The Prison Bride
by Elizabeth Watson
(RWS-138)


Foreword

Throughout history, man has been faced with the dilemma of how to deal with the 
criminal, the individual who deliberately or inadvertently breaks the rules or precepts of the 
society in which he is existing. In the thousands of years during which our present civilization 
was developed, it was necessary also to formulate a complex system of retribution and, ideally,
rehabilitation for those whom the particular society deemed dangerous or unacceptable.

In this novel, author Elizabeth Watson has attempted to expose the crippling faults which 
have caused our own society’s largest penal operation, its prisons, to function as no more 
than great storehouses for the chaff, vassals where the disobedient, and sometimes merely the
unwise, are closeted until they have “paid their debt,” as it is judged to be by the many 
arbitrary and often archaic laws of our state and federal governments.

Through the tragic experiences of the heroine of this story, a young and virtually innocent 
bride of the captain of the guard of a state penitentiary, the author gradually unveils the 
fallacies and hypocrisies that have made the American prison system one of the last 
strongholds of the antiquated and inhumane “eye for an eye” philosophy. While penal 
systems in other nations have increasingly turned to rehabilitation and psychological 
adjustment to bring the criminal back into the societal fold, the United States has stubbornly 
and selfishly clung to its outmoded tenants of punishment and psychological degradation for 
any individual who deviates from the restrictions and rules deemed necessary for the 
well-being of the greater part of society.

In this story, authoress Watson brings her heroine into more and more intimate contact 
with the type of men this system produces, embittered and beaten individuals whose greatest 
goal in life is retaliation against the society that has dealt so unfairly with them. As the story 
unfolds, the young and innocent girl is forcibly lead down a path of humiliation and sensual 
depravity by men whose consciences have been lost in the dark years of imprisonment.

Due to its stark and graphic detail, we, the publishers do not feel that this is a book for the
faint-hearted. Yet, this is a novel we felt compelled to print and are proud to have under our 
masthead. We sincerely recommend this novel as a shocking and enlightening experience, a 
terrifying journey that may prompt our readers to think again about the penal system that 
may well endanger more than protect the society it serves.

-THE PUBLISHERS


CHAPTER 1

The mid-day sun streamed through the living room window panes to form golden squares
of light on Cecelia Bailey’s outstretched legs as she sat pensively staring at the spacious yard 
outside of her new home. Before her was the front lawn, a lovely expanse of deep green grass,
as smooth as velvet carpet unrolled from the house to the narrow, elm-shaded, cobblestone 
avenue. Like jewels in verdant settings, each house in the neighborhood was nearly 
surrounded by perfectly kept hedges and flowering bushes.

If only she could forget where she was …

Tears of misery welled up in Cecelia’s clear blue eyes as she looked up over the houses and
the stately trees to where the ancient stone wall loomed overhead. Like a monstrous serpent 
uncoiled for seemingly miles in either direction, the wall of Dunstead Prison protected Cecelia 
and her neighbors from the wrong-doers within, yet its very presence seemed to silently 
suggest the evil and discontent that seethed beyond her vision. Her troubled gaze moved 
over the huge slabs of darkly sweating gray-brown stone to the nearest gun tower, a squat 
ugly structure. Even in the brilliant afternoon sunlight, the day lights from the tower searched 
the landscape, like the pale cold eyes of a giant, robot guard. She could well imagine that 
those lights served as a constant reminder to the prisoners that there were other eyes, 
positioned behind powerful guns, that watched their movements.

The thought chilled her, and Cecelia wondered if those anonymous tower guards would 
turn their guns on her if she tried to break away, to escape from the painful circumstances 
that seemed to be surrounding her, choking off all her dreams for a happily married life.

Quickly chiding herself for her sudden attack of morbid self-pity, she rose from the chair to
get back to her work of unpacking. After all, she mused, she and Ken had been married for 
only two days, though it was already beginning to seem like an eternity of doubts and 
misunderstandings. Even though she knew that every newlywed couple had problems in the 
beginning, she could not help but wonder if she and her new husband would ever find their 
way out of the vicious cycle of silence and resentment that she hoped would not characterize 
their marriage forever.

As things stood right now, it all looked pretty discouraging, she thought as she stood in 
the kitchen doorway, contemplating the small mountain of cardboard cartons that still had to 
be unpacked. She felt both emotionally and physically exhausted from the strange ordeal of 
the two-day honeymoon. Nevertheless, rather than risk Ken’s anger again, she decided to 
postpone the short nap she felt she needed. If the house were in order by the time he got 
home that evening, perhaps he would not be able to find fault with her housekeeping as he 
had found fault with everything else she had done since the marriage. Besides, if he decided 
that she had not properly performed her duties as a housewife, she was certain that her 
weariness would not serve as much of an excuse for her domestic shortcomings. After all, she 
thought bitterly, that, apparently, was her function in this marriage, as a housewife, not a 
lover, not a friend, but as some sort of live-in maid.

Cecelia suddenly started in shocked surprise as she saw a shadowy form moving in the 
darkened back porch behind the kitchen. But, a moment later, she gave a little laugh at her 
own stupidity. It was only her reflection in the glass-paned door. Pausing to stare at the 
image, she wondered that none of the strain she felt seemed to show on the face of the 
young girl reflected in the glass. Why, her expression was as clear and untroubled as that of a 
child-blue eyes, round and innocent, in a sweet pixy’s face, haloed by short ringlets of wavy, 
corn-silk hair. She had always had a little girl’s face, and that, combined with her short stature, 
had made her the butt of teasing from the youngsters she had grown up with. That was, until 
a few years ago. Then, suddenly and miraculously, her body had blossomed into that of a 
woman, and now, for the first time in her life, she felt truly lovely and desirable.

Yes, she mused, as she stared at her reflection, she certainly did not look like a child 
anymore. Even in her working clothes, a too-small T-shirt of Ken’s and tight, faded blue jeans, 
her figure looked perfect, proud, full breasts above an impossibly tiny waist that sloped 
faultlessly into trim, but well-rounded hips and buttocks. In the past two years, she had 
enjoyed reaping the benefits of her newly-developed attractiveness to men, going out on 
dates almost every night with young men from her home town. But she had never let them go
any farther than occasional passionate kisses. She had wanted to save the ultimate of bodily 
pleasures for the right man, and one of her local boyfriends had seemed exactly right.

She had always been so sure that she was doing the right thing to wait, but now she 
wondered why she had bothered. After what had happened on her wedding night with Ken, 
Cecelia was afraid she would never know what sex was really supposed to be like. He had not 
noticed or cared whether or not she was a virgin, but had taken her like a slut off the street. In 
fact, that’s what he had called her-“Whore!” But, why? she wondered for the hundredth time 
that day. What had gone wrong?

Of course, he had been tired. They had driven for hours after the ceremony, because he 
had wanted to be at the prison by the next day. But, at sunset, when they had finally stopped 
at a roadside motel, he had seemed happy, smiling and laughing as he carried her over the 
threshold of the motel room. If anyone had been frightened and nervous, it would have been 
she. They had been married after a whirlwind romance of only ten days, and there she was, in 
a motel room with a man she barely knew. In all honesty, though, she had not been worried. 
She had known from the first moment she saw him that Ken was the man she had been 
waiting for, and she had thought that nothing could ever go wrong between them. And, up to
that point, nothing had happened to mar their happiness together. He, a stranger in her town,
had come into Cecelia’s life like a redheaded Lancelot, making her feel as precious and loved 
as a princess. Then, after a few minutes in that room, something in his eyes had changed her 
from a princess to a common tramp.

Their first night together had begun just as she had always dreamed it would. With a 
tender, possessive smile, Ken had taken her into his arms, kissing her long and passionately. It 
had been thrillingly beautiful, and Cecelia too had felt a rising ardor, greater than she had ever
experienced before. Joyfully anticipating her first sexual fulfillment, she had thrust her body 
warmly against him, responding to his exciting embrace with all the fervor of her 
newly-awakened desire.

Then, for no reason she could yet understand, the nightmare had begun.

Abruptly, he had pushed her away from him, freeing his hands so he could tear at the belt 
of his trousers. Startled and confused, she had looked up into his face for some explanation of
the sudden action, but what she had seen only increased the fear that had just begun to build 
within her. Raw lust had blazed in his eyes as they had savagely raked her trembling body, and
she had immediately recognized that something was terribly wrong. Unthinking terror had 
gripped Cecelia’s mind, and she had turned to fumble blindly at the door of the motel room. 
Before she had had time to find the lock. Ken’s powerful hands had descended on her 
shoulders, pulling her roughly around to face him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he had harshly demanded. “You wanted it bad 
enough a minute ago-humping up against me like a whoring little slut!”

She had cringed away in stunned amazement at the cruel impact of his words. “D-darling, 
what do you mean?” she had faltered, not knowing how to answer the anger that had 
smoldered in his voice. Afraid that she had unintentionally hurt his feelings, she went on in a 
loving whisper. “I’m sorry … I just love you.”

The tall, handsome Ken had grasped her arm and leaned over to stare coldly into her 
questioning eyes. “I’ve heard that line before; so have a lot of other men,” he had spat. “I 
know your type. My mother was another one just like you, panting and grinding against any 
man who’d hold still.” His face had been twisted into a hard bitter smile as he had added, “No 
decent woman acts like you just did, but I’m going to give you just what you want-a good 
hard fuck!”

Her head had whirled at the sound of the obscene word and she had struggled to escape 
from her sadistically leering husband. She had not been able to believe that he had meant 
what he had said, but the coldly determined look on his face had shown all too clearly that he 
did. As the golden flecks in his green eyes swirled angrily, he had brutally snatched at her 
blouse, ripping open the buttons in his fury.

Cecelia had felt petrified with fear, but she forced her mind to work reasonably. Though 
her voice was trembling with terror, she had quietly begun to speak, hoping she would be 
able to talk him out of the irrational rage he had seemed to feel toward her. “You don’t have 
to rape me, darling. Let me help you. Our wedding night should be something we share 
together.”

To her relief, he had ceased his brutal assault as she had spoken and stared at her with an 
unfathomable look in his cool green eyes. Summoning all her courage, she had smiled up at 
him and begun to undress herself, praying that he would not hurt her if she demonstrated her
willingness to totally subjugate herself to his demands.

When she finally stood before him, naked and afraid in the strained silence, he had 
suddenly broken into harsh mirthless laughter. “Oh, my God,” he had gasped as his laughter 
subsided, “You really disgust me. Do you think you’re fooling anyone ? I’ve never seen a 
woman want a cock so bad in my life!” As his eyes flickered with a strange mixture of hatred 
and lust, he had spoken in a low, cold voice. “Get on the bed, whore, and wait for me!”

Still unable to understand his anger but afraid to argue, she had edged over to the bed 
and seated herself to watch as he took his clothes off. As he had removed his shirt, shoes and 
socks, she had almost had enough time to talk herself into relaxing, but then he had dropped 
his trousers down over his buttocks, revealing that he had worn no shorts. Cecelia’s breath 
had caught in her throat as her gaze fell on the awesome length and girth of Ken’s upstanding
penis. The only male organ she had ever seen before was that of a six-year-old neighbor in a 
childish game of “Doctor” many years before, and the sight of the tiny flaccid member had not
prepared her for the shock of this moment. The tremendous proportions of Ken’s protruding 
erection had frightened her, yet at the same time left her trembling with desire until she was 
powerless to tear her eyes away. A moment later, he had kicked his pants away and turned to 
walk over to the bed, his face full of loathing and distaste.

He had wasted no time in preliminaries, had not even made an attempt to prepare her for 
her first experience in lovemaking. Ignoring her low moaning pleas, he had pressed her 
shoulders back into the mattress, catching her body as her slim shapely legs flew out in a 
desperate attempt to escape. His loins had pressed down between her widespread thighs, 
pinioning her torso to the bed.

Almost before she had known what was happening to her, Cecelia had felt the huge 
rock-hard shaft throbbing against her inner thigh, straining and growing until the fat bulbous 
tip pushed against the golden, silky brush of her pubic hair. No, no, her mind had screamed, it
was too big and would surely hurt her when he put it up between her legs. Yet, the first light 
touch had not hurt her at all, and she had been surprised to discover then that something in 
her wanted it, wanted that massive instrument to plunge far up into her belly. Almost 
involuntarily, she had wriggled her pelvis down toward it, fever chills running through her 
body as she had felt the soft rubbery head grazing the soft, velvety folds of her vagina.

All the fears of a moment before had been forgotten as a throbbing lurch of his penis sent
waves of exquisite delight coursing out from the wildly sensitive nerve ends of her naked 
genitals. In an instinctive gesture of welcoming acceptance, she had relaxed her thighs and 
thrust her buttocks upward to experience even more of the intoxicating sensation of contact 
with his probing member.

Then, as if in savage response to her innocent movement, Ken had entered her with all the 
strength of the disgust and hatred he apparently felt toward her, reaming through the vainly 
resistant sheath of her hymen with the first brutal lunge. Her eyes had opened wide with the 
shock of the excruciating pain and she saw him above her, his face contorted with raging lust 
as he battered down into her virginal passage. Her own brief passion had vanished and she 
had screamed in agony as he had pushed the huge blood-filled instrument into her, shoving 
the pulsing head inch by inch, further and further, until at last he had been in her up to the 
hilt. He had been oblivious to her tormented cries, deaf and blind to everything but his wild 
desire to skewer her like a common slut.

He had ridden her like a savage stallion, holding her thrashing hips firmly in his grasp as 
he pumped mercilessly into her pain-wracked body. She had struggled like a helplessly pinned
butterfly, trying to escape his brutal impalement, but her pitiful attempts had seemed only to 
spur him on to greater frenzies of sadistic lust. Venting his angry passion again and again 
against her quivering, pinioned buttocks, he had not needed or even missed her cooperation 
in bringing his desire to the pinnacle of climax. Without warning, his hot sticky sperm had 
begun to spurt into her in quick, powerful gushes, filling her wide-stretched young pussy to 
the bursting point with its lewd white rush.

And that was the wedding night, she thought gloomily … And the honeymoon … And, so 
far, the marriage. Since the horribly humiliating experience of that night, they had spoken to 
each other only when necessary and he had not kissed her, or even touched her, since then. It 
was as if all the delights of falling in love and of being lovers were over as soon as they had 
pronounced the wedding vows. Now, she wondered if they would ever really have a chance to
even learn to live with each other, as the ugly memory of that first night hung like a lead 
curtain between them.

No, it was not exactly like a lead curtain, she reconsidered as she placed the last of their 
new dinnerware in the kitchen cabinet; it was more like the gloomy stone wall of the prison 
outside their home. Their marriage was like this house, potentially beautiful but marred by the
constant presence and shadow of that monstrous old stone wall. But at least there was a 
reason for that wall out there, she thought as the anger and hurt of her recent experiences 
began to well up inside her. Why had Ken raped her when she would have been more than 
willing to do anything for him, anything he wanted. It had been cruel and unfair of him to 
brutalize her, and worse, deny her the opportunity of ministering pleasure to him as a wife 
should.

Using her as he had, he had made her almost as much a prisoner as the men behind that 
ominous wall-and in a way, she was less fortunate than they. For they at least had companions
in their captivity, while she was completely alone, walled off by her own husband’s mysterious 
silence. And yet, she was expected to behave as though everything were perfect, she a blissful 
new bride.


CHAPTER 2

Cecelia awoke late the next morning, her eyes dreamy and thick with sleep as she listened 
idly to the sound of birds twittering gaily behind the house. She had been up earlier in the day
to make her husband’s breakfast and see him off to work, but after he had left, taciturn and 
unsmiling as usual, she had felt so depressed that she had decided to return to bed and start 
the day over after a few hours extra sleep. Now it was almost ten o’clock and the earlier 
grayness of the dawn had burgeoned into a beautiful, sunlit morning. Rubbing her eyes, she 
rose and squinted out at the bright beds of many-colored roses just outside the bedroom 
window, forgetting her own troubles as she thought of the tragic fact that the delicacy and 
color of the flowers would not last very long. Finally, she tore herself reluctantly away from the
window and went toward the bathroom, steeling herself for another day of unhappiness and 
disappointment in this unfriendly environment.

