The Subjugated Virgin
by Chasen Markser 


INTRODUCTION 

In a society such as ours whose horizons are continually expanding, there is 
always the risk of finding an outsider, someone who has not caught up or 
caught on as quick as the rest; someone who is in the position of the rookie 
in the army story whose doting mother cried out at the parade: "Oh, look! 
Everyone is out of step but our Hank!" 

But society provides two categories of outsider in this context: those who 
are not going fast enough...and those who have already gone too fast. When 
these two sets of people are opposed, the barometer is set for stormy 
weather. And when each of them, in some way or another, is in a position of 
power...then the situation becomes potentially explosive. 

Chasen Markser's penetrating new novel of horror and suspense, The 
Subjugated Virgin, illustrates with spine-chilling veracity the truth of 
this proposition. It deals with the confrontation of two extreme and 
diametrically opposed sections of modern American society the 
traditionalists, those conservative upholders of the classic American 
virtues...and the young progressives and the so-called liberals who consider 
American virtues outdated and incline more towards an international rather 
than a narrowly national view. 

Counselor Mason Thorneycroft is a highly respected citizen in the city whose 
next District Attorney he hopes in time to become. He is a man of wealth and 
background, engaged to Carol Findlater, a lovely girl from a similar home. 
The Findlaters and the Thorneycrofts have for generations set the social 
tone for the city; they live by a code whose moral values are never 
questioned. Until Mason is involved prosecuting a case against the members 
of a left-wing progressive organization whose ethos is very much opposed to 
his own. And then everything is questioned! 

For Mason to whom young liberals are little better than common criminals 
succeeds in getting the accused sent up for long terms. And the remaining 
members of the group, in a desperate bid for revenge, kidnap his lovely 
fianc'e and hold her for ransom...the price being the release of the 
convicted felons. This is a story right out of today's headlines, where 
political kidnappings have become common place throughout the world. 

It is the conflict between Mason's love for his future bride and the rigid 
code of honor that would never permit him to succumb to any kind of 
blackmail that provides the drama, the suspense, and the tension which 
informs every page of this thought-provoking chronicle of our times a theme 
in which the moral values by which our standards have for so long been 
established are subjected to the most penetrating and provocative analysis. 

-The Publishers 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Carol Findlater laughed aloud at the restaurant table. She had caught sight 
of her own dark sultry good looks reflected in the bowl of the silver soup 
spoon laid on the gleaming damask table cloth...and the curvature of the 
polished metal had turned her finely chiseled features into a grotesque 
caricature of some candidate for a Fat Girl of the Year award. She laughed 
again, tossing her glossy head so that the long raven-black tresses tumbling 
over her shoulders caught the trembling light of a candle flame and threw it 
towards the mirrored wall. 

Opposite her, Mason Thorneycroft glanced up from the outsize menu he was 
studying. His pale eyebrows climbed the furrows of his intellectual brow. 
"Something amused you, my deaf?" he inquired. 

"N-n-no. Nothing really." Carol lowered her brown eyes and spun the slender 
stem of the candlestick between her finger and thumb. 

"Nothing? But I distinctly heard you laugh." 

"Uh yes. Yes, I guess I did laugh, Mason," Carol said. 

"Well?" The lawyer was staring at her over the crimson curlicues of the vast 
menu. 

"I up it was nothing really, darling. I just happened to catch sight of my 
reflection in the spoon. That was all." 

"In the spoon. And that was all?" 

"Why yes. That was all, Mason. That was all." 

Thorneycroft's eyebrows were still raised in puzzlement and she hurried to 
explain further. "You know how a convex surface distorts," she pursued. 

"The inner surface of the spoon is concave," Mason corrected. 

"All right concave. But you know how curved metal does distort...Well, I 
just happened to see myself and I looked so bloated and chubby, so...well, 
so silly ....I thought it was kind of funny. I mean in here, and all. So I 
laughed. I'm afraid I just laughed." Her voice trailed off as he continued 
to stare at her. "It looked so, you know, ludicrous," she explained lamely. 

Under the blond crew cut, Mason's face creased into a tight little smile. "I 
see," he said. "Yes. Very droll." He went back to the menu. 

But it was funny, Carol thought rebelliously. It was amusing, like all comic 
situations, because it was something out of place, something that didn't 
belong. It was the only thing in the discreetly appointed room that wasn't 
absolutely perfect. She glanced around the restaurant. The low-key wall 
brackets and the candles on the tables cast a soft glow over the scrubbed, 
intent faces of the diners, most of them far older than she. The subdued hum 
of conversation was punctuated by the well-bred tinkle of cutlery and glass. 
Waiters glided cat-like over the deep-pile carpet among the clinging odors 
of garlic and roast meat and cigars. And Mason, with his lean, handsome 
face, the touch of gray at the temples that made him every inch the future 
District Attorney that he hoped to be, sat across from her, choosing the 
perfect wine to go with the perfect meal he would select. Yes, Carol thought 
reprovingly, the giggling fat girl in the spoon was decidedly out of place! 

A sudden glow of pride suffused her. How lucky she was to be engaged to be 
married to Mason Thorneycroft! He was still a young man but he had already 
gone from a profitable consulting practice with Holmes, Stark, and Rush, 
Isola's most important law firm, to the 

State Prosecutor's office. The step had considerably added to the prestige 
he already enjoyed in the city, though it had substantially reduced his 
earnings. But fortunately this made little difference to Mason: there was as 
much money in his family as there was in Carol's. He had in fact told a 
reporter for the Isola Star, interviewing him after his appointment: "I 
consider it a privilege to serve the community in this way, and I am happy 
to be in a position where I can do so." 

It was the only time Carol had heard her finance talk about money, even 
indirectly. like herself, he had been brought up to believe that it was as 
unseemly to speak of one's wealth as it was to discuss sex. Yet Carol 
laughed to herself this time it was evident that both families were 
well-off. And she and Mason were the living proof that both sets of parents 
had indulged in sex at some time! She found the thought amusing...but she 
kept it to herself. Mason would not have thought it funny. He didn't, the 
lovely brunette reflected, think many things funny. A sense of humor was not 
one of his most obvious assets. 

Did that matter though...when you were as devoted to your work as Mason was? 
Or as determined and conscientious? Those were the qualities for which he 
was respected. They were what people had in mind when they spoke admiringly 
of his propriety and moral rectitude. Oh yes, Mason was respected all right. 
Carol had to admit that there were many who didn't like him, but they 
respected him just the same. 

He looked up from the menu at last and asked, as she knew he would: "What 
would you like, dear? Avocado stuffed with shrimps followed by a Tournedos 
Rossini, and then perhaps a green salad?" 

It was the choice Mason invariably suggested, and Carol wondered fleetingly 
what he would do if she asked for something else clam chowder, for instance, 
or asparagus or spare ribs or osso buco. For a moment she considered doing 
so, but something in her fianc''s manner put her off and she simply said 
obediently, as she always did: "That sounds marvelous, darling. Thank you." 

"And a Martini to start with, naturally?" 

"Yes, Mason, naturally." 

He confided the order to the head-waiter hovering solicitously at his elbow, 
and then turned his attention to the wine list. Carol looked fondly at the 
network of fatigue lines creasing the corners of his eyes, the tensed 
muscles of his neck. He was overtired and overworked, she thought. But that 
was only to be expected, considering the strain he had been going through. 
That damned trial! Those damned people! For weeks he had been prosecuting in 
a complicated conspiracy case involving a number of people also accused of 
arson and rioting, trying to foil the attempts of different defense counsels 
to obscure the issues, cross-examining innumerable witnesses, searching for 
arguments to convince the judge that he should overrule the ceaseless 
defense objections, listening to interminable speeches. No wonder he was 
bushed! Yet when Carol had sympathized a few days ago, he had appeared to be 
surprised at her concern. "I'm only pleased that I am able to serve the 
community in this way," he had said again. 

The wine waiter whisked the frosted Martini glasses from a silver tray and 
set them respectfully down on the table. "Chin-chin, darling!" Carol said, 
raising hers at once and twirling the long stem between her fingers. 

"Your very good health, my dear," Mason said, adding rather self-consciously 
as he raised his own glass: "Cheers!" 

The ice-cold cocktail tingled agreeably on Carol's tongue as she swallowed 
her first sip. A moment later the familiar glow seeped warmly through her. 
She took a second sip. "I heard the news on the radio just as I was 
leaving," she said. 

"About the trial, you mean?" 

Carol nodded. "Darling," she said impulsively, "I'm so glad it's over. 
Aren't you?" 

"Quite frankly, I am." Mason rested his elbows on the table and steepled his 
fingers almost, Carol thought, as though he was rehearsing to be a judge! 
"And naturally I'm pleased that my arguments carried the day and the jury 
saw its duty and returned a verdict of guilty. That was a fit and 
responsible jury." He sighed and then added: "So few of them are." 

"But surely it was clear enough that they were guilty, wasn't it?" 

"It was very clear to me and I think to Judge Harvey too." 

"Well if it was clear to you and to him and if he directed them properly why 
shouldn't it be clear to the jury too?" Carol asked. 

"Darling you're such an innocent!" Mason said, shaking his head 
affectionately. Carol had the impression that he was secretly laughing at 
her. It made her feel uncomfortable.. . as several aspects of their 
engagement had recently. It had all been so...so impersonal! Not that Carol 
would have thought of going to bed with Mason before they were married any 
more than he would have thought of asking her. Yet there had been none of 
those little intimacies between them that most young lovers enjoyed, she 
thought, casting her mind back over the period of their engagement. Still, 
this trial was over at last, and now Mason would have more time for her . . 
. 

"A jury, after all, is a cross-section of the community," he was saying 
earnestly. "Sometimes you get intelligent people on it more often you don't. 
Then you expose that mixture of citizens to a barrage of conflicting 
arguments day after day, in this case week after week, and of course they're 
confused. You cannot expect you cannot necessarily expect such a collection 
of people to bring in the right verdict automatically." 

"Of course not," Carol murmured. She speared the olive in her drink, popped 
it into her mouth, and then began twirling the stem of the glass again. 

"There is, too, the element of personality," Mason continued. "I mean, 
someone on a jury may take a dis-like to a lawyer on one side or the other 
for some absurd reason because he's wearing a color the juryman dislikes, or 
because he's Irish, or because he comes from the East Coast, anything and 
then that lawyer's pleading becomes useless, as far as that juryman is 
concerned, no matter how eloquent he may be or how many witnesses support 
his case." He noticed that his fianc'e's glass was empty. "Would you like 
another Martini, Carol?" 

"I'd love one, thank you darling." 

"And then there's a third factor," Mason went on. "One that could have been 
important in this case the matter of people's attitudes. Now, in a normal 
case, where a man is accused of theft or murder or robbery, it's a simple 
question of guilt or innocence. But in this case ' the so-called Liberation 
for Individual Behavior people it was different. You had half a dozen 
defendants accused of arson and rioting with a conspiracy charge attached. 
Those are crimes just like theft and murder and robbery, and the people who 
commit them are criminals. But because it's tied up with this damned L.I.B. 
movement, someone on the jury is liable to see it in a different light. 
He's-likely to remember all the idealistic claims these people make. Note 
that I said 'claims'. And then that juryman won't see these people for what 
they really are." 

"And what are they really, Mason?" Carol asked. 

"Troublemakers, my dear," the lawyer said decisively. "Just troublemakers, 
nothing more." 

"But darling," the lovely brunette protested, "I've seen some of the Lib 
pamphlets and broadsheets and things. I mean, it seems to me that they are 
pretty idealistic. The movement, stands for a lot of things most people 
would agree with." 

"Such as?" 

"Oh...peace and equality and an end to discrimination. Things like that." 

Mason gazed at his fianc'e and smiled indulgently a smile that showed 
plainly that he considered her as foolish as she was naive. "So you've been 
taken in by all their propaganda too," he said, shaking his head. 

He stared at her over the avocado heaped with shrimps that the waiter had 
slipped discreetly in front of him. It was just as well that she hadn't been 
on that jury, he reflected. Fortunately the jury, ably directed by Judge 
Harvey, had seen its duty and found all the accused guilty. And Harvey had 
seen his duty and sentenced them to the maximum terms of imprisonment 
allowed sentences they richly deserved, Mason told himself. From the moment 
he had seen them, he had known they were no better than common criminals, 
despite all their talk of liberty and freedom and all their high-faluting 
ideals. The men were bad enough their hairy chests showing through gaudy 
open-neck sport shirts-looking like the bums and winos drying out in the 
county jail, with their soiled jeans and long hair. Why couldn't they wear 
jackets and ties like everybody else and show some respect for the court? 

But the women! My God, the women! Some of the members of the public, whose 
sympathies obviously lay with the accused, wore sweaters so tight you could 
actually see their nipples standing out on their breasts! Or they wore 
blouses cut so low and opened so wide that their round, sensuously full 
breasts risked bouncing out! There was one girl who wore a see-through 
blouse which concealed nothing neither the tautly swelling orbs of her 
breasts, the darker flesh of the areolas, nor the pert little nipples 
either! She'd worn pants too, that one...pants so tight that they looked as 
if they'd been sprayed on, pulling and straining against the curve of her 
buttocks, cupping them, rippling like flesh itself as they molded to her 
skin when she moved lasciviously across the courtroom. Every man in the 
place was staring at her, practically panting with sheer raw lust! 

But the most disgusting of all, the lawyer remembered, was the girl who'd 
come in late that day and taken a seat in the front row. She was young and 
slim about Carol's age and Carol's build: he could have spanned her slender 
waist with his two hands and she'd even had a certain beauty, with her 
swarthy skin, her huge dark eyes, and the hair that hung almost to her 
waist. She'd worn no pants, this one, but a mini-skirt that was almost as 
brief as a bikini: it had barely covered the hard, round half-moons of her 
buttocks, scarcely hidden the vee of her crotch! 

The little whore's rich, fleshy thighs were bare. Why on earth couldn't 
these girls wear girdles and brassieres like decent women? Her breasts were 
provocatively tilted, the nipples taut under the sheer summer blouse she 
wore. And she had flashed Mason a knowing look as she walked sensuously 
behind his table, a look that told him plainer than words that she would be 
willing to what was that vulgar expression? "put out" for him any time he 
wanted. Her walk had been an open invitation to him and every other man in 
the courtroom: she was just begging for some male to shove his rock-hard 
penis deep up into her quivering little belly . . . 

A deceptive calm had settled over the place when the girl sat down, just in 
front of the bench. She smoothed her ridiculous skirt over the lushness of 
her hips, pressed her knees together, even crossed her ankles demurely. 
Beneath the calm, though, there was an undercurrent of excitement that 
threatened to explode at any moment. But as the day wore on, as witnesses 
were called and sworn and cross-examined, the excitement drained away and 
the court was left blanketed in lethargy. 

Mason flung an arm over the back of his chair and looked around the public 
gallery as one of the defense counsel droned interminably on, wasting the 
court's time with an unnecessary digression about the good character of his 
client as if people like that ever had good characters! Why did these people 
flock to the court, day after day, Mason wondered? That elderly woman on the 
right, for instance she had been there three days running. Who was she? A 
relative of one of the accused? The mother? He glanced at the jury box; 
several jurors were letting their attention wander too. Then his eyes 
settled on the girl in the front row . . . 

Her lithe young body had gone slack with boredom, and now she sprawled in 
her chair, legs wide apart, knees teasingly splayed to show the smooth, soft 
inner flesh of her thighs and the thin strip of nylon that would be tightly 
sheathing her . . . 

Mason Thorneycroft started. The girl wasn't wearing any panties! No strip of 
nylon, however thin', concealed the tender flesh of her smoothly curving 
thighs and between them, nestling in the sparsely curling triangle of silken 
hair in the tight little vee between her legs, he could distinctly see the 
delicate coral slit of her moistly pouting pussy! 

The girl shifted in her seat, pushing a strand of her long dark hair out of 
her eyes, and now her legs slid further apart, her smooth-skinned swelling 
thighs spread open even wider. The hair-lined, pink-flanged slit lay open 
now, the lips parted like the petals of a flower to reveal the tiny bud of 
her clitoris within. 

Mason stared in shocked fascination, his attention riveted. He longed to 
turn away, to ignore the lewdly exposed secret flesh, to close his eyes and 
his mind. But he was transfixed, hypnotized by the obscene sight. In the 
back of his mind, he knew that a lawyer was cross-examining a witness, that 
words were being bandied back and forth but the words were far away and 
without meaning: only the girl's full, fleshy vaginal lips seemed real, 
seemed near. They filled his horizon. 

Suddenly the room was full of people on their feet. The court was taking a 
recess. Mason's palms were moist and his entire body was dripping with sweat 
as he plodded out with the other counselors, trying desperately to marshal 
the points of his final speech in his mind. When Judge Harvey resumed, the 
girl had gone. 

Where was she now, Mason wondered? Probably thrashing around in bed in some 
sleazy hotel with some man she had picked up during the lunch recess! Lying 
there with her legs flung wide while he licked and sucked in there between 
them...or heaving and groaning throughout the hot, humid afternoon while he 
pistoned rhythmically into her.. . or sucking him, taking him into her mouth 
until she almost choked on the plank-stiff length of his hard, jutting cock 
. . . 

She was a menace to society, Mason had thought, with her openly wanton 
attitude and her shamelessly splayed thighs. But she was no worse than the 
defendants and all the other weirdoes and perverts and kooks who went around 
spouting slogans and stirring up trouble, banding together in whatever 
screwball movement happened to catch their imagine at the moment. They were 
all a menace to society! Judge Harvey had been absolutely right to sentence 
them to long terms, he thought now, sitting in the Ecu de France as he 
stared at his fianc'e over his Tournedos Rossini. That would give them time 
to think things over and reflect on their obligations! 

Carol picked at her salad, wondering at Mason's long silence. Why didn't he 
talk to her? What was on his mind now? He seemed to be a hundred miles away! 

Suddenly his mood changed. Where he had been withdrawn and almost stuffy, he 
became affable and for him very nearly effusive. There was even an 
unaccustomed hint of warmth in his voice to which his fianc'e at once 
responded when he said brightly: "But I almost forgot! Darling, I have 
something important to tell you!" 

"Oh, Mason! Is it about a house?" Carol demanded impatiently. 

He smiled fondly. "Yes it is. I just heard of one and I think it may be just 
what we're looking for." 

She listened with rapt attention as he described it. The master bedroom was 
here, the guest rooms here and here, the study there, the dining room at the 
far end of the hallway. "At least," he jested, "I imagine so. I haven't even 
seen the place yet." 

"Haven't seen it? But, darling, that's not fair!" Carol protested. 

"Not fair? My dear, I'm being generous! I'm giving you the chance to see it 
first!" 

"Oh, darling when?" Carol's brown eyes were shining. 

"Would tomorrow morning be convenient?" 

"Of course. You know it would." 

"That's fine," Mason said, "because that's when Mr. Bronwen is taking you to 
see it." 

"Mr.. .Bronwen?" 

"The real estate agent. He's from that new place...I forget the name. It 
doesn't matter. What's important is that he's picking you up tomorrow 
morning to drive you out to see the house. It's on the Westford road, on the 
far side of town." 

"I'll be ready," Carol promised happily. 

Mason Thorneycroft looked at his watch. "It's getting late," he said 
abruptly. "I'd better call for the bill and take you home." Once again his 
mood had changed; his tone was now as cool as before, almost insultingly 
casual. 

Carol sighed and pushed back her chair. Would he always be like this, she 
asked herself. Even after they were married? When they were settled in their 
new home? Wistfully, she wondered if that home would be the house she was to 
see the next day. She hoped it would. 

Mason eased her into the passenger seat of his Buick and then slid behind 
the wheel. Carol inched nearer to him until her ripely molded thighs brushed 
against his. The contact sent a little flicker of sensation thrilling 
through her. Tiny shafts of flame licked deliciously at her loins. Mason's 
very nearness teased and tantalized her until a ripple of arousal caressed 
her whole body, crawling over her flesh to make it tingle maddeningly. 
Aching for him to take her in his arms, she let her glossy head fall on his 
shoulder. Surely he felt something too? He must! But if he did, her fianc' 
showed no sign of it. When they reached the Findlater home, he helped Carol 
out, saw her to the door, and then kissed her lightly on the lips before she 
vanished into the darkness of the hallway. 

He wouldn't even come in for five minutes, Carol reflected bitterly as she 
climbed the stairs to her room! 

For the hundredth time, she asked herself: would Mason always be like this? 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Carol went straight to her room. Taking off her mink jacket, she let it slip 
to the seat of a watered silk boudoir chair in front of her dressing table. 
She unzipped the deceptively simple little black dress that had cost so much 
and allowed the clinging material to slide rustling over her smooth, creamy 
shoulders, over her ripely mounded breasts, past her trim waist and then 
over her voluptuously curved hips until it settled to the floor with a faint 
sound that could almost have been a sigh. She stepped out of the crumpled 
circle of black fabric on the thick white rug and pulled the froth of her 
petticoat over her head, dropping it too by her feet. Reaching behind her, 
she unfastened the shaped strip of black lace that was her brassiere and 
shrugged out of it. The flimsy garment joined the dress and petticoat on the 
rug. Next came her sheer nylon panties, first one stocking and then the 
other, a garter belt, high-heeled pumps. The clothing lay scattered around 
the room when Carol pulled a robe of lemon yellow silk around her, sat down 
before the long mirror at her dressing table, and began her nightly ritual 
with the hair brush. 

