nightmare flooded back to her mind: She met 
a man named Jack Golightly. A gambler. No, a poker player. He seemed to 
think there was a difference. She was winning a lot at roulette, and 
drinking a lot. Then she started losing. He dragged her away from the casino 
and took her for coffee. They went to his apartment here in the hotel. She 
passed out on the couch and had ... a dream about Kevin and then she woke up 
and it wasn't a dream. It was really happening, and what it was that was 
happening was. .. 

Jack Golightly was performing oral sex on her! 

Then it all came back to her, every incredibly shocking detail, and the slow 
welling of tears became a torrent when she thought of Kevin; yet her mind 
kept going back, back, back to that first orgasm she'd experienced from the 
oral fucking of her naked cunt and then to the second, which she'd achieved 
after he was really fucking her, fucking her with his enormous penis that 
was bigger than anything she'd ever dreamed of, fucking her as she'd never 
been fucked before, fucking her as she'd never dreamed anyone could ever 
fuck a woman. 

The crying continued for at least five minutes, deep, heart-rending, 
convulsive sobs of shame and humiliation. She was nothing more than a whore. 
But worse than a whore because she had betrayed her husband and her love. 
And what was worse was that she'd done it the first time any man other than 
him had really tried to seduce her, the very first time, as if she'd been 
waiting for it. 

Then some half-rational part of her mind told her that the very first thing 
she should do was have a shower, try to stop the pounding in her head. After 
that she could figure out how, if ever, she could make up for last night's 
lewd betrayal of her husband and their love for each other. Quickly then, 
she got up from the bed and stripped off her dress, brassiere, garter-belt 
and hose. Completely nude, she inspected herself in the full-length mirror, 
venturing to reach down with her finger to touch the blonde hair where 
Jack's semen had glued the strands together. She flushed suddenly as she 
remembered the rain of kisses across her abdomen and inner thighs and, 
later, the tantalizing tongue-licking and fucking. Once again her heart 
speeded up its tempo and her breath lost some of its regularity. She stepped 
close to the mirror and peered deeply into her own eyes. Yes, there was a 
difference in them, but just what it was she didn't know. 

In the shower Sharon alternated between fits of convulsive sobbing and 
moments that almost approached exhilaration as she remembered the excitement 
of Jack Golightly's awakening of her dormant sensuality. Emerging, she told 
herself she'd best be realistic about the whole thing. "I was too drunk to 
realize what was happening," she said to herself aloud, knowing even as she 
said it that drunkenness was no excuse for what she'd done and allowed to be 
done to her. Then, as she walked naked back to the bedroom and put on her 
flimsy bikini and, over it, a fresh T-shirt and the same tight bell-bottoms 
she'd worn for the plane ride from Los Angeles, she remembered the more 
important occurrence of the evening: She had won! She had won . . . how 
much? She didn't even know, but she knew it was a lot. 

Frenziedly, Sharon opened her purse and counted the money. Kitty's one 
hundred chips were still intact. In addition to that there was the hundred 
and fifty dollars she'd brought with her for any expenses she might incur 
beyond what was covered by the company award . . . and nine crisp new one 
hundred dollar bills. 

And before she'd gotten so drunk she didn't even know what she was doing, 
she had been much farther ahead than that. So she'd won, and she'd learned 
at the same time. She wouldn't drink tonight. She would accept nothing 
stronger than Coca Cola. She should be able to double her nine hundred, if 
not better. Then there was tomorrow night. Sharon realized, her heart 
pounding, that if she used her head she could fly back to Los Angeles on 
Monday with enough money for a down payment for a house. And that, she 
thought, was the only way she could ever possibly repay Kevin for the 
terrible wrong she had done him last night. And that was what really 
counted. It wasn't just the money any more. It was the principle. 

Sharon descended quickly to the pool. In the dressing room she stripped down 
to the bikini and left her clothes and purse in a locker. The nine hundred 
dollars, plus her own pocket cash, she'd already safely hidden beneath the 
paper lining of one of the dresser drawers in her room upstairs. Then she 
went out to the edge of the pool and eased herself carefully into the warm, 
pleasing water. She swam out to the middle, treading water, and looked 
around for Kitty, whom she finally saw talking to several muscular men at 
the other end of the pool. She declined to join them and instead swam about 
alone. But Kitty, apparently having spotted Sharon, swam to join her in a 
moment. 

"What happened to you last night?" the redhead asked as they climbed up onto 
the edge of the pool to sit with their feet dangling into the water. 

Sharon was sure she blushed, but she forced out a little laugh. "I'm afraid 
I got very drunk. I was gambling and they were giving the free drinks and 
... I... " 

"Did you win?" Kitty interrupted her. 

"I .. . " Sharon stopped herself suddenly. She started to tell Kitty about 
the nine hundred dollars, and in fact she was almost dying to. But a voice 
in the back of her mind told her that would be bad luck. There was no use 
bragging. Keep it all to herself. When she had what she wanted, the 
down-payment for the house, then she could tell Kitty everything. 
Everything, of course, except what had happened after she'd left the casino. 
"I was ahead for a while, just a little bit, but in the end I broke about 
even. I really enjoyed it though. I so appreciate those chips you let me 
have." 

"They're yours," said Kitty. "But listen. About that show we were going to 
see ... I have a date tonight. And honey, this guy is a real dreamboat. I 
don't know why I've been wasting all this time with those duds back in L.A. 
The reason we were in our suite, if you heard us when you came in, is that / 
invited him. And he's loaded, and he wants to take me to a different, better 
show at another hotel." She paused. "He has a friend, if you're interested?" 

"No thanks, Kitty," Sharon said. "I'll just stay here and play roulette and 
have a few drinks. I'm really .. . perfectly safe down in the casino." 

"Suit yourself, love." 

They were silent for a moment. "I think I'll try a few dives from the high 
board," said Sharon. "Maybe the shock will help my hangover." 

She stood up and started to move toward the ladder, then stopped suddenly. A 
tall, gray-haired man wearing a very expensive suit and smoking a cigarette 
in a long-stemmed holder, flanked by two ape-ish looking types and trailed 
by a frail young man with glasses who looked like a junior executive, was 
staring at her. He was staring at her in a way she didn't think she'd ever 
been stared at in her life, though this was something she felt rather than 
saw, as the man wore dark glasses that hid his eyes, and something about his 
gaze almost melted her. She couldn't move, and though she was already very 
scarcely clothed in her skimpy bikini, she now felt completely naked and 
vulnerable. Then the man said something to the junior executive, who 
immediately started around the end of the pool toward her. 

Sharon took another step in the general direction of the board, then stopped 
as she saw she would be intercepted. 

"Hello, curie," the bespectacled man said as he came up to her. 'The boss 
sends his respects. Ah-hem. And informs you he'll expect you for dinner at 
nine. Upstairs." 

"Is that a fact?" Sharon asked angrily. "And who does he think he is, to 
expect me? And just where in the . .. hell... is upstairs?" 

"Heh, hen." The man had an almost haunting laugh. "Don't play coy, cutie. 
You know who he is. And upstairs is there, the top half of that building." 

He pointed up at the modern glass and steel and concrete structure of the 
luxurious hotel where Sharon and Kitty were staying. Then she turned to gaze 
back across the pool. The gray-headed man removed his shades in an elegant 
gesture. He smiled the creepiest, most jaded and debauched smile she had 
ever seen. She stared at him angrily for a moment, then looked back at the 
junior executive. 

"Tell your boss I said 'no thanks'. I'm a married woman and my husband's in 
the Army and I don't accept dinner invitations from strange men." Sharon 
turned abruptly away and instead of going to the diving board, as she'd 
intended, went back toward the dressing room. She heard Kitty calling after 
her, but she didn't look back. 

Lance Quayle watched the slender shapely blonde with the voluptuous-looking 
lips walk away, her scarcely-concealed buttocks jerking in sensuous rhythm. 
His accountant, Harwood, had a puzzled look on his face as he walked back 
around the pool. 

"And what, pray tell, did the lady say?" Lance asked as he approached. 

The accountant made a face as if he'd erred in adding two single-digit 
figures. "She said .. . she said no. She said she was married and some such 
bullshit. I can't understand it." 

Quayle smiled luxuriously and set the sunglasses back on his long, sculpted 
nose. He turned to one of the two goons beside him. "Have one of the boys 
keep an eye on her. No apes, I mean," he added to the man, who looked 
himself a first generation descendent of Africa's most dim-witted gorilla. 
"Find out what she's doing, and ... if she's a hustler, bust her. See she 
spends a few weeks inside before her trip to the state line. If she's 
waiting for a divorce, see she gets her ass screwed when she gets to court. 
And if she's gambling..." Lance smiled elegantly. "If she's gambling, see 
she loses. Then we should move in a more orderly fashion to the next stage 
of our relationship." 

* * * Sharon lost just a little under eleven hundred dollars that night. It 
was hardly one a.m. when she walked, dazed, from the casino into the lounge. 
She hadn't had a single drink during her six hours of play. Now she 
desperately wanted one. And it seemed the most ungodly irony that after 
refusing free ones all night she was now required to pay. She sat down at 
the bar, ghastly pale and almost in a state of shock, and tried to figure 
out what had happened. 

She had had the most terrible conceivable run of bad luck. That was her 
first conclusion; then she tempered it immediately by asking herself if it 
had been luck or bad play that had beaten her. 

She decided it was a combination of both, and that was the most 
heartbreaking thing about it all. Bad luck she might have accepted. That, 
she couldn't have helped, couldn't blame herself or the house or anyone - 
just fate itself. 

But on reflection she realized the thing that really bothered her was that 
on numerous occasions, how many she couldn't even count, but ten or twenty 
or thirty, maybe more, she had predicted in her mind the color that would 
come up. She'd resisted the urge to play, waiting for an even more certain 
"feeling". Then when she had played, she had lost. Somehow her psychic had 
been deceiving her. Tonight she was not in tune with herself. She'd somehow 
closed her mind, shut herself off to her own telepathic intuitions. But she 
had felt them. She had been sure, so many times, and what she'd thought was 
the discipline of holding back had been the refusal to follow the guidance 
of her own subconscious. And it had cost her. It had cost her everything 
she'd won the night before and the hundred dollars in chips Kitty had given 
her and even some of her own money, money she hadn't even intended to play 
with. But except for the chips, which she'd always intended to give back to 
Kitty, all of it had been hers. The nine hundred dollars had been counted, 
mentally deposited in her and Kevin's bank account. In fact, as far as she 
was concerned it had already been spent, as part of the down-payment on 
their ocean-side house. 