When she returned to the bedroom a few minutes later, she caught sight of Ken’s pillow, 
just where he had left it, as close to the edge of his side of the bed as it could be without 
falling off. The sight of it momentarily saddened her, but then she quickly lifted her chin in an 
attitude of iron-clad determination and set about the task of making the bed. No, she was not
going to worry anymore. The marriage would have to take care of itself, come what may. 
When Ken wanted to approach her to explain things, or even just to say he loved her, she 
would be happy to accept him. But until then, she would have to learn to accept her role as a 
lonely wife, finding neighbors to serve as friends and perhaps even delivery men as lovers.

My God, what could make her think such a thing? Certainly she was bogged down in a 
morass of self-pity, but, for her, there would never be anyone except Ken. She would simply 
have to wait until he gathered together his courage to talk to her about what was troubling 
him.

Before she had time to further consider the problem, the telephone rang and she hurried 
downstairs to answer it.

“Hello, Mrs. Bailey, this is Superintendent Winston’s office,” a competent male voice 
answered her greeting. “I’d like to speak with you a moment.”

“Why yes, certainly,” she replied, wondering what the prison superintendent could possibly
want with her.

“Your husband, Captain Bailey, has informed us that you’re not familiar with prison routine,
so perhaps you don’t know that, as an institutional executive’s wife, you’re entitled to 
domestic help from the prison work pool. Now,” the voice went on, “we have a 
newly-appointed trustee, Michael Farmer, who might be very helpful to you as a houseboy … 
and we’re wondering if you would be interested in interviewing him.”

“A trustee?” Cecelia asked, confused by the unfamiliar term. “What’s a trustee?”

“Well, Mrs. Bailey,” the caller said, “a trustee is a prisoner who has been granted a 
minimum security clearance. Farmer will only be in Dunstead for another year and his behavior
has been such that we’ve seen fit to trust him to work outside the walls. Would you be willing 
to accept someone for such a short length of time?”

Not sure about what Ken would want her to do but starved for any sort of company, 
Cecelia made a rapid decision. “Yes, yes, please send the man over and I’ll talk to him. If you 
refer him, I’m certain he’ll be just fine.”

“Fine, Mrs. Bailey … We’ll tell him to be at your house by two o’clock this afternoon, if 
that’s all right with you.

“That’s convenient for me,” she said, “and … thank you so much for thinking of me.” When 
she had returned the telephone receiver to its cradle, she sat back thoughtfully and mused 
over the idea of having a prisoner in her home. Perhaps she was letting herself in for more 
than she expected, but then, she did not really know what to expect. And besides, having 
someone to talk to, even a convict, would be a welcome relief from the life she imagined she 
would be leading as Ken’s wife. And more, perhaps a prisoner would be just the person to 
become friends with: maybe he could provide some insight into the strange problems that 
seemed to be preoccupying her husband.

Still thinking over the matter of the houseboy, Cecelia returned to the bedroom to change 
into shorts and a blouse, what she considered her work clothes, as she planned to give the 
house a thorough cleaning that afternoon. Moments later, she went to the kitchen, to make 
herself a cup of strong coffee to perk her up, and stopped by the window to sip it. Then she 
saw a tall, heavily muscled black man in a prison uniform who was standing at the far end of 
the rose garden with his back to the house. Suddenly he turned slightly, just enough for her to
determine that he had pulled his penis out of his trousers and was now rhythmically stroking 
it with one hand. From where she stood, Cecelia could only see part of the Negro’s sexual 
organ, but it appeared to be long and thick, and it was throbbingly erect!

My God, she wondered in horrified amazement, why was that prisoner standing in her 
back yard and what… what was he doing to himself? The coffee in the cup in her hand began 
to spill unnoticed onto the counter as she watched the spectacle before her in nearly 
hypnotized fascination. Though she was shocked and disgusted by the black man’s lewd 
actions, she could not tear her eyes away from the sight of the huge dark staff of flesh he was 
working with his hand and an involuntary tremor of excitement ran down the length of her 
spine as she saw tiny droplets of glistening fluid begin to ooze from the knobby purplish 
head. The Negro stood not twenty feet from her kitchen window and she could clearly discern
the heavy dark blue veins that ran like a road map over the underside of the weighty 
instrument and the fat blood-inflated tip that seemed to swell and throb as the man stroked 
up and down the length of his rod. Strangely, the fear she felt at the sight of the strange, 
powerful-looking man behind her home was completely forgotten as she became more and 
more engrossed by the sight of his dark-skinned meaty hand moving rapidly up and down the
shiny stretched skin of his penis.

The black man seemed almost insane with excitement as he hunched over his organ, 
jerking his hand faster and faster, pushing the thick foreskin back and forth over the thick 
head of his uncircumcised member until it looked to her like a dark winking eye. Just as she 
was again beginning to feel a little fear at the frenzied passion of the man’s manipulations, 
she saw him tremble violently, and from the head of his lust-inflamed organ shot a long 
stream of thick white liquid, spurting out to land on the yellow tea roses on the bush in front 
of him. Then the towering column of flesh he was grasping began to deflate, shrinking and 
falling an inch at a time to one side. Cecelia could see tiny rivulets of sweat coursing down the
sides of his face as the Negro straightened himself to his full height again and squeezed the 
now drooping penis between his thumb and forefinger, shaking it gently until the last of the 
milky viscous fluid dripped out the end and spattered on the ground at his feet. Then, 
apparently undisturbed by the emotional tremor that had so recently shaken his body, the 
man bent over to inspect the roses he had just sprinkled with his sperm.

Why, how dare he? Cecelia suddenly thought with indignation, as full realization of the 
vileness of his action penetrated her consciousness, driving out the mounting excitement that 
had preoccupied her only a moment before. As if it were not sickening enough that this 
convict had chosen her back yard in which to relieve his animal lust, he had found a way to be 
even more obnoxious, contaminating her beautiful roses with the product of his lewd 
perversions.

In her annoyance, she cast aside all fear or caution, and strode out on the back porch, 
banging open the screen door to noisily announce her presence to the Negro who still had 
made no move to leave her garden.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my yard?” she demanded in a wrathful voice.

The burly Negro turned slowly around and, to her dismay, she saw that he was only now 
zipping up his trousers. A wide grin creased his face as he caught sight of the dainty blonde 
girl and his dark brown eyes casually appraised her lush curves as she stood sharply 
silhouetted in the dark doorway.

“Why, H’l girl, Ah jus’ didn’t know that ya’ll were here or Ah woulda come in and 
innerduced mahself,” he drawled in a thick, lazy southern accent, obviously unruffled by the 
knowledge of what she had probably observed. “Man name is Buck Jones, and Ah take care of
these here flowers for ya’ll. Ah don’ know ‘zactly what it is, but folks ‘round here says Ah got a 
way with roses.”

Detecting a sardonic glint in his eyes, Cecelia angrily realized that the big black man was 
playing with her, putting her on as though she were an ignorant child who would not know 
the difference. She was shocked and disgusted by his cool insolence, but she decided that this
was one humiliation she did not have to accept.

“Mister Jones, I am the wife of the captain of the prison guard!” she loudly announced, 
“And I am not a little girl! I’ll thank you to get off my property as I am expecting guests. Do 
you think you can find the way or shall I call my husband to escort you?”

Cecelia was surprised at her own vehemence. It was not like herself to be so harshly short 
tempered, and yet she felt an unexpected sense of relief that she could at last take out the 
frustrations she felt on someone who so obviously deserved the upbraiding. In her haughty 
role of social superiority, she barely noticed that the Negro’s eyes had narrowed at her 
mention of her husband and that he had begun to study her with a less friendly interest. 
Nevertheless, he continued to grin good-naturedly as he slowly shook his head from side to 
side, indicating that the scorching heat of her fury had left him at a loss for words.

“No, ma’am, don’ mind ‘tall,” he finally replied in the same bantering tone. “Fact is, you can
make appointments for services, if ya’ll like. Jes’ let me know where and when-Ah always lahk 
to please a pretty li’l lady.” His smile had broadened as he spoke and before turning to stroll 
out of the garden, he gave a small bow and raised his hand to tip his nonexistent hat.

Damn him! she raged inwardly as she stamped back inside the house. Just what did he 
mean by all that? She was sure that he had somehow made her look foolish, but she did not 
know exactly why or what she could do about it. Obviously, he was one of the trustees she 
had been told about, but how did a man like that obtain a position of trust? Why, he had 
probably been sent to prison for murder or child-molesting.

The thought brought a twinge of fear to her mind. Though she imagined that an escaped 
prisoner would not stop to masturbate in her rose garden, it was a possibility she should have 
considered. She immediately thought of calling Ken, but just as quickly she reconsidered. He 
might become annoyed with her and even his painful silences were preferable to the raging 
anger to which she had been introduced on their wedding night. Nevertheless, she was alone 
and defenseless in the big, old house and she had to talk with someone before she went out 
of her mind with worry. Besides, she had to find a guest. She could not bear to be further 
humiliated by the knowledge that the insolent Negro might know that she had lied about 
having company.

At last, she reached a decision and strode out the front door. A moment later, she climbed
the steps of the house next door and banged determinedly at the brass knocker.

“Yes? Can I help you?” asked a tall, attractive dark-haired woman who answered the door.

“H-hello. I’m your new neighbor, Cecelia Bailey,” the young blonde faltered, suddenly at an
embarrassing loss for words. The woman before her was impeccably dressed in a dark tailored
frock and high-heeled shoes, and Cecelia realized how casual, even sloppy, she must appear in
her shorts and tennis shoes. “If you’re busy, I can come back another time,” she timidly 
suggested.

“No, no, my dear, come in. I’ve been anxious to meet you.” Smiling graciously, the woman 
gestured Cecelia through the doorway. “I’m Martha Winston, I’m sorry our boy Jim wasn’t 
here to meet you at the door, but I tell him not to come sometimes, so I can straighten up the 
house after he’s finished cleaning it.”

“I’m still new here,” Cecelia laughed. “You’ll have to tell me who Jim is.” She was already 
beginning to feel more comfortable with her new neighbor, and began to wonder how she 
could gracefully bring up the subject of the man in her back yard.

“Oh, Jim’s our trustee. He’s terribly sweet and he really tries, but God knows, he doesn’t 
know which end of a broom is for sweeping.” The woman had led Cecelia into the kitchen and
was taking cups and saucers from the cupboard when she added. “Of course, they’re not all 
like Jim. You’ll find that some of the trustees are bad all the way through and should never 
have been allowed the run of the prison grounds.”

“That’s something I wanted to ask you about, Martha,” the young blonde broke in, happy 
that the topic had come up so naturally. “Do you know of a trustee named Buck Jones?”

“Yes, unfortunately, I do,” the woman frowned. “Harry, my husband, is the superintendent, 
and he thinks he has that man completely rehabilitated. But, I’m afraid he’s going to find out 
that Buck Jones hasn’t changed a bit. Eventually, that man is going to go back to his old ways 
and one of the women in this compound is going to be the victim of Harry’s stupidity.”

“What was he convicted of?” Cecelia asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Rape, or three, I should say. And one murder that they know of. To tell you the truth, I’m 
afraid to be alone in the house when he’s working in the yard.” Even though she was 
discussing such a gruesome topic, Martha was chatting freely now. She was obviously 
enjoying her task of warning the pretty newcomer of the dangers of living in a prison 
compound. “By the way, I should tell you about something else. Be careful about your trustee 
when you get one. After spending a long time in that prison, they’re all sex-starved. If you let 
one near you, you may not be able to keep him down.”

“Why, Martha!” Cecelia exclaimed, shocked by the unsolicited disclosure. “I’m sure that 
common sense would tell a person that much. And I’m certainly not about to get involved 
with any man other than my husband.” She tried to think of some way to change the topic of 
conversation, uncomfortably aware that her neighbor’s comment had come disturbingly close 
to the mental infidelity she had committed earlier in the day.

“Speaking of husbands, I hope I’ll be able to meet Harry sometime soon. We could get 
together for dinner some evening, if you like.”

“That would be nice, but Harry’s usually so busy … ” Martha’s voice trailed off as she rose 
to replace the coffeepot on the stove.

Cecelia thought she detected a note of bitterness in Martha’s voice and decided that 
perhaps it was time for her to go. She was too involved with her problems with Ken to risk 
lending a sympathetic ear to the marital difficulties of the superintendent’s wife. Besides, it 
would do Ken’s career no good for her to become embroiled in the family problems of his 
immediate superior. But though Cecelia had broadly hinted that she had to leave, Martha had 
not responded, preferring instead to relate extensive case histories on almost everyone who 
lived in the executive compound of the prison.

My God, the girl thought an hour later, as she walked back across the front lawn to her 
own home, I had better watch what I say around my neighbors. Before she had left Martha’s 
house, she had had the distinct feeling that the woman was trying to pump her for 
information about her life with Ken. Pleading a splitting headache, she had hurriedly left 
before her own domestic troubles were added to Martha’s tremendous repertoire of gossip. 
By that time she had gathered that the superintendent’s wife spent all her spare time 
alternating between the telephone and the windows, and Cecelia had an idea that it would 
require a great deal of ingenuity to keep her private life off Martha’s hot line.

It was too bad that a woman like Martha could find nothing more interesting in her life 
than to keep track of her neighbors’ comings and goings. Martha was a beautiful woman with 
a tall, well rounded body that Cecelia almost envied, yet it was obvious, even after a short visit,
that Harry Winston had shown no interest in his wife in quite a while. Perhaps, Cecelia mused, 
that was the result of Martha’s constant biting criticism of him; the nicest thing Martha had 
said about him that day was that Harry was busy, and that did not speak well for their 
relationship. But Cecelia knew that even if she had the power to help Martha, it would be 
wiser to stay clear of the whole situation. Cecelia’s father had told her many years ago that 
other people’s problems were something that only the rich and the lonely could afford, and 
she did not particularly want to be included in either of those categories.

At least the visit had not been a complete waste of time. Cecelia now knew to stay clear of 
Buck Jones, though she doubted he was quite the criminal maniac Martha had intimated. As 
for Martha’s dire warning about the trustees, Cecelia had taken it with two or three grains of 
salt. After all, if a man had adjusted to the discipline of prison life, he certainly was not going 
to ravish the first woman he saw. Nevertheless, she did hope that this Mike Farmer was not a 
hardened, embittered inmate who would sullenly work out his time without any interest in her
as a person. More than anything else, right now she needed a friend, someone she could talk 
to. And perhaps her new servant might turn out to be the answer to her problems. Maybe 
another man would be able to tell her what was troubling her husband.

And even if he did not know, at least he would be some company during the long, lonely 
days.


CHAPTER 3

When Cecelia had arrived home from her visit with Martha, she was dismayed to find that 
it was after one-thirty. She had only a half hour to get ready for the arrival of Mike Farmer, her
new trustee. To make matters worse, she belatedly remembered that she had not yet 
unpacked her good dresses and though she had planned to look as mature and dignified as 
possible for the interview, she was forced by time to wear one of the cool mini-dresses that 
were already ironed and ready to be worn. With Martha’s warning in mind, she had chosen 
the most demure one of the lot, a crisp yellow cotton of figure-skimming design with a 
modest scooped neckline and pearl buttons down the front.

Now, she was just fastening the row of buttons when the front doorbell rang. Oh Lord, 
why did he have to be early? she moaned to herself as she realized that she had not even 
brushed out her tousled hair. Quickly running a comb through her unruly curls, she hurried 
down the staircase just as the bell rang for the second time. Dashing through the living room 
to the foyer, she hoped again that she was not dressed too daringly to receive a male 
prisoner. Anyway, it was too late to change now, and taking a deep breath she pulled open 
the front door.

“Hello, you must be Mike Farmer,” Cecelia smiled at the slim, masculine figure which she 
could only see in outline against the blinding afternoon sunlight. “Come in, please.”