One hundred strokes for the glossy, shoulder-length black hair. 
"...sixty-two...sixty-three...sixty-four.. . " she counted aloud as she 
stared at her reflection. Her skin was clear, almost translucent, glowing 
with subdued color where it stretched across the high cheekbones that were 
perhaps her best feature. Her mouth was maybe a shade too wide and generous, 
but her teeth were perfect. With a final glance at the long sweeping lashes 
that gave her brown eyes their particular fascination, she swung around on 
the antique Victorian chair and the robe fell open to reveal the firm, snowy 
mounds of her breasts, the subtle curve of her belly and the silkily curling 
black hairs that grew scantily over her pubic mound. With a gesture of 
impatience, she pulled the garment close around her and tied the sash. 

Then she stood up, walked to the bed, and turned down the silk coverlet. For 
a moment she stood there hesitating. Finally she switched off the light, 
shed the robe in the dark, and climbed into bed. 

For a long time she lay awake thinking. Was there something wrong about 
Mason? He had seemed upset at dinner. Was that why she seemed to have so 
little effect on him? Or was there something wrong with her? Was it wrong to 
feel this way about the man you were going to marry? She remembered her 
mother's scathing voice when once she had denounced one of Carol's friends 
as lewd, immoral and wanton; and she recalled the haughty tones in which 
Mrs. Findlater had added: "People of our class are not interested in sex, 
Carol." 

"Well, Mason was certainly "of our class" Perhaps he really wasn't 
interested in sex. Maybe marriage was only a convenience to him, and Carol 
herself an asset, a hostess, someone of use in the furtherance of his career 
rather than an object of desire, let alone passion...If not, then the fault 
must lie with her: even though she was beautiful, she might not be 
attractive to men in that way. 

Feeling suddenly sorry for herself, she experienced again that childhood 
despair...she was the only girl not invited to the party, the one too young 
to stay up late with the others. She was Carol Findlater, and dimly she 
seemed to hear a once-familiar voice saying scornfully: 

"Carol Findlater? Oh, no man would ever go for her! . . . " 

The words repeated themselves over and over in her mind like a broken 
phonograph record. Was it a real voice...and had someone once said that? She 
listened to the voice, struggling to place it. No man would go for her. Not 
for Carol Findlater. Who had said it? Where? When? 

Screwing up her eyes, the naked brunette in the big bed seized on a fragment 
of memory clamoring for recognition on the far fringes of her 
mind...boarding school...a dance in the gym where her classmates wore long 
dresses and the band played sentimental oldies and everybody drank a pink 
punch that tasted like a patent cough cure...Carol hadn't gone to the dance 
but Cindy had. . . 

Cindy Rothwell! 

Cindy had said it and Carol seemed to hear her voice-again, just as she had 
heard it then, high-pitched and contemptuous through the flimsy wall between 
her room and Cindy's: "Carol Findlater? No man would ever go for her! . . . 
" 

Cindy Rothwell. 

* * * 

Cindy Rothwell squirmed beneath Buzz Pearson's hand as it explored her slim 
young body, caressing the firm buds of her breasts, tracing the swell of her 
belly, stroking her milk-white thighs. But when it roamed insistently down 
to the patch of tawny pubic hair nestling silkily between those trembling 
thighs, Cindy pushed it away. "No, Buzz," she whispered breathlessly, "we 
mustn't! Oh God! You know we mustn't. . . ! " 

"I know," Buzz murmured into her ear. "I know. But it's so good, Cindy, 
isn't it?" 

"Oh God, yes," the aroused teenager gasped. And for a moment she stopped 
struggling. Buzz's hand moved cautiously to the small tufted vee up between 
her quivering legs. Probing gently, he found the tiny moist cleft of her 
pussy and gently parted the delicate hair-fringed lips as the girl trembled 
uncontrollably from the new experience. She turned on the bed, pulling 
Buzz's lithe boyish body close to her own, his face to hers. Small shocks of 
excitement jolted through her as his tongue flickered into her mouth. 
Cupping her firmly ripe young breasts in his two hands, he felt the nipples 
harden with desire, and he rubbed the stiff little buds between his thumbs 
and forefingers as Cindy moaned with pleasure. 

He trailed his tongue down her softly pulsating throat to the furrow between 
the snowy mounds of her breasts then over the cool curve of one breast 
itself. As he slid a hand down to her belly again, his lips closed over one 
taut nipple. He sucked on it at first with tantalizing gentleness, then with 
an ever increasing pressure while Cindy gasped with wanton arousal. 

His probing middle finger wormed its way through the tangle of pubic hair 
and found the wetly heated slit of her vagina, twisting and turning inside 
the narrow scalding passage as the girl writhed and squirmed with ecstasy 
under his plunging hand. Oh God! It was good, she thought! She never knew it 
was going to be like this! She lay on her back, responding to the maddening 
movements of Buzz's fingers, pushing her hips up, rotating them, jerking 
back and forth in wild, excited spasms. 

"Oooooh, baby!" he groaned. "It's so good! like it, baby?" 

His words broke the delirious spell for Cindy and a small voice inside her 
warned her to be careful. My God! Had she no sense? What was the matter with 
her? Supposing someone heard! What about Carol Findlater, asleep in the next 
bedroom what if they woke her up? She'd run straight all the way?...What if 
she had a baby?...God! They couldn't do this! Not here, not now! "Buzz," she 
begged him, "we've got to stop! Now. Please. Don't do anything more. We 
mustn't . . . " 

But the boy only spiraled his finger deeper into her virginal little 
passage, sawing it back and forth as she ground her buttocks desperately up 
off the mattress, seeking more and more of the ecstatic sensations. When he 
found the tautly quivering bud of her clitoris, Cindy quivered and a long 
drawn-out moan escaped her lips. Her hot little cunt was burning with flames 
of desire. As they leaped and licked remorselessly at her loins, setting her 
whole body on fire, she knew suddenly that nothing...nothing at all...would 
make her stop Buzz now. She would rather die, she thought. She would really 
rather die! 

Her hand searched for his virile young cock and found it pressing into the 
soft flesh of her thigh. She grasped the lustfully throbbing staff and heard 
him give a low groan of satisfaction. It was beautiful, she told herself. 
Beautiful! She hadn't known that either. She rubbed the loose foreskin back 
and forth, teasing him, exciting him still further. Then she cried aloud in 
delight as his awakened young penis jerked in her hand, massaging it 
furiously, milking it back and forth as she reveled in the lewd excitement 
that made itself felt in Buzz's hoarse panting gasps and her own quick, 
labored breathing. Unaware of anything now but an overwhelming desire for 
release from the abandoned lust pervading her entire being, she guided the 
bulbously throbbing head of his cock down to her openly gaping pussy. A 
stifled moan burst from her contorted lips as with an uncontrollable jerk, 
her knees spread wide to open a clear, smooth path to her moistly steaming, 
tight little virginal cunt. 

Buzz rolled over on top of her, his hardened young shaft of flesh parting 
the thin silken hair that guarded her vaginal mouth to ease slowly through 
the wetly sliding, interfolded lips and drive hotly up into the moist 
unplundered tunnel of her pussy. At the first touch of the rubbery, 
sperm-bloated cock-head against her secret inner flesh, Cindy jerked so 
convulsively that the headboard of the bed battered against the wall. At the 
same time a spine-tingling wail escaped her writhing lips . . . 

In the room next door, Carol Findlater started suddenly awake. What was that 
noise in Cindy's room? Cindy was at the dance wasn't she? Everybody Carol 
thought bitterly is at the dance but me! Snuffling into the bedclothes, she 
remembered her mother's admonition: "You're far too young to date, Carol," 
she had said decisively. Not that anyone would have asked her to go to the 
dance, even if her mother had approved. She was still a gawky adolescent, so 
shy that she was tongue-tied every time a boy looked at her. If only her own 
flat, childish breasts were as developed as Cindy's, her hips as sensuously 
rounded, her buttocks as curved! A dozen different boys had begged Cindy to 
go to the prom! Right now, Carol was certain, she would have a crowd of them 
fighting over her on the dance floor in the gym downstairs! 

But...if Cindy was whirling around the dance floor like some movie starlet 
or something...who was making that noise in her room? Carol simply had to 
find out! 

Slipping from her bed, she threw a robe over her short nightie and padded 
barefoot into the hall. Outside Cindy's door, she stood hesitating on the 
carpet, afraid at first to knock. But the noises grew louder and more 
mysterious and at last Carol summoned up her courage and stepped forward to 
rap lightly on the panels. 

When there was no answer, she rapped again, louder this time. There was 
still no answer though the curious rustling, creaking, groaning sounds 
continued. Maybe Cindy was in there...perhaps she was sick, Carol thought. 
In any case, she had better find out what was going on! Knocking a third 
time, she turned the handle and eased the door open. 

As her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, Carol froze in shock. Her 
legs seemed to go as soft as cooked spaghetti. She grabbed the doorknob to 
keep herself from falling. The moans had changed to clearly recognizable 
words.. . in Cindy's voice. "Oh Buzz, Buzz honey," she pleaded, "do it to 
me! Do it to me now! Please!. . . " 

She was lying naked on the bed, her legs shamelessly spread, with a naked 
boy hunched obscenely between her trembling thighs! 

Carol's head whirled as the lewdly begging words and the shocking sight of 
the salaciously coupled pair registered at the same time in her outraged 
mind. She longed to turn away, to run, to hide in some dark corner where 
nobody could see her fear and revulsion. She tried to close the door but her 
trembling hands hung limp at her sides, refusing to do her bidding. She 
stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to lift one foot and put it 
ahead of the other to carry her away from this disgusting spectacle! 

A" cold chill rippled up her back from the base of her spine to raise goose 
flesh on her neck and arms. She shivered and her teeth began to chatter. And 
yet she knew her forehead was burning: perspiration rolled down her cheeks 
in large limpid drops. 

"Oh my God!" the boy on the bed groaned. "I want you, Cindy. I want to fuck 
you!" 

Carol clapped her hands over her ears as the foul words echoed in the room 
but it was too late. She had heard them, and Cindy's gasping reply: "Yes, 
yes, yes! Go on...you're already in there, Buzz! Go on...fuck me!" She bit 
her lip as her classmate opened her legs wider, pulling her knees back until 
they almost brushed her shoulders. Yet as the boy's blood-engorged penis 
thrust into the small pink hole of Cindy's tight little pussy, a twitch of 
excitement rippled through Carol's own body. Drops of warm sticky vaginal 
fluid oozed from her virginal cunt and filtered through the black silk of 
her pubic hair to trickle hotly down her thighs. A deep throbbing ache sent 
small waves of pleasure coursing through her clitoris, and without realizing 
what she was doing she touched herself there under the hem of her short 
nightie, tentatively at first and then as the lustfully coupled pair began 
heaving and thrusting together mere deliberately. 

"Oh God! I'm as wicked as they are," Carol told herself through muffled 
sobs. "I'm evil and vile and filthy. Oh, I'm worse than they are!" But she 
was no more able to stop herself than she had been able to walk away a few 
minutes earlier. Through tear-blurred eyes she watched Cindy squirm and 
flail on the white coverlet as Buzz plunged his wetly glistening cock deeper 
and deeper up into her gratefully accepting belly. He slid his hands under 
Cindy's firmly rounded young buttocks, cupped them, lifted the smooth white 
cheeks from the bed, clenched them, released them, clenched them again. Then 
he jerked back, completely withdrawing the blood-filled cock-head that was 
now moistly gleaming in the dim light of the room. 

As the lustfully writhing girl bucked and heaved beneath the nakedly fucking 
boy, he parted the silken strands that guarded her cuntal flesh with the 
rubbery glans and his proud, stiff young cock speared deeply back up into 
her hotly sucking vagina. It was moving like a piston now, ramming all the 
way up to her cervix, sliding out, plunging urgently back into the young 
redhead's desperately working loins. 

Still transfixed, Carol stood watching the abandoned scene. The dull 
tantalizing ache of her own warmly throbbing pussy up between her thighs 
maddened her. She stroked her tiny budding clitoris into a steel-like 
hardness while electrifying bolts of forbidden pleasure drummed through her 
from top to toe, and she quivered like a violin string stretched too tight. 
It was wrong...it was wrong! She was wicked, she was vile, she was depraved 
and corrupt...But she continued massaging the taut shaft of flesh as if 
driven by the Furies. She was powerless to stop! 

As the lewd couple on the bed copulated with wild abandon, oblivious of 
everything but the crazy desires of their lust-filled bodies, Carol parted 
the thin pink edges of her vaginal lips and wormed an exploratory finger 
into the moistly throbbing passage while her pleasure mounted to an almost 
unbearable ecstasy. She slipped another finger into the burning cavern and 
then a third and her tender virginal flesh closed over them, sucking them, 
swallowing them inside. 

The rhythm of the lasciviously lovemaking couple on the bed was becoming 
faster as it crescendoed to a nakedly writhing climax. Cindy rotated her 
hips wildly, rising to meet Buzz's thrusts and then falling back as he 
withdrew. Watching them, Carol began moving with them, matching the thrust 
of the boy's obscenely spearing cock, the lewdly smacking slap of his belly 
against that of the wantonly twisting young girl, with her fingers. 

Then a long wail of desire assailed the eavesdropping teenager's lust-fogged 
brain. It was Buzz howling: "Aaaaggghh!...Oooogghh! Fuck back, baby!...fuck 
back!...I can't hold it any longer; I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" 

Cindy grasped him tighter, her fingernails trailing across his nakedly 
threshing buttocks to leave red welts mingled with white scratches. Her 
knees were pressed tightly back up to the twin moons of her breasts, pinned 
there by the weight of Buzz's strong, lean body. "Oh my God!" she squealed, 
her voice made almost inhuman by her burning desire. "Oh 
Buzz!...Ooooggghh!...I'mm cumming too!...I'm cuummiinngg!" 

She jerked and flailed beneath him as his hard, virile young cock hammered 
deeply into the soft fleshy recesses of her cunt and then, with a final 
convulsive spasm signifying the ultimate ecstasy, she lay back, legs splayed 
out obscenely once more as the boy pumped his hot, steaming sperm deep into 
her belly to mingle there with her own scalding juices of release. 

Carol saw his pearly semen spill from Cindy's widespread young pussy to flow 
over her thighs and drip down into the cleft between her ass-cheeks. Her own 
excitedly jerking cunt was still impaled on her fingers and she moved them 
rapidly back and forth now, back and forth, in and out, deeper and deeper, 
stimulating the super-sensitive flesh of her vagina. "Oh God!" she thought. 
"I can't stand it any longer! I can't! I'm going to explode!" And then, with 
shock and wonder, she felt it coming at last! "I'm cumming too! Oh my God 
I'm cumming too!" The words spiraled through her desire-fogged brain. 

A pleasure so exquisite it was almost pain surged through Carol's climaxing 
young body, leaving her quivering and shaking, almost bereft of her senses. 
She was lost in a world in which there was no time, no place, not even a 
Carol Findlater, but only bliss and passion and ecstasy . . . 

Slowly the passion ebbed and she came back to reality. A shudder of horror 
shook her slim body and she was once more convulsed with sobs. "What have I 
done!" she thought wildly. "Oh, what have I done!" Why had she cravenly 
given in to the desire drenching her nerves? Didn't she know any better? Of 
course she did, she answered herself, hearing again her mother's stiff 
voice: "People of our class, Carol, are not interested in sex!" What if she 
should find out how wicked Carol 'was? The thought was too much for the 
distraught young girl and she sobbed aloud. 

There was a sudden sound from within the room where Cindy and the boy lay, 
bodies nakedly entwined, all passion spent. Quickly, quietly, Carol drew the 
door closed behind her as Cindy's voice asked suspiciously: "What was that?" 

"I didn't hear anything," Buzz yawned sleepily. 

"Well, I did!" Cindy snapped. "I'll bet it's that little prude Carol 
Findlater snooping around!" 

"Come off it honey," Buzz murmured. He pulled her over to him and ran his 
hand down the length of her slender outstretched legs, bending his head to 
kiss the small indentation of her navel, her still erect nipples, the hollow 
of her throat. "That little prude Carol Findlater will be down at the dance 
like everyone else." 

"Think so?" 

"Sure honey. Of course she is." 

"Then you don't know Carol," Cindy said. 'Wo man in his right mind would 
ever go for Carol Findlater.. . " 

At Cindy's first words, Carol had scurried back to her own room and dived 
into bed. pulling the covers up to her chin. She lay in the dark, shaking 
with terror at the enormity of what she had done. And through the thin walls 
separating their rooms came the echo of Cindy's voice. "No man in his right 
mind would ever go for Carol Findlater . . . " 

* * * 

Now, lying in the dark after her dinner with Mason, Carol heard again the 
phrase Cindy Rothwell had uttered so long ago. That must be the answer, she 
decided bitterly. Beautiful as she now was, she lacked something essential. 
She was not attractive to a man in a sensual, carnal way. 

She thought once more of Mason...of the boy named Buzz all those years 
ago...and of Cindy Rothwell too. Buzz and Cindy were "our class of people" 
just as much as Mason was. Yet Buzz had done that to Cindy, and she had been 
as excited as he was! Had Mason done the same thing to some other Cindy? Had 
he made love to some girl in the back of a car somewhere in the living room 
of her house while her parents were away, in her room at the dormitory in 
boarding school? 

No, Carol decided. Mason hadn't. He had controlled himself at that age, just 
as he controlled himself now! The problem was her own...and it was not so 
much that she was unattractive to men as that her own mind was filled with 
lechery and evil...Her head was whirling with tiredness. But just before she 
fell asleep she promised herself one thing: if her disappointment with Mason 
was not because he was un-like other men but because she, with her vile and 
lewd and wicked thoughts, was un-like other women then she would vow to 
control her wanton nature. She would be a good an exemplary wife to Mason 
when they were married . . . 

 CHAPTER THREE 

The sun was shining when Carol awoke, slanting through the half-drawn drapes 
to stripe the citron wallpaper with bars of brighter gold. The lovely 
brunette yawned, sat up in bed, and stretched. It was good to be alive, to 
have slept well, to awaken refreshed. Vaguely, she recalled the tormented 
feelings aroused by her memories of the night before but now, in the warmth 
of the sun and the reassuring light of day, they seemed absurd. Carol 
stretched her arms above her head again: it was going to be a gorgeous day! 

She got up, showered, and dressed quickly in a tailored tweed suit that was 
discreet enough to please even Mason, yet managed still to set off the 
delicious curving slope of her soft full buttocks, her firmly rounded thighs 
and tapering calves. She wore a frilly white blouse beneath the suit to make 
it more feminine, and tied a bright scarf around her neck. Her lipstick 
matched the scarf; her high-heeled pumps contrasted. 

It was thus elegantly attired that she sat down to coffee and bacon and 
scrambled eggs in the breakfast room. Her father had already gone to his 
penthouse office suite in the city and her mother, after a few minutes 
desultory conversation, had disappeared into the kitchen to discuss the 
day's lunch and dinner with the cook. Carol picked up a copy of the Star and 
scanned the headlines. As she expected, the trial made the main banner on 
the front page. LIB LEADERS GUILTY, she . read. HEAVY SENTENCES IMPOSED. A 
paragraph lower down the page in bold type caught her attention before she 
read the full report. The members of the group, it said, which professes 
idealistic aims, are considered by many to be dangerous militants. Even so, 
spectators at the trial were surprised by the harshness of the sentences, 
which were thought especially severe in the light of contradictory testimony 
from several witnesses which seemed to cast some doubts on the credibility 
of the prosecution case. A scuffle between supporters of the group and 
police broke out on the courthouse steps soon after the verdict was 
announced. 

Pouring another cup of coffee after she had read the main story, a 
commentary on the handling of the trial, and an editorial on the protection 
of society against anti-social minority interests, Carol saw a picture of 
Mason on an inner page and then drew in her breath with dismay as she read 
the caption above. "Threats made against State Prosecutor" she read with a 
chill. And then a brief account of an anonymous letter received at the 
newspaper offices which promised that members of the L.I.B. movement would 
avenge themselves for the harsh sentences imposed on their fellows. It was 
Mason rather than the judge who had come in for the full wrath of the letter 
writer, who seemed to think that, had the prosecution case not been so 
weighted with evidence that the writer termed misleading and false, then the 
jury would not have found the defendants guilty. Somehow, in some way, 
somewhere, Mason would be made to pay for this, the letter added menacingly. 

Carol sat gripping the paper in shaking hands. These people were dangerous 
troublemakers, she knew. Mason had told her so. Now, in the middle of her 
happiness, the sunlight no longer seemed so reassuring: her future with the 
man she loved was threatened: Premonition of danger prickled the hairs on 
the nape of her neck as an icy thrill tingled her spine. She had no idea how 
long she sat there with the paper gripped in her nerveless hands, her under 
lip clenched between her teeth...but suddenly she was aware of a shrill 
insistent ringing that seemed to have been going on forever, a sound that 
seemed to be no more than an exteriorization of the panic she felt in her 
mind. Abruptly she recovered herself and pushed back her chair from the 
table. The telephone was ringing in the hall. 

Struggling to her feet, she moved to the instrument in a semi-trance and 
lifted the receiver. Mechanically, she announced the number. 

"Carol darling?" It was Mason's voice. "Carol? Oh, darling I thought you 
must have left already. The phone's been ringing for ages." 

"Mason! I...I'm sorry, I...that is to say, I was upstairs and I didn't hear 
at first," the frightened brunette faltered, her voice so weak that it was 
almost a whisper. 

"Carol? Are you all right? You sound so strange." 

"Yes, yes, Mason. I'm all right." The girl's voice faded away and then there 
was silence. "Carol?" 