And for her to have lost it on the gaming tables by her own stupidity was as 
bad as if she'd embezzled the money from her office and lost it. And somehow 
she had to get it back. Not tonight. Tonight she was too jittery, almost in 
a panic. But tomorrow night she had to go down with the ninety dollars she 
still had, and she had to win. She had to play level-headedly, with caution, 
but unafraid to bet when the time came, and she had to win it all back. 

Sharon allowed herself one more gimlet before starting out of the bar. At 
the door she stopped and put three dollars in a slot machine, then checked 
herself and hurried out. She knew about slot machines; they were really 
rigged. Still angry and depressed, she took the elevator up to their floor. 
She paused at the door, listening, hearing no sound from within. Then, 
glancing down at the floor she saw that a piece of paper had been slipped 
under the door. She opened and bent down to retrieve it as she stepped 
inside, staring incredulously at the paper. 

It was a form, an application form for a credit and check-cashing card with 
the casino, which afforded the client chips to pay the tables with on a 
time-payment plan. 

CHAPTER FIVE 

Sharon might have remarked, as she lay awake thinking about it, that there 
was something strange about finding an application for credit stuffed under 
a door. But if she did so she put any doubts from her mind. She might have 
also found something suspicious in that there was only one application form 
for a suite with two occupants, but she ignored this fact. Instead she told 
herself that it was all a big mistake. The management of a luxurious hotel 
like this would perhaps assume that anyone who could afford to stay here was 
a good credit risk. When they found out that she was a guest here only 
because of a prize that had been given her girlfriend by the department 
store chain for which they were employed, her application would be turned 
down anyway. 

But by the time she'd dozed off to sleep, Sharon had decided one thing. As 
long as she had the application, there was no harm in filling it out and 
turning it in. Then, if at sometime in the future she opened the mailbox and 
found she'd been mailed a credit card, she would have it in case she ever 
decided to come back here again. 

Kitty stayed out all night and when she came back in the morning Sharon 
declined to tell her about the credit application. Kitty raved about what an 
absolutely glorious night she'd had, taking time to only briefly query 
Sharon about how she'd done at the tables. Sharon, far too ashamed to admit 
what had really happened, said that she'd lost a few dollars but that she 
still had enough chips left to play tonight. Kitty told her to go ahead and 
live it up with them; tomorrow they would be back in L.A. 

Not wanting to risk a repeat of yesterday's disturbing episode, Sharon 
declined an invitation to join Kitty at the pool and explained that instead 
she just wanted to walk around town and see the sights. 

"Just don't let anybody take you for a streetwalker," Kitty warned as she 
squirmed into her tight bikini and left. 

Sharon waited until her friend had had time to get down to the pool, then 
filled out the application form, consisting of routine questions about 
employment, salary, bank accounts and references. She was certain she would 
be turned down; the information she had to give seemed so hopelessly paltry 
compared to the atmosphere of sheer luxury one encountered wherever one went 
here in the hotel, and she was almost ashamed to even take it to the office. 
At last, however, she mustered her courage and descended the elevator to the 
luxurious accounts office on the mezzanine. A security guard took a long 
look at her, but said nothing as she passed down a narrow carpeted hallway 
to the reception window. She handed a very good-looking brunette the 
application form and managed a sheepish smile. The brunette looked at her 
strangely, then noted the name at the top of the card and smiled back. 

"If you would like to have a seat," the receptionist said, indicating a 
chair. 

Somewhat confused, Sharon sat down. In a moment a rather handsome looking 
you man came out. "I'm John Davidson," he said, "assistant to the chief 
accountant. If you care to wait, perhaps have a coffee or a drink if you 
prefer, it will take us about ten minutes to process your application and 
stamp your card." 

"You mean ... I get the card today?" Sharon asked, hardly able to believe 
her ears. 

"Of course. Is there any reason why you shouldn't? Just a simple matter of 
verifying your references, all of which is done by wire with our 
credit-rating information bank in your home state." 

Sharon could hardly believe this stroke of good fortune, but she didn't want 
to appear overly excited. "That all sounds so very efficient. Of course I 
don't mind waiting, and I would like a coffee very much. Cream and sugar, 
please." 

"Cream and sugar," Mr. Davidson said to the receptionist. 

Sharon was just finishing when he returned with a handful of papers. 

"All set," he said. "This is just a standard promise to pay contract, if you 
will sign at the bottom." He chuckled. "Of course with a little luck you 
don't even have to worry about this aspect, now do you?" 

Sharon skimmed quickly over the contract, then scribbled her signature. 

"Now, if you will sign your card," the accountant added. 

Sharon quickly signed the card, which looked about like any other credit 
card she'd ever seen. Then the accountant took it, along with the contract 
and the application, and straightened up. "If you would like to make a note 
of your credit number, which you will present to the cashier when collecting 
your chips or cashing personal checks, it's . . . let's see . . . 7961 A44." 

Confused, Sharon scribbled down the number on a piece of paper. "But. . . 
don't I get the card now?" 

"Oh no. The card remains on file here in our office. You need only to 
present your number to the cashier." 

"But... I don't have any proof of my credit, do I?" Sharon asked, confused. 

"This card is your proof, and it's always on file here at the office, and 
the office is open all through casino hours." He smiled. "What would you do 
if your card was lost or stolen and you woke up one morning owing the casino 
fifteen or twenty thousand dollars. Don't you see why it's much easier and 
safer this way?" 

"Yes, I suppose so," Sharon said. Something still seemed a little strange 
about the arrangement, though. But after all, what did she know about the 
workings of casinos? 

* * * Sharon did not have a bad night, or afternoon and night, as she 
actually spent about thirteen hours at the tables. She started off by 
cashing a hundred dollar credit voucher, which she simply filled out with 
her name and credit number at the cashier's, and she was fortunate enough 
not to have to go back for more, though at one point she was down to only 
twenty dollars. She won with that and from then on gradually climbed. She 
peaked at four hundred profit, then declined. When she walked out of the 
casino at four-thirty a.m. she was a hundred and seventy dollars ahead for 
the day. She neglected to note that, counting the hundred she already owed 
the house and the hundred in chips she'd received from Kitty this left her 
technically a few dollars behind for the entire trip. In the morning, when 
she cashed in the credit-card chips and tried to give Kitty the hundred 
dollars, which her friend refused to accept, she announced that her winnings 
totaled about ninety dollars. She didn't think about the fact that she 
already owed the casino a hundred dollars. Not that she was unaware of it - 
she fully intended to pay that off painlessly out of future winnings. 

Sharon had caught the gambling bug. Already she was plotting how next 
weekend she would tell Kitty she was going to stay with her parents, then 
catch a flight up here. To cut expenses she could stay in a cheaper hotel 
and eat in cafeterias. She could do all the gambling she wanted with her 
credit card. So she had nothing to lose. And sooner or later the law of 
averages would balance out. When they did, using her system, she would get 
back her nine hundred dollars - and more. 

* * * Sharon could hardly endure the long week of waiting. Work seemed such 
an impossible drudgery now, particularly considering the slave wages she was 
paid. She spent all her time daydreaming about the casino, seeing the turn 
of the roulette wheel in her mind's eye. When Friday rolled around and she 
finally found herself on the plane, even the short one-hour flight seemed 
unbearably long. At last they landed and she took a bus into town, then 
found a taxi driver who took her to a seven dollar a day hotel, some 
distance from the strip. She ate a cheap meal in a diner. By ten o'clock she 
was in the casino collecting two hundred dollars worth of chips. By the time 
she left for her hotel at six in the morning she was four hundred and fifty 
dollars in debt. By the time she caught the late evening flight back to Los 
Angeles on Sunday night, after playing all afternoon on practically no 
sleep, she was three thousand, seven hundred and eighty dollars in debt - 
for this weekend, as she'd forgotten all about the hundred she owed from the 
previous weekend. But Lance Quayle had not. On Tuesday morning he collected 
the vouchers and handed them to an "agent", giving his instructions about 
initiating collection proceedings - out of court, of course. 

Sharon was desperate, but at this point for all the wrong reasons. It wasn't 
paying off her debt that was worrying her. It was simply that now, in order 
to get the money she'd originally set out after, she first had to win the 
incredible sum of her debt just to get even. She still maintained her faith 
in the law of averages, but she was beginning to wonder when the balance was 
going to reach. She hoped it wouldn't be too far into Einstein's infinity. 
It was on Tuesday night, after Kitty had gone out for a date, that she 
received her first inkling that the debt itself might be a problem. 

When the doorbell for the apartment building entrance rang, Sharon buzzed 
automatically. She had no particular concern who might be coming to see her, 
and in any event, it was quite common for people trying to get into the 
building to visit someone in another apartment to ring her and Kitty's bell. 
They lived in a neighborhood where those things still happened. 

But even when she opened the door and saw the two short, rough-looking men 
with faces that looked as if they might have come from a cave-man exhibit in 
the museum of natural history come walking down the hall, she made no 
connection to the casino. She simply thought there had been a mistake, and 
started to close the door. She was stopped by the rough bark of the first of 
the two men: "Just a minute, Blondie. This is Las Vegas business, very 
important to your personal organism." 

"My personal organism?" Sharon asked, the very absurdity of the statement 
causing her to hesitate one moment too long. 

"Yeah," the man said. Then his foot was in the door and they both came 
through. If she hadn't retreated out of the way they would have run over 
her. "Your body functions and all that. Your sex appeal. Your ability to 
stand up and walk, show your face in the street and breathe and all those 
kind of things some girls who aren't four thousand dollars in debt take for 
granted." 

Sharon's face blanched as she put two and two together. She stared in 
pleading horror as the first of the two goons pulled out a stack of xeroxes 
of the vouchers and waved them in her face. "We got a collection order on 
this." 

"A collection order?" Sharon couldn't believe her ears. "But I just got my 
credit card. It isn't even the end of the month. And ..." Her voice trailed 
off as she saw the look on the faces of the two men, both of whom she 
realized were probably low echelon gangsters. 

"We're not a loan company, Miss," said the man who'd been doing all the 
talking. "We just collect unpaid debts. That's all we ever do. I mean we 
eat, sleep, have a few beers or a few dames sometimes, but during working 
hours we just go around collecting debts. You'd probably be surprised how 
much money is owed in this country, and how many people there are who 
wouldn't pay if it weren't for guys like us what devote our life to seeing 
people don't welch, that the unscrupulous ones don't take advantage and make 
credit tight for the honest hard-working people that always make it an 
effort to honor their promise to pay. That's all we do." 

"But the casino offered me my credit card!" 

"Who knows? They just give us this for collection and you got until next 
Saturday to pay." 

"Next Saturday? But I can't possibly ..." 