She moved behind the door to allow him entrance, then gasped in pleasant surprise when 
she obtained her first clear view of him in the dim light of the hallway. Far from appearing to 
be the cynical veteran convict she had half-expected, Mike Farmer looked just a little older 
than herself with the clean-cut good looks she had always associated with recent graduates of
expensive and exclusive colleges. Had he not been wearing the light blue prison denims, she 
would have guessed him to be a young professional man. She felt genuinely elated for the 
first time since her marriage to Ken. This was better than she had ever hoped when she heard 
she was to get a trustee. He looked young enough to understand her feelings, and intelligent 
and considerate enough to share them with her.

“Sit down,” she said, smiling warmly as they arrived in the living room. “Would you like 
some iced tea or coffee? You must be hot, after walking in that sun.”

As she spoke, the trustee looked up to meet her eyes for the first time. He opened his 
mouth several times as if to speak, but it was a full minute before he finally began to talk.

“Mrs. Bailey, I know you’re not going to understand this,” he said in a low, tense voice, “but
I’d be very grateful if you would call the superintendent’s office and tell them to send 
someone else out. Please, try not to take this wrong, but I don’t think I should work here.”

Cecelia’s smile faded as the young trustee’s words registered in her mind. She could see 
the muscles in his neck standing out as if he were under some kind of great strain and though
she would have done almost anything to relieve him of the painful anxiety he seemed to feel, 
she did not want to let him go. He appeared to be so well suited for the position, both as a 
helpmate and a companion.

There in the sunlight that filtered through the curtains he reminded her somewhat of the 
young men she had dated before she had met Ken. Not even admitting it to herself, she had 
already begun to hope that Mike Farmer might feel the same way her boyfriends had felt-that 
she was beautiful and desirable, yet someone to be worshipped and respected. But, now he 
did not want to stay. She decided to make every effort to change his mind.

“Look, whatever it is, we can work it out,” she began softly. “You wouldn’t have to work 
hard and I’ll try not to bother you very much while you’re here.”

As if he had not heard her, the young man sat silently on the sofa, clenching and 
unclenching his fists in his lap. She could see him rebuilding his courage before he spoke 
again. “Mrs. Bailey, I hope you don’t report me for this, but-” He took a deep breath, then 
went on, “No trustee who doesn’t want to spend more time in this prison is going to work 
here if you dress like that. I mean, we just can’t afford to get involved with women.”

“What are you talking about ? ” she asked truly puzzled. With the exception of a short 
skirt, this dress certainly was not provocative.

As if in silent response to her question, the trustee’s dark eyes moved down to the front of
her dress and Cecelia’s gaze followed his, stopping where the front of the bodice was held 
open by the full mounds of her taut, high breasts. Dear Lord, in her hurry to answer the door, 
she had not finished buttoning her dress, and now the two halves of the tailored bodice were 
drawn wide apart, displaying the deep valley between her breasts and most of the smooth 
creamy skin that swelled roundly over the top of her dainty, lace brassiere.

“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry,” she muttered shakily, blushing to a deep pink as she hurriedly 
pulled the two sides of her dress together to cover the smooth flesh. “I didn’t… know … no, I 
was … you were … early … ” she stumbled, trying to think of some explanation that would 
soften the cool disbelief she sensed he was feeling.

But, he was again staring down toward the floor, his fists clenched tightly on his lap. Hot 
tears of shame and humiliation welled up in Cecelia’s eyes as she turned away from him to 
button up the front of her dress. She was sure he thought she was just a silly, bored housewife
who was trying to tease him, because she had nothing better to do. Though it certainly was 
not true, she had no idea of how to explain to him what it was she wanted-a friend. Then, 
from behind her, she suddenly heard him begin to speak again, this time in a soft, gentle 
voice.

“Mrs. Bailey, I’m terribly sorry if I offended you. It’s just that you can get so lonely in a 
prison with no one but other men to talk to. When you finally do see a woman, you have to be
careful not to let your emotions run away with you.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “It 
was just a shock, that’s all … and you really are a beautiful woman … “

Cecelia felt her heart tremble with joy at his words. He did know what it meant to be 
lonely. She would be able to tell this trustee, this man, what she was feeling and he would 
understand and be able to share it with her-the way Ken never had.

In an instinctive gesture of friendship and compassion, she sat down beside him on the 
sofa and took both of his tanned, muscular hands in her tiny, white ones. Looking up into his 
brown eyes, she whispered, “I understand, more than you’ll ever know. Stay here, and we can 
be friends. In fact,” she smiled excitedly, “I’ll call the superintendent’s office right now!”

Not waiting for his reply, she jumped up from the sofa and pulled him up, running with 
her hand still in his, into the kitchen. The superintendent’s office was one of the phone 
numbers Ken had posted above the wall phone there and, as she stood with Mike Farmer 
close beside her, she quickly dialed the number. She waited in anxious anticipation as the 
number rang several times, hoping the handsome, young trustee would not change his mind 
before she could complete the call.

“Hello? Hello? This is Mrs. Ken Bailey, the captain’s wife,” she said, as soon as someone had
picked up the phone of the other end of the line. “I’d like to talk to someone about the trustee
you sent over today.”

There was a brief pause as the phone changed hands in the superintendent’s office and 
while she waited, Cecelia tightly squeezed Mike Farmer’s hand. She wanted him to be truly 
aware of how happy she was to have him with her. To her delight, he returned the gentle 
pressure, then freed his hand to move his arm around her shoulders. Just to know that he 
already cared about her was the most wonderful thing she had felt since the marriage. She 
leaned her head against his chest, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her 
shoulders, for now she had someone to share her disappointments and small victories, 
someone who perhaps could help her with the problems in her new marriage.

“Yes, he’ll be just fine,” she said to the voice at the superintendent’s office. “If it would be 
all right, I’d be happy to have him start today.”

A moment later, the telephone receiver had been placed back on its hook and Cecelia was 
smiling up at Mike Farmer. “There! It’s done,” she laughed gaily. “Now, aren’t you glad you 
decided to stay?”

He looked down at her for a long time, a deep warmth smoldering in his eyes. Then, as he 
gently pulled her closer to him, he asked in reply, “Isn’t it more important, Mrs. Bailey, that you
are glad I decided to stay ? ” Suddenly, he gathered her into his arms, her warm flesh pressing 
tightly against his, and kissed her with fury, flattening and spreading her lips open until his 
tongue jabbed deep into her mouth.

A frightened hollowness came alive in the pit of Cecelia’s stomach as she realized for the 
first time just what the trustee thought she wanted of him. She knew that this was wrong, that 
she had no right to accept this kind of kiss from any man but her husband. Yet, she 
remembered the last time she had been kissed so passionately, in the motel room on her 
wedding night, and she found herself wondering if this young stranger would have been as 
brutal as her new husband. Impulsively, she wondered what would happen if she decided not 
to stop the trustee, just to see what would happen. After all, she had the right, as a woman, to 
learn more about love than her brutish husband had shown her that night. Besides, she knew 
she could call a halt before things went too far.

Cecelia parted her soft, moist lips to meet his next kiss, wrapping her arms around his 
broad back and shoulders to draw him even closer to her. Except for that one disastrous night
with Ken, she had never allowed herself to truly surrender to any man, even for a few minutes. 
But, with this man, Mike Farmer, she felt surprisingly secure and safe, and she resolved to 
enjoy these few stolen moments of delicious passion, even though she would soon have to 
end it and make sure that it would never have to happen again.

Some time later, and she was not certain just how long, she was shaken from the reverie of
the moment by the insistent pressure of his fingertips along the delicate line of her throat, his 
fingers dropping even lower as his hand circled in a seemingly innocent movement that 
brought him dangerously close to the cleavage of her breasts. The closeness of his gentle 
touch sent sharp electric thrills running through her breasts, centering magically at the 
distended nipples, and she instinctively pressed forward to thrust the tender, swelling mounds
further into his palms.

“Dear God,” she moaned, knowing she had to stop him soon, before it was too late. Yet, 
she had never felt anything so exciting as the maddening teasing of his hands that had now 
moved down to her nipples, pressing and pinching them through the thin material of her 
summer dress until the tiny bud-like tips throbbed in pleasure.

Then, to her surprise and disappointment, he suddenly stopped his manipulations and 
stepped back away from her. She noticed for the first time that his breathing had become 
ragged and husky, and when she looked up to see his face, she could tell that he was making 
a concentrated effort to bring his overwrought emotions back under control. Thank God, he 
had been able to hold himself in check, she thought gratefully, as she quickly straightened her
clothing which had become slightly disheveled in the ardent embrace. She knew that she 
might not have been able to call a halt to the lovely sensual fondling of her body and 
suspected that he too had sensed her arousal and had stopped before they had done 
something they would both regret. Whatever his reason had been, she was thankful for his 
display of unselfishness and good judgment.

“Don’t you think you should show me the rest of the house?” she suddenly heard him ask 
in a voice that was still a little breathless and harsh with passion.

“Y-yes … all right… ” she murmured, trying desperately to ignore the tingling sensation 
that was still burning deep in her loins and in the exquisitely throbbing tips of her breasts. Yes,
yes, she thought, let’s do anything, except don’t touch me again or I’ll never be able to stop.

Silently, she turned to lead him out of the kitchen. He had already seen the entire first 
floor when they went from the living room to the kitchen, so she would have to show him the 
upstairs. Then she could give him something to do, anything to keep him busy so she could 
pull herself together before Ken came home that evening.

Slowly and methodically, she walked him from room to room, showing the bathroom and 
the two guest rooms where the linens and unpacked boxes had been stored. It all took only a 
few minutes and then there was only one room left, the master bedroom at the end of the 
hallway, where she and Ken slept. For some reason she could not understand, she felt as 
though she should not bring him to that room. And yet, why not, she wondered. She was 
being silly and besides, he would be insulted, probably think she did not trust him if she didn’t
bring him in there.

“And this is our bedroom,” she said, pushing open the dark wood door. Realizing what she
had said, she quickly amended it. “I mean this is my husband’s and my room.” She could feel 
the blood rush to her face for the second time that day, but before she could explain further, 
she felt the trustee’s hand at her elbow, gently nudging her into the room.

“Well, it took us long enough to get here,” he said, laughing softly as he spoke. “You’re a 
sly one, but I guess the captain’s wife would have to be, if she wanted to get away with 
anything like this behind her husband’s back.” As he drew her over toward the large double 
bed, Mike Farmer’s hand snaked around her waist, pulling her body tightly against his.

“No, you don’t understand,” she protested, realizing for the first time that he had intended
to be alone with her in this room. “I never intended-”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he coolly interrupted, lifting her chin with his fingers until she was 
staring directly into his eyes. “I’ve known all along what you wanted. I just wanted to make 
sure it wasn’t some kind of game. Believe me, after two years in the joint, I want it just as much
as you do.”

His hands were slowly and deliberately exploring her body, caressing the swell of her 
breasts. She felt their nipples distend, and then he leaned over to bite one through her dress.

“Please, Mike, no!” she begged sensing the danger. “You misunderstand.”

But his hands kept on stroking her, moving down the full length of her torso, kneading the
softness of her belly through the thin softness of her dress. Traveling down to the base of her 
abdomen, his fingers rotated against the hair-puffed mound of her vagina, teasing through 
her clothing at the narrow crevice between her legs. Cecelia’s breath was coming in tight 
gasps and the burning sensation was again beginning to grow in maddening intensity. She 
knew that the trustee had a completely false impression of her and yet she wanted to enjoy 
this thrilling sexual stimulation for as long as she could before stopping him again. Her 
panties were soaked between her legs and she squeezed her thighs together to hold down 
the tingling sensation that was building there. She was on dangerous ground and knew it but 
could not bring herself to leave.

As his fingers worked more insistently against her warm, pulsating cunt, indecision arose 
again but the pleasure rationalized away the danger. Mike Farmer could not, without forcibly 
overpowering her, get beneath her dress, and in his position as a prisoner, she did not think 
he would risk his freedom. She knew it was immoral, but it felt so good … all pleasure and no 
real danger.

In a gesture of resistance, she grasped his wrist tightly but it did not stop the 
manipulations of his hand. His long, slender fingers still moved freely, pinching and teasing at 
her lower belly and the edge of her vagina until she thought she would scream from the jolts 
of pleasure that were coursing through her body. The trustee suddenly gave a hard pinch 
against the soft rubbery nipple of the breast he still held in his other hand, sending a flash of 
pain and pleasure down the full-length of Cecelia’s spine. She uttered a low helpless groan 
which was quickly choked off by the harsh pressure of his wet lips clamping over hers. His 
tongue flicked moistly into her mouth and she suddenly tried to squirm away from him in an 
attempt to stop the flowing tide of passion creeping over her.

‘Oh, God, I want you, baby! I’ve got to fuck you now!” he gasped frantically. He ground his 
pelvis tightly into the smooth roundness of her hips, sliding his hand around to the curve of 
her buttocks to pull her loins tightly into his.

“Oh, no, please. We can’t,” she moaned, his foul obscenity sending a new shock of lewd 
excitement through her as she fought desperately to control the need that was building like a 
raging bonfire within her. She tried to wriggle away from him but his strength was just too 
great and she succeeded only in worsening her position. “Please, we have to stop,” she 
begged. “This isn’t right.”

As if in answer to her plea, Mike Farmer’s middle finger began a gentle stroking motion, 
pushing the folds of her dress moistly into the throbbing crevice between her buttocks. His 
touch made her tremble with desire and she heard him chuckle evilly above her.

“Tell me, baby,” he sneered. “Tell me how much you don’t want me to fuck you.” His voice 
was harsh with passion that had been too long denied. “I can feel that li’l pussy of yours 
beating right through your dress and panties!”

A tremor of shame passed through her at her indecent pleasure overcoming her desire to 
resist. Yet she knew it was no use to even pretend that she did not want it as much as he. For 
the trustee, it had only been two years in prison, for her it was her whole life. She had never 
known what it meant to be sexually fulfilled and now she felt desire so strongly that it was 
drowning out all other considerations. If it only happened once, she could keep Ken from ever
knowing, she rationalized through her confused mind, and it might make her a better wife to 
him if she were not so inexperienced. Yes, there was no other way out. If she tried to scream, 
no one would hear her except Martha Winston, and Martha would undoubtedly tell everyone 
in the prison what had happened.

“Come on, baby. Get your clothes off,” she heard him rasp. “I want to really get at that 
body of yours.”

Yes, it was really the only way, she thought in her dim haze of newly-awakened lust. Slowly,
almost as if in a dream, Cecelia nodded and stepped back from the trustee, unbuttoning one 
after another of the buttons down the front of her dress. She knew it would feel so beautifully 
good, and just for one time …

Suddenly, she was torn out of her trancelike state by the sight of the trustee standing 
before her completely naked. His thick hard penis was standing out from under his flat 
muscular stomach like the menacing shaft of a heavy blunt spear. He walked up to her and 
with a diabolical grin began to stroke the heavy uncircumcised foreskin back and forth over 
the hard bulbous head.

My God, what had she been thinking of? she wondered. This could not be happening, not 
to her. Ken would never forgive her if he ever found out. She had to get out of this quickly or 
it would be too late!

“Oh, please, Mike. I’m sorry, but I’ve made a terrible mistake,” she said quietly. “I just can’t 
do this.”

Cecelia watched in terror as she saw a menacing look pass through his gleaming dark 
eyes. “Don’t give me that ‘innocent’ bit,” he growled as he advanced upon her trembling body.
“You can only tease a man so much and you’ve already pushed me too far. Take your clothes 
off-or I’ll do it for you!”

“N-no, please!” she pled, but it was too late. He grabbed the soft fabric of her dress and 
pulled it down over her shoulders and hips with one hand while he held her still with the 
other. She could feel the cool rush of air against her skin as the dress fell away from her body 
and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. The snaps of her brassiere came next and she 
heard him sigh in obscene appreciation as her full white breasts burst from their confinement 
into the open air. The brassiere joined the soft heap of the dress on the floor and then he 
knelt down before her. Hooking his fingers in the elastic waistband of her thin nylon panties, 
he slowly pulled them down on the smooth creamy softness of her hips and buttocks, then let
them slip the rest of the way down to drop in the small pile of garments around her ankles.