"Oh, darling, darling," the distraught brunette burst out. "It's that story 
in the paper this morning! About you. Have you seen it? Those dreadful 
people . . . ,they're going to harm you, hurt you, perhaps even kill you! 
Mason, I'm so frightened. What can we do?" 

"Nothing whatsoever," Mason said calmly. It startled Carol that there was no 
trace of agitation in his voice. "There is absolutely no reason to get 
upset, either about what you read in the paper or about what these people 
say. Anonymous or at least quasi-anonymous letters should be treated with 
the contempt they merit." 

"B-b-but they're going to k-k-kill you," his fianc'e stammered. 

"They are not going to kill me," Mason said briskly. "They will neither kill 
me nor harm me in any way." 

"You can say that," Carol cried, "but how can you know? You have no idea how 
far these people are prepared to go. You said yourself that they are 
troublemakers and kooks and cranks and-" 

"Because I've been assigned a police guard," Mason interrupted brusquely. "I 
thought a lot of people thought that these madmen might try something. 
Violence is never far from their minds, and we are under no illusions about 
them: we know them for what they are. Nobody was in the least surprised by 
their threats. We even anticipated them and so we were prepared." 

"Then...everything will be all right?" Carol gave a long-drawn-out sigh and 
blinked back the tears of relief from her eyes. The dull ache of fear that 
had been spreading out from the center of her being and forming a crushing 
burden on her young shoulders melted away like mist before the sun that was 
shining between the cedar trees on to the shaven lawn beyond the hall 
windows. The tears welled up again, and this time she allowed them to flow. 
"Oh, Mason," she sobbed. "Oh, darling!" 

"Now, now, my dear!" The lawyer's voice was soothing. "You mustn't cry. 
There's nothing to cry about." 

"But I'm so happy, Mason; so relieved!" 

"Then you had better dry your tears and get on with what you have to do and 
don't worry! The only worry I have is whether or not you'll like the house." 

"House?...Oh darling! I'd completely forgotten! I was so scared I forgot all 
about it! I guess that must be the agent calling for me now: I can hear the 
bell ringing." 

"They promised they would call in good time yes, I imagine that must be 
Bronwen," Mason said. "You'd better hurry off and have a look. 

Call me later and tell me what you think." 

Mr. Bronwen was a personable young man of about 28 with a tanned face and 
wary eyes. His dark crew cut, strong mouth, firm chin and straight nose made 
him look a little like one of those clean-cut college boys in the soft drink 
ads, Carol thought. As he drove her through the center of town and out on 
the other side, she asked him excitedly about the house they were going to 
see, but his answers were disconcertingly vague. He didn't even know how 
many bathrooms it had, or how many acres there were in the grounds! It was a 
new sector for him, he said, and he hadn't had time to study the 
specification before he left the office. 

How odd, Carol thought, for an agency to send a junior and an unbriefed 
junior at that! for so important a client as Mason Thorneycroft! It was 
hardly the way for a new agency (hadn't Mason said they were new?) to make a 
good impression in town. Still, he was a nice young man, she thought and it 
was a lovely day to watch the stores and offices and factories dwindle away 
as the green countryside took over. 

It was not until they were speeding along the Westville freeway that she 
became a little apprehensive. "Mr. Bronwen," she said, "I thought this house 
was out on the road to Westford?" . 

"Westford?" he repeated absently. "Oh...yeah. Yeah, it's out near Westford, 
that's it." 

"But we're heading for Westview. If we wanted the Westford road, we should 
have taken the underpass at the last intersection." 

Bronwen said nothing. He leaned forward and switched on the radio, fiddling 
with the tuning knobs until the blare of a soul band filled the small car. 
The pressure of his foot on the accelerator increased. 

"Mr. Bronwen!" Carol shouted. "Mr. Bronwen Westford is back that way!" She 
jerked her thumb over her shoulder. 

He stared ahead through the windshield and increased the speed of the car 
still more, a small smile playing about his lips. But he said nothing. They 
were leaving the city behind them now, and the houses were spaced far apart. 
Carol's hands were clammy. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of her 
stomach and small flickers of fear flamed through her. "We're going the 
wrong way!" she yelled over the din of the radio. 

He turned the volume down slightly. "I know where I'm going," he said 
flatly. 

"But Westford is back behind us!" 'That's right." 

"And we're going in the opposite direction." 

"That's right." 

"Then why don't you turn around?" A touch of panic had crept into the 
frightened brunette's voice. What was the matter with this man? Was he mad? 
If the house was behind them, why was he going ahead? Why didn't he listen 
to her? 

She took a deep breath. There must be some reason for his odd behavior, she 
told herself. Perhaps he wanted to show her another house first. Real estate 
agents did that sometimes, didn't they? Especially the unscrupulous ones. 
They showed you a house you'd never buy in a million years, a house that 
really turned you off. Then, when you saw something even a little bit 
better, you snapped it up! But surely an agent Mason had chosen would never 
descend to a cheap trick like that? In any case, she wouldn't play along 
with it. Bronwen would simply have to turn back and show her the house she 
wanted to see, or take her straight home again . . . "Look," she said 
firmly, "either I want to see the house at Westford or I want to go back 
home!" 

His lips curled into a mocking grin...and she saw suddenly the face she had 
considered clean-cut could also be read as ruthless; the expression she had 
thought firm and inspiring of confidence could be interpreted as vicious. 
"Oh, you do, do you?" he said. 

"Certainly I do," Carol snapped, beginning to lose her temper. "I insist on 
it!" 

He laughed aloud a harsh grating sound that frightened her more than 
anything that had happened so far. He was glancing sideways at her, his eyes 
slitted and his lips still twisted into that smile. With a blush of shame 
she saw that the skirt of her suit had ridden up over her thighs, showing 
the firm white flesh above the tops of her stockings. Furiously, she 
smoothed it down. So that was it! This disgusting little man was driving her 
to some secluded spot where he would ask her to get out of the car, to sit 
beside him on the blanket he would spread under the trees...She could almost 
feel those grubby paws of his crawling up her legs, parting the sparse 
little patch of dark pubic hair down between her thighs, trying desperately 
to force their way between the moist pink lips of her vagina to stroke her 
defenseless clitoris while his foul breath panted warmly into her averted 
face! 

She leaned back in the car seat, her head resting on the coolness of the 
window, her mind in a whirl. She was vaguely aware that they had turned off 
the freeway and taken a country road, that they had bumped through a village 
flanked by a general store and a gas station. There were people living in 
the houses in that village, children playing out front. A little further on, 
a man raked leaves. He would help her if only he knew what was going on. She 
tried to scream but although her mouth opened, no sound came out. And when 
she tried again, they had passed the man and it was too late. Limp as a rag 
doll, trembling with frustration and fear now, she slumped against the seat 
again. 

Bronwen if that was his name glanced at her once more. "Something wrong?" he 
rasped. 

Carol sat silent, staring straight ahead. "Something wrong?" the man mocked 
again. His eyes now held a steely glint, and for the first time the girl 
felt truly frightened. Such determination allied to so apparently a 
personable manner, she felt, betokened the kind of personality that would 
literally stop at nothing. Gathering the remains of her courage, she took a 
deep breath and replied icily: "Certainly not. It's just that I should like 
to know where we are going. Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me?" 

"Uh-uh." 

"You refuse to tell me?" She could scarcely believe her ears. 

"Yep. Hole in one." 

"But why?" 

"Sorry, Miss Findlater. Not allowed to tell you that." 

"And just who is it that won't allow you to do that?" Carol asked with heavy 
politeness. 

"Sorry, Miss Findlater. Not allowed to tell you." 

The color was heightening on Carol's cheeks. "Well, just what are you 
allowed to do?" she snapped. 

Bronwen laughed again. "Just what I am doing," he said. "Pick you up at your 
place and take you where you're going." 

"But.. . " Carol relapsed into frustrated silence and bit her lip. They 
turned off the road into a rutted country lane running between high hedges 
and then, passing a weathered farmhouse with the shutters closed, swung onto 
a dirt road that twisted away between densely packed trees. 

It was then that the scared brunette broke. Sheer terror took possession of 
her, draining her of what little strength she had left. She slumped forward, 
her head against the windshield, and began to sob hysterically. 

"Stop that!" Bronwen shouted. He slapped her viciously across the face, and 
then, seeing that she was only weeping all the more uncontrollably, he 
braked the car savagely to a halt. Carol was at her wits end. She had to get 
away from this evil man, with his vague hints of superior forces telling him 
what he could and could not do; she had to free herself from this apparent 
kidnapper, shake off the clouds of mystery and doubt that were fogging her 
mind, get out and away into the freedom and the fresh air of the woods. The 
door handle was by her elbow. The car had stopped. If she was to jerk open 
the door and make a dash for it, she might not get far before her captor 
overtook her but at least she felt she had to try . . . 

Before her fingers had closed around the chromed lever, Bronwen's hand 
tangled fiercely in her hair, pulling her head back on to the padded seat so 
cruelly that tears spurted from her eyes. At the same time he pulled a small 
bottle from his jacket pocket with his other hand, eased the cork from the 
neck with his forefinger and thumb, and jammed the bottle under the weeping, 
struggling brunette's nose. 

Carol writhed and twisted frantically on the seat, trying to free her head 
from the agonizing grip on her hair, trying desperately to avoid breathing 
in the sickly fumes rising from the uncorked bottle. She tore at the man's 
forearm with her hands, scrabbling at the stuff of his sleeve with her 
fingernails as she tried to force down the muscular arm and the bottle it 
held. 

But her struggles were useless. Her wildly kicking legs couldn't reach 
Bronwen's body; with her head fixed in position by the cruel fingers in her 
hair, and her torso crushed by the weight of his chest, she was pinned as 
immovably as an insect on a board. And like an insect on a board, her 
movements became feebler and feebler, her ineffectual struggles Jess and 
less strong as the vapor she was forced to inhale suffused her lungs and 
fogged her reeling mind. 

Her fingers became thick and buttery, her arms as heavy as lead. Gagging and 
choking and retching, she was dimly aware of her hands falling uselessly to 
her lap, her legs subsiding helplessly to the floor of the car, as the world 
in front of her eyes began to whirl around her head. Bronwen's face blurred 
and became fuzzy...and then her mind was invaded by a tide of crimson 
darkness into which, falling slowly over and over, she fell. . . 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

It was dark when Carol awakened and she had no idea where she was. She only 
knew she was lying on a small cot, that her mouth was dry and that her head 
ached. Her stomach churned, and when she tried to turn over, she found she 
had no strength to do so. She tired to remember what had happened, but her 
memory was a confused blur. She wondered how she had got to this dark room 
and how long she had been there...and why. But the effort of thinking 
exhausted her, and she closed her eyes and fell asleep again. 

It was still dark when she returned to consciousness, but not so dark that 
she couldn't make out a shadowy figure standing at the end of the bed. She 
took it to be that of a man...and suddenly, with terrifying clarity, the 
events of the past few days, the scaring car ride, her abduction, the bottle 
with the drug in it, crowded into her mind. A cold hand of fear clutched at 
her vitals, sending a shiver through her entire body. Shuddering, the 
reached for a coat, a jacket with which to cover herself and with a shock of 
pure terror realized that she had been partially stripped. Her legs were 
bare, her jacket, blouse and skirt had disappeared: now she wore nothing but 
her panties, her brassiere and a flimsy wisp of petticoat. Where were her 
clothes? Who had removed them...and why? Choking with fear, she knew: it was 
that horrible man Bronwen! That must be him standing at the foot of the bed 
now! 

He must, evil, filthy brute that he was, have drugged her in the woods and 
brought her here to this house! He must have unbuttoned her jacket, wrenched 
it from her limp form and thrown it away with her skirt; then he had ripped 
her blouse open, sending the tiny pearl buttons sailing out in all 
directions, and torn off her stockings while he lunged at her, pawing her 
soft flesh with his huge hairy hands! And then . . . ? 

Dear God! Oh my God! Had he...had he touched her, ravaged her poor, 
defenseless, unconscious body, forced her unknowingly to submit to his lewd, 
indecent advances? No! Oh, dear God, no! And what was going to happen to her 
now? Was she to be attacked, viciously assaulted, her helpless body 
plundered and invaded by this shadowy figure standing before her? Was she to 
be raped again by this man...this Bronwen? She shuddered violently and then, 
all her control gone, she began wildly to scream: "No! For God's sake no! 
Leave me alone...don't touch me!. . . " 

The figure moved. "For God's sake!" a voice exclaimed. 

Carol gasped. The voice was a woman's! Footsteps clattered on wooden stairs, 
a door was flung open and suddenly the room was blindingly illuminated by a 
naked electric bulb. Through the fingers of the hands she had clasped 
involuntarily over her eyes, the captive brunette saw two men pile into the 
room. Bronwen?...No, to her relief both were strangers! 

"What the hell's going on here, Kristy?" one of them shouted. 

The woman she was short and blonde and curvaceous shook her head. "She's 
hysterical, Butch! She doesn't know what she's doing!" she said. 

"Well for Chrissake do something! Make her stop screaming! She'll have the 
whole neighborhood in on us!" 

"Oh, come on, Butch!" Kristy protested. 

"You know there is no neighborhood! Who's to hear except us? There isn't a 
house for miles!" 

Butch scowled. He was a beetle-browed man, dark and stockily built. "Look, 
Kristy it'd be just out goddamn luck to have some son of a bitch out there 
shooting rabbits, or taking a leak, or throwing it to some broad or 
something. Suppose there is and he hears something? You know as well as I do 
what would happen to us!" He drew a stubby finger across his throat. "So you 
keep her quiet and that's an order!" 

"How am I supposed to keep her quiet?" 

"Slap her face. And go on slapping until she stops screaming." 

"You're talking about orders. You know I'm under orders not to touch her. 
You want me to break those orders?" Kristy said sullenly. 

"A little slap across the face ain't goin' to hurt nobody," Butch yelled. 
'Things are goin' to be tough enough around here without her squealing her 
head off! I don't care what you do, but you gotta keep her quiet, 
understand?" He flourished a fist at the girl and Carol, lying defenseless 
on the bed, saw with a shudder of horror that there were black hairs downing 
the backs of his fingers. 

The second man, a ferret-faced youth with thin, mousy hair, spoke for the 
first time. 

"What the hell's she yellin' for?" he enquired in a shrill voice. 

The blonde shrugged. "She'd got some fool notion that Charlie tried to rape 
her when he brought her in," she said. 

Ferret-face burst into a guffaw of coarse laughter. "Christ!" he exploded. 
"That'd be the day!....Hey, Butch, didya hear that? She thinks Charlie tried 
to rape her!" 

A broad grin spread lewdly across Butch's face. "Jesus!" he said. "We send 
the only faggot in the whole outfit to pick her up and she thinks he's raped 
her!" He walked over to the bed and stared down at Carol's trembling body, 
his tongue stealing out to lick lecherously at his lips. "You know, Louie," 
he said to ferret-face, "she must be really hard up for it if she has to 
think that! Whatsa matter, gorgeous? That legal boyfriend of yours not 
slipping you any meat?" 

"Looking at her," Louie said, a lewd gleam in his shifty eyes, "I'd say 
there must be something the matter with Thorneycroft, wouldn't you, Butch? I 
mean like havin' a luscious little number like this hankerin' to get laid 
just hankerin' for it and doin' nothing about it! . . . " 

Carol writhed in shame at their obscene jesting, struggling to cover herself 
in some way, hauling her petticoat down over her fearfully trembling thighs, 
crossing her arms over the rounded globes of her breasts which bulged so 
tautly out of the wispy brassiere, pressing her legs together in a futile 
attempt at modesty. God, they were foul, these men! Base, depraved creatures 
who would rape a woman as casually as they would smoke a cigarette, would 
force her into unimaginable indecencies to satisfy their vile cravings! And 
they dared to talk that way about Mason...fine, decent, wonderful Mason! Oh, 
she loved him more than ever now, she truly did! 

The men's knowing eyes roved over her lushly ripened body again, and then 
Louie said with a nudge of his elbow: "Hey, Butch you think she's been 
saving her high an' mighty little cherry for him?" 

The dark man shook his head. "Who? Thorneycroft? I doubt it! Not a 
hot-looking bitch like her! Think she'd give us some if we asked?" 

Kristy whirled on the two of them. "Okay, boys, cut it out!" she snapped 
angrily. "You know what the orders are. You leave her alone." 

Butch sighed. "I know," he said regretfully. "But, honest, I can't keep my 
eyes off that tight little ass of hers!" 

"Well, you can keep your hands off!" the blonde ordered. She pulled a wooden 
rocking chair across to the side of the bed and sat down in it. "What's 
going on downstairs?" she asked. 

"Not a damned thing." Butch was suddenly serious. "Dave and the Boss are 
pretty worried." 

"Why? They sent the ransom note, didn't they? They've been in touch with the 
people at the radio station and that faggot minister, haven't they the ones 
who are secret sympathizers and promised to act as go-betweens?" 

"Sure they did. But there ain't been no answer not yet. I guess we better go 
on down and join 'em." He shepherded Louie towards the door. 

Kristy got up and followed them halfway across the room. "Let me know what's 
going on, will you?" she asked. "Keep me in the picture. I'm going out of my 
mind alone up here with her." She nodded at Carol. 

"Any time you want to change places Butch began. But the blonde silenced him 
with a withering look. "Okay, okay," he said hastily, "We'll keep you in 
touch." Then, with a final unmistakable leer at the helpless girl on the 
bed, he went out, slamming the door behind him. 

Kristy went slowly back to the bed. 

"Scared?" she asked softly. 

The captive girl turned her face to the wall. "Oh God, they're vile!" she 
moaned. "They're so crude and vulgar and...How can they talk like that?" 

"Sure they're crude and vulgar," Kristy admitted cheerfully, mimicking 
Carol's voice. "But then they never had the chance to go to imagine schools, 
the way you did. Makes a difference, you know." She sat down by the bed 
again. "Anyway, they won't bother you, most-likely. It'd be too much of a 
risk...and they don't want to tangle with the Boss, so you can relax, see?" 

"The Boss!" Carol repeated shrilly. "Who is this man? Who are you? And why 
am I here?" 

"My name's Kristy, you know that. The Boss is called Peter." 

"Peter who? That tells me nothing!" 

The blonde shrugged. "It tells you all you'll learn about us." 

"But who is 'us'? I don't understand! Why have you brought me-" 

"Look," Kristy interrupted swiftly, "Your precious boyfriend, Thorneycroft, 
was responsible for six of our members getting sent up for long terms 
yesterday people in the Liberation for Individual Behavior movement." 

"My God!" Carol sat up suddenly, her face drained of color. "You...you mean 
. . . ? You mean to tell me that you're . . . ? " Her voice trailed away 
into silence as the full implications of what the girl had said penetrated 
her dazed mind. 

Kristy nodded. "When I say 'us', I mean members of the L.I.B. Well, we 
warned him, didn't we? We told him we wouldn't let him get away with it! 
Okay our members were sent up just the same. Well, you're part of our 
revenge: you were brought here as a hostage." 

An icy hand of fear was clutching at Carol's stomach. She was remembering 
the story in the newspaper...some harm would come to Mason, it had 
threatened. Now it was beginning to stack up: in some way, he was going to 
be harmed through her! "You're telling me I've been kidnapped?" she said in 
a very small voice. 

"If you want to call it that," Kristy said. "We don't think of it that way. 
We feel that you your side has taken something that belongs to us our 
members, the ones that Judge Harvey sent to prison yesterday. Understand? 
Well, we're not going to get those people back just by asking for them, are 
we?" 

Dumbly, Carol shook her head. 

"Damned right we're not! We're only going to get them back if we have 
something to trade...and that something is you!" 

Numb with shock at the thought that she herself had become in some way 
involved in the shady undercover battles between the members of L.I.B. and 
the law, Carol could nevertheless see, even in her still-half-drugged state, 
that Kristy had a point there. But that was no reason to take her clothes, 
was it? She glanced down at the curves of her almost naked body, revealed in 
all its voluptuousness through the flimsy petticoat, the wisps of lace and 
nylon left to her, and felt the full humiliation of her position. Why had 
they taken her clothes? 

Following the direction of her glance, the blonde girl replied, almost as 
though she had read Carol's thoughts: "Wondering why we took your clothes, 
are you? We had to send them to your family...as proof that we really had 
you. Otherwise you could have been taken by some other group, or even gone 
off on your own, and we could be cashing in on it. If you want to bargain, 
you have to show the merchandise first!" 

"What are you going to do with me?" Carol whispered. 

'That depends. If our people are released, as we ask then of course you'll 
be released too." 

"And...if not?" 

Kristy turned away her head. "Let's just hope your friends see reason and 
let our people go," she said distantly. 

"Oh, God, please don't hurt me," the frightened brunette whimpered. 

"We don't aim to. We don't believe in harming anyone not even your people, 
who would imprison us all for life or shoot us down like dogs if they had 
the chance. Not even those who convicted our fellow members without a shred 
of genuine evidence. We don't believe in doing violence on people...unless 
of course we are forced to." 

The last phrase, spoken calmly but with an undercurrent of menace, sent cold 
chills racing along Carol's spine. What did the girl mean . . . "unless of 
course we are forced to?" But before she could ask Kristy to elaborate, the 
door burst open and Butch came in with a frown creasing his brow. "We just 
had a message," he said gruffly. "They called in the police and put the 
whole works in their hands." 

Kristy whistled softly. "That's bad," she said soberly. "That's very bad." 

"Damn right. It's the very thing we warned them against, too!" 