"Now I bet you possibly can. I just bet you can." He turned to his friend. 
"Don't you bet she can." 

The other man shook his head. "I don't agree, Vince." 

The man called Vince, hefty as he was, moved like a cat. His fist was a 
blinding streak of light, and the thump as it struck his partner's chin was 
delayed, like thunder delayed after lightning. Sharon's scream, as she 
watched the man crumple to the floor, was delayed only an instant more. Then 
she stared aghast as the man half raised up, rubbing his chin, a wounded 
look in his eyes, his head lolled half onto his shoulder. 

"Now why'd you do that, Vince?" he asked in a voice that sounded as if it 
would momentarily crack. "I just stated a fact, that I don't think this dame 
can ..." 

Vince's foot moved like a place-kicker's, straight at the face of the other 
man. Sharon screamed aloud, sure his head would go flying off his shoulders 
and straight out the window. But at the last minute he ducked and instead it 
was the coffee table that went flying across the room to slam into the 
television and only by some miracle she couldn't comprehend failed to 
shatter the glass over the screen. 

"Jesus Christ, Vince!" the man almost bawled. "Now that woulda really hurt 
me. 

That woulda been serious. Coulda impaired my thinking processes and 
everything." 

"Coulda fucked up your whole organism," Vince growled, then looked back at 
Sharon. Suddenly contrite, he took off his hat. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I really 
am sorry about that display of temper. But I don't like to hear anybody talk 
about a perfect stranger the way this. .. this gorilla was talking about 
you. Saying you weren't going to be able to pay. I always like to think of a 
person as innocent until proven guilty. I like to show faith in 'em, give 
'em any kind of encouragement they need. Right up to the deadline if 
necessary." Vince bowed and put his hat on, then looked back at the man on 
the floor. "Now you get your ass up and apologize to the lady right now 
before I squash you into that rug like a lousy motherfuckin' cockroach on 
the bathroom floor!" 

The man climbed warily to his feet, retrieving his own fedora, which had 
come off as he fell. He held it in his hands and bowed to her. "I'm sorry, 
Ma'am. I didn't mean anything and if I hurt your feelings by what I said I 
guess I deserved everything I got." 

He smiled, then the smile became laughter, a convulsive and maniacal 
laughter, and the two of them turned and walked out the door and back to the 
elevator. 

For a moment Sharon couldn't even think. Her mind was a blank. Then the 
question popped into her mind like the most terrible threat of a fascist 
interrogator: // they will do that to each other, what in God's name might 
they do to me? 

It dawned on her at that moment what a terrible mess she was really in. She 
walked around the apartment in frantic circles for a few minutes. Her first 
inclination was to call Kevin. Then she realized what a foolish idea that 
was and decided to call the police. She'd opened the phone book and started 
to dial, then she replaced the receiver. What would she tell the police? She 
didn't even have the credit card to show them. She didn't have a copy of the 
vouchers. She had no proof the two men had even been here. And if she told 
the police what had actually happened, how one of them had beaten thy other 
up right before her eyes, they would probably laugh in her face. Then she 
remembered the men saying they had nothing to do with the casino and she hit 
upon what she thought was her only sensible solution. Call the casino and 
meet her problem head on. 

Sharon got a long distance operator and put the call through. When she 
reached the casino she asked for the accounts office and when she reached 
that extension she requested that she be allowed to speak to Mr. Davidson. 
She was informed that Mr. Davidson was in Reno and wouldn't be back until 
the end of the week, then given instead to a Mr. Harwood. With a quivering 
voice Sharon explained her problem, recounting truthfully her losses, 
concluding with the visit she'd just had. Then she listened breathlessly to 
the short laughter from the other end of the line and almost sighed with 
relief as the male voice answered: "These collection people see a few too 
many grade-B movies I'm afraid. I have your file before me and all I see 
here is that you've been placed on an additional one thousand dollars 
maximum credit limit, extended until Saturday or demonstration of intent to 
pay, whichever comes first." 

"You mean, I can still play, owing you all the money I do?" 

"Up to the thousand dollar limit. As for the other business, those fellows 
are always a little melodramatic, though of course some of them are very 
rough characters. But I'm sure nothing will happen to you, provided, of 
course, that you do take care of the debt you've incurred. 

Don't worry about..." 

The line went dead. "Mr. Harwood? Mr. Harwood?" 

Tears welling in her eyes, she let the receiver drop. What a terrible time 
to be cut off! Then she remembered. She still had a thousand dollars credit. 
She still had a chance to win back everything she owed. If she lost that, 
then she simply would have to demonstrate her intent to pay to Mr. Harwood. 
In the meantime, there was nothing she could do here. Las Vegas was the only 
place her problem could be solved. The only problem was, she couldn't wait 
until Friday. She would simply have to take off work and fly up tomorrow. 
That was all there was to it. 

CHAPTER SIX 

Sharon landed in Las Vegas on Wednesday night and took a room in the hotel 
where she'd stayed the previous weekend. After a quick shower she went 
straight to the casino without bothering to eat. She drew five hundred 
dollars in chips as easily as she'd always done before. She showed them to a 
waitress, got a drink and drank it before she began to play. Then she lost 
the five hundred dollars as easily as she'd lost before. As she cashed the 
second five hundred, her last, she reminded herself that she was now about 
to play for her life, or at least, as Vince had put it, for the welfare of 
her personal organism. 

Playing for her life Sharon lost five hundred dollars. She cashed two 
hundred of the four hundred in cash she'd drawn out of her small checking 
account and lost that. But, foolish as she'd been, she was wise enough not 
to cash the other two hundred. She had to at least offer that to the 
accounts office as a demonstration, however meager, of her intent to pay. 
Mr. Harwood had sounded like a nice enough man. Perhaps somehow she could 
make him understand. 

Before going up to the mezzanine, Sharon tried one more gambit, though she 
desperately hated to do it. She went to the desk and inquired if a Jack 
Golightly was registered presently at the hotel. She didn't know if she was 
disappointed or relieved when the clerk informed her that though Mr. 
Golightly maintained his suite, he was presently in Trinidad at a 
convention. She'd thought perhaps he could help, but in spite of her present 
difficulties, she could think of no one she would so dread having to face as 
Jack Golightly. 

Resolved that she had no choice, that delay would only make matters worse, 
Sharon took an elevator up to the accounts office. A different secretary 
greeted her and told her to have a seat, explaining that Mr. Harwood would 
be out in a moment. Sharon waited nervously; then when the door of the inner 
office opened and a bespectacled face peeked out with a smile, she rose 
angrily from her chair. 

"You!" she almost cried aloud. 

It was the man who'd given her the dinner invitation on behalf of the other 
man that day at the pool. The junior executive type. 

"Would you come in, Miss Dolan," he said politely. 

Sharon stalked angrily toward him and through the door into the plushest 
office she'd ever seen in her life. Then she whirled on the frail man with 
glasses. "So this was all a put up? All because I wouldn't have dinner with 
some stranger, this 'man upstairs.' Well, if you thing ..." 

"Let's not be hasty, dear. But I am afraid you're in somewhat of a spot. And 
my boss who lives upstairs, is one of the few people who can help you. 
Except of course for the real Man Upstairs. The one way up." 

"Help me? If you think I haven't figured out by now that he's the one that 
got me into this." 

The accountant smiled. "He didn't get you into it. You got yourself into it. 
And there are certain draconian types in this organization who feel we 
should be severe with people like you. Now listen," he said as Sharon 
started to interrupt. 'Those people who visited you do not work with the 
casino. But it's all the same network, the same umbrella, and there is 
interaction. These people act in their way and we act in ours. We've given 
you just under five thousand dollars credit and you've used it up. Now you 
have no choice but to pay. And if you don't you're in very bad trouble. You 
made enemies by causing friction between those two men." 

"I didn't cause any friction!" Sharon cried. But she realized she was 
getting nowhere. "All right," she said, casting her eyes downward. "I have 
intent to pay. I brought the first installment. Two hundred dollars." 

"Heh heh. You have spent a thousand dollars of our money here today and now 
you offer two hundred dollars. Tell me frankly Miss Dolan?" 

"Mrs. Dolan." 

"Very well, as you wish. What do you think are the chances of your meeting 
your debt by the deadline you've been given?" 

"Why you must know that's impossible. I only make seven hundred dollars a 
month." 

"Then I'm afraid you made a very bad mistake by ever coming to this casino. 
Certainly by accepting a routine offer of credit. And I'm not sure he'll 
help you, but the boss did find you attractive. I think your best bet is to 
at least talk to him. There might be some chance of an arrangement, I mean 
between us and this other faction that is crying for your extinction." 

"My extinction? But how could that amount of money be that important to 
you?" 

"Tsk tsk tsk. It's not the money, dear. It's Vince's death they're upset 
about." 

"Vince's death?" 

"Yes. Hadn't you read the papers? Vince went out last night. The hard way. 
There's a faction crying for blood, your blood." 

Sharon was lead to an elevator on wobbly knees. They ascended, she didn't 
know how many floors, but they went up and up and kept going up. Then it 
stopped and when the door opened she found herself in a luxurious ultra 
modern penthouse lounge decorated in pinks and blues with plush cushions and 
inflatable chairs spread over the floor. Mr. Harwood shoved her gently 
forward, then the door closed behind her. She looked cautiously around the 
room at the blue sky that could be seen through the glass that made up most 
of the four walls. Then a sliding door opened at the opposite end of the 
room and the gray-headed, jaded looking man she'd seen beside the swimming 
pool walked in. He was wearing pajamas. 

"Don't mind my dress," he said kindly as Sharon gawked at him in surprise 
and fear. "I just woke up. I seldom leave my sanctuary up here, and I keep 
odd hours." He paused for a moment, smiling warmly. "I think I'd as well 
come to the point. There's a man in the next room who wants to fuck you." 

"Fuck me?" Sharon gasped, throwing her hand to her mouth. 

"Don't worry, he can't hear you. The walls are soundproof. We can speak 
freely. His name is Joe Macaroni. It's not his real name of course. He calls 
himself that as sort of a joke on the Godfather image, to which he doesn't 
sincerely subscribe. He's not a friend of mine. But I have to try to get 
along with him. Vince worked for him. Let me try to explain the whole thing 
first. Vince is dead because of you. Joe Macaroni wants to take you out the 
same way Vince went. I like you, no matter how you feel about me, and I 
don't want to see you go out, especially the way he has in mind. So I told 
him so as gently as I knew how, and he said we might be able to make a deal. 
He said that on no account would he consider it unless he could fuck you. He 
wouldn't feel right at all without that. So I agreed. Then we hemmed and 
hawed and we finally struck a tentative bargain. Harwood goes out in your 
place. Macaroni fucks you to ease his own conscience about not setting it 
straight about Vince. I apologize to Mr. Marconi for having ever turned a 
lousy four grand note over to the agency. And everything is settled, except 
of course my deal with you." 