There was nothing for her left to do but to submit, she thought numbly, as she stood 
before him completely naked. Where could she run like this, and who would ever believe her if
she tried to explain that it had not really been her fault. Ken already thought she was a slut, 
she thought bitterly, so why not prove him right? And, yet, she did not want this … all she 
really wanted was for Ken to love her … was this what he had really wanted all the time? No, 
no, she couldn’t. It wasn’t right.

Suddenly, her mind was brought back to the present by the sound of the trustee panting 
on his knees before her. His wet mouth had begun a gentle nibbling into the nude flesh of her
belly sending goose bumps racing over her skin. Her mind formed protests as she felt his lips 
moving lower toward the mound of her pubic area, but her mouth had suddenly gone dry and
she could not make it respond to her mental commands. Slowly his lips dropped to the 
golden hair of her pubis, and, spreading the soft curls with his thumbs, he flicked his tongue 
snake-like into the moist flowering slit of her vagina.

The unexpected electrifying contact against the moist bud of her clitoris made her sway 
from the shock and she suddenly toppled over onto the bed behind her. The edge of the 
mattress caught her knees as she fell, bending and spreading her smooth shapely legs as she 
landed sprawling on the bedspread.

But before she could rise up from her compromising position on the bed, Mike Farmer 
leapt forward and caught her legs as she tried to kick them closed. She could feel his hot 
sweating palms clamping open the soft insides of her thighs, pushing them further and further
apart. In terror and humiliation she tried to close her widespread legs, but every move seemed
to make the situation worse until the trustee was kneeling between her ankles at the foot of 
the bed with an iron-like grip on her trembling loins. She could see him leering up at her 
through the valley between her proud, upstanding breasts like a beast of prey about to 
pounce on its helpless, fear-stricken victim. The throbbing pink flesh of her naked vaginal lips 
was offered up like a bound sacrifice below his diabolically grinning face. Paralyzed by the 
numbing guilt and fear she felt, Cecelia lay motionless as she watched his tongue licking his 
lips in preparation for the ravishment about to take place.

She could feel the flat palms of his hands moving upward on the smooth flesh inside her 
quivering thighs until his thumbs rested on the moist soft lips of her cunt. Then he slowly 
spread them open until Cecelia could feel the cool air brushing against the sensitive flesh 
between her legs. He stared hungrily at the delicious, rose-hued flesh within the framing 
silken-gold hair, then slowly lowered his head.

“No … no! Please … Oh God, don’t do that!” she moaned as his hot moist lips closed over 
the soft mound at the base of her belly. His handsome face disappeared from her view into 
the soft curling pubic fleece as he placed wet, sucking kisses there, his tongue flicking 
teasingly at the sensitive opening. “Please … don’t,” she begged. “No one has ever done that 
to me, not even my husband ! “

She moaned in shame as he breathed against her, the hot air grazing her exposed, tingling
vaginal flesh, then suddenly he buried the whole length of his long slippery tongue lizard-like 
into the warm throbbing passage of her pussy. Her body responded involuntarily, a groan 
escaping from deep in her chest as she ground her buttocks down to the bed trying to get 
away from his maddening assault on her secret genitals.

“Oooooh, noooo! My God!” she whined softly under the teasing attack of his tongue up 
between her open thighs. She moaned and twisted as his lips sucked, drawing the warm soft 
folds deep into the moist cavern of his mouth, the tongue maddeningly flicking at the 
straining pink bud of her quivering clitoris. This was depraved and wrong, she knew it and she 
begged him again to stop. But he shook his head negatively and raced his searing tongue 
even faster up the tiny tight opening between her open legs. Her blond head was raised up 
off the mattress to watch in agonized disbelief, her mind reeling with the idea that this 
immoral, humiliating act was actually being performed on her defenseless body by a man she 
had met only a few short moments ago.

The trustee worked hungrily, feeling the soft moist pubic hair brushing against his cheeks. 
A feeling of power was in him. He still had one more year of imprisonment and never in his 
most erotic dreams had he ever hoped to have such a beautiful woman writhing under his 
lashing tongue. And though she did not know it yet, she was loving it. Her groans drove him 
on, working his way up and down her widespread cunt. He wanted her to cry for it, when he 
finally drove his hungry cock far up into her soft, white belly. By the way she had reacted to his
touch, he knew she needed it as badly as he did, and she was going to get it. This was just the 
beginning.

In spite of her horror and revulsion at the obscene things being done to her naked body, 
Cecelia felt unwanted jolts of forbidden pleasure begin to tear through her pinioned body. 
Knowing she had no right to be in this position with a strange man, she tried desperately to 
fight the growing arousal that was persuading her to forget her marital vow to be faithful to 
Ken right in their own bedroom and she pulled her arms tensely to her sides while her breasts 
jiggled slightly from the trustee’s merciless abuse of her widespread vagina.

“Noooooo … Please, nooooo … ” she sobbed, but her pleas sounded unconvincing, even 
to herself as she panted in unconcealed arousal. His hands moved up over the smooth 
flatness of her belly to grasp harshly at her breasts, his fingers pulling at the hardening 
nipples. Staring up over the quivering white mounds of her breasts, he watched in triumphant 
delight as her face contorted in mounting lust.

While she listened to the obscene wet sucking noises rising from down between her open 
legs, Cecelia tried to fight down the rising tide of desire building in her loins. She felt his 
hands slip back down and under her buttocks, pulling and squeezing the firm flesh of her 
ass-cheeks as his tongue and mouth continued to grind deeper and deeper into her 
squirming cunt. Almost automatically, she jerked her pelvis upward, easing the trustee’s access
to her wet, throbbing crevice. Then suddenly, he flicked the tip of his tongue into the tight 
little puckered sole of her anus, nestled just below the burning opening of her cunt.

“Ooooooh, God, noooooo,” she whimpered, frantically screwing her buttocks down, away 
from the tongue that was obscenely ravishing her tiny asshole. His only response was a 
rasping chuckle and another rapier-like stab into the tight fleshy ring.

Her hips ground uncontrollably down into the bed now, soft mewling sounds of passion 
escaping from between her tightly clenched teeth. She realized with fright and shame that, 
despite the depravity and wrongness of what was happening to her, her body was beginning 
to enjoy it. She clenched her eyes tightly shut and fought with all her will against the rising 
tide of lust that was threatening to devour her mind and overcome all that she had been 
taught to believe was right. But it was a futile battle against impossible odds as Mike Farmer 
worked ceaselessly at her wet naked loins.

Then, after several moments of desperate struggle within herself, she gave in to the 
overwhelming pleasure. She stopped fighting the intense delight he was bringing to her, and 
her lush body began to fight for fulfillment, fulfillment that she had been too long denied. Like
an unthinking, sensual machine, her body jerked spasmodically, rising and thrusting to meet 
the movements of his tongue as it fucked into her now greedily responding cunt. Her hands 
drifted down over her throbbing swollen breasts and her smooth flat stomach to twine into 
his dark hair, pulling his head deeper into the steaming crevice between her legs. Nothing 
mattered now but the molten fire of lustful passion that was pulsing through her veins, 
making her body feel glowingly warm and more alive than she had ever known it.

Mike Farmer sensed the young newlywed’s sudden surrender and with bestial delight, he 
slid his thick wet tongue deeper and harder into her hot, throbbing vagina, listening gleefully 
to her deep animalistic groans of passion. His hands flew wildly over her squirming body, 
teasing at her breasts and clitoris and asshole, spurring her to even greater frenzies of erotic 
excitement as his tongue burrowed into her like a tiny hungry animal.

Never before in her life had Cecelia been so close to an orgasm. She bucked and groaned 
beneath the prisoner’s mouth and hands, working upward toward the final release. Her heels 
pressed down against his back, pushing him closer to her, as the tension within her built to 
almost painful proportions …

Then, when it seemed that she could stand no more without losing her mind, some kind of
dam seemed to burst inside her and she screamed, “It’s happening! I’m going to cum! Yes, 
oooooooh, yessssss … Oh, I’m cummmmmmiiiinnnggggg! Aaaaaaggggghhh!” Jerking and 
heaving against his sucking mouth, she moved in abandoned delight as the hot spasms of her
orgasm tore through her body.

Finally, she gave one last gasp and collapsed down into the mattress, dropping her legs 
heavily on either side of the trustee’s kneeling body. Slowly, he pulled his head up from 
between her widespread thighs and smiled up at her. “That’s a wild ass you got there, baby,” 
he chuckled softly. “You’re a hot little bitch, aren’t you.”

Still too dazed to think or even understand what he was saying, Cecelia nodded happily, 
her sweet face wreathed in a blissful smile. A moment later, though, memory of her guilt 
began to return to her and tears welled up in her blue eyes. Even though it had been 
beautiful, she knew that it hadn’t been worth it. If only Ken would do such wonderful things to
her …

“I’m terribly sorry, Mike, but I made a horrible mistake,” she said, trying to sound briskly 
businesslike as she started to rise. “Let’s get dressed now. We have a lot to do before my 
husband gets home tonight.” Almost as an afterthought, she remembered to add, “This must 
never happen again.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he suddenly snarled, standing up to brutally push her back onto the 
bed. “That was just a little warm-up exercise, baby. Now, I’m going to fuck the shit out of you!”

“Oh, no! You can’t!” she gasped, staring up at him as he kneeled over her trembling body. 
“Nobody but my husband has ever … done it to me … “

“Baby, I’ve been in there for two years,” he hissed. “Two years without touching a woman! 
And now you want me to turn off-just like that!” His lips were contorted into an obscene leer 
and his eyes were cold with long pent-up lust. “It’s not that easy … and even if I wanted to I 
couldn’t stop now. But, baby, I don’t want to! You’re the hottest little piece of ass I’ve ever 
seen!”

Cecelia’s head whirled from the impact of his lewd, insulting words. No one had ever 
spoken to her like that before, and though she knew she should be angry, faint traces of 
desire began to build in her again. She knew she was risking her entire future happiness, yet a 
part of her wanted more of the exquisite pleasure she had experienced for the first time that 
afternoon. But, then, visions of her husband began to loom up in her brain, as if he were 
somehow standing there, staring down at them, a contemptuous sneer of hatred lining his 
handsome face.

“No … no … please, I can’t… my husband … ” she whispered. Suddenly, the words she had 
spoken brought an idea to her. She had forgotten that she held, had always held the key to 
her freedom from the convict who was practically holding her prisoner in her own bedroom. 
Gathering all her courage, she stared into his eyes and declared loudly, “If you don’t let me go
this minute, I’ll tell my husband that you tried to rape me. Now, please, get off my bed!”

Cecelia saw his eyes narrow thoughtfully at her words and she felt a surge of triumphant 
joy. Thank God, it’s over now, she thought happily, and I’ll never let anything like it happen 
again. Her tensed muscles began to relax with relief as she waited for a movement or reply 
from the trustee.

“Are you serious ? ” she finally heard him ask in a flat, expressionless voice.

“I certainly am!” Cecelia answered coldly and decisively. “You may lose your trusteeship, 
but you’ll learn that you can’t just go around attacking any woman who suits your imagine … 
especially not the wife of the captain of the guard!”

The young trustee moved back away from Cecelia, then suddenly slashed his heavy palm 
brutally across her face. “Don’t try to pull your rank with me, Mrs. Bailey,” he snarled. “Your 
husband may be captain of the guard, but he’ll be the laughingstock of the prison if this gets 
out. So, do you want to play it my way, or shall we see who gets to him firsts-you and your sad
tale … or the dirty little story I could have all over the prison within an hour?” He gave a 
mirthless laugh, then added, “Just how much does your husband trust you, Mrs. Bailey?”

Cecelia lay in a state of shock listening to Mike Farmer’s cruel threat. Though she knew she
could easily call Ken right that minute on the telephone, it was little consolation. He thought 
she was a slut already. Surely, he would believe anything this man told him about her.

“Please, don’t,” she begged pitifully, knowing as she looked into his lust-contorted face 
that he would show no more mercy to her than he would to any common whore. Her eyes 
traveled down his broad chest and stomach to where his long hard penis jutted out from its 
nest of wiry black hair. Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she remembered how Ken’s 
huge organ had hurt her. God, she could not stand it again.

“Stow the sobs, baby,” the convict grinned evilly from above her, sensing his complete 
victory over her. “I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. And you’re 
going to love it. I can’t wait to see you twisting and squirming when this cock of mine sinks 
into your tight little cunt.”

“No … no … I can’t.”

“Put it in,” he ordered, climbing over her leg to position himself between her open thighs.

Quivering in fear and humiliation, she reached down to wrap her hand around his thick 
shaft. It was huge. Though she had never touched Ken’s cock with her hand, this one felt even 
larger than his had looked. Dear God, she would never be able to take it all, she thought in 
terror, it would tear her apart down there!”

“Hurry up!” he commanded again. “Put it in your cunt!”

Closing her eyes with a shudder, she guided the stone-hard cock into the valley of her 
buttocks, poising it between the waiting lips of her vagina. Grasping the smooth, 
blood-swollen head between her thumb and forefinger, she gingerly placed it at the edge of 
the moist, hair-fringed opening and gasped at the first soft thrilling contact against the 
ragged soft edges of her pussy.

Gradually, he began to push against her, painfully pressuring against the tight, almost 
virginal opening of her vagina.

“Aaaaaagggghhh,” she gasped, as the huge, throbbing head forced its way into the moist, 
elastic lips until Cecelia felt that the tender flesh would surely tear from the strain of the huge 
lust-inflated tip of his cock.

“Oooooooh, please stop … you’re hurting me,” she screamed. Her legs jerked out wide on 
either side of his body, kicking futilely into the air to escape the cruel impalement. She looked 
pleadingly up into the trustee’s face, but there was no compassion in his expression, only the 
lust and frustration that had been building for two years.

Slowly, he forced his massive rod into her resisting passage, filling her inch by inch. Then, 
when his hard, thick cock was only partially inside her, he could stand it no more. He had to 
fuck her! It had been too long. He rammed forward with all the strength in his thighs and 
buttocks, sinking his huge shaft all the way up to the hilt. It slammed into her cunt, pushing 
the soft, moist flesh of her vaginal walls before it until his balls smacked heavily into the tightly
clenched cheeks of her naked ass. Beneath him, she writhed and moaned, screwing her 
buttocks back into the mattress to find some relief from the painful skewering. But with each 
jerk, the fiery lance seemed to stab even deeper into her ravaged passageway until it felt as 
though it was coming out her throat as its bloated head pressed hard against her cervix. Her 
face was contorted with the pain of that first cruel lunge and pleading incoherent whimpers 
rose from deep in her chest. He glanced down between their joined bodies and could see his 
dark, curly pubic hairs tangled with her golden blonde ones, the gleaming base of his thick 
cock buried between the pink, moist lips of her wide-stretched vagina.

He wished only one thing now, that that bastard Captain Bailey could be there to see his 
pretty young wife pinned to the bed and being fucked silly by one of his own lowly convicts. 
Yes, he was going to make her pay for every minute of the two years he had spent in that 
prison, under her husband, Bailey, and all the others who had kept him at Dunstead. And 
when he was finished, she would be begging for more. He would give it to her too. until she 
had his sperm swimming in her eyes.

Beneath him, Cecelia struggled helplessly against the pain of his sudden blunt entry. 
Though she desperately tried to force it out by flexing the muscles within her vagina, each 
throb seemed only to excite him more and he rammed even further up inside her aching 
passageway. She could feel his huge leathery balls brushing against her clitoris between her 
widespread thighs, as it lay sunk deep inside of her. There was not one ridge or vein on the 
massive instrument she could not feel as her cunt walls clasped around it like a tight elastic 
sleeve. Far up in her belly, the hard rubbery tip seemed to throb against her cervix like a 
second heart in her body. The gentle pulsing of the thick shaft within her sent tiny jolts of 
pleasure-pain coursing through her trembling body and she moaned softly beneath him.

Suddenly her body quivered and jerked as the trustee flexed his cock, driving it another 
cruel half an inch into her tortured vagina.

“Oooooooohh, nooooo,” she groaned, struggling frantically to escape the painful 
skewering. But his hands moved up to pin her shoulders tightly to the mattress.