"But if you're asking them to trade your friends' freedom against me," Carol 
ventrued, "surely they'd have to inform the police. I mean, they're in jail, 
aren't they? And the jail is run by-" 

"Stick to your imagine high-school lessons," Butch interrupted sourly, "and 
leave real life to those who know the score. There are ways of doin' these 
things kinda behind the scenes. But once the fuzz are called in officially, 
the whole damned world gets to know about it...newspapers, the whole fuckin' 
shoot! And then neither side dares to back down because they're scared of 
losing face. So you can't bargain any more." 

He took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, took one himself, and then 
offered one to Kristy and Carol. Fumbling for a book of matches, he struck 
one, held the match to each of the girls in turn, and then lit his own. "I 
think this means trouble," he said to Kristy. "For them as well as for 
us...My God! Did you see what I just did! Three on a match! Jesus Christ!" 
There was a look of horror on his surly face as he went out. 

Carol's mind was whirling both with the after-effects of the drug and with 
the shattering things she had heard so she lay down again and tried to 
sleep. She managed to doze from time to time, tossing fitfully on the bed. 
Once 

Kristy wakened her to bring her a bowl of soup, insisting that she had 
something to eat and the captive girl was astonished to find how hungry she 
was. Another time, her blonde jailor scrounged a pack of cigarettes for her, 
and even came in once with the remains of a small flask of Scotch which she 
offered to Carol. Once when she awoke, Louie and Butch were in the room, 
deep in discussion with Kristy and although Carol couldn't hear what they 
were saying, she knew by the solemn tones of their voices that things were 
not going well. 

When she slept again, the events of the last few days passed before her in a 
confused, distorted dream, like some weird surrealist movie: it was a dream 
in which everything was turned upside down the good became evil, the vile 
became pure, and Mason kidnapped her and drove her to a lonely moorland 
where he brutally raped her just as she imagined Charlie had done. She awoke 
bathed in a cold sweat to find Kristy asleep in her chair and daylight 
filtering through the drapes drawn over the window. 

The second day of her imprisonment was fraught with a sense of impending 
doom. A heavy pall of gloom hung over the house and all the people in it 
although Carol had no idea of its size or position, since she saw nothing of 
it but her room and a bathroom next door, and all the windows were 
shuttered. Kristy spent the day wrapped in thought as she rocked back and 
forth, back and forth in the chair, springing up every now and then to pace 
nervously from one end of the room to the other. Once in a while one of the 
others Butch or Louie or a tall, fair man called Dave opened the door a 
crack to hold a whispered consultation with the blonde girl. 

As the hours dragged past, Carol a prey to nameless dreads heightened by the 
fact that she could find out nothing about her situation or how the ransom 
negotiations were going-found that her nerves were beginning to go. The slam 
of a car door somewhere outside sent her diving for the blanket which had 
covered her sleeping form. A shout of anger from somewhere below made her 
tremble from head to toe. She tried to read books that Kristy had brought 
her books setting out the aims and principles of L.I.B. But the words 
blurred on the page and the philosophy expressed seemed to her arid and 
academic in contrast to the very real danger she was in through their 
application. 

Towards evening, after another whispered consultation, she was led from the 
small room in which she had been kept to a much larger room up a flight of 
stairs. The windows here, however, were smaller and covered by heavy black 
curtains nailed into place. Carol wondered if there were bars outside them. 
She knew instinctively that she had been transferred as a matter of 
security. There was trouble brewing-and when it came she would be safer here 
than before, though whether this meant safer for her own sake or safer as an 
unharmed bargaining center she had no idea. 

Her fears and suspicions were confirmed a little later when a heavy-set 
young man Carol judged him to be about twenty-four with biceps bulging under 
the thin shirt he wore and muscles rippling across his chest, was brought up 
to take Kristy's place. 

"This is Bruce Harding," the blonde girl said as she went out. "You'll be 
much safer with him than you would be with me . . . " Despite the reassuring 
words, Carol for some reason felt a twinge of uneasiness at Kristy's tone: 
there seemed to be a hint of some allusion, a double meaning she hadn't 
quite grasped, in what her previous jailor said. 

* * * 

Bruce Harding sat in the battered chair he'd pulled close to the bed and 
stared at Carol's sleeping body. God, but the luscious little bitch was 
built. Just looking at her lying there was enough to make his balls ache and 
his thick cock stiffen and jerk inside his jeans...especially the way she 
was lying now, her magnificent, tautly swelling breasts just bursting out of 
that skimpy black lace brassiere, the soft pink flesh of her thighs 
displayed below the petticoat that had ridden up almost to her waist as she 
threw off the blanket in her sleep! Best of all was the glimpse of the 
narrow crotch-band of her white nylon panties up between her limply open 
legs! Christ! It didn't even completely hide her cunt! Bruce stared in lewd 
delight at the silkily curling pussy hair that nestled darkly there. 

Even the way Carol's hair curled against her cheek, the way one smooth arm 
lay across her marbled forehead, sent a dull pounding ache coursing the 
length of his rigid penis. God, but he'd like to have it rammed up into her 
right now...shove it deep inside her time and time again while she moaned 
and thrashed and bucked under him! And begged for more! Jesus, that would be 
half the fun, to hear this stuck-up little bitch Counselor Mason 
Thorneycroft's fianc'e, no less! actually begging his sworn enemy Bruce 
Harding for more! 

But the orders, Bruce reflected morosely, were strictly hands off. When she 
went home, it had to be the way she came in no damaged goods. That was the 
rule and he was going to stick by it. He sighed at the opportunity denied 
him, but consoled himself with the thought that such self-denial was in a 
good cause. He'd gladly die for the principles of L.I.B. But he wished to 
hell they wouldn't tempt him so goddamned much first! 

Carol stirred and opened her eyes. She wasn't sure where she was at first, 
or who that was sitting by the bed. But his desires were unmistakable! His 
lecherous eyes crawled all over her like dirty little insects they might 
have been cockroaches or lice or fleas, and the girl, crushed and 
humiliated, tried to brush them away. What was wrong with these people? Were 
they all perverts, rapists, voyeurs? She saw with disgust the telltale bulge 
at the young man's loins and turned away in revulsion. "Do you have to sit 
there and ogle me like...like some dirty little schoolboy?" she said 
scathingly to the wall. Then, when he didn't reply, she threw aside the 
blanket with a sudden movement, pulled down her petticoat, and stalked 
across to the far side of the room. "Well, do you?" she repeated angrily. 

Bruce stared at her rounded ass-cheeks quivering enticingly as she walked. 
He grinned and licked his thick lips. "Nope," he announced. "Don't have to: 
just want to!" 

A cry that was half rage and half shame escaped Carol's lips. "You're just 
rotten all through, aren't you, the whole lot of you?" He started to speak, 
but she strode over to him and burst out: "You and your precious LIB 
movement or whatever it is? Why, you're nothing but a bunch of thugs and 
criminals her voice became shrill, turned into a choked scream of rage. 
"Kidnappers...liars...rapists . . . ! " 

Bruce leaped to his feet and strode across the room. He seized Carol by her 
shoulders and his nails dug cruelly into the soft, tender flesh as he shook 
her savagely. "Shut up!" he grated. It was bad enough that he was forcing 
himself to suppress his natural inclinations through loyalty to the 
movement's principles; but to be accused of the very things he was striving 
so hard to put from his mind was too much. 

The girl squirmed and writhed, trying to escape his powerful hands, but he 
held her fast. She threw back her head and gave a hysterical laugh. "Oh," 
she cried, "you're so big and strong and brave, aren't you? Just like all 
the others with your imagine speeches about peace and equality and justice! 
But what happens when it comes to the crunch? Do you really care a damn for 
the poor and the downtrodden? like hell you do!" Her lovely mouth twisted 
into a sneer of contempt. "You only care about yourselves! You want 
everything you can get without working for it and if you haven't got it, 
then you just go out and take it. Big deal!" 

She stopped, panting for breath, and Bruce pushed her away from him, holding 
her at arm's length, his eyes glittering dangerously. When he spoke, his 
voice was cold and cruel. "Okay, Miss High-and-Mighty," he said slowly. "So 
we're just a bunch of selfish bastards spouting slogans we don't believe in, 
are we? We're only after what we can get, is that it? Is that what you 
really believe about us?" 

"Certainly it is!" Carol said defiantly, wondering if she had gone too far. 

"All right then. We're just lousy sons of bitches who take what we want when 
we want it. Have it your way. I'd hate to make a liar out of you, you with 
your fine principles and all," Bruce said. 

"W-w-w-what do you mean?" Carol was afraid she really had overstepped the 
mark: there was an ugly gleam in the man's eyes now. 

"I mean I'm going to play the role you insist on giving me. I mean I want 
you. Now. And I mean I'm going to have you...now!" He stared insolently into 
her frightened face and added: "I'm going to fuck you, Miss Carol Findlater, 
like you've never been fucked before since that seems to be what you expect 
of me. And if, come to think of it, you ever have been fucked before . . . " 

Before the meaning of his words could sink in, his hand shot out to seize 
the fragile nylon of her panties and petticoat. Hooking his fingers into 
both the waistbands at once, he ripped the garments from her in a single 
savage jerk and threw them to the floor. As she gasped in horror and 
outrage, his hand flashed out again to grasp the narrow band between the 
twin cups of her brassiere. Another fierce tug, and the flimsy foundation 
had been torn from her heaving breasts to be wadded into a ball and tossed 
into a corner. Speechless with mortification, she stood naked before him. 

Holding the shock-frozen brunette with one hand, Bruce began struggling out 
of his own clothes. His shirt came first, joining Carol's brassiere over in 
the corner. Quickly, deftly, he unbuckled his belt one-handed, then unzipped 
his pants, easing them and his cotton undershorts over his muscular hips. 
His thick, rock-hard penis immediately sprang free, stiff as a pole, its 
bulbously swollen head oozing tiny drops of seminal fluid. As he tramped the 
nether garments to the floor and stepped out of them, Carol gasped in 
terror. She was too frightened even to cry out. And even if she did scream, 
who would come to her aid? Would the others, despite all their talk of 
leaving her alone, lift a finger to help her when one of their own number 
was having his will of her? 

She gaped in horror at his lustfully throbbing, menacing pole of flesh. Oh 
God, it was huge! Would he really dare? Would he actually try? Oh no he 
couldn't! It wasn't possible! He would kill her, she thought, ripping her 
tender flesh to bits the way he'd ripped her clothes! 

Bruce followed her horrified gaze downwards as she stood mesmerized by his 
lewdly jutting cock. "What's the matter?" he gloated with an arrogant sneer. 
"Never seen one before?" 

Carol stiffened in revulsion as his hand slid down over her naked stomach to 
the gentle mound of her pelvis, slipping with insidious ease between her 
legs to crawl with lust-provoking slowness along the sensitive skin of her 
inner thighs. She gave a small, choked scream, struggling to free herself 
from his lecherously stroking fingers...and then realized with a chill of 
horror that, despite the peril of her situation, a tiny spark of unwanted 
pleasure had momentarily glowed into life up between her legs! Oh God what 
if Mason should ever find out! Huge tears welled from her eyes and ran down 
her face. Even if he didn't, she would never be able to face him again with 
this guilty secret, the secret of her rape and her unwanted excitement on 
her conscience . . . 

Pitifully, she began pleading with her ravisher. "Don't do this to me, 
please! I'll do anything...anything you say...I'll do anything if only 
you'll let me go! I won't tell anyone...I won't!" She buried her face in her 
hands. "Oh my God! Please let me go!" 

Bruce gave her a look of withering contempt...then he was forcing her 
nakedly trembling body down on the bed. In a moment he was on his knees over 
her defenseless form, his mouth twisted sadistically and his eyes glittering 
with lust. He brought his mouth savagely down on hers, his tongue forcing 
its way brutally, viciously between her futilely resisting lips. She 
struggled against him until the last ounce of her strength was 
expended...and then she submitted weakly. 

She lay beneath him, sobbing softly as his hands roamed at will over her 
helpless body, stroking her neck, her throat, the soft naked flesh of her 
smooth white shoulders. They shifted down, and he cupped the heaving flesh 
of a ripe young breast in the huge palm of each hand, kneading and 
squeezing. His hot hungry lips explored her face again, then his tongue 
traced a salacious path down the narrow valley between the rapidly rising 
and falling orbs. With an inarticulate cry, he fastened his teeth on the 
small bud of one nipple as Carol recoiled in pain. She began to struggle 
feebly once again, her naked flesh squirming up against the lean, hard body 
that pinned her down, vainly seeking to push him away. 

Bruce caught his breath. Seizing both her wrists in one powerful hand, he 
forced them above her head and growled: "You little bitch why did you do 
that?" 

"I...I was trying...I wanted you to stop," Carol began piteously. 

"like hell you did, baby! Deep down inside that puritanical mind of yours, 
you love it! You want me to go on!" 

"No! Oh, no! Leave me alone!" But even as she made her frantic denial, the 
kidnapped brunette felt a lewd flickering of wanton delight in her belly, 
and a low, involuntary mewl of pleasure rose in her throat. 

"You do love it!" Bruce exulted triumphantly. "And in a few minutes you're 
going to love it even more!" He bent his head again, and now his hot 
hungering mouth roved moistly over the snowy whiteness of her breasts, 
teasing the nipples into taut little shafts of tingling flesh. At the same 
time his two hands slid down the trembling flesh of her belly, roamed over 
the soft, sensitive curves of her hips, and slipped beneath the twin 
half-moons of her futilely squirming young buttocks. 

His touch once more sent quivers of unwanted passion tingling through 
Carol's nerves and against her will she found herself responding to his 
tantalizing touch. She made no effort to stop the hand that sought the 
sparse, softly resilient curls of her pussy, the outstretched middle finger 
that parted the silken strands of hair and eased itself slowly, deliciously, 
into the narrow, wetly throbbing slit of her vagina, searching teasingly in 
the warmth between her inner thighs until they found the tiny bud of her 
clitoris and massaged that, too, until jolt after jolt of pleasure surged 
through her virginal loins. 

Then, as suddenly as he had begun, Bruce stopped. He snatched his hand away 
from Carol's helplessly quivering cunt and reared up over her again. "I told 
you! You loved that, didn't you?" he mocked. 

The harshness of his voice brought the luckless girl back to the reality of 
her situation with terrifying abruptness. She thought of Mason again and the 
utter contempt he would have for her, giving in this way to her basest 
passions. With a little cry of fear, she clamped her fearfully quaking 
thighs together against this man's plundering of her long-preserved 
virginity. 

Roughly, Bruce hauled her knees apart, hunching over her loins with his head 
poised just above her hair-framed little pussy. As she realized what he 
planned to do, Carol gave another horrified cry. She'd been right all along: 
he was a pervert! He was going to perform obscene immoral acts on her as she 
lay pinned beneath him. She mustn't let him, though. Oh God! Somehow she 
must fight him off. . . ! 

She thrashed about, flailing her arms until she was exhausted, while Bruce's 
superior strength held her fast. When at last she lay back, limp and 
unresisting, he fixed his eyes with a mocking grin on her coral-hued cuntal 
lips, already moist and visibly throbbing with unwanted desire. 

He rested the palms of his hands on her trembling inner thighs, while his 
thumbs sought out the fleshy edge of her wetly heated pussy. Then with a 
slow torturing outward movement, he pressed the hair-fringed vaginal lips 
apart, exposing the pinkly gleaming hole of her pussy to his salacious gaze. 
He uttered a satisfied grunt...and then with a low animal cry he shifted 
himself forward and down to bury his face in the "vee" of her splayed loins. 
Lizard-like, his tongue darted out past the moistened black hair to spear 
deeply up inside her warmly perfumed cunt. 

"Aaaaagggghhhh!...Oooooooh, God!...Uuuuurrrggghhhhh!" 

Carol cried aloud at the lewd, delicious sensation that raced through her 
entire body, making it tingle against her will with a crazy, all-consuming 
desire. Convulsively, against every conscious effort of her will, her legs 
now jerked wide apart, scissoring out obscenely to hang over the edge of the 
bed as limply as those of a rag doll. 

Bruce ran his tongue up and down her feverishly pulsating furrow, probing 
and exploring until he found the tiny bud of her clitoris again and then, 
once more, he licked the quivering, rubbery little shaft into trembling 
erection with maddening spiraling movements of his tongue. Torn between 
shame and agonized pleasure, Carol arched backwards, struggling for one last 
time to free herself from this vile, conscienceless monster who ravaged her 
so lewdly. Then with a groan of mingled despair and desire, she slumped 
helplessly back on to the mattress while the kidnapper continued his 
maddening tongue-fucking of her defenseless secret flesh. 

God, but she's a hot little bitch! Bruce Harding thought as he pistoned his 
tongue in and out of her passion-dewed cunt. She was ready to fuck right 
now! Well, by God, he was the one to give her what she wanted! All thoughts 
of disloyalty to the movement had vanished from his lust-crazed mind as he 
took his thick, rigid cock in one hand and, kneeling up between her 
widespread thighs, guided it towards her virginal little cunt in its nest of 
wet hair up between her legs pushing forward insistently until the 
lust-swollen head nosed through the soaked strands of black pussy hair to 
touch the hotly dilated lips of her vagina. 

Carol gasped and held her breath as feelings of intolerable desire warred 
with the tremors of overpowering guilt shuddering through her. She fought 
against the delicious quivering that assailed her body, while the thought of 
the disgrace implicit in this vile plundering of her loins assailed her 
mind. Then, as the blood-engorged head of Bruce's enormous penis slipped 
into and slightly penetrated the tightly clenched opening of her naked cunt, 
she started, partly in pain and partly with pleasure, and whispered in a 
choked scream: "Oh, don't!...Bruce...for God's sake don't...Aaaggghhh!" 

With a sudden cruel thrust, the lustfully panting young man flicked his hips 
forward and lanced his long thick cock deep into the narrow, tightly 
resisting vaginal passage, ripping her virginity away in one flesh-splitting 
rush as he slid his thrusting pole of male hardness deep into the scalding 
depths of her resilient belly. "Bruce" she had called him! A feeling of 
elation warmed his whole being. He was a person to her now...she had 
accepted him as a human being, a man! It was up to him to show the squirming 
little bitch just how much of a man he was...and by God, he was going to do 
it! 

"No.. . " she shrieked as she felt his sword-like penis cleaving away her 
innocence. Oh God, he had done it! He had raped her, taken her virginity. 
Her mind swirled again in agonized confusion. 

Again he thrust his lean hips forward, plunging his hotly throbbing penis 
further and further in until Carol felt as though his long hard maledom had 
exploded up inside her to fill the very center of her being, sending waves 
of painful ecstasy crashing through her. She lay still, exhausted, and 
weeping futilely beneath him, impaled on the iron-hard cock that crammed 
every part of her belly, pressing on the soft-ridged walls of her cunt, 
inflaming them, transforming them into a searing sheath of fire. 

Bruce withdrew his rigidly pulsating penis slightly, raising his head as he 
looked down at her and demanded, "You love it, don't you?" 

The captive brunette lay with trembling lips as she stifled another sob, 
refusing to answer him. 

He flicked forward again, sending his lustfully pulsing rod of flesh surging 
up into her belly once more. Then, as she wailed in pain, he half-withdrew 
and demanded for the second time: "Love it, don't you, baby?" 

His tone had become brutal, his manner cruel and menacing. Terrified, Carol 
at last found her voice and gasped: "Y-y-yes! I d-d-do!" 

"Yes what?" Bruce's voice left no doubt that he knew he had finally 
conquered her now. 

"Yes, B-B-B-ruce. I-I-I-love it." 

'Then ask for some more!" he commanded savagely. 

"Please, Bruce . . . " 

"Not like that. Beg me, you goddamn little snob! Beg me!" 

Carol sucked in her breath. "Do it!" she pleaded. "Please do it!" 

"Say Fuck me! Say Fuck me with your big cock and say it like you mean it!" 

Tears streamed down the nakedly ravished brunette's lovely face as she 
submitted totally to his humiliatingly degraded demands. "Oh, Bruce," she 
begged, "fuck me! Please fuck me! That's what I want you to do! For God's 
sake, fuck me with your big cock . . . ! " 

Bruce's mouth twisted scornfully. "You don't sound too sincere," he jeered. 
"But I'll be magnanimous I'll do it for you!" 

Slipping his hands beneath the smoothly rounded cheeks of her ass, he began 
the slow, building but frenzied rhythm of thrusting and withdrawing that 
would soon mount to climax. He slaved above her, fucking in and out of her 
tightly clenched pussy in long, smooth strokes, sending his cock racing deep 
into the liquid heat of her vagina that scalding sheath of pure sensation 
that clasped and released, clasped and released in time with his plunging 
thrusts. 

In gradually increasing tempo, he pistoned wildly into Carol's nakedly 
splayed loins, battering into her until she felt she was on fire with 
unwanted exquisite tongues of flame searing through her belly, shooting high 
up into her body to lick at her tender breasts. She was possessed by an 
insane passion, a lewdly thundering storm of mindless desire that blotted 
out everything but the ecstatic pleasure of the young man's hard-driving 
penis, the pounding of his hips on her, forcing her into submission, forcing 
her to admit for the first time that she was a whole woman. 

As he thrust into her again and again, he felt the violated brunette 
suddenly wail and stiffen before she began to jerk and lurch beneath him. A 
hot sticky fluid gushed out from the walls of her desperately clasping 
vagina to froth around the stump of his pumping cock and stream over his 
balls and then, unbelievably to both of them, as she bucked and writhed 
frenziedly in the throes of her orgasm, she chanted wildly: 
"Aaaaagggghhhh!...Ooogghhh! I'm cumming!...Oh God, I am! Yes. I'm 
cumming...I'm cumming...Don't stop! Don't stop! I'm cumming!...Aaaaaiiiiiiii 
eeeeeee!" 