"Your deal with me?" 

"Yes. I want you to have dinner with me." 

"I'll have dinner with you if that's so important. But if you think I'm 
going to prostitute myself..." 

"My dear, one way or another you'll be in bed with Joe Macaroni tonight. 
It's just a question of doing it before you die or doing it before you don't 
die. As for the vouchers." From his pajama pocket he took out a handful of 
vouchers, ripped them into shreds and scattered them on the carpet. "The 
debt of course, is no longer your problem. Your problem is staying alive. 
And I assure you, you silly fucking stuck-up piece of cunt, that if you 
don't cooperate wholeheartedly, you will not stay alive until morning." 
Abruptly he smiled. "Now have a drink and think it over." 

He walked to a bar against one of the glass walls and poured a tall drink of 
whiskey and ice, which he then brought to her. Sharon drank it quickly and 
handed the glass back. Saying nothing, he went and poured her another which 
she drank with equal haste. As she was doing so, she thought it over, though 
there really wasn't that much to think about. Just a choice between living 
or not living, and in spite of everything that had happened to her the last 
couple of weeks, she wasn't ready to die. So if that was the only way, they 
could have her body. They already owned her soul, though she would never 
have her heart. They would never have her love for Kevin. That was all she 
had left, and it was to that she would cling during the terrible ordeal that 
was to come. 

"All right," Sharon said with a nod. "What do you want me to do." 

"That's a smart girl. I thought you'd see it our way. Dinner will be first." 
He smiled. "Take off your dress." 

"My dress? For dinner." 

He didn't smile. "Take it off. You're the one who's going to eat." 

Sharon looked at the man with abject pleading. She couldn't understand what 
he meant. But she could tell from the cold hard glare with which he regarded 
her that she had no choice but to obey. 

Refusing to think about what she was doing, the terrified blonde wife lifted 
the hem of her dress and pulled it up over her head then let it fall to the 
floor. Clad in nothing but her brassiere and skimpy bikini panties and 
nylons, she stood and submitted to his leering inspection. His eyes were 
like twin spotlights sweeping her lushly ripened body, taking hungry note of 
the flimsy undergarments, the smoothly curved spheres of her white buttocks. 

"Now take off your brassiere," Lance Quayle commanded. He watched her put 
her long slender arms in back of her, causing her proud full breasts to 
protrude even more prominently, and unfasten the bra snap. The undergarment 
hung loosely to the round high-set mounds of her breasts for a moment before 
she hunched her shoulders together and let it fall away completely. 

He drew in his breath. Her firmly rising breasts were even better than he'd 
suspected from seeing her that day in her bikini. She was really a special 
female, even for Las Vegas, in that category. The breasts were big, but 
perfectly formed. The areoles were the size of brown half dollar pieces and 
the nipples were like pencil erasers, sticking straight out in tingling 
rigidity. Unable to resist, he moved slowly forward to the trembling young 
girl and reached out with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, rolling the 
little nipple bud between them as if he were tasting the fineness of a raw 
product. Sharon cringed her breasts away from his touch and began to draw 
back then saw the look of warning in his eyes and her shoulders slumped in 
resignation. 

Jesus, Lance thought, she was really too good to be true. Already he was 
beginning to wonder what her little asshole was going to look like. "Now the 
rest," he said tersely. 

Sharon hooked her fingers into the tight elastic waistband of her panties. 
She hesitated with shame, then reminded herself that her life was in the 
balance and slowly peeled them down off her quivering ass-cheeks and long 
nylon-clad thighs. 

A low groan of lust issued from Lance Quayle's throat as he beheld his prey 
standing before him in only her high-heels, garter-belt and hose. Beneath 
the belt, he could see the swelling bulge of her pouting pubic mound and the 
thin silken growth of blonde cunt-hair. She was the real thing, natural, an 
item in increasing rarity the last few years, and the knowledge only 
increased his eagerness to watch her be completely subjugated. 

Sharon knew how a female slave must feel when hauled before a cruel and 
unrelenting master. She was afraid to refuse a single command, but even more 
afraid to heed them. For it was obvious that no matter what Lance Quayle had 
said about dinner, it was really something else he had in mind. He wanted 
her to go to bed with her. Torn by the turmoil raging inside her, she waited 
trembling for his next order, still aware that no matter how repugnant she 
found him, she had no choice but to submit. 

But for the moment Lance Quayle said nothing. Instead he pulled a string 
that loosened his pajama bottoms and let them drop to the floor at his 
ankles. He stepped out of them and the loose house slippers he'd worn and 
stood before her naked from the waist down, leaving no doubt that her worst 
suspicion had been well-founded. Now he still wore the pajama top, but it 
hung slightly apart over his groin, and as Sharon finally let her eyes 
venture to his naked loins, she was astonished to see that his penis was not 
more than three inches long, though it appeared to be erect. Beside this 
man, even her husband Kevin was superbly endowed, and the knowledge only 
reminded her that no matter what happened here today, she must not abandon 
her love for him. 

Then suddenly the gray-headed man dropped to a sitting position on one of 
the inflatable chairs. "Now get on your hands and knees," he said. 

Sharon couldn't imagine what he had in mind, but she dropped obediently to 
her all-fours, feeling the palms of her hands and her knees sink into the 
softness of the carpet. 

"Now crawl," he said hoarsely. "Crawl to As though she were viewing some 
obscene horror film too disgusting to believe, Sharon saw the man's 
testicles and stubby fat penis and hairy loins drawing gradually closer as 
she crawled across the floor toward him. Then, still six feet away, she 
stopped. 

"Okay, cutie. Now come here and eat," the cruel man commanded. 

"What?" Sharon gasped, certain she'd misunderstood. 

"Last week, or whenever that was, we were having hen pheasant which you were 
too impolite to accept. Tonight it's just cock." He snickered at his own 
lewd joke. 

Sharon looked at the man in complete confusion. "I don't understand," she 
whimpered helplessly. "Honest, I don't understand." 

"Then this is going to be even more enjoyable than I anticipated. Tonight 
baby, you dine on cum. You're sucking my cock for dinner." A spontaneous cry 
of terror and shame issued from Sharon's throat at that obscene prospect. 
"So crawl, cunt, before I decide to spare that nincompoop Harwood and give 
you to Macaroni for disposal." 

Telling herself it had to be some kind of joke, Sharon crawled slowly the 
rest of the way toward the seated man. Only a foot away from him she stopped 
again, wondering if he could possibly be serious about giving Harwood to the 
other facet of the mob with which she'd so foolishly gotten involved. But 
one thing was sure; she wasn't going to shed any tears for any of these 
people. And she was going to get out, if possible, no matter what she had to 
do or who had to "go out" in her place - though by this time it wasn't that 
she valued her own life so much; she honestly thought that she could have 
accepted her own death if that had been the end of it. But how could she 
possibly know that in some investigation or other the whole truth of what 
had happened wouldn't come out? And she couldn't bear to have Kevin learn 
that about her, even if she were dead. 

"Now, up between my legs," said Lance Quayle. Refusing to look at his penis, 
Sharon shuffled a few inches forward. "Now, put your hot little lips around 
it and suck. Right now." 

Sharon was stunned. She couldn't believe the perverted obscenity she'd just 
heard. The man must be testing her. He just wanted to see if she would 
submit, and once she'd made a move to do so he would surely stop her. 
Clinging to this illusion, she resisted but a split second longer, then 
opened her mouth and moved her head forward, expecting her reprieve to come 
at any instant. Now, though, she looked at his hardened penis from up close 
for the first time, observing the obscene mushroom-shaped head, the tiny 
glans in the center where a white pearl of excited pre-ejaculate had oozed 
to the surface. The white trunk was laced with thin blue veins and she could 
see them swelling with each pulse-beat. And now closer and closer it came, 
so close she could no longer focus her eyes on it. Then, with a sudden 
feeling of even greater desperation, Sharon realized that this was not a 
test after all. This obscene old man really did expect her to do this 
perverted and filthy thing for him. He really did expect her to take his 
penis into her mouth just as if she was sucking a lollipop. 

She had already started to pull back in shock and indignation when Lance 
reached out and put both his hands on her cheeks to hold her face and mouth 
captive. "No ..." she began, but her words were choked off as he suddenly 
jerked her forward and rammed the thick rod of flesh between her softly 
resisting lips and straight into her open mouth. She gagged and gasped, 
mumbling inarticulate protest as he drew her face even closer to his loins 
and began to fuck his cock in and out with hungry and powerful little 
strokes that jolted her head. 

Gloating above the kneeling blonde with eyes almost vacant from the 
intensity of his lust, Lance began a rhythmic undulation of his pelvis, 
sliding the short fat shaft of his penis in and out of her mouth. Sharon 
tried futilely to twist away, but she was held mercilessly captive by his 
hands pressing against the side of her face, and as she continued to 
struggle, he leaned over and said almost at a whisper: "Remember Vince, 
dear. Joe Macaroni does. So suck .. . suck!" 

Reminded of the total hopelessness of her situation, which during those 
moments of greatest shock she'd almost forgotten, Sharon let a black fog of 
acceptance descend upon her mind. She closed her eyes to block out the view. 
Moisture filled her mouth as saliva glands sought to dampen, dilute and 
identify the alien taste of this thing buried deep in her throat. 

Above her, Lance stared down with lewd delight at the labors of the 
unwilling girl, the sight of his saliva-coated cock moving in an; out 
between her wetly ovalled lips driving him rapidly toward a frenzy of 
excitement. He held her head tightly as she coughed and sputtered with each 
powerful stroke of the swollen cock-head fucking back against her tonsils, 
delighting in the sight of her tender, lipstick-rimmed lips clasping tighter 
and tighter around the shaft as her muscles wearied and her warmly ovalled 
cavity became accustomed to the intrusion. 

"Suck it," he gasped. "Suck it, baby, suck it." 

Sharon was salivating so much now that his warmly pulsating penis slid in 
and out of her mouth almost effortlessly. She sucked until her cheeks 
indented grotesquely, until her throat muscles were flaming tendons of 
agony. She licked around the head, using her tongue, her teeth . . . acting 
automatically in the knowledge that the only way she could end her ordeal 
was by bringing this horrible man the obscene pleasure he craved. 

And in her desire to please, in her ever-increasing effort, she became aware 
of something even more terrible than the act she was committing itself. Her 
naked young body was beginning to react! She could feel a strange tingling 
warmth in her vagina, a dampness up between her thighs, and the knowledge 
that she was being aroused by this oral degradation made her almost want to 
cry out for shame. 