He throbbed the stiff rod again in the hot-channeled depths of her tight narrow passage, 
stretching her vaginal walls even further apart. Slowly, her strained sensitive inner flesh 
became accustomed to the massive invading instrument and the pain began to gradually 
diminish.

“Oooooooooh,” she gasped breathlessly, as the convict flexed again and again, setting a 
rhythmic pattern to his movements. Her pain-contorted face slowly relaxed and he could feel 
hesitant answering throbs around the head of his deeply imbedded penis, as her body began 
to mechanically respond to hard masculine intrusion.

Aware that her last resistance was finally fading, Mike Farmer continued his slow, gentle 
ministrations. He watched with delight as her nostrils began to flare slightly with passion and 
her soft grunts of pleasure began to fill the silent bedroom. The bed squeaked quietly as her 
pelvis began a slow involuntary rocking motion beneath his throbbing cock.

Cecelia could feel her body reacting as it had never done before. The agonizing pain had 
given way to another sensation, a deep thrilling tingle that rose from deep in her womb and 
seemed to be saturating her body with an urgent need to have even more of the brutal 
impaling rod that had rammed so viciously into her innocent body. Her flesh seemed alive 
with dancing tongues of fire and the burning warmth centered in her loins, making her cunt 
involuntarily dilate and twitch around the rock-like pole that filled her. She wanted more of it, 
wanted to feel the swollen member drilling in and out of her moist hungry passage. 
Instinctively, she drove her buttocks upward, grinding into his pelvis, but he stayed immobile 
above her, his weight pressing her back down into the bed. She could not move and she felt 
like she was going out of her mind with frustration and fiery need.

“P-please, Mike, do something,” she gasped pleadingly, looking up into the face of the 
trustee. She saw a grin of lewd delight crease his face.

“What, Mrs. Bailey? Does the captain’s lady want something?” he tormented. Sweat trickled
down his face as he fought to control his own mounting passion. First, he had to force her to 
submission. He wanted to humiliate her to show her that he was not just doing another little 
job for the men who ran the prison. Then, he was going to screw her, whether she liked it or 
not.

“Y-yes, please, do it to me,” she panted.

“Do what?” he taunted, flexing his huge member again. “Say it. Tell me to fuck you!”

“Ooooooh, no. I can’t; I can’t,” she breathed. This, she knew, would be the final humiliating
surrender. There would be no escaping the fact that she had wanted it as much as the convict 
and she would never be able to face her husband again.

“Beg me, bitch,” he snarled, losing patience with waiting for her surrender. With a low 
growl, he grabbed her shoulders and dug his fingers painfully into their softness. As he 
roughly shook her trembling body, he commanded again, “Say it!”

“Oooooh, noooo, I can’t … nooooo … ” she moaned, but even as she said it, the 
overpowering knowledge of her guilt and helplessness melted her last defenses and she knew 
it was useless to protest anymore. Though her own weakness sickened and repulsed her, the 
urgent demands of her aroused body had completely conquered her protesting conscience. It 
was no longer a matter of right and wrong. All that mattered was that she wanted him now, 
wanted his lust-hardened cock to be set in motion to match the desperate desire that was 
churning within her. At last, through clenched teeth, she hissed bitterly, “All right, … fuck me! 
Right now-FUCK ME!”

As she closed her eyes in defeat and humiliation, the young convict’s handsome face 
twisted into an obscene grin of victory. Savoring his sweet revenge, he levered himself to a 
push-up position and slowly withdrew his deeply-imbedded instrument until only the bloated 
mushroom-like head still rested within the moist, glistening outer lips of her tender pussy. His 
anger was quickly forgotten as he felt the intoxicating friction of his hard staff against the 
smooth, moist walls of her cunt and as a new wave of intense passion pulsed through him, he 
gathered all his muscular strength and rammed forward again, the broad head of his cock 
pushing the soft flesh of her warm channel before it like buttered velvet, until the entire 
length was buried once more in her wide stretched pussy. This time there were no cries or 
pleas for mercy, only the throaty animal sound of a lustful woman reaching for pleasure. To his
delight, he felt the aroused young bride’s trembling hands snaking up around his body to 
clasp his buttocks, pulling at his tightly-clenched muscles to draw him even deeper into her 
aching belly. Confident now of her unconditional submission, he began working to please 
them both, hammering in and out with long smooth strokes. The bed shook beneath them as 
Cecelia rose to meet each slamming thrust, working her buttocks higher and higher to get 
more and more of his skewering cock.

“Christ, you’re good, baby,” the convict breathed, ramming faster and faster into her with a
maniacal frenzy, his heavy-lidded eyes filmed over by the force of his sexual transport. The fire
of animal lust raged out of control in his lunging groin and he was aware of nothing else in 
the world but the fact that a beautiful, blond, full-bodied woman was responding under him 
to his impaling rod and frantically roving hands. Spurred on by the Captain’s wife’s pitching 
body, he dug more deeply into her, grabbing her shoulders to pin her flatter to the bed and 
restricting her movements until she was afraid she would lose her mind unless he allowed her 
to move as freely as she wanted. She strained upward, heaving her abdomen in passion, 
driving the young criminal deeper and deeper into her screaming body.

Cecelia sighed in wonder, dipping and revolving her pelvis frantically as she felt another 
climax approaching.

The convict, feeling the first vestiges of control leaving his body, tried to slow his pace, 
lengthening his strokes to draw his cock almost all the way out before slamming it home 
again. But her passion had reached the point where she could bear no delay. Faster and faster 
she thrust upward, sucking and massaging at this heavenly, powerful staff with strange, secret 
muscles she had never known she contained.

She was rocketing to a new and thrilling height of pleasure and her breath whistled and 
rasped from her throat in short cries of passion. My God, she thought, I’m going to cum again.
Never before had anything felt as wonderful as this. That gigantic throbbing rod had caused 
her senses to desert her and she joyously knew that this was what her body was for-to give 
pleasure and to take and take and take this exquisite sensation until her mind was lost in 
delirium.

“Oh, darling, I’m cumming! I’m cumming, oh God, I’m cumming nowww!” she cried in a 
voice shrill with mind-reeling passion. He screwed mercilessly into her vagina, and with the 
depth of each lunge she screamed from sheer lust and pleasure. Her cum juices flowed out 
around his driving prick, spilling down into the soft, excitedly clenching crevice of her buttocks
and flooding his testicles and the base of his cock as he drubbed unrelentingly into her.

Faster he thrust, digging deep, deep inside her. He wanted her to remember this fuck for 
the rest of her life. At last he erupted, his hot thick sperm shooting deep into her 
wide-stretched womb, blending with the boiling juices of her own cumming. The hot walls of 
her pussy clasped and unclasped desperately, milking at the jerking organ like a sucking, 
starving mouth. Slowly, they both relaxed, Cecelia’s legs collapsing limply on the bed, lying 
obscenely open on either side of his still gently heaving body. Her heart pounded as though it
would burst through her chest as her exhausted cuntal muscles gradually unraveled the knots 
of sublime tension that had bound them moments before. She could feel his huge organ 
deflating inside her. Then, after a moment, he pulled it out and rolled away. She felt an 
immediate sense of loss, but that slowly faded as she remembered where she was and who 
was lying beside her with his thick penis still dripping with the fluids of their mutual orgasm. A
spasm of horror and shame shook her body as she imagined how they must look, she lying 
exposed and satiated next to a strange man collapsed naked beside her. Raising her head, she
could see that they were still connected by a thin gleaming string of his sticky sperm that 
stretched from the soft head of his cock, across her thigh to disappear in the dark valley 
between her legs.

Well, she thought bitterly, Martha had been right about the trutees and she had been a 
fool not to listen. Or was it that she hadn’t wanted to listen? Cecelia shook her head to drive 
out the unwanted doubt and quickly rose from the bed. It wax rape-she would never believe 
anything else. But who would believe her? Certainly not her silent, uncaring husband. Well, 
he’ll never know, she decided, never know.

“Like it, Mrs. Captain?” the trustee suddenly grinned tauntingly up at her from where he 
lay sprawled on the bedspread.

“Yes, Mike,” she said coldly, “Now get out of here. I don’t ever want to see you in this 
house again. I won’t get you into trouble, I promise. But, now leave me alone.” She began to 
falter as she saw an evil grin spread across his face. “I’ll call the supervisor’s office … tell them I 
don’t need any help … I don’t want a trustee … “

“Ah, now, Mrs. Captain, that’s not true-you know it’s not,” he whispered, staring pointedly 
at her still-trembling body. “You certainly wanted a trustee two minutes ago. And, whether 
you like it or not, you need a trustee-need one particular trustee to keep his mouth shut, don’t
you, Mrs. Captain?”

She stared at the cocky young man as he lounged back on her bed. It was true. One word 
-even a hint of her infidelity could spread through the prison like a wild fire. The men would 
only be too happy to have discovered that the hated captain of the guard had been 
cuckolded by one of his own prisoners. Wild thoughts of escape, flashed through Cecelia’s 
mind as she tried desperately to think of some way out of this awful mess. But, even if she had
any hope of disentangling herself from the situation, it would have been dashed by the sight 
of Mike Farmer’s lazy, confident grin. He knew the workings of the prison better than she, and 
he obviously was not worried.

“Look, Mike, I’ll try to get you out. I’ll set up a bank account so you’ll have money when 
you’re free again. I’ll do anything you say, just leave me alone. Please, I beg of you.” Her round
blue eyes were damp with tears as she sank to her knees at the edge of the bed.

The young criminal gazed coolly at her beseeching form, the welcome power of revenge 
against her husband blanking out whatever compassion he might have felt toward the 
beautiful young woman. “That’s touching, very touching,” he said, sneering openly at her 
desperation. “Just how do you think your beloved husband would respond if I got down on 
my knees and begged him for a little common courtesy ? Well, what do you think, Mrs. 
Captain of the Guard?”

“I-I don’t understand. What are you talking about, Mike?” Cecelia asked, confused by his 
snarling question.

“I mean that your husband and all his bulls have kept me and all the other prisoners 
exactly where they want us,” he snapped. “They kick us around and fuck over us constantly. 
They get their nuts off by reminding us that we’re less than human-and I’ve been fed up with 
it for a long, long time. So,” he smiled bitterly, “So, I’m going to fuck over the sweet young 
bride of your son-of-a-bitch husband for a little while. And get my own nuts off in the 
process.”

Cecelia stared at him in horror. “You can’t just use someone like that-just for revenge!”

“Baby, I have nothing to lose,” he answered softly. “Another year in this hole is like a 
lifetime to me. Besides, I know that you could rat on me anyway, so I might as well enjoy the 
risk.” He propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at her. “What have you got to 
lose, sweetheart?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, get out,” she moaned as her head dropped down on the bed. She had
no choice, she knew, but to submit to whatever vile degradations this criminal could imagine. 
She knew, in fact, even better than he did what she had at stake. Her husband was a proud 
and unpredictable man; she did not want him to become angry again. There was no telling 
what he would do if Mike Farmer ever talked.

Cecelia would just have to play his game and pray that no one else ever found out.


CHAPTER 4

“I wouldn’t kid you, man. She’s the sweetest little piece I’ve ever had. She loves a good 
hard cock! I had her begging and you’re welcome to tear off a little piece for yourself, if you 
like.”

Cecelia almost dropped the bedspread she was carrying in to the washing machine in the 
back porch of the house. That couldn’t be Mike Farmer’s voice-not talking about her. He had 
left over fifteen minutes ago to go back to the prison and in that time she had barely gotten 
her wits about her enough to clean herself up and strip the bed of its sperm stained coverlet. 
She had been going to wash and dry it before Ken returned home for dinner, but now her 
plans were forgotten. Who could he be talking to ? White-faced and trembling, she edged up 
to the back door to peer out into the back yard.

It was dusk and the rose garden was a jigsaw puzzle of dark shadows and golden light 
from the setting sun. She could see no one among the carefully tended trees and bushes. Just 
as the petite blond was about to quietly push open the screen door, another voice spoke 
softly, so close to her that she instinctively jumped back into the dimness of the tiny porch.

“Sheeitt! man, I gotta admit that gal’s got some pretty li’l ass, but you is playing with fire 
there. Tha’s Cap’n Bailey’s ol’ woman. Though, Ah do admit, a li’l poontang would hit the spot 
with ol’ Buck. Ah ain’t had no ass since Ah ripped off that last one in L.A.”

Stunned with horror, she realized that they were beside the house, right outside the door. 
And worse, Mike was talking to Buck Jones, the black rapist. Her mind fought to understand 
and accept what she knew was happening out there. They were talking about her! Mike 
Farmer was planning to make her submit to that huge, horrible Negro. Brain whirling with 
shock, she started to turn around to run into the other room, to get away from the awful, 
frightening conversation she was overhearing. But, some strange, perverse fascination made 
her stop and listen a little longer.

“Yeah, and let me tell you it was good, laying into that son-of-a-bitch’s wife. Every time, I 
punched that thing down into her tight, little pussy, I just grinned and thought ‘There’s 
another one for you, you bastard. After a while, though, it got so good to me, I just forgot and
plowed into her. That’s why I thought I’d just like it to be a little worse for her. After all, we 
can’t beat on Bailey, but we can certainly get to that high class little wife of his.”

Cecelia leaned against the cool wood wall, drained and humiliated by the trustee’s words. 
How could he be so cold, so unconcerned with her feelings? Her thoughts were interrupted by
the black man’s sinister chuckle.

“Hey, man, let’s get Garcia out here too! That mother-fucker’s so horny he screws 
anything. And from the stories he’s told me, he could have that bitch so shook up, she might 
nevah’ come to herself. Sheeitt! I’d like to try a couple of them things mahself.” He paused for 
a moment, then added, “You knew, that li’l gal threatened to call the man on me today. That 
did piss me off … Ah believe Ah’d like to see her beg a little. Yessuh, maybe Ah’ll just let her 
beg around this big ol’ black cock-crammed right to the hilt between those soft pink lips.”

“Hold up, man. You’re giving yourself a hard-on,” she heard Farmer laugh. “Anyway, that’s 
a good idea about Garcia, he’s just the man for our little party. We may do life for this, but 
we’re going to have a good time making it!”

Cecelia cringed back against the wall as she heard them moving away, laughing as they 
went. She could never face them if they discovered her now. For that matter, how could she 
ever face anyone again after this afternoon. He was right -she had begged, but she had never 
asked for anything like he was planning now. One criminal using her defenseless naked body 
for his own pleasure was bad enough, but three! And Buck Jones was one of them! Her feeling
about him had been confirmed; he was a dangerous man under that honey-sweet charm of 
his. And he had talked about putting his black penis in her mouth! No, she could never do it. 
That was too much to ask of any woman, especially a virtually innocent young newlywed.

Though she had no idea how she would get out of the horrible situation, she resolved that
no threats could make her cooperate with Mike Farmer’s evil plan. Even if she had to ruin her 
marriage, she would escape somehow. But, for now, she was too tired and shaken to even 
think straight. Tomorrow morning, before Mike arrived, she would think of a plan. Yes, 
tomorrow, she would somehow clear this whole thing up.

Wearily, she brushed a stray blond curl away from her face and turned back to the washing
machine. It was late. Ken would soon be home for dinner.


CHAPTER 5

Cecelia stood before the long bedroom mirror, inspecting her body in the pale morning 
light. As she had hoped, it looked the same as it had yesterday morning-lush, youthful, almost
pristine. Her ivory skin was still as smooth and unflawed as before, her face showing no 
wrinkle or sign of stress. She smiled slightly, thinking of the silly fear that had gnawed at her 
mind only a moment before. Of course, an adulteress doesn’t look any different, she laughed 
at herself. Her guilty feelings had made her suspect that her husband’s customary silences 
were caused by some knowledge of her illicit activities yesterday afternoon. But the rational 
part of her brain had reminded her that, even if Mike Farmer had said anything to the inmates,
there would not have been time for word to get back to Ken.