Bruce felt the flesh of his own tormented penis bulge and expand in an 
agonizing spasm. The inside of his testicles seemed to explode and split 
wide open. The hot white flood of his sperm raced the full length of his 
wildly ejaculating shaft and then spewed out into Carol's hotly contracting 
womb in powerful, gushing squirts. It mingled there with her own excitedly 
churning juices, then overflowed back out of her tightly distended cuntal 
lips to trickle in lewd rivulets of surrender down her trembling thighs. 

With an animal gasp that was half sigh and half groan, Bruce collapsed over 
her voluptuously curved young body, already lying limp and exhausted beneath 
him, her legs spread obscenely open in utter defeat...and release . . . 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

The telephone rang on Mason's desk and he snatched the instrument from its 
cradle. "Yes, yes, this is Thorneycroft," he said impatiently. Turning to 
the dark young man beside him, he placed one hand over the mouthpiece and 
said in a low voice: "Police headquarters. They've been in contact with the 
kidnappers again." 

Howard Groves, the lawyer's assistant, picked up the extension and listened 
as the police sergeant on duty at the desk filled Mason in on the latest 
developments. "We have confirmed, sir, that the kidnapers are members of the 
Liberation for Individual Behavior movement," the policeman began. 

"We've known that all along, for Heaven's sake!" Mason snapped. 

"Suspected it, Counselor. Now it's confirmed. And they have reiterated their 
demands and sent us further proof that they do in fact have Miss Findlater 
in their power." 

"Meaning?" Mason's voice was harsh, his face pale and drawn, and his eyes 
red-rimmed through worry and lack of sleep. His hair was mussed and there 
was stubble on his usually immaculate chin. 

"We have her clothes now," the sergeant said. 

"We already had her clothes," Mason said wearily. 

"Some of her clothes," the policeman corrected. "A skirt, a jacket and a 
blouse, sir. The contacts at the radio station received some more this 
morning, along with the new ransom note just a reminder, the kidnapers 
said." 

Mason's face was ashen. "What are you trying to say?" he croaked. 

The sergeant cleared his throat. "We have now received Miss Findlater's uh 
panties and brassiere, Counselor," he said awkwardly. "They were wrapped up 
in a pair of stockings and a kind of lace slip." 

The lawyer swallowed. "Mrs. Findlater has confirmed that the...that these 
items belong to her daughter?" 

"Yes, sir. As far as possible. The uh foundation garments had been damaged." 

"Damaged?" 

"The bra and panties and slip were all torn, Counselor," the sergeant said 
gently. 

Mason slumped back in his chair with a cry of despair. The telephone 
receiver fell from his nerveless hand to dangle at the end of its cord as 
Howard Groves leaped to his side and put an arm around his shoulders. 
"Steady, Mason!" he said sympathetically. "I'll go get you a shot of brandy 
you look as though you could use a drink." 

Before he left the room, he picked up the phone and said: "All right, 
sergeant. Mr. Thorneycroft was called away. Maybe you'd like to ask 
Inspector Tyrrell and the Chief of Police to come over right away? I guess 
we should have a council of war to discuss this latest development." 

"Very good, sir," the sergeant said. "I'll call you back." 

Mason sat like a man stunned as his assistant left the office. So now they 
had even sent in Carol's stockings and undergarments! That meant that she 
was running around naked! He passed a hand over his sweat-dewed forehead. 
No! Not Carol! She'd maintain her decency and modesty, even in those 
circumstances! 

So okay, he thought, gripping the arms of his chair until his knuckles 
showed white through his skin, she's pulled a towel around her...The towel 
would just cover her ripely swelling breasts and the slim, luscious curve of 
her belly but it would be slung low in back, almost, but not quite, reaching 
the lower edge of the rounded cheeks of her firmly fleshed buttocks. The 
furrow between the hemispheres would be exposed...and some lewd, evil 
character-some vile political extremist with no sense of honor or decency 
would be staring at Carol's undulating buttocks as she threw herself across 
the room in a brave attempt to evade his grasp. In no time at all, the guy's 
penis would lurch and jerk inside his pants, hardening into a stiff, blunt 
rod that would ache unbearably . . . 

And how long, then, would it be before the guy had his pants open, before 
his grubby hand encircled that iron-hard shaft and maneuvered it out into 
the open, massaged it and stroked it, drew the foreskin back to expose the 
bulbous bloated head oozing with drops of thick fluid? How long would it be, 
as his savage lust mounted within him, before his other hand would be on one 
of Carol's snow-white breasts-before he had taken one small budding nipple 
between his fingers, squeezing and rolling it into a hard point while Carol 
screamed under the steadily increasing pressure screamed with pain...and 
possibly in unavoidable pleasure too? 

Because eventually she would, Mason knew! She would finally find some kind 
of perverted pleasure in the obscene act of this foul, filthy kidnaper. Oh, 
she'd fight against it: Mason would give her credit for that! But although 
she would be shocked and horrified, although she would fight like a wildcat, 
that would only be the beginning. Later, after she had been forced down on 
to a bed, when she was stripped completely naked with her legs held apart 
and the hair-lined slit of her vagina exposed to the man's sadistic gaze, 
his plundering rapist's fingers, she would find helpless little thrills of 
perverted pleasure ripping through her sensually quivering body, he knew she 
would. 

My God! As this brute entered her virginal young cuntal passage, already 
passion-drenched, already steaming and hot, Carol would begin to moan and 
mewl ecstatically, threshing about under his heavy bucking body, rising to 
meet his thrusts, falling back, arching up again, responding to his every 
lascivious move . . . 

Mason wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He gasped 
for breath. Oh, God! Carol would submit. She would resist at first but Carol 
his lovely, charming, intelligent, well-bred Carol would submit like a 
common prostitute, begging in the most obscene manner, the most obscene 
words, to be taken like a street slut! And then, God help her, she would 
lose herself in wild abandon, spreading her legs wider in welcome as she 
climaxed with shrieks of unearthly joy! 

"Mason! For God's sake pull yourself together! Take a sip of this!" Howard 
was by his side, holding out a glass of brandy. "Look," he said quietly, "I 
know how you feel believe me I do. But you simply must get control of 
yourself, for Carol's sake as well as your own.. . " 

Choking down the fiery liquor, Mason heard his assistant's words echoing 
through his tortured brain. Control! That was what Carol lacked not him! She 
had never been able to control herself, he thought bitterly. Why, only a few 
days ago she had practically offered herself to him, her fianc'! She had 
invited him to take whatever liberties he wished, although they would not be 
married for several months! Her mother would never have done such a thing at 
her age! Nor would anyone in the Thorneycroft family. There was an 
inexplicable touch of.. . well, of the tramp...in Carol, despite all the 
advantages she had had. If only this wanton streak could be wiped out, if 
only marriage could extinguish this lascivious spark in such an otherwise 
lovely girl, she would be an asset to him in his career! 

Gosing his eyes, he thought of her as a gracious hostess, a charming 
companion, taking her place in the community . the way the Findlaters and 
the Thorneycrofts always had, as a social leader, as a patron of the arts, a 
benefactress of charitable causes. She would be as respected as he was; the 
two of them would make a model couple. They would have a happy and adequate 
sex life, of course: Mason was no prude, and sex between a man and his wife 
was normal, even desirable at times. But Carol, he reflected, was given to 
excesses, and that he could never permit. 

And now she was alone, alone with these depraved sex fiends, these monsters! 
He remembered the girl in the courtroom a girl who had obviously been one of 
their friends. She even resembled Carol in some ways. They were about the 
same age...and Carol might have been like that; she might yet be like that, 
he thought with a shudder of horror, shedding all her inhibitions, letting 
herself go in the throes of passion! Dear God, how could he stand it! They 
would rape Carol's nakedly helpless young body and take her virginity, he 
was convinced of that. And that in itself was enough to kill a man. 

But to think of her enjoying it as well God, there was no hell worse than 
that! Nothing more cruel than the knowledge of what could happen to her 
tender mind if she was exposed to raw, animal sex...He sat pale and still 
with shock, staring blankly at the wall until Howard's voice brought him 
back to reality. 

"Mason! Chief Carter and Inspector Tyrrell are here along with your old law 
partner, Bob Rush. I guess it would be a good idea to talk to them, huh? The 
Chief can fill us in on the latest developments and then maybe we can all 
get together and agree on a plan of action. Okay?" 

Mason nodded and swallowed the rest of his brandy. A moment later the two 
policemen and Rush, the distinguished, gray-haired senior partner of Mason's 
old firm, were ushered into the office. 

Carter cleared his throat and looked around the room before he spoke, "this 
is a dirty, lousy business, Mason," he began, "I don't need to tell you how 
we all feel.. . We have a few facts: Sergeant Phillips will have given you 
most of those. In addition we have turned up two other things the real 
estate agency who contacted you, Mason, was a plant, a fake. So they must 
have planned this some time ago, expecting their members would be convicted. 
And secondly, we traced the car they used. We hope but it's a slim hope that 
the tire tracks may give us a clue." 

He paused and looked straight at Mason. "So far as the rest of it goes," he 
said slowly, "we know roughly who the kidnapers are though we don't know 
which actual members of the organization are involved in the abduction. We 
can't pull in every single L.I.B. supporter and hold 'em on suspicion! And, 
of course, we know what their demands are too . . . " 

Nobody spoke for what seemed like a long time. Outside Mason's office, wind 
whistled through the dusty branches of an elm tree and a sudden scatter of 
raindrops were hurled against the window. The lawyer looked up. The tiny 
beads of moisture were trickling down the glass, leaving grimy runnels along 
the dusty surface. "They want the release of the six members I prosecuted 
the other day," he said absently. 

Carter sighed heavily. "That's it," he said. 

"But you know that's impossible. We could never agree to that." 

"We know how you feel, Mason," the police chief said. "You believe in law 
and order, have done so all your life. So do we all, of course. But now it's 
Carol's life that's threatened . . . " 

"That only made it more impossible," 

Mason cut in. "Since I'm the one involved, can't you see I have no 
alternative? I can't go around preaching law and order to everyone else, 
then cave in when my own interests are at stake!" 

"Everyone would understand," Howard Groves assured him. 

"Judge Harvey and the D.A. would agree if you give the word," Carter urged. 
"They're leaving the ultimate decision to you, since you're the one, as you 
said, personally involved. But they'll go along with anything you say. 
They'd understand too." 

"I wouldn't!" Mason said flatly. 

"But Counselor, it's...that is, it may be Carol's life!" 

"And it's my honor," the lawyer said coldly. What was the matter with these 
people? Couldn't they see that right was right, and wrong was wrong? The 
world was divided into two halves: one was good and the other was bad. And 
Mason was pleased to think that he was on the side of everything good. 
Others, he knew, had slight imperfections. Even Carol, fine and strong and 
courageous as she was, would cave in, in a crisis. Again the thought of his 
fianc'e being raped flashed through his mind; he seemed to see her in all 
her degradation, lying beneath some depraved brute, writhing lewdly on some 
dirty bed in a wild, abandoned climax. Carol, he was sure, would have 
dishonored her own name; and he was afraid that some day she might dishonor 
his! But he, Mason Thorneycroft, would never budge an inch! 

"It's my honor," he repeated. "I'm sorry, but I cannot under any 
circumstances be a party to any kind of capitulation under duress whatever 
my personal involvement." 

Carter sighed again, more heavily this time. "What do you suggest we do, 
then?" he asked. 

"Do? Do your duty, of course!" Mason's lips were compressed into a thin, 
tight line. "I thought that was understood." 

"Track down the kidnappers, surround them, and then go in with guns blazing, 
is that it? Mason have you stopped to think what that might mean?" 

"I can't afford to stop and think. I only know what's right." 

"Counselor!" Inspector Tyrrell spoke for the first time "They might kill 
Miss Findlater before we could get to her; that's what usually happens in 
such cases! Some of my officers may lose their lives! We may never even find 
the place where they're holed up . . . " 

"Your job is to find them and do your best to get her out. My job, along 
with the judge's, is to see that justice is done. I think I have done my job 
so far, and I shall certainly continue to do it. Now I must insist that you 
do yours," Mason said coldly. 

Chief Carter stared at him levelly for a moment and then shrugged. "Okay," 
he said at last. "We'll do our best but I can promise nothing." 

Robert Rush, who had been listening to the exchange with knitted brows, 
spoke up. "Mason, I think you're wrong," he said. "God knows I respect a man 
with principles but now I think it's time to compromise...for the good of 
everyone." 

Mason flashed him a look of contempt. "Robert," he said to the old man, "I'd 
thought more of you than that!" 

He sank back in his chair as Carter produced a map of the area and began 
explaining how they were deducing from times between messages, 
concentrations of population, witnesses' reports of the kidnap car, and so 
on which regions on the outskirts of the city the hideout was-likely to be 
in. 

Mason listened but he heard nothing. His mind was on Carol once more and on 
the possible humiliations she was being subjected to at that very moment. 

* * * 

Carol lay on the narrow bed, her ravished young body aching under the thin 
blanket. She was clad in an ill-fitting blouse and a loose skirt, under 
which she wore only a pair of panties much too wide for her slim figure and 
the blouse gaped open, revealing the smooth, snowy mounds of her naked 
breasts as she tossed and turned. Her head pounded and throbbed with a 
tormenting rhythm that recalled the terrifying events of the night before 
the piston-like thrusting of the young man called Bruce, the sawing of his 
huge rigid penis into her virginal vaginal passage, the rippling shafts of 
unwanted pleasure that had finally resulted in her abandoned and debased 
orgasm at his raping hands! 

Oh, it was unbearable that she, Carol Findlater, soon to be the wife of a 
respected attorney, had been thus defiled by an oafish brute like Bruce 
Harding when Mason, to whom she was engaged, had demanded nothing of her 
that she was not willing to give, had in fact demanded even less than she 
would have given! She could never face Mason again, of course: he would only 
have to look at her face to know the guilty secret she harbored; to know 
that, despite her horror and revulsion, despite the physical struggle she 
had put up, she had in the end submitted willingly, almost blissfully, to 
her ravisher's vile demands. She was not fit to be the wife of a fine man 
like Mason Thorneycroft, to be the mother of his children! No decent man 
would want her now that her belly had been filled with a total stranger's 
hotly spurting seed! She turned her face to the wall, sobbing quietly to 
herself. 

When she heard the door open quietly, she shuddered and tensed herself, 
waiting for Bruce's ribald laugh or the coarse comments of Louie of Butch. 
Instead, she heard Kristy asking gently: "Is there anything I can do, 
Carol?" 

The violated brunette shifted in the bed, her body aching painfully as she 
dragged herself into a sitting position. Outside the shuttered window, she 
could hear the monotonous pelting of rain. The blonde girl was holding out a 
glass to her. "I brought you some Scotch," she said. "I thought you might 
need it." 

Gratefully, Carol took the tumbler and drained it. The fiery liquor suffused 
her body with warmth and soothed her jangled nerves. When Kristy offered her 
a second glass, she accepted it with alacrity. 

By the time she was sipping the third, the curvaceous blonde was sitting on 
the bed next to her, with one arm around the captive girl. Slowly, tenderly, 
she began to stroke Carol's shoulder as she spoke, lulling the broken young 
brunette into a dream-like state in which the horrors of yesterday became 
vague and insubstantial in an alcoholic haze. 

"That bastard Bruce!" Kristy said, continuing her slow, hypnotic caressing. 
"He's been bragging to the boys and me about the way he fucked you! Said you 
were a hot little number and he had you begging for it!" Half whispering, 
offering Carol her sympathy, she slipped her fingers under the loose blouse 
the kidnapped girl wore, easing the fabric down, working the garment 
partially off, exposing one firm, lush breast. "They're all a-like, men," 
she crooned. "You can't trust any of them ever!" 

She began to stroke the lushly rounded globe of flesh with a soft, 
tantalizing movement. "Now women are different," she breathed. "A woman 
gives you something, brings you warmth and tenderness, makes you happy...Men 
they don't give a damn about anything but themselves, isn't that right, 
Carol?" With her free hand, she unbuttoned the blouse, drew it away from 
Carol's limply sagging body, and dropped it to the floor. 

Too surprised, too weakened by her earlier ordeal and by the drink to 
protest, the captive brunette mumbled incoherently as Kristy's fingers 
trailed lightly over first one breast and then the other, gently teasing the 
nipples into taut erection, then slipped down over the smooth curve of 
Carol's belly. She closed her eyes, instinctively pressing her thighs 
together to prevent any new invasion of her ravished vagina. When she opened 
them again, she saw that Kristy was removing her own clothes, working 
awkwardly with one hand while she continued her beguiling caresses with the 
other. 

"It's different, Carol, isn't it?" she murmured softly, her breath heavy 
with passion. Without waiting for an answer, she drew the young brunette to 
her, pressing her own unexpectedly lovely naked body against Carol's. Her 
tautly thrusting breasts crushed against the kidnapped girl's, their nipples 
meeting as Kristy's hand moved down the firm flesh of Carol's stomach 
underneath the waistband of the loose panties to the tangle of silken curls 
sheathing her loins. "Oh, darling," she whispered, "you're so beautiful! I 
want to take care of you . . . " 

Carol's head was swimming in helpless confusion. She let it fall on the 
girl's shoulder, allowing Kristy to cradle it between her chin and the cool 
smooth flesh of her arm. She felt strangely relaxed and peaceful, a small 
child soothed in the arms of a loving mother, and at the same time the most 
desirable woman in the world responding to a strong, virile man! 

Suddenly, Kristy pressed her lips to Carol's, her tongue darting out to 
probe the soft warm cavern of the captive girl's mouth, searching, finding 
her tongue while Carol gave a little shocked gasp of delight. She was aware 
of Kristy's hands roving over her body, aware too that the blonde was toying 
in some way with the clothes she still wore and then, as she felt the thin 
nylon panties drawn slowly down over her hips and thighs and a cool breeze 
wafted across her exposed genitals, she realized that she lay beside Kristy 
completely naked! . . . 

The young captive closed her eyes again as she was held tight Kristy's body 
rubbing against her own, Kristy's thighs curled around her, clasping her 
while the golden pubic hair and the dark mingled together in a hot embrace. 
Carol felt a tiny thrill of pleasure ripple through her, even as her 
alcohol-dimmed mind recoiled from the perverted assault on her naked flesh. 
With a shudder, she realized that the girl was caressing her buttocks, 
gently at first, then with more determination, parting the softness of the 
twin mounds until the tip of her finger teased into the tiny puckered mouth 
of Carol's anus, shocking her again yet oddly delighting her too. 

She moaned faintly, then collapsed limply on the bed as Kristy twisted 
around, moving her head sideways and down to the trembling white flesh of 
Carol's thighs. She began to kiss the sensitive surfaces there, making the 
nerve-ends quiver with that strange, wonderful excitement Carol had felt so 
recently under Bruce's forced attack. As the tipsy brunette moaned again, 
her legs falling slackly open, Kristy's lips wandered to the tingling little 
black triangle up between her thighs, explored it, searching out the fleshy, 
hair-lined cuntal lips. Her moistly pointed tongue flicked out to penetrate 
the soft warm folds, licked slowly at the hotly pulsating opening, and then 
probed the tight narrow passage until it found the tiny pink bud of her 
clitoris. 

"Ohhhhh...no...you must.. . not.. . " But even as Carol's almost incoherent 
protest was coming out of her throat, her shamelessly aroused cunt rose to 
meet the other girl's wet hungry mouth. The tantalizing contact of Kristy's 
tongue against her sensitive pussy lips sent new waves of ecstasy searing 
through 

Carol's receptive body, while her brain or a part of it reeled with horror 
at the depravity of what was happening. God, but it was wonderful, she 
thought dazedly...yet she longed for the strength to fight off this further 
obscenity and humiliation! Dimly, she was aware of noise in another part of 
the house shouting voices, the sudden blare of a radio, clattering footsteps 
on the stairs. But none of it registered through the crescendo of excitement 
that thrilled almost to bursting point through her now hotly drenched, 
pulsating pussy. 

It was only when Bruce's voice called urgently from outside the door that 
she recalled dimly where she was and how she came to be there, His usually 
gruff tone was tinged with panic as the words tumbled out.. . they had 
picked up a police radio broadcast...they were on the trail.. . it was only 
a matter of time before the hideout was discovered...there was still no word 
about the release of the prisoners . . . 

Kristy made no reply; perhaps she hadn't heard. Then the door burst open and 
Bruce's words were bitten off in mid-sentence as he stared into the 
dimly-lit room. "Christ!" he exploded. "I'd never have believed it if I 
hadn't seen it with my own eyes!" 

Kristy raised her head from the softly curling triangle of Carol's lewdly 
undulating pussy. "What the hell d'you want?" she cried angrily. 

A lewd and lecherous grin spread across the young man's face. "What do I 
want? Just what you're getting!" he replied. He strode across the room and 
yanked the blonde girl roughly away from Carol, to cast her brutally to the 
floor. "My turn, I guess," he guffawed. 

In an instant Kristy was on her feet, her naked breasts heaving. "Leave her 
alone!" she spat. "You know the rules." 

"Rules? You don't seem to pay too much attention to them!" 

"That's different! This time she wanted it!" 

"Oh yeah?" Bruce jeered. "I suppose she's a dyke too?...Well, we'll see! 
We're really gonna find out right baby?" 