Then suddenly Sharon's thoughts were forced back to the man and the 
throbbing shaft of flesh that filled her mouth as she felt his loins crush 
even harder against her face and heard a loud animal groan issue from his 
throat. "Now suck it, you bitch. Make me cum. Make me cum in your mouth 
now." 

An instant later Sharon almost choked as her mouth was suddenly flooded with 
his heated sperm which spurted slickly down her throat in great pulsating 
waves of hot liquid roaring in jet-like torrents from his testicles and 
seminal ducts. 

Sharon gulped and swallowed automatically; it was either that or strangle, 
and she swallowed every drop of it, taking it in larger and larger amounts 
as the pungent male elixir filled her cheeks. 

Then abruptly, her jerking throat changed its rhythm and instead of 
swallowing out of necessity, she swallowed out of some perverse masochistic 
hunger, longing to even further debase herself in the pleasure of total 
subjugation. She wanted it, she needed it, her betraying body demanded it. 

Then Lance ceased to cum and pushed her away. "That's enough," he gasped, 
leering down at her in triumph. 

As Sharon trembled in naked shame on the floor, he got up and walked to the 
door through which he'd entered the room. He pushed a button and it slid 
open. Standing in it was a man in a black shirt and white tie, a Latin type 
with a cruel, but oddly handsome face. 

"Okay Joe. She's worth all Harwood's hundred and eighteen pounds of flesh. 
It's a deal." 

CHAPTER SEVEN 

Joe Macaroni stared hungrily at the naked blonde kneeling on the floor. He 
licked his lips in a most obscene gesture, then suddenly crossed himself and 
looked up at the ceiling, but as though he were looking at the sky. "Vince! 
Vince, you fucking murdering goon, if you're up there looking down at us ... 
" Abruptly he shifted his gaze to his own shoes, complete with spats. "... 
or down there, looking up. You just gotta understand. I been watching that 
little pussy wig-wagging back and forth while this hungry little cunt was 
sucking Mr. Quayle and I swear, though I know you'd like me to send her to 
you, I just haven't got the heart." Suddenly remembering himself, he took 
off his hat and put it over his heart. "And anyway, I don't even know which 
direction the beautiful little whore would go." 

Sharon didn't know what to think. She'd never been talked about in that 
manner by anyone. Then she watched in shame as the man began to quickly 
undress, stripping off his flashy clothing and dropping it all in a heap 
just inside the door until he was clad in nothing but his knee-length socks, 
shoes, and bikini shorts, within which she could already see the bulging 
hardness of the most gigantic cock in the world. Then, his wiry muscles 
stretched like cable over his spare torso, he strode suddenly forward. "Get 
up," he commanded. "Take the rest of that stuff off; I don't want no frilly 
crap getting in my way when I shove my cock into your hungry little cunt." 

Mortified and humiliated, Sharon glanced toward Mr. Quayle as though seeking 
salvation, but the look of burning anticipation in his eyes assured her she 
could expect no quarter. She stood, still trembling, and unfastened her 
garterbelt. Using both hands she peeled the nylons off her right leg and 
stepped out of it. 

Macaroni watched with excitement as the sensuous blonde peeled the sheer 
hose down from her other leg. Then she stood completely naked before him, 
eyes downcast and subservient. She was taller than he was by a couple of 
inches, but he knew that when he got through reaming out her proud little 
cunt she'd know a real man had fucked her. He glanced shrewdly around the 
room, then gestured with a tilt of his chin toward the couch. "Get up there, 
babe. This'll be easier if you're on a soft surface." 

As if she were a zombie, Sharon moved to the luxurious couch and lay down on 
her back, her legs held tightly together. Then Macaroni quickly stripped off 
his jockey shorts and she was suddenly confronted with the awesome size of 
his penis. It was easily as thick as her wrist and in some obscure way it 
reminded the frightened young housewife of her can of aerosol hair-spray. 
She swallowed in terror, so frightened she couldn't even bring herself to 
look away. 

Then Macaroni strode closer to the couch. "All right, cunt. Spread your 
legs. In Vince's memory I gotta find out if you're really worth saving." 

Sharon knew there was nothing she could do but obey. There was no use asking 
these men for mercy or forgiveness. But as she observed the long thick cock 
extending out from the hoodlum's loins she knew she was going to be hurt as 
she had never been before. The pain would be even worse than the mental 
degradation, and she knew from the look in his eyes he was the kind of man 
who would enjoy hearing her scream, would delight in every groan of pain 
that was wrenched forcibly from her ravished body. And Lance Quayle, now 
resuming his seat in the inflatable chair, would equally thrill to her 
pitiful moans and pleas. 

Sharon lay still, trying to think of Kevin and the fact that she was doing 
all this for him, waiting in resignation for the rape of her nakedly 
helpless body. Her belly quivered and she could already imagine the terrible 
pressure she would have to endure, the obscene stretching as his huge penis 
pressed demandingly against the open lips of her small, defensively clenched 
vaginal opening. 

Then Macaroni bent over her prostrate body and without warning fastened his 
teeth harshly into the nipple of her right breast. In spite of all her 
resolve not to give him the joy of hearing her cry out, she groaned in pain 
and attempted desperately to twist away from the sudden sharp torture. But 
with her first movement of escape, Macaroni used his hands, strong powerful 
hands accustomed to breaking noses and jaws, to hold her tightly down 
against the softness of the couch. When at last she lay acquiescent again, 
his hands began playing over the softness of her thighs and hips and his 
lips roamed wetly over the wildly palpitating mounds of her breasts. Again 
Sharon tried to force her concentration to Kevin, but in spite of all her 
efforts she felt little currents of unwanted pleasure issuing through her in 
response to his lewd caresses. 

"Go get her, Mr. Macaroni," Lance Quayle said in encouragement as he felt a 
new arousal beginning in his own loins from the sight of this aloof and 
lovely young army wife being subjected to the gross indignity of being 
treated like a common gangster's moll. 

Joe Macaroni's lips slobbered over the soft sensitive areas of Sharon's 
body, and although there were moments when it seemed he was being gentle, 
his hard cruel eyes were greedy reminders as to what kind of person he 
really was. And his impatience was building every minute. He moved his left 
hand down across her abdomen and began to use his outstretched middle finger 
to explore her hair-lined cuntal crevice. She squirmed in shame on the 
couch, wanting to evade his touch though she knew she should be grateful he 
was taking the trouble to prepare her for penetration. 

Then the gangster chuckled and looked back over his shoulder at the older 
man in the chair. "That blow job she gave you must have turned her on a 
little, Mr. Quayle. She's sort of wet and gooey down here between her legs, 
almost ready to fuck already." 

Sharon gasped as the man teasingly rotated his finger up into the moistly 
heated furrow of her vagina. Then, even before she'd became accustomed to 
the lewd finger-fucking, a second finger wriggled into assist the first. 

"Oh please," she groaned. "Please be gentle with me." Then she closed her 
eyes, trying to hold back the tears that filled them at her shame for 
voicing her pain. 

"Gentle? Goddamn! This is what I call gentle," Macaroni said, beginning to 
viciously scissor his two fingers open and closed way up inside Sharon's 
vagina. Sharon bit her lips to keep from crying out, but she couldn't keep 
the tears from spilling down her cheeks from the corner of her tightly 
closed eyes. 

Then, able to hold off no longer, the gangster jerked his fingers suddenly 
out from between the blonde spread pussy lips. "Spread your legs real wide, 
baby. I'm coming in and it's gonna hurt a little bit right at first until 
you get used to it. But before I'm through I promise you will be begging for 
more, or may my blood brother Vince be roasting in hell right now." 

Macaroni peered down at the terrified girl. He could tell she was shocked by 
his words, but the whole thing really amused him, for reason's all his own - 
and Lance Quayle's, of course. But he was serious about one thing. He knew 
that once this girl got turned on - unlike the hookers and molls he was used 
to fucking - she really would be begging in earnest. He knew a girl with 
potential for getting heated up when he saw one, and this one had the 
potential like none he'd seen or fucked since he dropped out of school in 
the sixth grade to start running numbers in Hell's kitchen. 

Knowing he was ready as he was ever going to be, Macaroni levered up over 
the cringing girl, his arms stiff, his hands resting on her arms to pin her 
down. He dropped one hand down between their bodies to take the pulsing 
hardness of his cock between his fingers and guide it forward, using the 
thick rubbery head to part her softly curling pubic hair and the warm fleshy 
lips of her naked cunt. 

Now that the moment was at hand, Sharon turned her head to one side on the 
couch, closing her eyes with a shudder as she felt the first contact against 
the sensitive outer lips of her fevered pussy. She held her breath, lying 
absolutely still in utter subjugation beneath the man, not daring to breath, 
still as air before a storm. 

Then suddenly she felt the first harsh unrelenting pressure against the 
tight elastic opening of her vagina and her breath rushed out of her body in 
one long sustained protest: "Aaaaagggghhhh," Sharon cried as the huge 
cock-head slipped through, brutally stretching the tight rubbery opening 
until she was sure that flesh and bones were being split like the wishbone 
of a chicken. Suddenly all her good intentions of bravery fled as the 
pressure continued and increased. "Oooooh God! Don't. You're hurting me. 
Please. YOU'RE HUR 

TING....MEEEEEEEEE!" She screamed at the top of her lungs as the pain forced 
her eyes open and she saw him grinning cruelly down at her. He was killing 
her. She would die right here. Nothing could be more painful or agonizing 
than this, and what made it even worse was that the sadistic criminal was 
enjoying her piteous sobs, was enjoying the sight of her suffering beneath 
the barbaric brutality of his slow and relentless penetration of her tight 
young cunt, almost as if this, and not the bodies and heads he'd broken and 
the men he'd sent weighted with cement to the bottom of the East River, was 
his real claim to manhood. 

Joe Macaroni listened with undisguised sadistic pleasure to Sharon's abject 
pleas. He had know ever since he first wormed his fingers into the warm 
moistened confines of her almost virginal pussy that she was going to go 
through a lot of contortions during the initial penetration. She had the 
tightest pussy he'd felt in years. A fourteen year-old junkie hooker he 
sometimes did business with was like a cow elephant compared to her, and he 
bet she hadn't really had that many peckers shoved between those creamy, 
widespread thighs. When he was through with her she'd throw rocks at that 
damned punk husband who hadn't even been well hung enough to break her in 
properly. Christ! Here she was squealing like a stuck pig and he hadn't even 
gotten more than the tip of his prick inside yet. She'd go absolutely ape 
shit when she felt all ten inches banging up against her ribs. 