After Ken had left this morning, she had lain in bed, struggling with the dilemma of Mike 
and the blackmail he was subjecting her to. It was too great a price to pay, she had decided, 
even for her marriage. Today, she would tell Mike Farmer to either leave her alone or get out. 
And tonight

… tonight, she would tell Ken everything that had happened. If he somehow understood 
and could forgive her, fine. But, if he flew into a rage and told her to leave … well, that would 
be all right, too. After all, at this point, she wouldn’t be breaking up much of a marriage and, 
even though she did love him with all her heart, perhaps it would be better for both of them if
they parted ways now, rather than later, when it would be even more painful. She knew that 
there had to be a better existence than living in uncomfortable silence with a near-stranger.

Suddenly, she heard a noise and, whirling around, came face-to-face with Mike Farmer 
who stood grinning in her bedroom doorway.

“Like what you see?” he asked, leering suggestively at her nude body which, moments 
before, had been posed before the full-length mirror.

“What are you doing here already?” she demanded, furious that he had appeared so 
unexpectedly. “It’s only nine o’clock.”

“Why, Mrs. Captain, ma’am, did you forget? It’s your own private houseboy, reporting in 
for duty.” He bent over double in a mock bow of subservience. “We convicts may be a burden 
on society, but apparently, we make dandy slaves for the lovely ladies of the prison. This is 
called rehabilitation, Mrs. Captain. When I get out-why, I’ll know all about being a personal 
janitor to some fine lady.”

His words had sounded bitter to Cecelia, but the trustee’s face looked cheerful. He seemed
to be in a more buoyant mood today, she thought hopefully. Maybe, if she could show him 
that she really cared about him as a person, not just as a prisoner or servant, he might think 
about her more kindly. Perhaps, she could even talk him out of the “party” he had planned for 
today. It was certainly worth a try.

Choosing her words carefully, she asked quietly, “What… what happened to you, Mike? 
Why are you here? You don’t seem like the type of man to be in prison.”

To her surprise, he didn’t snarl an answer, but smiled and answered good-naturedly. “Well, 
that’s what I told the judge. I said, ‘Please, sir, don’t send me to the penitentiary. My friends 
will miss me.’ But, he just leaned back in the big leather chair and chopped three years out of 
my life. He never blinked an eye.” He leaned against the doorframe and shrugged. “That’ll 
teach me to play around with a judge’s daughter, I guess.”

“What?” Cecelia gasped, not yet grasping his point.

“Well, it seems that I misjudged the age of a little chick I picked up at a dance. And, God 
knows, she wasn’t fighting off any unwelcome advances.” He grinned ruefully and went on. 
“One of the patrolmen on the local lovers’ lane just happened to catch us in the act and one 
disaster led to another. Not only was she fifteen years old, but she had run away from home 
two days before. And then, of course, there was the not unimportant fact that her father was 
one of the two district judges. Her uncle was the other local justice.”

“Oh, no, Mike,” Cecelia murmured sympathetically. “It sounds like you never had a 
chance.”

“Baby, you just don’t know how bad it was,” he sighed. “Before that trial was over, they had
the jury convinced that I was everything but a Russian spy. I was lucky that statutory rape isn’t 
a capital offense, because I wouldn’t be here now if it were. I was in this prison for two weeks 
before I even knew what had happened to me.”

“Well, Mike, if that’s all true, then why are you letting yourself in for another trial?” she 
asked quietly.

He stared at her for a moment and she could see the warm friendliness in his face harden 
into a mask of hatred and resentment.

“Because, Mrs. Captain, I don’t care anymore,” he growled. “In the past two years, I’ve been
put through every kind of shit those mother-fuckers could imagine in their dim minds. And, 
now it doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t mind at all, because I’m getting back-in spades. I may 
spend the rest of my life in that sewer, but I’m going to know that I returned the favor to at 
least one of those bastards!”

Cecelia’s heart sank as she heard his words, but she had to try to reach him. Mustering all 
her courage, she walked over to stand beside him. Taking his hand, she looked up at him and 
spoke firmly. “Why make me suffer, Mike? I never did anything to you. I like you. Much as I 
hate to admit it, I liked what happened yesterday afternoon, but… ” She faltered, trying to 
think of the right words, then went on impulsively, “I heard you talking to Buck yesterday … 
and, I … I can’t do that … not with all those men … h-he said he w-was going to put his … his 
thing in my mouth … Please! Don’t make me do that!” she begged, breaking down into sobs.

But, he stood unmoving, staring down at her contemptuously. “Baby, you’re going to do 
all that and more, so you might as well get used to the idea. I tell you what to do, and you’d 
better remember that!”

His arrogant words cut through Cecelia’s misery and she forcibly stilled her wracking sobs. 
No, she thought furiously, no matter what was at stake, she was still her own person and she 
did not take orders from anyone!

“You do not tell me what to do, Mike Farmer!” she blazed. “You have no hold on my life. I 
don’t care who you tell about what. I’m going to tell my husband anyhow-tonight! I won’t be 
blackmailed any longer. Now, get out!” Angrily, she tried to shove him out of the bedroom.

To her amazement, he moved away from her, then turned to face her, smiling sweetly. 
“Now, don’t upset yourself, Mrs. Captain. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, anyway. But,” he 
added as his smile faded and his eyes gleamed cold as gun-metal, “when I go this time, I’m 
going to go for something big, not just a lousy rape. Baby, you will as I say, whether you like it
or not. After all, I don’t want to disappoint my friends.”

Almost before she knew what was happening, the criminal took her arm in a brutal grip 
and dragged her back into the bedroom, tossing her harshly onto the bed. The telephone, she
thought frantically, if I can just call Ken, he’ll send help. But as she tried to rise, the man caught
her shoulders and threw her back down on the mattress, pinning and holding her there with 
his broad palm over her slender throat. His face had become twisted into a frightening mask 
of cruel fury and he leaned over her, breathing hotly into her fear-stricken face.

“You will cooperate with me! You will! If I have to kill you to make you understand how 
serious I am, well, then, I’ll kill you. Now, will you cooperate, bitch?”

Although his hand was crushing her windpipe, cutting off her air supply until she felt dizzy,
Cecelia managed to croak her consent. Immediately, he removed his palm.

As she lay beside where he sat on the bed, Cecelia’s eyes met his and she saw that there 
was no mercy or compassion in them. Whatever had happened to him in the prison must have
killed all his humane emotions until he seemed to be driven by nothing but his maniacal need 
for revenge. She felt real fear now for the first time since this strange chain of events began. 
As she stared at him, his eyes left her face and began to roam over the smooth, ripe curves of 
her still-naked body, a sadistic smile playing over his lips. Almost against her will, she felt a 
thrill of excitement course through her body, as she saw the familiar fire of lust begin to 
rekindle in his eyes.

“Now that we have agreed,” he began softly, reaching over to pinch her nipples into hard 
peaks of tingling sensation. “Now, that we have traded places, and you are the prisoner, and I 
am the master, you will follow my every direction. Is that right?”

Cecelia could feel her body coming alive under his fingertips, throbbing and burning with 
growing excitement. Barely aware of the sound of his voice, forgetting the fear she had 
experienced only a moment before, she arched her back, trying to get even more of the 
delicious sensation that was beginning to drive her mad with mounting passion. She did not 
notice as anger mixed with the lust in his expression.

“Isn’t that right,” he insisted.

A tiny moan escaped her throat as she felt the now-familiar need churning in her loins.

“Answer me, bitch,” he suddenly shouted, twisting her nipples cruelly.

Jagged spears of pain shot from Cecelia’s twin peaks as he continued to twist and pull 
brutally at her tortured nipples and, wrenched from her dreamy arousal, she struggled 
frantically to free herself from his excruciating grip. Finally, with strength born of pain and 
desperation, she managed to tear herself from his agonizing grasp and leapt up from the bed 
to run for the bedroom door. But mid-leap, almost before her feet touched the floor, his 
hands clamped over her arm, slamming her back on the bed.

“All right, bitch,” he snarled. “If that’s the way you want it, we’ll do it the hard way.”

Rising from the bed, he walked over to the bedroom door, turned the key that rested in its
old fashioned lock and dropped the key into the pocket of his denim trousers. Turning back to
the blond girl who lay trembling on the rumpled sheets, he snarled a vicious warning:

“You make one move, bitch, and I’ll slap you unconscious.”

Then he strode to the big open wardrobe that held most of Ken’s clothes and began 
rummaging through it, keeping his eyes on her all the while. Moments later, he drew out 
several of Ken’s ties, one of which she had given him as a wedding present, and returned to 
the bed.

Cecelia’s eyes widened in terror as she realized what he was going to do.

“No, Mike, please,” she begged. “I promise I won’t run away. I swear it.”

“I swear it, too,” he muttered, brutally yanking one of her slender wrists to a corner 
bedpost. With quick, efficient movements, he knotted the strip of heavy cloth around her 
wrist, then wound the ends around the wood, drawing her hands up tightly to the post. When 
he was finished, there was barely enough slack in the bond to allow her blood to circulate into
her hand. And there was no chance that she could pull it free. As he repeated the procedure 
on her other wrist, she lay staring up at him, her face impassive. At last, he was finished and, 
moving away to inspect his handiwork, he laughed sardonically.

“Well, Mrs. Captain, let’s see you call your husband now,” he sneered at her tightly bound 
form.

“Take my word, Mike Farmer, you’ll pay for this,” Cecelia hissed. “You’re more evil than any 
of the guards or anyone in that prison and I will make you sorry if it’s the last thing I ever do.” 
Raging fury shot from her eyes like blue sparks, but the trustee only laughed.

“I believe I know exactly how you feel, Mrs. Captain. I’ve felt the same way myself. But, 
don’t you worry, you’ll get me back, I’m sure. And it will be easy-for you. But you’re not going 
to do anything until I and my friends have fucked you every way but Sunday to make up for 
every raw deal we’ve had in that prison, every time your husband or one of his dummies has 
made us crawl! Now shut up or I’ll gag you too.”


CHAPTER 6

Cecelia watched in silence as the convict moved away from her and began removing his 
clothes. When he turned away from her to pull down his denim trousers, she used the 
opportunity to try and wriggle out of the neckties Mike had used to bind her hands to the 
bedposts, but it was no use. The knots were too tight and she abandoned her attempts before
he turned to face her again. She knew she couldn’t bear it if he lost his temper and began to 
beat her, as he had said he would. Tied like a slave to the bed she and Ken shared, she felt 
more humiliated than she had ever imagined possible. She was completely at the mercy of 
Mike Farmer, this trustee who was so filled with hatred that nothing could reach him. She 
realized that she would have to cooperate with him and his friends, but she wondered how 
she could ever stand being touched by that huge black man. She prayed that he would not 
think of what he had said-putting his huge black organ into her mouth. Everything she had 
ever been taught about right and wrong rebelled against the thought.

Her train of thought screeched to a halt as Mike Farmer turned around, completely naked, 
to walk back to the bed. She could see that his long thick cock was only partially erect, but it 
was even bigger, more powerful-looking than she remembered. Just the sight of it started that
involuntary fevered churning between her legs and, though she hated herself for the obscene 
thought, she had to admit that it would be wonderful to have his huge pulsating hardness 
placed into the warm hungry mouth of her vagina. Oh, God, just the idea made her shiver with
anticipation and, in spite of herself, she found that she was smiling up at the handsome 
convict. As she felt the weight of his body lowering onto the bed beside her, she closed her 
eyes in delicious expectation of the exciting touch of his fingers on her tingling body, his 
warm lips pressing hard on hers.

To her surprise, though, she felt him lifting her head and she opened her eyes to see him 
gathering up both the pillows from the bed. A moment later, he had wedged the pillows 
down under her head and neck, propping them up until she felt her chin almost resting 
against her chest. She looked up to see his face wreathed in a grin of salacious amusement.

“What … what are you going to do?” she questioned, truly puzzled by his arrangement of 
the pillows under her head.

“Well, Mrs. Captain, I think it’s about time you sucked a little convict cock,” he said, smiling 
sadistically. “How would you like that?”

Oh, God, no, her mind screamed, he couldn’t mean that. Why couldn’t he be satisfied with 
just using her body in the natural way. Did he have to make her the victim of horrible 
perversion too ? She watched in terrified disbelief as he lifted a leg over her torso and 
positioned himself with his buttocks above her breasts, his knees snug into her armpits, his 
throbbing prick dangling before her face.

“N-no, Mike, please,” she whined, knowing already that it was futile to argue. “I-I can’t.. . I 
can’t do that … it’s wrong.”

“Baby, you’re in no position to argue,” he growled, shaking his long, blood-engorged 
member before her eyes. “Now, kiss my cock, bitch!”

Cecelia closed her eyes; this was even worse than she had imagined. The humiliation, the 
debasement she was going to suffer today simply was not worth it. When she refused, rolling 
her head from side to side to avoid touching the massive instrument with her lips, the trustee 
grabbed her cruelly by the shoulder, digging into her soft flesh until she cried out from the 
pain. “Open your mouth, you fucking cunt,” he snarled. When she was slow in responding, he 
grabbed a handful of her golden hair and yanked until her eyes watered from the pain.

“Oow! You’re hurting me!” she whimpered.

“Open your fucking mouth!”

Cecelia slowly opened her mouth; her lips were trembling from fright and suppressed pain.

“Now, put your lips around the head of my cock,” he commanded. “Do as I say!”

Moaning with fear and mortification, Cecelia reluctantly did as he directed, closing her lips 
hesitantly around the blunt, distended tip of his fleshy staff. To her surprise, it was not 
unpleasant and she could taste the bittersweet piquancy of a clear, sticky substance already 
oozing from the tiny opening at the end. In spite of her natural revulsion at the vile act the 
convict was forcing her to perform, she felt an unmistakable tremor of excitement at the spicy,
pungent taste of the warm, male semen on her palate. Experimentally, she twirled her tongue 
over the thick, purplish head and her efforts were rewarded by a deep groan from the man 
kneeling over her.

“Ooooooooh, that’s it, baby. Now lick it,” he breathed, panting slightly from the 
excitement of seeing his huge cock placed in the mouth of the innocent young wife. 
Reluctantly, he withdrew the mammoth staff from between her lips and directed, “Lick it like a 
lollipop, baby. Lick it all over and keep your eyes open so you can see what you’re doing.”

Following his directions like the obedient slave she had become, Cecelia stared at the long,
rigid pole that rose like a stone monolith before her face. It was hard, so hard that the skin 
stretched tautly over its surface shone as if it were polished and the thick veins that covered it 
like a road map, pulsed madly against the tightly drawn skin. Below the awful weapon, his two 
huge balls hung in their soft, swaying sacs, swollen and heavy with the sperm that boiled 
within them. Cautiously, the blond ran her tongue down the instrument, daintly licking it all 
the way, lavishing her tongue over its trunk-like base, along its thick underside to the dark 
ridges sticky and protruding from the thick foreskin, playing and caressing it with every 
lapping stroke. Then, as she licked at the hardness of the convict’s cock, Cecelia began to feel 
a strange perverse excitement growing in her body at the thought of being used this way, as if
she were nothing more than a dirty street whore, tied to the bed, being forced to orally 
minister to this man’s monstrous throbbing penis. Deep in her belly, she could feel a fire 
kindling and she suddenly thought that she would like to take the whole massive instrument 
into her mouth.

Above her, the trustee trembled slightly from the exquisite sensation of her pointed 
tongue slaving over her new master, the giant rigid cock he held before her face. As if he 
could read her thoughts, the young criminal moaned and growled, “Okay, baby, now suck it! 
Suck my prick!”

Quickly, Cecelia trailed her tongue back over the heavy shaft and then ovaled her soft lips 
and slipped them gently over the smooth, rubbery head. Mike Farmer groaned loudly and 
flicked his hips forward, sliding the lust-engorged rod into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth
and down the full length of her tongue until the tip banged brutally against the back of her 
throat. Panic flooded her mind as she gagged at the unnatural invasion, but Cecelia quickly 
remembered what he had told her to do and began to suck, simultaneously slipping her 
tongue up and down the rock-hard lance, nibbling softly at the base with her teeth.