Carol cowered away from his leering glance, wishing desperately that the 
ill-fitting blouse and panties, the blanket she had discarded, anything, was 
at hand to hide her nakedness from his lascivious gaze. She shrank back 
against the wall with a moan of protest as he kneeled suddenly up on the 
mattress and jerked his zipped fly open. A moment later, he had hauled out 
his stiffly throbbing rod. "Ever sucked cock?" he demanded lewdly and then, 
as she watched paralyzed with fear, he straddled Carol's naked breasts, 
pinning her arms to her sides with his knees as he seized his obscenely 
pulsating penis in one hand and advanced the rubbery blood-engorged head 
until it was pressed against her tightly clenched lips. 

"Come on, Miss Rich Bitch, you can take a mouthful of this: it wants to spit 
right down those high-flown tonsils of yours!" he grinned, reaching out with 
his thumb and forefinger to pinch the nostrils of her finely chiseled nose 
together so that she couldn't breathe. 

"Mmmmmmph!...Mmmmmmmmmpphhh!" Carol moaned desperately, striving to hold her 
breath as long as she could to avoid opening her mouth. But finally, under 
his mocking gaze, her contorted face crimsoning through lack of air, she was 
forced to gasp her lips open...and at-once he shoved the hotly throbbing 
shaft deep into her mouth, ramming it down until it seemed to stuff her 
gullet right back of her throat. 

Carol gagged and fought wildly to expel the plank-stiff cudgel that filled 
her mouth so cruelly, so unnaturally. She moved her head frantically from 
side to side, struggling helplessly, straining for breath. My God! She would 
suffocate!...She couldn't breathe!...She would die! For an instant she broke 
free just long enough to suck in a lungful of cool air, panting with relief 
and then the triumphantly grinning young man grasped her head in both hands 
as he sank the lust-thickened pole of flesh deep into her mouth again...in, 
in, up to the hilt, and the short, wiry hair around its stump was grazing 
her wetly ovaled lips while his cum-filled balls slapped obscenely against 
her trembling chin. 

Now he began to fuck in and out of her suddenly salivating mouth with long 
quick strokes and strangely, partly due to the alcohol and partly to a 
rising tide of masochistic acceptance of the lewd, debasing act she was 
being forced to perform, Carol felt a whirling storm of unwanted passion 
take possession of her. It left her helpless to fight against the obscene 
defiling of her cock-stretched lips. Without looking, she knew that Kristy 
was watching them, despising her and Bruce too-and this added an extra 
fillip of perverted pleasure to the ravishment of her now willingly open 
mouth. 

Chills of excitement whipped up and down her spine. With shame, yet with an 
indefinable pride, she felt the sticky moistness seeping more fluidly 
between her widespread legs, felt the hotness of it suddenly flooding her 
pulsating pussy, felt the ache and throb of desire down there between her 
thighs. Oh God! How wonderful, how horrible, it was! Wicked and evil though 
it was, it was wonderful too! With a moan, she abandoned herself to the 
wanton delight of the lewd, cocksucking act she was performing...running her 
tongue shamelessly back and forth over the sensitive surface of Bruce's huge 
penis, teasing the tiny slit in its tip, licking the drops of salty fluid 
welling from the glans, tasting it, savoring it as he jerked his hips 
forward and fucked deep down inside the saliva-filled cavern of her mouth. 

Carol's passion-distorted brain rejected all rational thought, all conscious 
knowledge now, in the slavish acceptance of her debased position: she gave 
herself up completely to the delirium of being fucked in the mouth, of 
actually sucking a man. No, no she'd never done it before, she thought 
hazily, remembering Bruce's question a few short minutes ago. Never! And now 
it seemed she could never get enough of it, as if she could not bear to wait 
for the swollen penis stabbing into her throat to shoot forth its white-hot 
sperm, filling her mouth with its pungently searing male liquid while she 
moaned and threshed in erotic bliss. 

Madly, insanely now, she sucked on and on, her cheeks of their own volition 
tightening, contracting around the thrusting fleshy staff that sawed in and 
out of her tightly pursed lips like a well-oiled piston. And then suddenly 
Bruce's body above her was seized with a wild, violent spasm and his 
abruptly jerking testicles sent the eagerly welcomed stream of thin, milky 
sperm gushing warmly into her locked mouth. Carol gulped to swallow every 
precious drop, her hungry throat constricting and relaxing as the staccato 
pumping of the penis wedged between her jaws ejaculated the scalding fluid 
from its tip. 

At last Bruce pulled away from her elastically ovaled lips with a lewd wet 
sucking noise and reeled backwards on the bed, a thinly glistening string of 
semen following him away to thread across the nakedly writhing girl's 
breasts as she dropped her head exhaustedly to the pillow. Just before she 
closed her eyes, she caught sight of Kristy edging towards the door, her 
face a mask of fury at Carol's betrayal of her. The ravished brunette smiled 
inwardly. A dyke, had he said? Well, the blonde girl should know better than 
that by now! 

Bruce had left her and she was drifting off to sleep when she heard again 
the voice of a radio announcer from below. Struggling to her feet, she 
tiptoed to the locked door and pressed her ear to the panels. Mason's name 
was mentioned, and her own, in a welter of words she could not 
distinguish...And then, as someone turned up the volume on the transistor, 
she heard quite clearly the newscaster's final announcement. 

The police had definitely picked up the trail in the Findlater kidnapping, 
he said confidently, and State troopers were moving in from all sides. It 
was only a matter of time before the abducted girl was rescued, her 
terrifying ordeal ended. The police, the announcer went on, were being led 
by Miss Findlater's fianc', prosecuting attorney Mason Thorneycroft, who had 
helped plan the operation and insisted, in an act of rare courage, that he 
accompany the officers on their perilous mission. 

Carol clapped her hands over her ears. Mason! In her lewd, newfound sexual 
pleasure, as she responded for the second time to the debased assault of the 
man called Bruce, she had forgotten him completely! 

Now she dared not think of him...think of how he would react were he ever to 
find out what had just transpired! Dear God, what had possessed her? What 
evil demon had taken possession of her body and soul to lead her to such 
inexplicable depths of degradation? 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Inspector Tyrrell leaned in the back window of the police patrol car and 
spoke in a low voice. "We tracked the car from the fake real estate agency 
as far as this clearing," he said. "The tire marks stop here and from our 
examination of the footprints in the mud, we figure Miss Findlater was taken 
out of the car and then picked up and carried to a second vehicle. The tire 
tracks of that one lead along a rough track through the woods, out across a 
patch of moorland, and then vanish a quarter of a mile before a deserted 
farmhouse. The ground's too rocky after that to pick them up." 

"But...you think that's where they're holed up?" Mason asked. He was sitting 
with Howard Groves in the back of the patrol car. They had been waiting over 
an hour in the muddy, rutted country lane while the driver joined the other 
police officers searching the wet ground somewhere ahead. The rain had 
stopped and a thin sliver of moon had ridden out from behind the low, 
scurrying clouds, but all around them the night was loud with the stealthy 
dripping of moisture from the leafy branches. 

"It could be," the Inspector answered cautiously. "Too early to say yet. It 
looks-likely, I'll admit but we have to check out some more things before we 
move. I have men searching the ground near the place under cover of 
darkness. We don't want to act hastily: we have to be sure." He straightened 
up, murmured: "I'll be in touch the minute we have definite news that's a 
promise!" And then he stepped back and was swallowed up in the night. 

The two lawyers settled themselves down to wait again. It seemed a long time 
since they had left the city, Howard Graves thought. He wondered idly how 
the men who had snatched Carol were supporting the suspense. What kind of 
men could they be, to abduct a girl from her own home and hold her for days 
in pursuit of a political aim? Were they in fact all men? There were plenty 
of women supporters for the L.I.B. movement. How did they behave, cooped up 
together as they must be? He knew from hints that Mason had dropped that the 
attorney feared a sexual attack of some kind on the girl. He himself was 
inclined to doubt such a thing; the men in the movement were certainly 
fanatics, but that didn't necessarily make them rapists! 

Nor did he think they would kill the girl-even if the police found the 
hideout and rushed it. They would never dare! As long as they were free, she 
was useful to them only if she was alive and well; she would be useless as a 
bargaining counter if she was dead! On the other hand, if they failed and 
were caught, they could certainly expect no leniency if she had been harmed. 
Mason himself had personally sworn that he would see to it that they died if 
anything happened to her. No, the kidnappers would not harm Carol, Howard 
thought not willfully. 

He pulled a hip flask of brandy from his pocket and silently offered it to 
Mason. Far ahead in the darkness, lights twinkled briefly...and then, 
swelling louder on a gust of moist wind, they heard the distant baying of 
dogs. For a long time after that there was no sound but the raindrops 
dripping from the trees. Then Inspector Tyrrell materialized suddenly by the 
car window again. 

"This is it all right," he said. "Two of my boys wormed their way up to the 
house in the dark, and they found a set of tire tracks in a patch of soft 
ground just outside the yard. They correspond to the set we identified 
leaving this clearing after Miss Findlater had been transferred to the 
second car. The dogs confirm it; they're holed up on that old farm!" 

Mason expeled his breath in a long sigh. "So what's the next move?" he 
asked. 

"We're cordoning off the whole area," Tyrrell said. "I've set up roadblocks 
on Route Seventeen, Route Twelve and Route Nine; I've closed off the 
crossroads at the intersection of the State highway and the country road; I 
have men moving in on the farm from all directions. By the time it's 
daylight well have the place surrounded. Nobody gets in and nobody gets out; 
we're clearing the area of everyone but police and State troopers until this 
thing is over." He paused and added soberly: "That includes you too, 
Counselor, I'm afraid." 

Mason stiffened. "Absolutely not," he said heatedly. "I'm going in with you 
and my friend here too, if he wants to." 

As Howard nodded his agreement, Tyrrell shook his head. "It's not safe, sir. 
God knows what will happen when we close in on these people. They're certain 
to be armed and they'll be desperate." He patted his holster. "We're armed 
too. It could turn out to be a bloody affair." 

"Exactly. That's why I have to be there," Mason said. 

The policeman started to protest, then thought better of it. "As you like, 
sir," he said heavily. "But I'll take no responsibility for it." 

"I don't ask you to," Mason snapped. "I only ask you to let us go along." 

Tyrrell unhooked the radio mike from the dashboard of the patrol car and 
began barking orders deploying officers to strategic positions, informing 
police headquarters of the latest development, requesting reinforcements, 
ambulances, arms, checking to see that the roadblocks had been set up. Then 
he turned back to the attorney and said: "We can get nearer to the house on 
the far side of that stretch of open land. There's a small wood where I can 
set up a command post and keep the place under observation. I'm going to 
turn around and drive there now by a circuitous route. You two gentlemen had 
better come with me." 

He got into the car with his driver, and they began slowly backing up along 
the muddy lane, reversing through the mournfully dripping trees towards the 
final denouement which would dispel or substantiate the fears from which 
Mason had suffered so hellishly, and it seemed, for so long. 

* * * 

Inside the abandoned farmhouse, Louie, Butch, Bronwen, Kristy, Bruce and the 
young man called Dave Davis who was second-in-command of the movement, sat 
around an upturned orange crate on which they had set up a powerful 
short-wave transistor radio. They were listening in on the police channel 
and they were worried. 

"Car 42!" the radio ordered. "Proceed with caution along Route Nine...Car 
29!...Car 29! Proceed along Route Twelve and link up with Car 6 at .the 
intersection with Route Seventeen...All cars are to proceed with caution; 
suspects may be armed, repeat, armed...Will Inspector Tyrrell please call in 
and contact Chief Carter immediately...Calling Sergeant Phillips; calling 
Sergeant Phillips! You are to move your unit up to the edge of Sector D and 
await further instructions under cover of the trees.. . " 

Dave Davis got to his feet with an oath and began pacing up and down the 
blacked-out room. "The bastards are closing in on us!" he gritted. 

"You're certain they got the right place, Dave?" Butch asked nervously. "I 
mean, it could be some other farmhouse they're surrounding." 

"Don't be a dope!" Davis barked. "Of course it's the right place! We heard 
them giving the map coordinates, didn't we? We checked them our, didn't we? 
You'll see the sons of bitches under those trees as soon as day breaks, I'm 
telling you! The bastards have been smarter than we figured, that's all." 

"We still got the broad, ain't we?" Louie protested. "Why don't we just get 
into the cars and take her someplace else?" 

"Because the goddamn place is surrounded, that's why. And even if we did 
break through the cordon, there's roadblocks. You heard. We got no place to 
go." 

"Yeah, but the girl's our trump card and like Louie says, we do still have 
her," Bruce objected. "Why don't we call up the Boss and ask for fresh 
instructions?" 

"Because the call would be monitored and it'd lead the pigs right to the 
Boss! Jesus ain't nobody any sense around here?" Davis shouted. Although he 
was only Number Two in the organization, the Boss the man they knew only as 
Peter had entrusted him with the entire tactics and strategy of the kidnap 
operation. The responsibility was his alone and that responsibility was 
weighing heavily on him now. 

He had vowed once to die for the movement if it was necessary. Now, for the 
first time, it looked as though it might actually come to that; it might 
be...necessary. Mopping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, he 
tried to think of some way out. He could turn Carol over to the police, 
forget about the release of their members in jail and save his own skin that 
way. But it wouldn't be for long; L.I.B. had its own executioners and they 
wouldn't be as considerate as the police, if it came to the crunch! Or he 
could surrender to the police personally, throw himself on their mercy. No, 
that was out, too. Maybe he didn't want to be a martyr Jesus! He sure as 
hell didn't want to be a martyr! but he wasn't a lily-livered bastard 
either. Anyway, he knew he'd spend the rest of his life in jail if the fuzz 
once got their paws on him! Even dying would be better than that! But as for 
getting out of here without any of those alternatives...Christ! They didn't 
have a snowball's chance in hell! 

He sighed. He'd have to persuade them to do it the hard way! "Look," he 
said. "So they found the hideout. So they got the place surrounded. But what 
difference does that make to the basic pain?" 

"Every difference in the world, I'd say," Charlie Bronwen said with a 
nervous laugh, and the others chorused their agreement. 

Davis shook his head. "Nope. Not really. They've located us, is all. That's 
the only difference from when we first snatched the girl. And, like Louie 
says, we do still have the bitch. They won't dare rush the place in case we 
kill her; they can't touch us while she's still here. So it's back to 
starters; if they want her back, they gotta set our people free!" 

"Sure, Dave, but.. . " Bruce's brows were knitted in thought. 

"All we have to do is sit it out.. . see who cracks first," Davis urged. 
"And I'm damned sure it's not going to be us!" 

"You say she's our trump card," Kristy cut in. "But, Dave, they have all the 
other cards! They can sit it out for days, for weeks, for years if they 
like! They can get supplies. We only have a limited amount. When they've 
gone, we're finished!" 

"You're forgetting the psychological angle," Davis said. "The girl's 
parents, that damned lawyer, public opinion, for God's sake! They're gonna 
be wondering if she's starving too, if she's okay. The longer it lasts, the 
more screwed up they'll get. I think there's a chance they'll still crack 
first.. . so we're gonna make a fight for it, okay?" 

Again there was a general murmur of assent, and he went on: "I know I can 
count on all of you!" That's a load of bull, he thought to himself. They're 
just as-likely to chicken out as me or anyone else! But he repeated 
nevertheless: "I know I can count on you so let's get busy. Butch, there's a 
case of guns in the cellar. Kristy has the key. Check them all, see that 
they're cleaned, and hand 'em around. Louie take all the supplies upstairs. 
Food, water, bandages, first-aid kit, everything. The rest of you can help 
me make this dump as secure as humanly possible." 

Later he went upstairs himself and called Kristy out from the Toom in which 
Carol was held prisoner. "How is she?" he asked in a low voice. 

"Okay," the blonde girl said. "I'm keeping her plied with firewater, just in 
case. She seems happy enough." 

"Is she fit to walk to the window and wave if necessary?" 

"Walk to the window? Who?" 

"Who!" Davis bellowed. "The fucking broad, of course! That goddamn 
attorney's girlfriend! Who else, for Chrissake!" 

"All right, Dave. You don't have to bite my head off!" Kristy paused and 
then added: "You sound like you could do with a drink yourself! Pull 
yourself together!" She went back into the room and returned carrying a half 
full bottle of Scotch. 

"Sorry!" the young man said sheepishly as he swallowed a long draught. "I'm 
a little on edge, I guess." And indeed, the atmosphere of suspense and 
tension in the empty house was an almost tangible thing, crackling between 
the besieged kidnappers like a menacing electric current. 

"Why do you want her to wave from the window?" Kristy asked quietly. 

"To show the bastards she's really here and to keep them from firing if 
possible. If the fuzz are going to get any target practice in, it's going to 
be at her expense, not ours. I told the boys to stand well back once the day 
breaks." 

"I'd better go on giving her this then," Kristy said, taking a swallow from 
the bottle before she recapped it. "All we need is that high-class bitch 
getting hysterical around here and setting everyone else off! It's going to 
be tough enough for all of us as it is!" 

"Too right," Davis said. "We have to keep her happy at all costs. Tell you 
what what's the surest way of all to make people happy? Hash!" he cried, 
answering his own question. "Pot! Grass! That's better still! Roll her some 
joints, Kristy, that's it! Make her smoke, get her stoned and keep her 
stoned!" 

"Okay, Dave. What are you going to be doing?" 

"Me and the boys," Davis said soberly, "are going to be turning this place 
into an armed fortress!" He paused and cocked his head, listening from below 
came the sound of heavy objects being dragged across floors. "You hear that, 
Kristy? And you remember how we always used to talk about fighting behind 
the barricades? Well, right now our boys down there are building those 
barricades! . . . " 

* * * 

The rain clouds had disappeared with the coming of the day. The sun climbed 
the eastern sky, its heat drying off the sodden uniforms of State troopers 
and police surrounding the house m damp swirls of vapor. Behind the glinting 
gun barrels hidden by leaves and branches and ramparts of sandbags, weary 
but still watchful eyes scanned the facade of the once-abandoned farm, 
searching for any movement, any sign of life. 

There was none. The windows were dark, covered with some black material that 
cut off any view of the interior. Nothing stirred inside or outside. Beside 
the police command car, concealed behind a spinney at the edge of the woods, 
Mason grew impatient. Carol was inside that house; the police, hordes of 
them, were outside. Why not storm the place, shoot their way in, rescue her 
and carry her off to safety? 

"Impossible!" Inspector Tyrrell said with a decisive shake of his head. 
"Suppose we did start shooting? The chances are that Carol would be the 
first person we'd hit. D'you think they're not smart enough to put her up as 
a shield the moment anything starts?" 

"So we don't shoot. So what do we do?" 

"We wait and leave the first move to them," Tyrrell said. 

The day wore on. The sun beat down on the old house, on the police hiding in 
the woods around it, on the barrels of their guns. Mason and Howard sat 
under a pine smoking innumerable cigarettes. Occasionally one or the other 
of them would rise and creep forward to the edge of the wood to peer at the 
house as if somehow that would change things. But everything remained the 
same; nothing moved in the house, nothing moved outside. And always 
whichever of them had moved would return, weary and disconsolate. 

By noon the sun was blazing, broiling the officers hidden behind the leaves 
and branches camouflaging their guns. Around the house, in the cleared area 
that had once been a lawn and garden, the air shimmered in the heat. Sharp 
beams of sunlight slanted against the cracked glass of the windowpanes to 
reflect back into the eyes of the watchers with blinding intensity. Birds 
fluttered and chirped in the treetops, and all around them was the lazy hum 
of insects. 

Mason had taken off his jacket, loosened his shirt collar and removed his 
tie. His eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue and worry, and he was unshaven 
again. He walked up to Inspector Tyrrell and said roughly: "Look you say we 
can't shoot in case we hit Carol. But supposing she isn't there!" 

The policeman turned away from his radio transmitter. "Supposing she . . . ? 
But of course she's there!" 

"We have no proof that she is," Mason urged. "We know they are. But they 
could have transferred her someplace else before we surrounded the place. In 
which case your men could storm it with impunity." 

"Maybe you have a point there, Counselor," Tyrrell said slowly. "We could 
insist that they show us Miss Findlater if not, we'll storm the house." He 
picked up a bull-horn and walked to the edge of the woods. 

"Attention! Attention!" he bellowed. "You are surrounded by police! We will 
attack at once...unless you can show us the whereabouts and the state of 
health of Carol Findlater.. . " 

Mason was watching the weathered facade through binoculars held in his 
trembling hands. For some time nothing happened...then a black drape was 
drawn aside from an upper window and a figure appeared. "My God!" he gasped. 
"It's her! It's Carol!" He could feel a sinking sensation in the pit of his 
stomach, and the blood thundered behind his eyes as he watched. She was 
there! Alive and apparently unharmed...his lovely Carol! 

The girl in the window was smiling dreamily. She waved, almost as though she 
was some minor member of royalty acknowledging the salutes of the crowd from 
a palace balcony. She seemed totally unaware of any danger. 

"All right.. . we have seen her!" Tyrrell shouted. 

"Will you release our members if we return her to you?" The voice, borne on 
a sudden gust of hot wind, carried clearly from the old house. 

"We will withdraw our force in return for her release." 

"That's not what I asked. You haven't answered my question." 

Tyrrell glanced questioningly at Mason, who shook his head violently. The 
policeman sighed. "You already have our answer!" he called. 

The drape was jerked back over the window and Carol disappeared. "Well?" 
Mason demanded. 

"There's nothing to do but wait," Tyrrell said. "That's the hell of this 
kind of situation. I know how you must feel. I feel the same way myself.. . 
if we could just do something, anything get out there and fight, rush the 
house, anything! It's the waiting drives everyone mad. And that's what 
they're counting on, mark my words." 

"How long will we have to wait?" Howard asked. 