Abruptly, the grin on Macaroni's face faded, replaced by an implacable mask 
of sheer animal desire. The feral lust was really upon him now and he 
couldn't stand it any longer, watching this helpless and innocent young army 
wife spread-eagled beneath him with the head of his thickly pulsating cock 
disappearing like an ostrich into the softly curling hairs of her pussy. 

He decided it was time to quit screwing around and to really get down to the 
serious fucking. 

Suddenly the gangster's wiry body fell forward, crushing heavily down upon 
the warm, quivering softness of her breasts. He thrust his hips forward with 
a mighty shove and his long thick cock slid into her open cunt with a savage 
fury, mercilessly spreading the soft moist flesh of her tight vaginal walls 
before its lust-hardened head. 

"Aaaaggghhhh," Sharon screamed, her eyes wide and unblinking in sheer agony. 
There was no stopping him. His mammoth cock thrust into her with all the 
force of battering ram, and her vainly resisting pussy opened wide against 
the ruthless onslaught. Down, down, it drove until with a loud groan of 
delight his testicles stopped heavily against the defenselessly upturned 
cheeks of her tightly clenched buttocks. 

"Oooohhhhhh," Sharon wailed. She thought her vagina had been horribly 
stretched when Jack Golightly had fucked her in her sleep, but this gangster 
was like a stallion. He had filled her painfully impaled cunt to the point 
where it felt as if the handle of a sledge hammer had been shoved into her, 
as if his plunging cock had ripped and torn and defiled not only her outer 
parts but her innermost depths as well. He had lanced into her without 
forethought or mercy, sending a wave of pressure and pain roaring before his 
penis that was so great she thought she would lapse into unconsciousness. 
Now, an infinitesimal second later, his huge throbbing rod lay sunk all the 
way up into her belly, and she could feel every hard little ridge pressing 
tightly against the tender walls of her pussy. It was hot, huge and 
powerful, incredibly primeval, prehistorically reptilian and, above all, 
frightening in its sheer indestructibility. 

The man and the woman lay in silence for a moment, both staring at each 
other, she afraid to move, he relishing the fear that held her still. He 
could feel the hotly pulsing walls of her cunt enclosing his penis like the 
strong hand of a dairy maid that squeezed and let up, squeezed and let up, 
and in response he couldn't resist a sudden flexing of his own hardness way 
up inside her, just to see how she would react to it. 

"Auuuuugggh!" she grunted. 

It was an interesting sound, thought Macaroni. He wasn't sure he'd ever 
heard anything quite like it in his life. 

He flexed again. 

"Ggggggreeeeeuunnth!" 

"You ever think of a nightclub act? You know, animal imitations, maybe some 
ventriloquism?" he asked sarcastically. 

As Sharon stared up at the grinning man in complete confusion, he began a 
sudden slow rocking motion between her thighs, the sheer raw sensation 
causing her mind to go blank and completely blot out the confusing remark. 
Each inward thrust was like a tiny explosion of a fire bomb inside her, 
burning and searing the soft, nerve-covered flesh until she could hardly 
stand it. And as his movements widened the tight narrow passage of her 
cock-filled pussy, he increased the length of his strokes until she groaned 
helplessly beneath him. 

Now Lance Quayle stood up and moved quietly toward the copulating couple on 
the couch. He had seen plenty of fuck shows before, particularly at the old 
Chicago headquarters before he came out here, but there was something about 
this innocent blonde cunt that aroused him more than anything had in years. 
He grinned with sick delight as he watched the thick shaft of Joe Macaroni's 
wetly glistening penis, shining from the blonde's involuntary lubrication, 
pistoning relentlessly in and out of the coral pink lips of her tight little 
vagina. The hit-man was really pouring it to her, he thought as he watched 
the rapid rise and fall of Macaroni's buttocks and heard the sound of the 
naked flesh of their two bodies slapping violently together. And even as he 
watched, he sensed a change in the woman's physical behavior. Earlier she 
had tightened every muscle in her body, fighting the brutal penetration even 
though that may have increased the pain. She had tried without success to 
remain completely uncooperative, but already he could see signs of weaking, 
of submissive resignation. It was subtle. To a less intelligent man it might 
not even have been noticeable. But Lance hadn't missed it and it was 
beginning to turn him on. 

Sharon knew her body was about to betray her again. She fought against it 
with all her heart and soul, praying silently for succor, but it rapidly was 
becoming apparent that prayers and will-power were useless against an 
emotion and need older and more primitive than mankind itself. Abruptly her 
body had taken command for her still-resisting mind and begun to react on 
its own. Lewd flames of desire were suddenly sparked and blown by the 
gale-like winds of her own wanton needs, spread through her abdomen and 
streaked through her veins until her entire body was consumed in the fiery 
lust. She no longer had the will or the desire to fight back; she had lost 
the battle, and she knew that in spite of all her bitterness at what she was 
being subjected to, she was about to surrender completely to this man who 
was unmercifully fucking down between her open legs with the biggest and 
most magnificent penis she had ever known. 

Then Sharon looked up and saw Lance Quayle standing less than three feet of 
the couch, his eyes glazed in lewdly shining lust as he watched her. His 
hand was enclosed about his penis, stroking it automatically, as though he 
were mesmerized by the obscene act he observed, and the lewd vision of this 
man doing that to himself even as Joe Macaroni was literally fucking her to 
spiritual death sent helpless chills of unwanted sexual sensation running up 
and down the length of Sharon's spine. 

Grudgingly, but helpless to resist, she began to twist and writhe beneath 
the rhythmically fucking gangster. With a low groan of submission and 
pleading, she reached up and locked her arms about his neck to pull his face 
down to hers. She shoved her tongue with a wanton abandonment deep into his 
throat as inarticulate mewls of slave-like acceptance bubbled from her 
lust-constricted throat. 

Feeling the woman's body begin to react, Macaroni slipped his hands down 
over the naked curves of her hips, cupping them harshly with each hand to 
begin pulling her suddenly eagerly cooperating ass-cheeks up toward him with 
each his punishing inward thrusts. Sharon flexed and unflexed the muscles of 
her buttocks as she felt Joe Macaroni's fingers knead them as though they 
were pizza dough, and at the same time she pulled her thighs back farther to 
cause the desire-moistened hole of her cunt to spread open even wider in an 
effort to receive his mammoth cock to even greater depths. The pain had 
disappeared almost at the same time she had started to relax and respond, to 
be replaced by a wild sexual abandon over which she had no control. She 
closed her eyes, slavering her tongue up into the gangster's mouth, feeling 
his tongue fencing with hers, feeling his teeth, the roof of his mouth, 
savoring the faint taste of tobacco and whisky in his throat. Moments before 
the cords in her neck and thighs had stood out hard and tense as she fought 
him; now they were relaxed and it was from her own inner ecstasy that she 
writhed beneath him in the fevered frenzy of a nymphomaniac whore. And now 
there was no thought but the delicate delight of lying surrendered beneath 
this immensely-endowed man who'd begun but a short while ago to ravish her 
against her will. Now she wanted to give him back all the pleasure he was 
giving her and abruptly she lifted her knees and wrapped her legs around his 
laboring shoulders to pull his wildly fucking body even closer to her own. 

Macaroni slaved above the responding woman, changing his technique as he 
felt her inhibitions slipping away. He leaned forward to scrape her clitoris 
with his throbbing cock-shaft, then backwards until his balls were slapping 
hard into the naked crevice between her ass-cheeks. He thrust into her with 
greater and greater force, leaving his thick rigid penis buried deep up 
inside her hot little pussy and making it jerk and jump in outlandish 
physical contortions against the tip of her cervix. 

Sharon felt the gangster push his hand down between their two thrashing 
bodies to the soft curls of her pubic hair, and she jerked in a frenzied 
spasm as she felt him begin to fondle the soft fur-lined cuntal lips that 
milked at his rampaging cock. He continued to finger her pussy lips and 
clitoris until low lust-laden groans of animal desire gurgled out of her 
throat. Her widening vagina had accommodated his mammoth hardness to the 
hilt; now it seemed to be trying to devour the whole of his wonderful 
throbbing pole of lust-hardened flesh that was bringing her such sweet and 
unbelievable torment. 

Marcaroni grinned knowingly as he felt the first fevered twitching deep in 
the velvety well of Sharon's tightly clasping cunt. The bitch may have 
looked and acted frigid and cold when they began, but she'd turned into a 
hot little number fast enough. She was really going out of her mind at the 
reaming she was receiving. 

And now he was beginning to lose his own restraint. The milking of his 
lust-engorged penis was causing his control to weaken in spite of all the 
practice he'd had and he quickened his thrusts, putting his hands under her 
knees to push them back until they touched the couch on both sides of her 
head to make the plane of her wetly throbbing cunt wide and open to the 
brutally racking thrusts he began throwing to her. It should have caused her 
to cry out in pain to be penetrated so deeply. Most women did. But instead 
she was pleading for more and more. 

"Oh yes, yes!" Sharon cried. "Harder! Deeper! Fuck me, you bastard!" 

The blonde's obscene language causing a new thrill to surge through his 
brain and cock, Macaroni began a sudden series of staccato pounding strokes, 
spanking her upturned buttocks with his hairy loins in a crescendo of fury. 
He ground harder and harder, deeper and deeper up into her belly as she 
continued to curse and chant beneath him, driving into never explored 
reaches of her most sensitive inner depths. 

"Jesus, you are a hot little cunt," he grunted in admiration under his 
breath, and Sharon detected a genuineness in his voice, and the lewd 
compliment combined with the exquisite feeling deep up in her belly to drive 
her closer and the unbelievable orgasm surging in spite of everything far up 
inside her lions. 

"Harder, goddamn you, harder!" The impaled young housewife cried out with a 
vengeance, no longer fearing anything but dissatisfaction and frustration, 
no longer caring what the gangster did to her afterwards as long as he 
brought her to a climax now. But now her words fell on deaf ears because Joe 
Macaroni was so close to his own release that he heard nothing but the sound 
of his own grunts. 

Sharon panted and writhed, hearing the hoarse gasping of the man atop her 
breathing as though he had almost reached the end of a mile run. His long 
thick hardness raged and hurtled into her cock-hungry cunt, and nothing had 
ever felt so wonderful before in her life. She tingled from the tips of her 
toes to the back of her head. Then, without notice, the tingling became 
suddenly a convulsion. 

"Oh!" Sharon gasped as it hit her. "I'm cumming. Oh God, it's beautiful. I'm 
going to cum! I'M... I'M CUMMMMMMMIINNNNNG! WWWHHHHEEEEEE!" 