“Aaaaaaagggggh!” he gasped. “That’s gooood, soooo gooood! Oh, suck it, baby, suck it!”

Slowly, the trustee began to rock his hips back and forth, fucking into her mouth as if it 
were a smoothly shaved cunt. Obediently, Cecelia tried to suck on the hot throbbing rod of 
flesh, but she could barely get a breath before he had rammed it down into her throat again. 
Her cheeks hollowed on each out-stroke, then bloated like balloons each time he rammed 
back in, grazing her tonsils and almost choking her.

Cecelia had virtually forgotten her shame and horror at what he was making her do. She 
was in another world where all there was, was this huge cudgel drubbing into her mouth, 
banging against her throat. Yet, in a way, it thrilled her to know that she had no choice, she 
could not move her head; she had to suck on this mammoth, excitedly vibrating cock. As if to 
demonstrate her complete subservience to his will, Cecelia managed to raise her head enough
to bob it up and down in cooperation with the convicts slamming thrusts into her mouth.

Mike Farmer was out of his mind with the ecstasy of the moment. Looking down, he could 
see the lovely oval of the young bride’s lipstick rimmed lips stretched tightly around the thick 
base of his cock, then rammed forward even harder, trying to make her take it all into her 
mouth. He could see tiny ridges of soft pink flesh as he pulled back from her gently sucking 
lips that disappeared back inside as he slid it forward again even deeper into the tightly 
confining depths of her throat. His eyes widened as he saw his pubic hair brush against the 
sides of her mouth as she all but swallowed the full length of his fleshy male hardness.

God she was good, he thought. If only her husband could see her now, lips wrapped 
tightly around his big, hard prick-his sweet little virginal bride blowing a lowly prisoner. He 
began a rhythmic sawing, back and forth, never quite drawing it all the way out but leaving 
the tip just inside the warm moistness of her mouth, then plunging further, deep, deep into 
her throat. He felt her gag beneath him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but shooting 
his white, hot load into that warm, sucking hole in her beautiful young face.

“It’s here! Oh, suck it, bitch, suck harder!” Mike screamed, locking his hands hard around 
the back of Cecelia’s bobbing head, drawing it over his rigidity until all he could see was a 
small bit at the base protruding wet and glistening from her wildly sucking lips. He watched in
animal delight as his balls erupted and her throat tightened and untightened, swallowing in 
great desperate gulps the hot, sticky fluid he was spewing into her mouth. Her cheeks 
expanded and hollowed as she greedily gulped at the warm flooding gushes to keep from 
choking. She went on sucking as he emptied his sperm into the wetness of her mouth. Finally, 
he moaned his last and grunted in complete fulfillment. Slowly, his cock deflated in her mouth
but she continued the gentle sucking, drawing every last drop of the warm sticky sperm from 
his softening cock.

At last, Mike Farmer’s thick flaccid prick slipped from her mouth and he collapsed on the 
bed beside her. A long sigh of drawn out relief breathed from her heaving chest and she 
closed her eyes in absolute exhaustion, vaguely conscious of a painful throbbing in the back 
of her throat.

Then, the shattering consciousness of the vileness of her act burst upon her and she 
remembered what had happened and who was lying beside her. Oh, God, she thought, 
fighting to keep her horror and fear under control, I have got to talk to him. Some how, I have
to convince him not to bring all those men in here this afternoon. Her wrists ached dully from 
the tightness of the bonds that held her to the bed.

“Mike … please … I have to talk to you,” she said quietly, turning her head to face the 
sprawled form beside her on the bed. “Mike?”

There was no answer but a gentle snoring. He was asleep and, she realized, she was too 
spent to try to wake him now. As sleep began to drift over her, mercifully dulling the pain of 
her debasement, she decided again that she could not allow herself to give up … not yet, not 
without making a strong effort. She’d never be able to live with herself if she gave up now. 
After all, her marriage might not be as hopeless as she had begun to let herself believe. And it 
was certainly worth a try to save whatever virtue she had left.

Yes, later, she would talk to him … later … talk … must convince him … not Buck Jones … 
never … Ken, help me… .

Fear and apprehension shook her body with a violent trembling and then she slept.


CHAPTER 7

“Hello, Martha. What is it now?” Harry Winston asked over the phone, his voice seething 
with impatience and annoyance at the interruption of his work. “I don’t have time to chat as 
you well know.”

Martha recognized his tone and bridled at it. “Harry, dear, I know that,” she purred 
venomously. “You haven’t had time to talk to me in three years and I wouldn’t think of 
disturbing your schedule now. But, Harry,” her voice changed to one of real sincerity, “this is 
really important.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” he cut in. Over the line, she could hear papers rustling as he snapped, 
“Well, what is it?”

Martha Winston fought down her impulse to hang up on him. This sort of thing had been 
going on for three years, ever since Harry had been made prison superintendent, and she was 
getting tired of being treated like domestic help, a necessary but not particularly well-liked 
housekeeper. She knew she was still a beautiful, desirable woman, but he hadn’t even kissed 
her since she couldn’t remember when. If she were just a bit younger she’d leave him, in fact, 
she wished she had when she was still young enough to find another husband. Nevertheless, 
the old bastard was still lovable when he occasionally found time for her.

“For God’s sake, Martha, what is it?” The deep, authoritative voice boomed from the 
receiver she held in her hand.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” she said, rapidly collecting her thoughts. “Well, dear, I just saw two 
men go into the Bailey’s house next door. Mrs. Bailey’s trustee just let them in the back way.”

“Martha, I’m trying to get out of this office to get my lunch and you called to tell me that?”

“Harry, just shut up for once and listen to me. They were both inmates-one of them was 
that Buck Brown. The other one, well I’ve never seen him before but he looked horrible, really 
evil. I’m worried about that poor girl alone there.”

“Martha, haven’t you got anything better to do than sit all day with your nose pressed up 
against the window. The girl is probably letting them eat lunch together in the kitchen. I know 
you would love to think that they are all over there raping her, but I doubt it, I really doubt it.” 
His voice turned snide as he added, “If you’re absolutely positive they’re violating the poor 
girl, why don’t you go over and join the orgy … It might get you off my back for a few days. 
Goodbye.”

Martha heard the noisy click on the other end of the line just before she slammed down 
her receiver. Her eyes filled with angry tears as his last words echoed in her ears. He wouldn’t 
have been so sure of himself if he had heard the cries that had drifted through her window 
yesterday afternoon, she thought furiously. The phrases still pounded through her brain with 
an obscene rhythm: “Oh, fuck me. Yes, please. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” Martha shook her 
head violently to clear her mind of the vile, but exciting refrain. She couldn’t know for sure 
which of the near-by houses had held that passion-fired voice. Anyway, she definitely had 
seen Captain Bailey come home-a good half hour after Mrs. Bailey’s handsome new trustee 
had left the house. Martha stop this, she chided herself, you have no right to go dreaming up 
stories you don’t know are true.

Still, it was intriguing to imagine such a fascinating scandal in the house next door. 
Thoughtfully, Martha ran her hands over her still-perfect body. Even through her light knit 
dress, the sensation of her warm palms following the smooth, full curves of her voluptuous 
form sent unusually sensuous thoughts flooding into her mind and she wondered for a 
moment how Harry would respond if she really did find a lover. Pensively, she walked back 
into the kitchen and sat down at the table in the tiny breakfast nook, her favorite vantage 
point. Through the window there, she could see most of the Bailey’s home and, if she opened 
it, she might be able to overhear fragments of any conversation going on next door.

Smiling conspiratorially to no one in particular, Martha raised the window and poured 
herself another cup of coffee.

*

Harry Winston sat in the plush executive dining room of the prison, picking disinterestedly 
at the remains of his dinner of beef stew and dumplings. He was troubled by his earlier 
conversation with Martha, not so much by what she had actually said, but by the sentiments 
conveyed by her tone of voice. He had been curt with her, true, but she had responded as 
though she expected that he would not listen to her. She had spoken to him as though it were
a duty, as though he were some sort of business contact and not her husband of almost ten 
years. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but perhaps he had been too wrapped up in 
his work lately, been ignoring her for too long. Though he may not have shown it, he did love 
her and a beautiful woman like her might not wait forever for a little love and affection.

Yessir, he decided suddenly, he owed it to the both of them to start doing his part to make
their marriage more of a joy and less of a habit. By God, starting this very night, things were 
going to be different.

He smiled in self-satisfaction as he pushed his chair away from the table, congratulating 
himself on his ability to make quick decisions. As he strolled back to his office, some other 
matter nagged from the back of his mind. What was it, he asked himself, something Martha 
had said. No matter, he’d ask her tonight when he got home, or maybe he’d really surprise her
and come home early for a little pre-dinner session in the bedroom. That’s it, Harry, he 
thought smugly, now you’re thinking like a husband again!


CHAPTER 8

The sounds of a small commotion, whispered voices, gradually wakened Cecelia, parting 
the clouds of slumber like the afternoon light that now filtered brightly through her half-open 
eyelids. The clock on the dresser in front of the bed read almost one o’clock. Time for lunch, 
she thought drowsily, and tried to rise. The bonds that held her hands jerked her back down 
and she shuddered, abruptly remembering everything that had happened that day. Licking 
her parched lips, she found the saline taste of Mike Farmer’s sperm still on them. The pungent 
taste brought back other memories of what it had been like to lie helpless under the fury of 
his stone-hard cock pistoning in and out of her mouth. Though she knew she should feel 
revulsion and shame, little pangs of raw uninvited pleasure began to nibble again at her 
nerve-ends, peaking in her nipples, and budding into full flower in her throbbing clitoris. Stop 
it, stop it, her mind screamed as her faithless body responded to the mere thought of the 
bestial act to which Mike Farmer had subjected her.

Abruptly, the struggle of Cecelia against her body was halted as a man walked into the 
room, a stranger, almost.

“Mornin’, li’l gal,” Buck Jones grinned toothily.

Cecelia could feel herself blushing hotly as she lay naked and unable to cover her body 
from the black man’s gleaming eyes, but the tall, powerful-looking Negro just chuckled at her 
discomfort, smirking self-confidently. “Don’t you worry none about dressin’ for me, gal. We’s 
all real good friends aroun’ here.”

Suddenly determined not to show her fear, Cecelia glared at him through hate-filled eyes. 
She was afraid her voice would crack from the fear that roared through her mind, but she 
would not submit again to the outrageous indecency they had planned. They might conquer 
her body, but they would never conquer her spirit again.

The black convict walked up to the side of the bed and Cecelia closed her eyes tightly as 
she felt the humiliation of his hands moving over her body. Great tears of self-pity swelled 
through her clenched eyes and rolled silently down her cheeks. How could she live through 
this? How could she ever face her husband again after being used like a common whore with 
these rejects of society using her helpless body to satiate their own warped desires? She had 
no idea what to expect, but her imagination ran wild. What would they do to her? What would
they expect her to do? Her mind suddenly rebelled again; she couldn’t go through with it.

“Don’t touch me!” she suddenly screamed, opening her eyes and staring directly at the 
huge Negro looming over her. “Get away from me, you … you nigger! I swear I’ll have you put 
away for the rest of your life!”

“That don’t scare me,” he said slowly, gazing back with cold malice in his eyes. “They 
already done put me away for the rest of my life. Ah’m just waitin’ out my time.” He calmly 
began unbuttoning his shirt, watching her from the corner of his eye as he did so. Cecelia 
stared back at him arrogantly, refusing contemptuously to drop her eyes from his almost 
amused gaze.

“You ever had any nigger cock, li’l gal,” Jones asked suddenly. “There ever been any big, 
black pricks shoved up that soft white belly of yours?” He smiled, flickering his eyes over the 
blonde girl’s prone body.

Dropping his shirt on the floor the black man placed his hand on one of her full naked 
thighs, moving it slowly upward to the soft, curling vee at the junction of her legs. Cecelia lay 
quietly beneath his touch in a temporary state of shock from the vile things he had said, but 
suddenly her body reacted. Her leg drew back then flashed out, narrowly missing his jaw, then
pulled back for another attempt to injure him. Before she could kick out, his huge meaty fist 
was clenched around her ankle, pushing it back, back until her knee was bent and pressed 
tightly against her chest. Her other leg he pulled over until her foot hung over the edge of the
bed and her crotch was presented to his view, wide open and defenseless.

“Don’t touch me, you pig,” Cecelia snapped, encouraged by the near success of her 
struggle.

“Bitch, you jus’ won yourself a whole lot less kindness and unnerstandin’, ” the black 
growled. “Now, you shut up or you’re goin’ to win sumpim’ even worse!”

Cecelia clenched her teeth tightly together, her face locked in a determined expression of 
defiance that seemed to increase with each moment and final assault on her helpless body 
drew near.

“You gonna do as I say, white gal?” he demanded.

Cecelia grunted with the discomfort of the position in which he had placed her legs, but 
still refused to speak. Not even the fear that was raging within her could overcome the intense
revulsion and hatred she felt for this man and the other who would use her body today. She 
had to resist, even though she knew her fate was inescapable. At least she would have the 
comfort of knowing that her humiliation and debasement would be none of her own doing 
and that might let her live with herself after this horrible afternoon was over.

“All right, li’l gal, you asked for it,” he growled, angry and frustrated by her unexpected 
resistance. “Now that you is here at the prison, it’s high time you had a touch of 
rehabilitation.”

He moved forward and quickly untied one hand from its corner on the bed. For one 
joyous moment, Cecelia thought that he was going to free her, but with cruel power he jerked
her arm to the opposite bedpost and retied it above her other wrist. She heard him snicker 
with sinister mirth as he withdrew a long black belt from his dirty trousers. As an afterthought,
he pulled a clean, blue kerchief from his trousers pocket and forced it through her trembling 
lips, filling her mouth with the soft cloth until he was sure she could make no sound.

She could see the muscles rippling ominously beneath his gleaming black skin as he 
reached down and firmly grasped her full white hips, then suddenly she was turned over on 
her stomach, held in place by a huge calloused palm pressed into the small of her back like a 
twenty-pound weight. She cringed down into the mattress like a small dog cowering before 
an angry master. Small pleading sounds leaked out around the cloth stuffed brutally into her 
mouth.

“Now, now, li’l gal,” she heard him murmur with a mirthless chuckle. “This is going to be 
educational. Ah’m just going to show you how your husband and his friends deal with social 
problems in the prison. In fact, this sort of thing make some li’l gals just hot as pokers and 
ready to fuck.”

Suddenly, the belt cracked through the air, the tip biting into the left cheek of her bottom 
with a sickening slap. Cecelia whined through the cloth gag and kicked her legs out in an 
instinctive reaction.

“Now, baby, you gonna beg ol’ Buck for a li’l nigger cock,” she heard the black man taunt 
her.

Cecelia tried to speak, to consent, to beg him not to hit her again, but all that came out 
was a muffled mumbling. The belt sang through the air again, this time catching her full 
between the open thighs. The belt raised and descended again and again, tracing a painful 
path of tiny red welts on her ivory skin. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the cruel torture 
ceased. Even after it had stopped she lay trembling in fear for long terrifying minutes until 
strong hands gently lifted her head and drew the rag from her mouth.

“Now beg, gal,” the Negro said softly.

Cecelia opened her eyes only to face the black man’s rampant cock, hard and throbbing 
with lust. It was even bigger than Mike’s, like a huge arm with two tiny fists beneath it. She felt
fear at the sight of it, but had no more will to fight.

“Fuck me … do anything to me … but please, don’t hit me anymore … I can’t stand it … 
please, please, fuck me w-with your … your nigger cock.” She gave one final long, low 
whimper and her body went limp on the bed.

The Negro stood above her, grinning broadly. If there would ever be anything that gave 
him satisfaction, it was breaking the will of the captain’s wife, personally degrading the 
voluptuous young bride of the man in that hated position of power. Buck Jones couldn’t even 
remember if this Captain Bailey had ever done anything to him personally, but Bailey was the 
man in charge of the men who had made his life hell for fourteen years and it seemed only 
right that Buck Jones be able to hand out a little hell in return.