"God only knows. Could be another day or two...a week. Depends on what 
supplies they have, on how long they can hold out." 

The day wore on. Tyrrell used the bull-horn several times more but the 
questions and the answers were always the same; neither side would give in. 
Once a shot cracked out and a bullet winged the corner of the house to send 
splinters of brick flying. It was answered by a hail of fire from the upper 
windows that poured slugs into the trees, ripping leaves from the branches 
as they went. After that, Tyrrell gave strict orders that there was to be no 
shooting unless he himself gave the command. 

His men were tired; some were trigger-happy. Shooting could break out at any 
moment. It was a risky situation, the Inspector knew, and getting more 
dangerous every minute. He went to find Mason. 

The lawyer was squatting under the pine tree surrounded by a ring of 
cigarette butts, staring moodily at the ground. His mind was tormented by 
thoughts of what might be happening what might already have happened to 
Carol, alone in the house at the mercy of those vile brutes. "Tyrrell," he 
said fiercely, "you've got to get her out of there! You've got to." 

"There's only one way to do that," the policeman said. "You're not going to 
like this, Counselor but I think we should give in, release those people 
from jail and the hell with it." 

Mason turned pale. "Never! That's the one thing I can't agree to!" 

"It's the one thing to do if you want to be certain of saving your fianc'e," 
Tyrrell said quietly. 

The distraught attorney shook his head violently. He drew a deep breath. "I 
want you to send your men in," he said through set teeth. "Yes, using their 
guns! If that's the way it has to be. I want you to take that house and 
rescue Carol." 

"But...what if she is killed? By their bullets or ours even!" Tyrrell was 
aghast. 

"There are things worse than death," Mason said curtly. 

Two spots of red glowed on Tyrrell's cheeks. "Maybe," he said. "Depends 
where you're standing, I guess. Depends on who you are, too. Miss Findlater, 
for instance there may be things worse than death as far as she is 
concerned...but surely that's for her to decide. And there certainly isn't 
anything worse than death for my men out there. Unless it's the living death 
of being maimed for life, crippled by a slug in the spine or turned into a 
vegetable by a bullet in the brain. I'm sorry, sir, but the risk is too 
great; an attack on the house such as you suggest is out of the question at 
this time!" He turned on his heel and walked away through the trees. 

The sun was setting behind the wood in a blaze of crimson and orange when 
Mason finally went to seek him out again. The lawyer's face was haggard and 
his hands were trembling; his custom-made shirt was grimy with dirt and 
sweat, his brain so numbed that he spoke with difficulty. "Tyrrell," he 
croaked, "we can't go on like this...I can't go on! Knowing Carol is in 
there...not knowing what's...what's happening to her.. . " His voice broke. 
He could hardly tell the policeman that his worst torment was imagining how 
fervently the girl would ultimately respond to the vile, lewd manipulations 
of her ravishers! He beat his fist against the palm of his hand. "Oh God, I 
can't stand any more of it!" he groaned. "Sitting around helplessly, waiting 
for something to happen! And not being able to do a goddamn thing about it!" 
He stared at the officer with bloodshot eyes, a man near to breaking point. 
"I can't go on," he said. 

"You want to try negotiating with them?" Tyrrell asked sympathetically. 

"Yes...no...That is, you know I can't agree to their terms, ever. I can't 
exchange their people for Carol. I can't agree to that, not even for 
her...But I was wondering . . . " 

"Yes . . . ? " the Inspector prompted helpfully. 

"Well...I was wondering if they'd agree to exchange her for me...What I mean 
is, they want a hostage, don't they well, why couldn't I be that hostage 
instead of Carol?" 

Tyrrell looked at him for a moment then shook his head and put a hand on the 
younger man's shoulder. "You really love her, don't you?" he said gently. 
"Okay, we'll try." He turned away and picked up the bull-horn. 

* * * 

Inside the old farm, Davis was triumphant. "Yes, I think we could agree to 
that!" he exulted and he shouted back his acceptance of Tyrrell's offer 
through the opened upper window. 

In the rooms around him, the members of the movement momentarily relaxed 
their vigilance. All of them even Kristy had pitched in to board up the 
windows downstairs. They had moved what furniture there was, dragged in 
cases and timber from the yard, and built their barricades as they had been 
ordered to do. And now they were staffing the upstairs rooms so that every 
approach to the house was covered through the peepholes left in the 
blacked-out windows, their eyes alert, their fingers on the triggers of 
their guns, watchful for any surprise move on the part of their adversaries. 

Carol had been moved to an attic room at the back. She sat in a rocking 
chair, her legs curled under her, sweltering in the close air under the 
roof. Occasionally one of the men brought her a drink of water or fruit 
juice or even Scotch, and she sipped it gratefully. Once they brought in a 
sandwich, but she left it almost untasted on the paper plate. It was Kristy 
who kept offering her the sweet-tasting cigarettes that did so much to clam 
her shattered nerves, rolling and lighting them for Carol herself. The 
captive brunette inhaled deeply, letting the aromatic smoke swirl around her 
lungs as long as possible before blowing it out again. A strange feeling of 
peace and well-being had come over her; oddly, she was no longer frightened, 
although she knew she was in greater danger than ever. She was certain 
through the effects of the marijuana she was unknowingly taking that nothing 
could harm her. She was content to rock dreamily back and forth, staring at 
the faded roses of the wallpaper, which seemed to grow larger and clearer 
and brighter the longer she looked at them...to listen to the creak of the 
rocking chair, which became louder and louder and more musical...and to chat 
with Kristy and Bruce, exchanging words which seemed to her infinitely wise 
and profound. When Dave Davis came into the room and told her that she would 
be seeing Mason in a few minutes, she only smiled sleepily and murmured: "Oh 
really? But how very, very nice! . . . " 

* * * 

Darkness had fallen and the once deserted farmhouse was bathed in the eerie 
glow of police spotlights when Mason Thorneycroft edged out of the 
protection of the trees and began to walk slowly across the stretch of 
barren moor separating him from the kidnappers' hideout. His hands were held 
high in the position of the defeated, the prisoner and all eyes were on him, 
both within the house and in the woods from which he had emerged. 

Reason told Mason that he risked being shot, out there in the open 
silhouetted in the floodlights as a perfect target for the guns of those who 
hated him. Reason told him too that shooting him would be pointless at least 
for the moment. No, the members of L.I.B. had promised to release Carol in 
return for his own surrender. They would not harm him yet. After his fianc'e 
had been released it would be a different story, and the attorney wondered 
how many ways there were to die, and which was the most painful. Maybe he 
would soon find out. But at least he would have saved Carol . . . 

Mechanically, he walked on, lifting a foot, setting it down, lifting the 
other...the two or three hundred yards between the trees and the house 
seemed to stretch for miles, the few minutes it took to cross them extended 
into centuries...But Carol would be waiting for him, just inside the yard 
gates. As he went in, she would be allowed to leave. He wished he could talk 
to her, even if it was only for a moment. But that was against the agreement 
Tyrrell had made with the gang: she was to leave the instant he entered not 
before and not after. He sighed, wondering how long it would be before he 
could leave...and whether it would be upright or feet first! 

At last he had reached the dilapidated wall surrounding the house. He 
tramped along until he was outside the wooden gates with their cracked and 
peeling paint. As he raised a hand to knock, one of the gates swung silently 
open. With a last look over his shoulder at the safety of the woods, he drew 
a deep breath and walked inside. 

The yard was small and in total darkness. Reflected light from the floods 
over the wall struck a gleam from the coachwork of an automobile parked 
under an open barn and from the blued steel barrel of a gun closer at hand. 
But where was Carol who should be passing him, who should be leaving, freed, 
at this very moment? There was no sign of her. 

Before his mind had time to register the fact, the gate banged shut behind 
him, and he heard the protesting scroop and thump of heavy bolts being shot. 
He felt sick with rage and disappointment and fear. 

Carol had not been released, would not be released. He had walked straight 
into a' trap...and now the members of L.I.B. held two hostages! 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Mason was shaking with fury when the two men who had overpowered him in the 
yard brought him into the upstairs room and thrust him into a wooden chair 
before Butch, Louie, Charlie Bronwen, Bruce and a grinning Dave Davis. "We 
should have known better than to trust bastards like you!" Mason seethed. 

Davis nodded. "You, you should," he said mildly. "You know, Thorneycroft, it 
appalls me that a man in your position should know so little about human 
nature. We learned to distrust your side years ago." 

"You're nothing but a...bunch of wild animals...worse than common 
criminals...the dregs...at least they don't clothe their violence in 
self-righteousness!" Mason spluttered. 

Davis smiled thinly over the radio balanced on the orange crate. "Flattery 
will get you nowhere," he said. "Oh the other hand, if you're willing to 
cooperate, we might still make some kind of arrangement. You know what I 
mean?" 

"You'll never make me order the release of those prisoners," the attorney 
said flatly. 

"Too bad. Carol...Miss Findlater you don't mind if I call her Carol? will be 
especially unhappy about that decision of yours." 

"What do you mean?" 

"How do you think she's going to feel when we start in...oh, you know...we 
won't be too harsh on her at first," Davis said. 

Mason paled and clenched his fists. "You can't frighten me that way," he 
said tightly. 

"Not now, of course," Davis said. "But later when you hear her screaming 
then you may become a little nervous." He smiled sadistically. "But as I 
said we'll go easy at first. You know-begin with the finger-nails. Just the 
pinky, first time around. And after we've pulled the nail out of her little 
finger . . . " 

"You dirty bastard!" Mason yelled furiously. 

"Oh, come now," Davis wagged an admonitory finger. "You said we couldn't 
frighten you! But if you're going to scream when we only talk about pulling 
out her nails, how are you going to feel when we start burning that lovely 
tender skin of hers with cigarettes or matches? Of course, if that doesn't 
frighten you, we may have to recourse to stronger measures . . . " He pulled 
a switch-blade knife from his pocket and snapped open the blade. "But don't 
worry we'll only carve Carol up where it won't be seen. like an initial or 
two on her private parts, for example though from what I've seen while she's 
been here that might be pretty public...her cunt, I mean!" 

He broke off as Mason leaped to his feet and hurled himself across the room, 
his flailing fists striking out at his tormentor's face. Butch and Louie 
immediately threw themselves on him from behind and wrestled him back into 
the chair, cuffing him brutally with the flat of their hands. Davis waited 
until he had quieted down and then went on evenly: 

"In the end, you know, we might have to...well, I hate to use the word 
'kill'...but we might have to do away with Carol. That would be a real 
shame, wouldn't it?" He looked around at the other members of the gang. "But 
I can't think of anything else to do, can you?" 

They all scratched their heads, feigning perplexity. Finally, Bruce spoke 
up, clearing his throat and glancing sideways at Mason as he spoke. "Dave," 
he said, "isn't there something even stronger than that? You know a fate 
worse than death?" 

Davis pretended to search his mind. "I guess you're right, at that," he 
said. 

"Well if that's the worst there is, why don't we do that to her?" 

"Do what?" Davis was playing straight man to Bruce's buffoon. 

"Whatever it is that's worse than death." 

Davis stroked his chin. "Yeah but who would do it?" he asked. 

"I would," Bruce said. "For the movement. You know I swore I'd do anything 
for the movement, anything. Well, I guess I'd do even this!" He raised his 
hand in the group's salute. 

Davis returned the salute solemnly. "You're a brave man, Bruce," he said. "A 
credit to the movement.. . so go ahead." 

Bruce ran his tongue salaciously around his lower lip and stared mockingly 
at Mason. "She's in there?" he queried, nodding his head at a door above a 
short flight of steps and when Davis nodded he sighed, hitched his belt, and 
moved purposefully towards it. The others followed, hauling the speechless 
Mason with them. 

Carol was sitting on the bed inside the room, with Kristy in a chair under 
the blacked-out window. The captive brunette, who was smoking another of the 
thin brown cigarettes, looked up at Bruce and smiled as she inhaled deeply. 
He was a beautiful young man, she thought. Kristy was beautiful, life was 
beautiful, and she wouldn't for a moment have changed anything. "Hi!" she 
called, grinning lopsidedly, her eyes squinting slightly. 

"Hi there!" Bruce grunted, waving a hand in greeting. 

Trying to focus on the others crowded in the doorway, Carol saw that Mason 
was there too. That was just marvelous! Everything was wonderful! Bruce in 
her confused, drugged state, the memory of Bruce's hands on her naked body 
sent her soaring Bruce was here! And Kristy! Everybody! She puffed at the 
cigarette again. And when Bruce moved forward, pulling her brutally off the 
bed and against his hard muscular body, she responded with an unearthly 
thrill. Every nerve in her own body tingled with anticipation of the 
pleasure to come when Bruce fucked her again yes, that was the word, 
"fucked" her as she knew he was going to do...just the way he had before. 
Her mouth...her vagina...everywhere! 

Without a word of protest, she allowed Bruce to unbutton the loose blouse 
she was wearing so that she stood before all of them with the lovely rounded 
white mounds of her breasts thrust out like twin moons, hanging suspended in 
the open air. There was a moan of lewd appreciation from the group standing 
at the open door, punctuated by a groan of fury and agony from Mason...and 
then the ravisher's strong hands were ripping at the cheap undergarments 
Carol wore, tearing the thin elastic away from the panties so that they fell 
to the floor, tangling around her ankles. He offered her his hand, in some 
insane parody of a traditional dance, and she took it, stepping from her 
clothes with all the unconscious grace of a Marie-Antoinette leaving her 
coach at Versailles! 

Across the room, Davis sucked in his breath at the sight of Carol's 
voluptuously naked body. My God, she was gorgeous! Why hadn't he sampled it, 
like Bruce? He'd never seen a woman with such delicacy, such sheer beauty! 
Her matchless arms might have been chiseled from the finest Italian marble; 
her breasts smoothed by the hands of a master craftsman. Her legs were long, 
the thighs rich and full and firm. Davis whistled in amazement. It was 
Bruce's turn now, he thought. But his turn would come soon and so would 
Louie's and Butch's and Charlie's...well, perhaps not Charlie's but all the 
others...if this sonofabitch Mason didn't break soon! 

Bruce's hands roved down Carol's compliant body, rolling the nipples into 
taut erection, caressing the firm flesh of her gently swelling belly, moving 
on to explore the mass of darkly curling pubic fleece up between her legs. 
The kidnapped brunette stood passive, transfixed in her drugged haze, a 
rising tide of passion surging through her at the delicious touch of the 
young man's fingers. Tingling with excitement, she stepped backwards and, 
mouth hanging open with expectation, seated herself on the edge of the bed. 
At once Bruce dropped to his knees and spread her thighs wide, gently 
parting the fleshy, hair-lined lips of her cunt while the girl threw her 
head back and gasped with delight. She felt the surging desire flowing 
through her whole body but concentrating in her loins in a wild throbbing 
sensation that was completely beyond her control, a yearning that turned her 
narrow cuntal passage into a scalding cavern of moistness. Groaning softly, 
she lifted up her feet and planted her heels far apart on the edge of the 
bed, presenting the whole flat plane of her naked loins to Bruce's lewdly 
gaping eyes...and the eyes of everybody else in the room. 

Watching from a few feet away. Mason gave a bellow like a wounded bull and 
made a last desperate attempt to break away, to rescue her. A blow to the 
side of his jaw sent him reeling to the floor, and another speeded him on 
his way. Opening a swollen eye, he saw Davis standing over him with clenched 
fists. "Were you figuring to go some place?" Davis asked sarcastically and 
he hauled the attorney to his feet and propped him against the wall to 
witness his fianc'e's degradation. 

Bruce's fingers were now worming tenderly into the warmly exposed wetness of 
Carol's nakedly revealed cunt, and she responded with little spasms of pure 
delight and a sensuous grinding of her buttocks that was visible to all the 
onlookers. She knew they were there, in some dim way, and she knew dear 
Mason was there. She turned her head to seek him out. She loved him so much! 
But why did he seem to be angry? He was angry, she was sure. She could see 
it plainly in his face! Searching her befuddled mind for an answer, she 
thought she had found one: the Findlaters and the Thorneycrofts didn't 
believe in sex, she remembered. They thought it was nasty. Necessary 
sometimes, but nasty. Well, they couldn't have known what it was really 
like, could they? How could anything so wonderful possibly be wrong? She 
dismissed the question from her mind and lay back, throwing her arms around 
Bruce's neck as she rotated her hips against his searching fingers, moaning 
and tossing beneath him as the invading digits probed deeper and deeper into 
her hotly steaming little cunt. 

Slje caught sight of Mason's face again, bright red now with fury, with 
hatred, with disgrace, as two of the men held his struggling figure by the 
arms. She would make it up to him, she told herself dimly, she would explain 
and he would understand...of course he would understand. They could do this 
together and Mason would see how wonderful it was and he wouldn't be angry 
any more...he would feel just the way she did, she thought in her haze of 
hashish-aroused desire. 

She held Bruce closer to her, but there was something wrong his body, which 
should have been smooth and warm and glistening, was for some reason rough, 
irritating, and somehow dry and uncomfortable! She focused her eyes on him, 
puzzled and then it dawned on her that he was fully dressed: he was wearing 
the scratchy shirt and stiff denims he'd been wearing for, oh, Carol 
thought, ever so long. But he shouldn't be doing that it spoiled half the 
fun! She began to rip the buttons from his shirt, then reached for the 
zipper of his pants. 

She pulled, and something snapped, and then she pulled again, and there was 
a shrill rustling sound as the fastener opened...and then her hand was 
inside, maneuvering under his jockey shorts, worming its way beneath the 
restricting clothing to find the hidden, hotly pulsing length of his penis. 
Carefully, Carol wrapped her fingers around the young man's blood-engorged 
cock, massaging it gently, moving the foreskin up and down, up and down 
until the throbbing rod of flesh grew strong and wiry, springing into 
existence as a separate living thing, she thought in her drug-dazed reverie. 
Then she drew it out, still holding it in her hand, and gazed at it, 
admiring its size, its now rock-hard rigidity, staring at the unblinking 
small hole that was like an eye at its very tip, noticing with a flash of 
pleasure the drop of seminal fluid that welled there like a single pearl. 

"Oooooooh!" she moaned, writhing softly on the bed, her legs spread wide, 
her heels splayed over the edge. "Ooooogghhhh! Bruce!" 

Abruptly, he stood up, stripped off his shirt, unbuckled his pants, and let 
them slip to the floor. Leaning over the prostrate brunette with his steely 
shaft of flesh wagging obscenely below his belly, he asked coldly: "What do 
you want me to do, baby?" 

Carol giggled. "Oooooh!...You know." 

"No, I don't." 

"Yes, you do! You know you do!" 

"Tell me!" Bruce ordered. 

"I want you to fuck me, of course," Carol said, all inhibitions swept away 
by the exhilarating effects of the hashish. "Go on-fuck me!" 

He shot a quick glance at Mason, who was .watching in utter shock. "Say ft 
again, Carol," he commanded, twisting the knife. "Say it loud so that your 
boyfriend can hear it!" 

Mason wanted to hear her say it? Carol thought. Well, of course then she 
would say it for him! She would do anything to make Mason happy. They were 
engaged to be married and some day they would be married and then they too 
would do this sort of thing, and she would make him ever so happy when that 
time came. But right now she would make him happy by saying what he wanted 
to hear again. "Fuck me, Bruce," she said in a low passion-thickened voice. 
"Fuck me like you did before! . . . " 

She heard a shout that sounded as if it came from Mason, but she couldn't 
understand why he should yell when she was doing what he wanted her to 
do...and then the voice died away and she forgot about it as Bruce, kneeling 
eagerly between her open thighs, used the thick bulbous head of his cock to 
part the already moistened strands of her pubic hair, sweeping them away 
from the fever-filled lips of her cunt, leaving the vertical little mouth up 
between her legs completely open to him. And now he forced the lustfully 
pulsating, rubbery head into her unresisting pussy, thrusting inch by inch 
into the softly yielding walls of flesh as she squirmed in lewd delight. He 
settled his body upon her, grinding his hips between her splayed thighs, 
filling her belly with his lewdly spearing pole of male hardness, then 
momentarily withdrew...only to penetrate her again, deeper this time, until 
the skewering head battered rhythmically, relentlessly against her cervix. 

"Oh, God! Oh, darling you fuck so beautifully!" she cried. 

He rotated his hips, and Carol moved against them, gyrating hers in turn as 
beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip. Bruce reached down around her 
hips and cupped her naked ass-cheeks to pull them up closer to his won 
surging loins, and the drugged brunette captive was filled with an insane 
delight, a bliss so intense that she found it almost intolerable. Nothing 
mattered now, nothing was real, nothing existed except Bruce's warmly 
pulsating cock thrusting in and out, back and forth, in and out of her 
nakedly trembling belly to set her love-starved body on fire with lust! 

"Oh!...Oh!...Oh!...Oh, God!" she grunted softly in time with his rampaging 
thrusts. And now his strokes quickened as her cuntal lips sucked at his 
charging shaft, milking it crazily. She writhed beneath his tough, muscular 
body, her legs spasmodically jerking to wrap themselves around his back, 
ankles locked together, as he ground his fleshy lust-hardened staff ever 
deeper into her hungrily clasping young cunt. And then, before Mason's 
horrified eyes, Carol began to lurch from side to side, her face contorted, 
mouth open wide, in the mindless throes of orgasm. She gasped, panting hard, 
her breasts damply heaving against Bruce's hairy chest, and her mewls and 
groans of pleasure rose to a frantic shriek: "Aaaaggghhh! Oh, God!...Oh, my 
God! I'm cumming!" she wailed ecstatically. 