Even above the violence of her own orgasm as she bucked and ground up 
against the man above her, Sharon felt his wildly jerking cock begin to grow 
even larger in size and start suddenly to pump the hot thick cum deep up 
into her hungrily quivering belly. She locked her arms around his muscular 
body, wanting her present exquisite bliss to last forever. 

Then her legs went limp and splayed out obscenely on either side of his 
naked body. Her eyes fluttered shut and she took a deep sigh. Then abruptly 
her ecstasy faded, replaced by a wave of humiliation and shame. She opened 
her eyes, tears flooding anew down her cheeks as Joe Macaroni got to his 
feet, his penis now only half hard but still gargantuan. 

"Oh my God," she wailed as he was turning away. "What have I done? What's 
happened to me? Why am I so terrible?" 

Macaroni turned suddenly, glaring down in shock at the girl. In a single 
involuntary movement his penis twitched an inch and a half longer and grew 
considerably harder. "You mean you ain't cured yet?" 

"Cured?" Sharon gasped. "I could kill myself. I could just die." 

"The whole point of this was so you wouldn't have to die, my dear," said 
Lance Quayle mockingly. 

"I don't get it," said Joe Macroni, his penis visibly distending as he 
scratched his head in confusion. "I just don't get it. You fuck a woman 
silly and she just about eats you alive with her cunt, and when your through 
she starts talking about dying of shame and all that bullshit. Merda! Makes 
a man want to give up, doesn't it." Then he grinned as his penis loomed back 
almost to full size. He looked at the sobbing woman shrewdly. "Maybe you 
haven't had enough, hunh? That it, kid?" 

Sharon's eyes suddenly opened wide and she stared at the gangster first in 
horror, then in complete shock as she saw that he had an erection again, 
seemingly even harder and more powerful than the monstrous erection he'd 
displayed during her first cruel subjugation. Then a little gasp rose in her 
throat as he stepped back toward the couch. "No, Mr. Macaroni. Please! I 
can't take it again. I'm already feeling sore. And I promise you, I did have 
enough. It was really ... it was really wonderful." She managed a silly, 
unconvincing smile. 

Macaroni shook his head. "Don't worry kid. I'm not a sadist and even if I 
was I wouldn't fuck you twice in the same hole the same afternoon. So you 
just be a nice girl and roll over, and it'll be just like we was starting 
again from the beginning." He brightened as if he had just thought about it. 
"Why, I bet your sweet little asshole's cherry." His monstrous cock jerked 
in excitement. "Now that's something to really look forward to!" 

CHAPTER EIGHT 

"God Almighty!" gasped Lance Quayle. This was going to be even better than 
he thought. Even he was getting excited again and it had been years since 
he'd had two erections in one week, let alone one day. 

Sharon was paralyzed as a new wave of shame and horror swept over her. She 
had heard what the gangster said and she knew what he meant. It was the only 
thing he could have meant. But the idea was so impossibly obscene that some 
lingering puritanical trait of character in her nature made it possible to 
believe that she had heard correctly. "But you can't mean .. . ?" she gasped 
after an extended delay. 

"What the hell do you think I mean, you fucking nympho cunt? If you don't 
appreciate it one way you're bound to appreciate the other. Now turn your 
fucking ass over before I go get my gun and shoot you." 

Oh my God, Sharon thought. He really was serious. He was serious about 
having anal intercourse with her, and for all she knew he was probably also 
serious about shooting her. It was hard to believe that the kind of man 
perverted enough to do the former would have any qualms about doing the 
latter. Her only problem was to choose the lesser of the two evils. It was 
perhaps the grimmest choice of her life, and she would later think it must 
have only been the worthless cowardly nymphomaniacal whore in her that led 
her finally to choose sodomy over death. 

Cringing in terror, Sharon rolled over onto her belly and instinctively 
pulled her knees up close to her body to thrust her naked ass-cheeks up in 
ripe invitation. 

"Holy mother-fucking shit!" Lance Quayle gasped. She was even better than he 
could have believed. He felt like he was back in puberty again, as if he'd 
just finished masturbating and started to unlock the restroom door when he 
realized he was already getting another erection. 

Joe Macaroni employed all the patience that had kept him alive for half a 
normal life span in the underworld to wait for his penis to grow to its 
absolute maximum - even larger than it had been when he fucked the young 
Army wife in the vagina. Then, feeling an inner click somewhere far up in 
his own rectum that told him he was there, he climbed up on the couch and 
positioned himself behind the fearfully quivering blonde. 

Tears of shame built up in Sharon's eyes as she felt the strong hands 
opening her buttocks, drawing her tightly clenched ass-cheeks far apart. She 
tried to hold them flexed together but the pressure of the two thumbs 
inserted in the crevice was too great. They were pulled away from each other 
until she could feel the cool draft from the air conditioner rushing into 
the hot valley between her thighs. She knew Joe Macaroni wasn't simply 
tormenting her. He was really going to sodomize her. But she had to protest. 
"Oh no. Please. You mustn't. This isn't right." 

Both men laughed in sadistic delight. Then Sharon shivered as she felt the 
tip of the gangster's finger worming around at her tightly puckered anus. 
She tried to clench the tiny sphincter ring in a futile effort to protect 
herself and prevent the cruel penetration she knew was coming. Macaroni 
probed for a moment at the edge of the brown crinkled flesh, then grinned 
and shoved his thick, outstretched middle finger forward, sinking it all the 
way to the first knuckle. 

Sharon jumped from the sudden shocking jolt, but it was not as bad as she'd 
expected it to be. She had begun to relax when she felt a second finger 
probing her opening, then that one rammed suddenly in alongside the first. 

"Ummmmmmmph!" she grunted, her face buried in the couch. 

"Say that again," said Joe Macaroni. 

"Hunh?" 

He rammed a third finger in with the first two to form a cruelly stretching 
wedge. 

"Ummmmmmmphhhhhh!" Sharon groaned, really feeling the hurt this time. She 
jerked her hips spontaneously forward on the pillow in an attempt to escape 
the painful invasion, but Macaroni merely wiggled the three-fingered wedge 
in her rectum, stretching it wider and wider. 

"No please," Sharon gasped. "That hurts. Please ..." 

She turned her head sideways to face back so the gangster could see her 
protest. Tears of shame and humiliation streamed down her cheeks from a 
seemingly endless well as she realized that her protest was having no effect 
at all. The act was really going to take place, as certain as her own murder 
would have taken place if she hadn't agreed to submit. He was going to push 
his long hard penis all the way into her virginal rectum in a parody of 
love-making that she thought must not even exist beyond the bounds of the 
harsh underworld in which these men lived. This, then, was going to be the 
finale of her humiliation and defilement, apt punishment for her sins of the 
flesh committed earlier as a result of her inherent moral weakness. Her body 
would be punished and used in the most obscene and degrading way imaginable. 
If she had the fortune to live through it she would still never, ever live 
it down. 

Sharon attempted once more to scoot forward in retreat on the soft cushion 
of the couch, but it was useless as Joe Macaroni merely followed her with 
his hand, digging his fingers deeper and deeper into the heated depths of 
her rear passage, expanding it mercilessly in preparation for the coming 
brutal assault. 

"Well," he remarked finally. "She's as ready as she's ever gonna be." 
Suddenly he withdrew his fingers, the elastic ring of the anal flesh 
clinging to them in seeming reluctance to let them go. He used his knees to 
force her legs wider, then bent down and deposited a mouthful of spittle in 
the forbidden anal crevice. 

Sharon shivered as she felt the hairy loins pressing against her buttocks, 
as the hair of his legs brushed the insides of her thighs. She was held wide 
and helpless, completely at the man's mercy. Then for the first time since 
this stage of her ordeal had begun, she suddenly felt the thick hot head of 
his pulsating penis pressed up into the moistly naked split of her buttocks. 
She cried out in a whimper of fright. It was too big. She could never take 
that in her rectum without being ripped apart. 

"Nooooo, please no, have mercy!" she cried as Joe Macaroni's hands roamed 
over her nakedly cringing buttocks. Then his thumbs were pressing suddenly 
on either side of the tight little hole to stretch it open as wide as it 
would go and abruptly she felt a harsh probing between the two thumbs as his 
rigidly thickened cock began a slow relentless pressure at the forbidden 
little opening. 

"Jesus Christ," he groaned with surprise. "This is even tighter than I 
thought. Feel's like a fucking rabbit's asshole." 

Sharon screamed piteously, but the sound went unheeded. There was no one 
here who would help her or have mercy on her and nothing existed for her in 
the whole world but the excruciating pain where the barbaric cock-head had 
unnaturally lodged itself in preparation for the most brutal assault in the 
anals of mankind. There would be no escape from her horrible degradation and 
the demented and perverted attack on her helpless body. She would submit and 
endure, or she would die the cruelest and most unnatural death since the 
Middle Ages. 

The naked young housewife continued to groan incoherently as the straining 
gangster popped the heavy bloated head relentlessly inside her tight anal 
ring and pushed gradually deeper and deeper into her futilely resisting 
rectum. It even caused waves of pain far up in her stomach as the rigid 
thickness burrowed in. She was stretched as she had never been stretched 
before, as though impaled upon a flaming pole. Then, just when she thought 
the torture would never end, she felt the coarse pubic hairs smack into the 
softness of her buttocks, and she shivered with astonishment as she made a 
mathematical calculation and determined just exactly to where the impaling 
cock must have penetrated in her body. The cruel barbarian's fleshy sword 
was buried to the hilt and Sharon groaned in anguish, wishing desperately 
that she could pass wind to relieve the pressure and finding even that 
impossible. 

The gangster's eyes rolled around his head with lewd delight as he began 
sawing rhythmically and without mercy deep into the warm rubbery depths of 
Sharon's rectum to provoke further cries of shame and pain from her 
contorted lips. Muttering his own hoarse obscenities and gasping with 
sadistic pleasure, he started to thrust the full length of his sodomizing 
rod of flesh in and out of her with smooth long strokes, feeling the tiny 
ridges of brown sucking flesh pull in and out as they clung to the punishing 
shaft. 

Sharon's body jerked and quivered, convulsing each time an extra hard thrust 
speared far up into her tortured anus. She could hear the animal grunts of 
delight behind her, and she hated herself and her own body for the pleasure 
it was giving him. She wished she could see him destroyed, killed as 
brutally as he might have killed her, but instead she could only helplessly 
submit to the torment and degradation. 

Macaroni was nearing ecstasy already as he felt the warm clasping flesh 
enveloping his sensitive cock from trunk to tip. It was as though he were 
fucking into a velvet-gloved hand that was trying to squeeze his cock until 
it burst. Now all the submissively kneeling young girl wanted to do was to 
end her humiliation as soon as possible, to get it over with and to show the 
good sense to make it appear she really was satisfied and liberated. She 
prayed for the strength to please and began to grind her smoothly rounded 
ass-cheeks back to meet each forward thrust of his impaling penis, rotating 
her hips in little impatient circles and deliberately tightening and flexing 
her anal ring in time with each humiliating stroke. 

The gangster felt the sudden cooperative movements of her naked ass-cheeks 
before him and fucked into her rectal passage with renewed power. She was 
obviously trying to bring him pleasure, fucking him like a love slave, ready 
to do anything he wanted. There was no resistance at all left in her and she 
was impaled like a harem princess on his pile-driving cock. 

Lance Quayle had an erection again, and he couldn't remember when anything 
had ever cheered him up so much in his life. He really congratulated himself 
on the ploy that had brought this innocent girl into his hands, and he was 
thinking she could actually be used to an even better end. He and Macaroni 
had the biggest deal of their lives coming up tomorrow, a joint venture that 
would make them both millionaires, not of course that they weren't already 
both millionaires but until a man got in range of the Big B he had to keep 
some arbitrary objective in mind for the sake of having a terminology to 
discuss the subject of making money. If just the right people could all be 
buried three days from tomorrow, this whole state would belong to him and 
Joe. And partners in a state like Nevada should at least be close enough to 
share their women - not in turn but at the same time. And it was only with 
the idea that a mutual climax was the finest way in the world to cement a 
relationship that Lance held off from running to the end of the couch and 
sticking his penis back into the aroused blonde army wife's mouth right this 
very minute. 

Sharon could feel the underworld figure's long thick penis twitching and 
swelling inside her, and already she began to sense that he was nearing his 
orgasm. Longing for him to reach his final ecstasy and triumph, she began to 
grunt and groan, encouraging and pleading with all the motions of her wildly 
gyrating ass-cheeks for him to end it and give her an enema of his hotly 
spewing sperm. 

Joe Macaroni was going insane with the approach of his climax. The 
intolerable pressure was building up in his cum-filled balls and the 
blonde's twitching anus only increased the tingling torment in his loins. He 
began to ram rapidly into her hot anal passage, buffeting her smoothly 
rounded buttocks with his pelvis and thighs, his brutal and savage strokes 
bringing new cries of pain and pleasure as he drove deeper and harder into 
her than he ever had before. 

Then, gasping incoherently and sputtering like a madman, Joe shoved forward 
with one last mighty thrust that seemed sure to rip through the walls of 
Sharon's heaving belly, then began to spew his ejaculating sperm in rushing 
torrents deep up inside her forcibly milking rectum. 

Seeing it was time to move, Lance Quayle literally bounded to the head of 
the couch. He pulled his pajama top aside to completely expose the straining 
rod of his newly erected cock. He winked as Joe Macaroni stared at him in 
surprise. 

"We work together, don't we, Joe? One for all and all for one?" 

Joe Macaroni was too excited to grin, but he managed a nod and a wink, then 
returned his attention to the nakedly squirming blonde on the couch before 
him. 

Lance gasped from deep in his throat, then reached down to seize Sharon's 
long silken hair and lift her face up from the cushion. She resisted at 
first, completely astonished to find herself confronted again with the small 
cock-stub protruding from the gray tufts of hair. 

Then she understood. This was just a little fringe on her degradation. 
Something between the two men. As she took his penis into her wetly heated 
mouth and felt it begin to twitch almost immediately as the sperm began its 
short dash up from the testicles to the glans, she told herself that it 
really made no difference to her at all. What she was concerned with, 
completely occupied with, was the final series of wracking lunges that were 
buffeting her body from behind, the great spurts of cum she felt pumped up 
into her anus which made the little drops squirting into her mouth seem 
insignificant. 

As Sharon swallowed automatically, Joe Macaroni reached the peak of the 
greatest orgasm of his life. He squealed and bellowed, raging like a wild 
animal. Then at last he gasped, sagging heavily forward, lifting his eyes to 
the sky. 

"You understand, don't you, Vince old boy? You understand?" 

"Yeah, Joe. I understand." 

Sharon heard the strange, yet vaguely familiar voice. She felt the man on 
top of her stiffen, felt the small penis slip from her mouth as Lance Quayle 
withdrew and whirled around. 

She had to strain her neck and lean off the couch to look past him and see 
that the man named Vince, the man who had beaten up his partner in her 
apartment and the man for whose death she was supposed to be atoning, was 
standing in the elevator with a gun. 

CHAPTER NINE 

"Hey Vince," said Joe Macaroni, still mounting Sharon, his enormous penis 
still pumping the endless torrent of cum into the most inner depths of her 
rectum. "I thought you was supposed to be coming tomorrow?" 

Vince shook his head. "Don't move, Quayle. No, buddy. I was supposed to go, 
tomorrow. 'Out', as you guys say. You're the one that's going today, though. 
But don't get excited. You can finish fucking the broad." 

"Thanks, Vince," Sharon heard the man grunt behind her, gasping as he 
launched a final series of rapid staccato lunges into her already 
crimson-spanked ass-cheeks. Then he tapered off, and with a grunt sagged 
heavily on top of her. 

"Oh my God," she gasped. "Don't shoot him yet. Please don't shoot him until 
he pulls it out and gets off me." 

"You heard the lady," said Vince. "Where's your piece?" 

"Under my coat, by the door," Joe Macaroni gasped, his penis still embedded 
deep in Sharon's ravished and forever stretched anus. 

"You can make a run for it if you want. I won't let you get there but you 
might as well try." 

"Thanks, Vince," the gangster grunted again, then a spontaneous moan issued 
from Sharon's throat as his penis was suddenly jerked with a loud pop from 
her seared ass-cheeks. Remembering something she'd seen on television once, 
she instinctively rolled off the couch and pressed herself flat on the 
floor, turning her head to see Joe Macaroni running naked toward the pile of 
clothing. She looked back at Vince, who was aiming from his hip, his face 
expressionless. It seemed that she looked back and forth four or five times, 
as if all of it was happening in slow motion. It seemed she even saw the 
slight twitch of Vince's lips as he pulled the trigger, but at the same time 
she knew for certain she was looking at Joe Macaroni when she heard the 
discharge, which was not loud at all, but muffled, just a little pop. The 
way she knew she was looking at Joe Macaroni was that she saw his naked 
buttocks, presented as a target as he bent to reach for his gun, and she saw 
the bullet hit them and blow them apart and send him sprawling toward the 
wall. 

Then she looked back just in time to see Vince shoot Lance Quayle in the 
face without pomp or ceremony. Then the gangster looked at her. "Come here 
to pay your debt?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "Looks like you been 
working it off, hunh?" Then his eyes singled out something else and he 
squinted for a moment before looking back at her. "That's a bunch of torn up 
vouchers laying there, ain't it?" 

"Y-y-yesss ..." Sharon croaked in terror. 

"They yours?" 

She swallowed and nodded, knowing she was foolish to dare to hope, knowing 
the killer was only playing with her and would kill her at any moment just 
as he had killed the two men. 

Then, to her astonishment, he shrugged. "Then I guess I got no further 
business with you. Funny, too, I had a feeling right from the beginning you 
weren't the kind of person would welch on a debt." 

Sharon swallowed hard. "You mean . .. ?" 

"No, Ma'am. I ain't gonna blast you. More dangerous people than you'll ever 
talk to knew who'd shoot those two credit welchers even before they knew it 
themselves. My problem is just getting out of this building now, and staying 
out of those people's way later. I never worried about cops, but I don't 
figure you're gonna be that interest in talking to them anyway." 

"No!" Sharon gasped. "I'm not! I'm really not at all. I could get in almost 
as bad trouble as you if I had to explain why I'm here." 

"That's what I figured." Vince tipped his fedora. "There's a secret elevator 
in back there. Police don't know about it. Just ride it all the way to the 
bottom and turn the door handle. But you better knock first 'cause it opens 
to a stall in the men's John down in the casino. I took this one because I 
had a couple of other welchers to shoot on the way up." He smiled, a 
strangely pleasant smile on his primitive face. Then he pushed a button and 
the door closed. Sharon lay motionless for a moment longer, then scrambled 
suddenly to her feet and began to frantically put on her clothing. 

* * * In the men's restroom, Sharon waited in the locked toilet cubicle 
until the man who was washing his hands at the lavatory finished and left. 
Then she eased open the door and stepped out. There was another man at the 
urinal, but he didn't look back at her and she went hastily to the door. A 
gray-headed, elderly gentleman met her going out, apologized himself before 
she had a chance to explain she'd made a mistake, then turned and walked 
through the door at the opposite side of the carpeted lounge, though it was 
just as clearly marked "Ladies" as the one from which she'd driven him had 
been marked "Men". 

That eased her nerves to some extent, though she was still in a considerable 
panic and was moving through the casino fairly at a run. She'd taken no time 
to inspect the bodies upstairs, but she'd seen enough blood to last her a 
lifetime, as she'd had enough fear to last her ten lifetimes. But halfway to 
the door she became aware that people were staring at her and some inner 
mechanism warned her that panic was the worst thing she could display now. 
Sooner or later the bodies would be found, a lot of questions would be 
asked, and if enough people could describe a woman who'd run panicked 
through the casino moments after the apparent time of the shooting there 
might be a way the authorities could trace her down. Sharon knew that the 
present situation called for a very clever gambit. And she knew just what 
would work. 

The slightly disheveled blonde did not slow her pace, she merely veered 
slightly. And instead of going out of the casino she wound up at the last 
cashier's window. Anxiously she fumbled through her purse and found some 
bills. She bought fifty dollars worth of chips, walked with equal haste back 
to the nearest roulette table, and plopped down ten dollars on number 
thirty-two. She was hardly even surprised when her number came up a winner. 
Nor was there much difficulty in deciding what to do next. She simply 
shifted her three hundred and twenty dollar winnings, plus the original ten 
she'd bet, to number thirty-one, and waited for the next spin of the wheel. 

The other players gasped in sympathy when thirty-two won again. But Sharon 
merely smiled and shrugged. She walked back to the cash window, changed her 
remaining chips back for cash, and left. She got a taxi out front and they 
were just pulling away when she heard the first distant sirens. But somehow 
she wasn't worried. She knew they'd never trace her. It was a feeling, 
nothing more or less, but she was sure of it. Just as she was sure she had 
learned something about herself, her sexual needs, her deep and still 
unscarred love for her husband. 

She was also sure she'd never walk into another casino again. 

NEVER! 


End