Christ me too! Bruce thought...and then he felt the boiling sperm in his 
lust-swollen balls bubble up and spurt forward, to mingle in forceful 
staccato squirts with Carol's own hot juices as it jetted against the 
interior of her pussy and they both felt the incredible tension of the last 
ten minutes dissolve and disappear in a wildly exploding moment of supreme 
joy! 

Bruce fell beside the moaning girl on the bed, savoring the exquisite 
delight of the moment, only to hear Davis's voice call: "Okay, Bruce boy! 
Let Louie have a crack at her now!" And he rose dizzily to grope for his 
pants and shirt catching a glimpse of Mason's face, which at first he found 
it hard to recognize! The man had turned into a tormented, maddened animal, 
snarling at the leash, ready to maim, even to kill! 

Carol was lying on the bed when Louie approached her and ordered her to put 
her legs over his shoulders, gazing hungrily down at the sperm-glistening 
lips of her open vagina. She felt a new thrill surge through her as he bent 
over her pulsing, still-wet pussy and placed his hands on her cuntal lips. 
Carefully, deliberately, as precisely and accurately as a skilled jeweler 
repairing a watch, he opened them, exposing the coral-colored flesh to his 
lust-filled eyes. As his hot breath blew across her hotly throbbing inner 
flesh his tongue lashed out, finding the tiny narrow slit of her cunt, and 
began insidiously teasing back and forth inside it. 

God, but it was so good! Carol thought again. How could anything that was so 
good be bad? She lay back to open her thighs still wider as 

Louie slavered over her, his mouth and tongue worming into the warmly 
quivering little crevice until they found the tiny bud of her clitoris when 
he devoted his entire attention to arousing it into a taut, explosive 
erection. 

Carol thrashed and bucked under this lewdly exciting assault on her secret 
cuntal flesh, letting out sharp little screams of pleasure that split the 
tense air in the room like lightning flashes. The ferret-faced boy's tongue 
flicked in and out between her legs, faster and faster now, making a lewd 
wet sluicing sound that echoed obscenely as the captive, nakedly writhing 
girl's heart pounded like a hammer and her breath caught in her chest. 

Suddenly, the delicious sucking of her warm wet pussy stopped. Carol uttered 
a tortured cry of mingled dismay and disappointment. Oh, God what had 
happened? Why had Louie risen from her loins, leaving her lying on the bed, 
her legs still splayed, her hungrily churning cunt exposed and waiting for 
the marvelous licking and sucking of his rapacious tongue? 

She turned to look and through the fog of drugs clouding her mind, she 
somehow understood that everyone was looking at Mason. Something had 
happened to him: he was slumped against the wall, his face as white as 
chalk. He had been knocked unconscious as he lunged like a madman toward the 
bed. As she watched, Davis poked his inert body with a contemptuous foot. 
The lawyer didn't stir. Then the tall, fair young leader bent down, hauled 
Mason roughly upright and slapped his face viciously until he spluttered 
back to consciousness. "Frightened yet?" Davis asked unpleasantly. "Ready to 
order the release of our people?" 

Mason struggled visibly to master his feelings. "I...am not ready...now or 
ever...to recommend the release of convicted criminals," he said thickly. 

"Then I guess we haven't tried hard enough...Butch! Up her ass!" 

As the attorney put an arm over his eyes as if to shut out forever what he 
had seen, and what he was about to see, the brutal, black-browed young man 
called Butch shot an evil glance at him, pretending to be puzzled. "Up her 
what?" he asked. 

"Fuck her in the ass," Davis said curtly. 

Butch feigned a sigh, as though he had been ordered to carry out an 
exceptionally difficult mission by a superior officer. "Anything you say, 
Dave. Orders is orders . . . " And he gave the L.I.B. salute before he 
strode to the bed and, with a deft movement, twisted Carol over on to her 
face. 

She made no effort to resist.. . at least not at first. Everything had been 
so beautiful, she thought everything except Mason. There was something wrong 
with Mason; he didn't look veil. Perhaps it was something he had eaten. He 
wasn't really used to strange or exotic foods, she recalled. like avocado. 
She loved avocado, especially when it was packed with crabmeat. But Mason 
never ordered it when they went out to dinner, and she never asked for it 
because Mason didn't like it...her mind wandered again and she seemed to 
taste the melting, buttery flesh of that strange alligator pear in her 
mouth, just as she felt her legs being spread wide, as she felt Butch's 
tongue search out the tight, tiny hole of her anus. And then suddenly 
Davis's words penetrated the haze in her mind. "Up her ass," he had 
said...when was it? How long ago? Long, long ago as far as time was measured 
in this strange house where she seemed to have lived for all eternity. 

But up her ass meant she tried to visualize it it meant sodomy! She was to 
be lewdly sodomized, right her in front of everybody, in front of Mason! And 
they couldn't do that to her: it wasn't legal! She'd seen that once in one 
of Mason's lawbooks that she'd taken down from the top shelf where he 
thought she wouldn't find it. Sodomy was illegal everywhere, in every state 
of the Union, and now these people were planning to do it to her, right in 
front of Mason! But he'd never allow them to go through with it, not if it 
wasn't legal. Not Mason. 

Abruptly she screamed as pain tore through her belly. Two of Butch's fingers 
had penetrated the tightly puckered hole of her anus, worming around inside 
her rectum, widening the tiny elastic opening for the greater entry to come. 
As he forced her legs even wider apart and kneeled on the backs of her 
thighs like a wrestler, she felt the searing agony gradually adjust to a 
dull but strangely soothing pleasure, stimulating an aching longing in her 
belly, a weird masochistic desire that she knew in her heart to be wicked 
and evil but one that she knew she could never resist on her own, not when 
she felt such joy and excitement and sheer ecstasy in the lewdly debasing 
act. Mason would have to help her. . . 

"Want it?" Butch demanded cruelly above her writhing back. And then when she 
didn't reply, he gave her a swift stinging slap on her nakedly squirming 
buttocks, leaving the angry red print of his hand on the quivering flesh as 
she sobbed helplessly: "Aaaaaaggghhhh! Ooooh,yes!" 

"Yes what? Tell me! Tell me exactly what you want me to do!" Butch 
commanded. 

"I...I c-c-can't," the violated young brunette wailed piteously. 

"like hell you can't!" Butch growled, slapping her again. "Maybe you'd 
rather watch while we slit your boyfriend's cock up the center and batter it 
flat because that's what we'd like to do, you know." 

"Oh!...You couldn't!" Carol sobbed. 

"Oh, yes we could. And cut off his balls and stuff them in his mouth now beg 
for it, you snobby little bitch." He slapped her stingingly again. 

"P-p-p-p-p I ease," she whimpered. "Please...f-f-fuck me up the ass." 

"Why?" Butch demanded, tormenting her still further. 

"Because...because that's what I like," Carol said helplessly. 

Dave Davis gave a cry of triumph. "Hear that, Mason?" he shouted. He poked 
the lawyer, who was trying to hide his face in his shaking hands. "She-likes 
to be fucked in the ass! If ever the two of you get outa here, that's what 
you'll have to do if you want to make it together!" 

He turned his attention back to the lewdly entwined couple on the bed as 
Mason groaned in horror. Butch had pulled Carol's naked young buttocks up 
into a kneeling position and mounted her as if he were a stallion. Now he 
took his thickly swollen shaft and wrapped the shivering brunette's small 
fingers around its rigidly throbbing length. "Put it in," he ordered. 

Too terrified to resist now, and with an overwhelming desire to comply at 
the same time, Carol placed the tip of the stiff, blunt staff against the 
tiny opening of her backside. With a quick, brutal thrust that brought a 
shriek of pain from the ravished girl's gaping mouth. Butch flexed his 
powerful hips and rammed the sperm-bloated bulbous head just up inside the 
tightly cringing orifice...then slowly pressed forward and forced the 
elastically yielding walls further and further apart until he was wedged 
deep in the hot spongy clasp of her anal passage. 

He began to grind it back and forth, and the pain Carol had felt as he 
entered her suddenly blended with the intense humiliation she felt and 
slowly but surely turned into an oddly rising sexual stimulation. She moved 
experimentally back against him, arching her body obscenely, thrusting her 
ass-cheeks up and outward, rotating them in tiny teasing circles to meet his 
forward movements. Oh God, the subjugated girl thought again, this was 
horrible, horrible...but at the same time wickedly beautiful, to be used and 
fucked in the ass like a common whore! There was agony and ecstasy, all 
whirled together in one great sensual moment and then Butch was jerking in a 
wild spasm of insane pleasure as the white-hot sperm spurted the length of 
his thrusting fleshy staff to gush forth in a delicious torrent into Carol's 
now openly accepting rectum. The drug-crazed girl half moaned, half screamed 
as the liquid surged hotly up in her rectal sheath, and she thought: Oh, my 
God! I'm cumming again! Yes, I am I'm cumming again!...Then, mouth opened 
wide, grunting heavily, her body convulsed galvanically in the throes of her 
second orgasm, she uttered a piercing cry of mingled subservience and shame 
and delight as Mason gave a choked scream and lunged forward again, only to 
be hammered into insensibility once more. 

* * * 

The captive attorney opened his eyes and asked in a whisper: "Where am I?" 

"Stag show, Mason," Davis said. "You know. 

like at your private club...only there you only get movies, right?" 

The lawyer gasped. How did this hoodlum know how could he know where Mason 
spent those evenings when he claimed to be studying his brief or boning up 
on some abstruse legal problem? 

"Here," Davis went on, "You get a live show and to make it even better, we 
got your own favorite hot-pussied little girlfriend performing!" 

Mason groaned and closed his eyes, wondering what had happened to him and 
why. How had they prevailed on Carol to put on this disgusting exhibition? 
And in front of him! He had feared all along that she could be provoked to 
outrageous sensuality. But this? It was beyond any nightmare he had 
imagined, any horror he had ever envisaged! God, why hadn't they killed him? 
Killed Carol too? It would have been preferable to this total degradation. . 
. 

Davis was speaking again. 'Wow will you cooperate?" he asked. "Now will you 
agree to give that order for the release of our people?" 

Clinging desperately to the last shred of honor left to him, Mason shook his 
head. "Never," he whispered. 

"Okay, boys, let's go!" Davis sang out. "Tie his hands behind him. Anything 
goes now!" 

To Mason, his arms and hands bound with rope, the next few minutes always 
remained in his mind as a disconnected kaleidoscope of horror, a swiftly 
changing series of separate pictures, each clear and vivid and shattering, 
that somehow jumbled together into an even more startling and obscene whole, 
like a film montage assembled by a demented director for an audience of 
perverts. 

The room dissolved in a blur of movement. Ferret-faced Louie, frustrated by 
the interrupted sucking of the captive girl's cunt, was the first to reach 
her. With a snarl of animal lust, he hauled out his savagely inflamed penis 
and threw himself on her sprawling figure, dragging her into a kneeling 
position again and plunging the sperm-bloated head of his rigid staff 
fiercely into the still-distended hole of her wetly dilated anus. As she 
screamed aloud, he rolled over on to his back, pulling her over on top of 
him so that she was lying face upwards with his cock wedged into her anal 
passage from underneath. A moment later, Dave Davis too had whipped out his 
lustfully thickened rod and plunged its hotly pulsating tip deep into the 
moistly gaping, sperm-wet orifice of Carol's fleshy, hair-fringed cunt. She 
lay sandwiched between them as they began panting and heaving, thrusting 
their iron-hard staffs up into her softly quivering belly while she moaned 
and writhed in renewed abandon. 

Bruce and Butch were next, kneeling on the bed on either side of her, 
grasping her flailing arms and guiding her hands to the tightly thrusting 
bulges spearing out from their loins. Almost of their own volition, Carol's 
fingers unzipped their flies, groped inside, and hauled out the wetly 
gleaming shafts to milk and skim the loose foreskins obscenely up and down 
the hotly throbbing rods. Even Charlie Bronwen, the faggot, straddled her 
wildly twisting head and produced his penis, to thrust the purplish bulbous 
glans into her gaping mouth with a cry of glee as he cried excitedly: "Come 
on, suck baby! Suck baby!...Suck, suck, suck! . . . " 

Carol, her drug-crazed mind now closed to everything but the exciting, 
delirious satisfaction of her abandoned senses, was in a cock heaven. There 
were cocks relentlessly plunging into her cunt and anus, there was cock in 
each frantically drubbing hand, there was delicious, throbbing, pulsating, 
iron-hard, fleshy cock in her widely ovaled, distended mouth! Oh, God, it 
felt so goooood! It felt so good that she wished something as wonderful 
could happen to everyone to Mason, for example. Craning her head sideways 
toward him as she continued frenziedly sucking Charlie Bronwen's penis, she 
saw to her astonishment that in fact this was happening to Mason . . . 

While his fianc'e writhed and choked in lustful, wanton abandon on the bed, 
the roped attorney, slumped sick with disgust in a corner, hardly noticed 
when the blonde girl Kristy, the only unoccupied person in the room, went 
down on her knees before him and gently unzipped his pants, inserting her 
hand inside the fly to feel under his monogrammed silk shorts for the limp 
tube of his flaccid penis. She began to stroke it. softly at first and then 
more vigorously, nursing it to life, until strength flowed mystically into 
it and it jerked upright under her touch. Mason tried to squirm away, but 
his bindings made movement almost impossible. 

"Relax, baby," the blonde girl said. "I'm going to blow you. Ever had that 
done for you before?" 

Kristy drew his thickening penis out then, holding it in her hand, and began 
to tease it, forcing the foreskin back, then running her finger 
tantalizingly along the underside. 

Across the room, Carol saw her future husband's cock swell to enormous 
proportions-was this her strait-laced Mason, she asked herself in amazement? 
then saw him begin to respond to the blonde's lascivious manipulations, 
moving back and forth as she clasped him tight, just as Bruce had done when 
first Carol held his penis in her own hand. And now Kristy was bending her 
head, taking Mason's long hard cock in her wide-open mouth, closing her 
wetly ovaled lips around its rigid flesh, sucking on it with madly working 
cheeks as Mason's shaft became plank-stiff and started to slide in and out 
of Kristy's distended mouth...shooting forward almost to her throat, 
retreating, penetrating again. 

The fear and anger Mason had felt such a short while ago faded away, leaving 
in their place nothing but the ecstatic joy the blonde was bringing him. He 
shook his head dazedly. He, Mason Thorneycroft, was indulging in forbidden, 
perverted pleasures...and then it seemed that it was no longer 
forbidden-though it was most certainly pleasure! and he relaxed and allowed 
his pulsing cock to slide easily in and out of the young girl's warm buttery 
mouth as he felt a churning in his loins, a dull, throbbing ache of joy, and 
knew that this was the most important, the most thrilling, the most 
wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. 

He looked over at Carol and saw that she was doing just what Kristy was 
doing: she was sucking the wetly glistening penis of some man Mason had no 
idea who he was. At the same time Mason saw that there were two other men 
between his fianc'e's widely splayed legs, one on top and the other 
underneath, buffeting her between them like a rag-doll. And it seemed to him 
in his newfound sexual excitement that this was just and right. 

Suddenly, he was eagerly ramming his thick rigid cock forward into the wet 
warmth of Kristy's mouth, withdrawing, plunging in again while shivers of 
rapture rippled through his entire body and a strange uninhibited wave of 
pure joy washed over him in a bliss that he had never believed possible. 

He glanced at Carol again and saw that there were two more men kneeling 
beside her, their hips jerking uncontrollably as she milked at their jutting 
penises with her hands. He quickened his thrusts into the blonde's 
all-encompassing mouth, fucking into it so hard and deep, his cock boring in 
to touch her throat, that the girl choked and fought back yet Mason plunged 
on and on, aware that never in his life had he felt such thrills, such heady 
excitement. And Carol was evidently as dazzled and delighted as he, moving 
against the five men surrounding her and invading her body in such diverse 
and interesting ways, screwing back against their fingers, their cocks, 
their tongues. He saw her begin to squirm and sway and rock and thrust in a 
wild erotic abandon, saw that the others, the tempo of their thrusts 
hectically increasing, were moving with her...and realized that he and 
Kristy too were caught in the throes of the same insane passion, moving with 
the others, heaving to their rhythm as though they were all performing some 
formalized ritual dance. So lost was he in his wanton thrashing that he 
didn't realize that his wild body movements had loosened the ropes binding 
him...and even if he had realized it, he wouldn't have put a stop to this 
insane pleasure for anything. 

The ache in his loins became unbearable, the throbbing length of his 
rock-hard penis maddening beyond belief and then he heard Carol's wild 
groans of passion behind the gagging bulk of Charlie's cock as she climaxed 
again, heard the choking moans of the five men, heard their hoarse panting 
gasps as they sent their hot sticky semen spurting into all the openings of 
her hungrily accepting young body, squirting through her fingers to streak 
her madly heaving breasts...and he could hold back no longer, no longer 
control himself. He too uttered a raucous, passionate cry then sent his 
boiling, creamy sperm spewing into Kristy's open, sucking mouth . . . 

It seemed then that everyone went limp, lying back while the world whirled 
around them. Mason was the first to arouse himself from this torpor, to look 
at the others, to evaluate the situation. It was hard for him to define: he 
only knew that everything had changed. His eyes roved over their slumped, 
inert bodies collapsed over Carol's exhausted form. They were still a bunch 
of punks, he told himself, a crowd of lousy leftists yet they had taught him 
something that they had known and he hadn't. They had taught him that he 
need not be ashamed of his passion and lust, need fear no guilt that it was 
the most marvelous thing on earth to experience what he had just felt.. . 

And then he blinked. Oh God! His hands were free! And less than two feet 
away was the sub-machine gun that Davis had been carrying. 

Mason sensed that he owed these people something. They had, he knew already, 
changed the whole course of his life. They had shown him what life was all 
about, what happiness was, how he, "uptight" as they would have called him, 
could attain it. Yes...yes, indeed, he owed them something...He knew he 
could reach the gun...would reach it. When he got it, he would be in charge. 
He should kill them after what they had done to Carol. He should! But he 
knew he wouldn't. Furthermore, he would see that the prosecuting attorney 
did not ask for the death sentence on the kidnapping charges. 

He glanced over to the exhausted group on the bed, then roughly pushed the 
naked Kristy away from him and leapt for the gun. 

The gang was galvanized into action as he moved, but they were too late. 

"All right," Mason said. "The party's over." He saw Dave take one 
threatening step toward him and his finger tightened on the trigger. Slowly, 
the gang leader raised his hands, followed by the others. 

"Carol...darling," the attorney said, "go to the window and tell the police 
they can come in 

EPILOGUE 

It was all over. The last of the State Troopers and their prisoners had 
gone. And, in an unexpected windfall, they had discovered a complete table 
of organization for the L.I.B. group, one that clearly pin-pointed the 
unknown leaders who gave the orders. Now only Carol and Mason remained in 
the deserted farmhouse. 

The lawyer looked out the window at the sunshine streaming into the unkempt 
yard. Beyond the dilapidated wall and the open gates, the meadows stretched 
away to the distant line of trees, blued with shadow in the heat. It was a 
peaceful scene; there was little left to witness the fears and tensions, the 
high drama that had been played out here. Yet there was one drama yet to be 
enacted: the one between his fianc'e and himself. He wondered what the 
outcome would be. 

The door opened and Carol came in. She was still wearing the baggy panties 
they had given her, over which she had thrown an old dress that Kristy had 
left behind. Her hair was mussed and she wore no make-up. Yet she looked 
more beautiful than ever, Mason told himself. He cleared his throat. 
"Carol," he said. 

She blushed and looked away. He had seen her debauched, degraded, subjected 
to the most vile outrages...and enjoying it all! He would certainly want 
nothing more to do with her! True, he had succumbed to Kristy's 
blandishments but that had only been once, and anyway it was different for a 
man. Stifling her sobs, she waited for his denunciation. 

"Everything has changed now, Carol," he said. "Everything." 

"Yes," she said dismally. "I know. I'm sorry, Mason, I...I really did love 
you. But you are right. It's all changed now." Sobbing aloud, she turned to 
go, saying almost under her breath: "I still love you but I quite understand 
you won't want anything to do with me. Not now." 

He caught her hand. "Carol," he said urgently. "I don't know how to say this 
to you...how can you forgive me for being such a goddamn jerk all my life, 
so inhibited, so frightened of doing what I really wanted to do more than 
anything else." 

She was looking at him in astonished and dawning delight. "Mason! W-w-w-what 
did you really want to do?" 

"I wanted to fuck you," he said firmly. 

"For how long?" 

He grinned, suddenly looking boyish and young. "Only for the past six or 
seven years!" 

Carol twisted the hem of her dress between her long slim fingers. "Darling," 
she said, blushing, "I'm glad you did." 

"Did what?" 

"Want to...to...you know. I've wanted you to for a long time...wanted you 
to...to . . . " 

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Carol...say it! Say it to me. You did 
for the others. Now say it for me." 

Carol took a deep breath. "I'm glad," she quavered, "that you wanted 
to...to...to fuck me." 

"Oh well," Mason said, "in that case shall I?" 

Her lovely eyes opened wide. Was this Mason, the man she'd been engaged to? 
If it was, then she had never known him. And now she realized she hadn't 
really liked the man she had known for so long. But this was a different 
man. With this Mason, she would get along fine! "Yes, darling," she said, "I 
think you should...fuck 

"When." 

"Now." 

"Where." 

"Here." 

His hands slid under the top of her dress, moving down beneath the neckline 
to caress the ripely inviting swell of her breasts. "I don't much like that 
dress you're wearing," he said. 

"Then take it off," Carol Findlater said. 

And so he did! 


THE END