But now he knew there was no longer any reason to punish her. She was drained of 
resistance and was his for the taking. His eyes ran over her body in unbelieving delight. She 
lay unresisting before him, slim and generously curved at the buttocks and shoulders which 
flared out breathtakingly from her narrow, young waist.

Cecelia stretched unmoving across the center of the mattress, unable and not caring to stir
her pain-wracked body. Any ideas of defiance she might have harbored had been beaten out 
of her by that lashing belt. There was no further sense in postponing the inevitable rape to 
which they were going to subject her. She had shown them as well as she could that they 
would be taking her by pure brute force, not by conquering her spirit.

Suddenly, she felt the Negro’s hands moving over her shoulders and back, rubbing softly 
as if to ease her fear-born tenseness. “Okay, li’l gal,” she heard him murmur. “Now, I want you 
to take a good long look at my ol’ black cock, ‘cause in a minute it’s gonna be buried deep up
where nobody can see it.”

She wearily raised her head again and stared at the long, black instrument he held over 
her head. It was gigantic and hard as stone with the lust he had worked up during her beating.
Her blue eyes traced a slow path up his shining black body to his grinning face. Her eyes 
housed a final, futile plea for mercy, but found nothing but triumph and blazing lust in his 
countenance.

“Ain’t that pretty, li’l gal?” he tormented.

She tried to find the breath to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth but hoarse 
gasps.

“Ain’t it,” he snarled, a sinister threat thinly veiled by the cold smile he still wore.

“It’s … it’s beautiful,” she faltered at last through her fear and humiliation.

“Wahl, Ah’m glad you think so, honey,” he drawled viciously. ” ‘Cause this ol’ cock gonna 
fill you so full of nigger cum, you gonna have to swim to get around.”

As Cecelia’s head dropped back down on the bed, she heard laughter from behind her at 
the Negro’s obscene remark. Come on in, she thought bitterly, join the party.

“Hey, stud,” she heard a strange voice say. “I thought you just wanted to prepare the lady 
for us. She don’t look like she got anything left for the rest of us.”

“Don’t worry, man,” the black man laughed. “I just cleaned some of the fight outa her. 
She’ll be all ready to fuck in a minute or two.”

They were talking about her as though she were a dog being trained to do tricks, Cecelia 
thought. If only … if only … but she knew it was no use wishing any more. The moment of 
truth had come. She felt a body drop to the bed and roll against the full length of her back. 
She looked up to see someone’s hands untying the knotted neckties that bound her to the 
bed. They knew she wouldn’t run now, there were too many of them and besides, she had no 
more strength to fight. Someone’s hands were slowly and relentlessly forcing her knees apart.

She fought with all her power to keep her legs closed, but it was a hopeless struggle. The 
man lying beside her rolled over her and dropped between her long, shapely limbs as they 
were stretched wide across the mattress until her toes hung either side of the rumpled 
bedclothes. A tiny, despairing moan escaped her as she felt the rubbery, hardness of an erect 
male organ pressing into the soft flesh of her thigh, just below her sensitive vaginal opening. 
He wiggled forward, wedging the huge weapon along soft, vulnerable crevice of her buttocks. 
In silent protest, she desperately writhed her hips to free her lower quarters, but her only 
reward was the sound of the man’s harsh breathing as her struggles incited his lust.

“Get up on your knees, gal,” the man breathed into her ear.

It was Buck Jones, she realized. That stone-like protuberance pressing into the bottom of 
her spine was his mammoth black cock and he wanted her to take it from the back-like an 
animal. Hot streams of tears of anger and humiliation wetted the sheets below her face as she 
thought of the man’s ebony skin pressed against her own velvety white flesh. I can’t; I just 
can’t, she thought miserably.

But the black man would not be put off any longer. Powerful hands gripped her hips, 
pulling them up from the bed, another hand firmly behind her neck to keep her breasts and 
face down on the mattress. She groaned in abject helplessness as she thought of the full 
moons of her buttocks waving in the air, offering up her moist, warm vaginal passage to the 
first taker. She knew now that there was nothing left but the terrible subservience to their 
every depraved whim. She was nothing to them but an object to use for their own selfish 
vengeance and then to be used again to satisfy their base animal instincts.

Behind her, the black man stared at the exciting spectacle of Cecelia’s perfect white ass, 
offered up to him like a gift to a visiting monarch. For a few agonizing seconds, he scraped his
lengthy cudgel within the warm valley of her buttocks, grinding and squeezing the trembling 
flesh to form a luscious, tantalizing pocket around his organ. Then, suddenly, he moved away, 
and gently he slid his fingers down to the thin red folds of flesh that covered her vagina, softly
caressing the delicate tissues. Under the careful manipulations of his fingertips, the black man 
could feel a slight moisture forming on the soft insides of her thighs as, in response to the 
unexpected tenderness, she let her backside slip wider and wider apart.

The blonde girl fought to hold back a rising moan she felt growing from deep in her chest.
The lessening of the pain, the sudden and unexpected gentleness of the Negro’s touch, her 
own fatigue all were taking their toll of her will to resist. Despite everything, she felt a searing 
hot flame suddenly lick at her bowels. Pinpricks of glorious sensation danced madly under her 
skin, following the course of the black man’s fingers teasing up between her thighs. Around 
her body, she could hear the fevered breathing of the other two men as they watched, 
mesmerized by the spectacle of Buck Jones playing this beautiful young girl’s body like some 
kind of musical instrument.

“Ooooooooh, God, ooooooooh,” she moaned joyfully as she felt one thick black finger 
carefully insinuating itself into the burning hungry folds of her throbbing vagina. Her 
resistance was completely shattered now and she wantonly pressed her hips backward to 
gather even more of the exquisite sensation carried by that insolently invading finger.

Above her, the black man grinned triumphantly as the smooth rounded cheeks of her ass 
relaxed before his hotly gleaming eyes. Gleefully, he ran his middle finger all the way into the 
depths of her cunt and smiled wider as she instantly responded, screwing back on his hand 
and releasing a deep sigh of involuntary satisfaction. Her breath was coming in small, muffled 
gasps as he flicked his finger in and out of her wildly jerking buttocks. Her vaginal passage 
was contracting, opening and closing tightly around the long, knuckled length of his finger 
sunk deep inside her. Her cries were one long, continuous moan now as he suddenly withdrew
his finger from the warmth of her moist channel and began massaging her hard, throbbing 
clitoris. Pulling and teasing at it without respite, he watched delightedly as her buttocks 
churned and writhed before him in a lewd dance of desire.

Cecelia suddenly realized shamefully that she was almost ready to cum. She could feel her 
cunt, against her will, blossoming wider and wider until warm trickles of her lubricating fluids 
ran down the insides of her wide-stretched legs. The black man too could sense the 
impending climax from the frenzied agitation of her body and knew that it was finally time to 
plunge his cock into her waiting chasm. He wanted to share in the moment that was so near 
now, wanted to feel her smooth muscles tightening around his cock as she reached that 
climax. He’d show this pretty young white girl that nigger cock was just as good, no better, 
than anything her son-of-a-bitch husband could put out. She’d never be satisfied with 
anything else again once ol’ Buck rammed no it to her, he gloated to himself. All those years 
he had spent in the prison, humiliated and subjugated, came suddenly to a head in a seething
mixture of hate and lust that boiled within him.

Suddenly, he moved up against her and began grinding his hips into the now wet and 
glistening crevice between Cecelia’s thighs. His mammoth cock tingled and ached with the 
frustration of years of imprisonment.

“Hey, man, watch this,” she heard Mike Farmer whisper excitedly to the other convict who 
held her down. “He’s going to fuck her now!”

“Yeah, he’d better hurry up,” the stranger’s voice answered hoarsely. “I don’t know if I can 
wait for my turn.”

Buck was kneeling behind her now, the fat swollen head of his huge black prick pressing 
against the tight, elastic opening of her vagina. Cecelia felt it begin a slow prodding and 
working against the warm, soft folds, parting them and forcing its way past the ring of flesh 
that guarded the entrance to her secret passage.

“Oooooh,” she gasped as she felt the tender lips of her vagina being stretched apart and 
he surged into her, like a great drill tunneling deep into her belly. The sudden assault had 
taken her completely by surprise, clearing her mind of the cloudy daze that had befogged her 
since the brutal beating she had received not long before. Now, her body trembled in a new 
world of complete ecstasy. Her cunt walls throbbed and burned from the unaccustomed size 
of the huge instrument imbedded in her belly, but a new kind of arousal was taking hold of 
her body and mind.

She knew all too well the degrading reality that she was hopelessly trapped on the bed 
between the hands of the convicts in front and the thick, fiery cock impaling her from behind, 
but suddenly the realization of her humiliation made her feel a strange kind of masochistic 
pleasure. Unfamiliar thrills of wicked excitement coursed through her body as she understood 
that this was her punishment. Some divine power must have ordained it-that she be 
subjugated and humiliated to pay for her infidelity to her husband. She had no choice but to 
accept it, the young girl thought, and began to undulate her buttocks lasciviously in circles in 
rhythm to the long, thick cock that had slowly begun to fuck her from behind.

“Sheeeitt, man,” Buck whooped. “This little pussy is tight as a goddamn whore’s mouth. 
Hump, baby, hump.”

Biting her lip to hold back the tears of shame, Cecelia pressured back. To her shocked 
horror, he lunged toward her again, forcing another inch of hard flesh into her vagina that 
already felt stuffed to bursting. He’s not even all the way in yet, she thought in terror, 
clenching the muscles of her buttocks tightly together to keep the huge staff from violating 
her further.

“Please, no more,” she begged. “It’s too big!”

“Gal, you ain’t got but half of what you’re gettin’, ” the big Negro laughed. “Now, hump 
back, baby, ‘cause Ah’m gonna give you the ride of your life.” Her struggles inciting him more,
the black convict rammed forward again, crashing into her with all his strength until the huge 
rubbery head of his cock banged against her cervix and his balls slammed down against her 
throbbing clitoris.

God, it was monstrous!

Cecelia felt as though her buttocks had been stretched beyond human endurance. That 
huge black instrument he had waved before her face was now sunk all the way into her. She 
felt someone’s hand softly stroking the white globes of her quivering buttocks. Other hands 
kneaded and squeezed at her breasts, nipping at her bud-like nipples until they stood out in 
tingling erection. Within her, the huge black cock flexed like a clenching fist, stretching and 
soothing her ravished vagina as she gradually became accustomed to the gigantic intrusion.

“Isn’t that good, Mrs. Captain?” Mike Farmer’s voice taunted. “How do you like Buck’s big 
black cock?”

Before she could gather her wits about her enough to answer, another hand coursed over 
her spine, following the bony ridges down to the split of her ass where, without warning, a 
finger dug deep into the confines of her tight, unused anus.

“Aaaaaaaaggggh … ” she groaned at the painful intrusion, then forced herself to relax the 
muscles to ease the agony. The pain passed quickly as her back passage became accustomed 
to the unnatural impalement, and in its stead was a strange new kind of pleasure that melded 
with the now-wonderful sensation of Buck Jones’ huge, hardened cock implanted deep up in 
her helplessly exposed cunt.

Kneeling behind her bent form, the Negro began fucking in and out of her with long, 
lunging strokes. A feeling of absolute power rippled through him as he held her hips down in 
total subjection to the rock-hard cock skewering into her. He could feel the soft fleshy ridges 
deep inside her giving way before the relentless onslaught of his pistoning cock.

He stretched the quivering moons of her buttocks wide with his fingers, watching in the 
afternoon light the pink folds of wet glistening flesh clinging tightly around his rampant 
instrument. Higher up in the crevice of her ass, Mike Farmer’s finger ground and twisted 
deeper, circling and expanding her anal passage. His hands buried deep beneath her 
quivering torso, the convict named Garcia squeezed brutally at her naked breasts, teasing and 
pulling at every part of their young round firmness, his breath coming in harsh gasps as his 
own passion mounted beyond endurance. With his every forward lunge, Buck Jones’ thick 
black cock filled her cunt to the bursting point and flung her hard forward against Garcia’s 
thighs.

He slammed into her with lustful fervor, incited by the sight of the hands working at her 
every sensual part. Her breath had become one long, continuous sigh, her face turned 
sideways so she could breath freely. Her face contorted in passion, cries of ecstasy forced 
through her tightly clenched teeth.

“Hey, man, I can’t wait any longer,” Cecelia heard the strange convict gasp. “Let’s get her 
from both ends.”

There was a movement around her head and she felt the mattress dropping in front of her
as a heavy weight descended on it. Strong hands lifted her shoulders until she rested on her 
hands and knees and then something spongy and wet pressed against her mouth. Cecelia’s 
eyes flew open and she saw a long hard cock poised in front of her face. She looked up at the 
man’s swarthy smirking face and opened her mouth to beg for mercy. Another hard lunge 
from behind drove her forward, her lips slipping forcefully over the cock in front of her.

The man was kneeling on the bed before her and he grasped both sides of her head 
vice-like between his calloused palms, ramming forward into her gaping mouth. She could 
feel the rubbery bluntness of the head sliding the length of her tongue, lifting momentarily 
her concentration on the huge penis fucking into her body from behind. The stranger 
immediately began sawing viciously into her face like it was a second delicious cunt. Cecelia 
gagged as he rammed it half-way down into her throat, the huge weapon disappearing into 
her ovaled lips almost up to the hilt. The blond girl closed her eyes tightly to block out the 
horrible sight of the tightly-curled black pubic hairs growing at the thick base, Moisture filled 
her mouth, puffing her cheeks wide as he shoved forward, cramming the shaft deep in her 
throat, keeping pace with the cock fucking into her from behind.

Cecelia tried not to think about what she was doing but it was impossible not to. The 
man’s hairy testicles bounced against her chin and an odor of perspiration and sexual juices 
filled her nostrils with a constant reminder of the cruel attack she was being subjected to. She 
struggled to breath, catching small gasps of air on the out-stroke. Suddenly she felt a rising 
tide from deep in her belly. The very helplessness of her position flashed through her mind. 
Two wildly excited men, at the same time, were using her tortured body as a receptacle into 
which they would pump their hot boiling sperm and the depraved mental picture of her 
helpless body being buffeted between them, strangely excited her.

She began to swing her buttocks in tiny circles, teasing hotly at the mammoth fleshy staff 
that was jack-hammering into her cunt. She licked and sucked at the hardened rod 
rhythmically pumping into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing and filling with his cruel thrusts. 
She wanted them to cum, to shoot their stranger’s sperm into her womb and her mouth. She 
wanted to swallow it and feel it running down her thighs. She wanted it to run through her 
very veins in great hot floods. Sucking and fucking back like a mad woman, she felt her own 
orgasm building until she thought she would explode.

Suddenly, she felt the cock fucking into her cunt inflate and erupt, spewing its white hot 
stream into her hungrily clasping belly. The big Negro jerked convulsively forward, triggering 
Cecelia’s orgasm and she groaned around the cock pummeling into her mouth as her body 
exploded in great sensual waves of cum around the quivering, squirting cock in her cunt. At 
the same time, the strange convict crushed his loins into her face, sinking the full length of his 
cock deep in her gasping throat. A soul-searing groan shattered the air and Cecelia’s mouth 
was flooded with his hot, thick liquid. She gulped unthinkingly, savoring the sweet, salty taste 
of the convict’s sperm and reveled in the lewd, animal-like debasement she felt. There was 
nothing in the world but those two spewing pricks and her own wildly quivering body, a mere 
vessel to be used to satisfy them both. Small, liquid droplets ran from the corners of her 
mouth as the man called, Garcia, collapsed in front of her and his limp organ slithered wetly 
from her still sucking mouth.

Her strength suddenly gone, Cecelia collapsed to the bed as the Negro’s cock slipped 
limply from her stretched and ravished pussy and gushes of air rushed in to cool the 
unplugged opening. She lay panting in utter exhaustion as weary sighs of satiation slipped 
from her sperm-coated lips. Above her, Mike Farmer stood, stoking his swollen and ready 
cock.

“Oh, God, Mike, please have pity,” she begged, shamed in spite of her satiation, at the 
spectacle she knew she must present.

But she was not paying attention. Even while he manipulated his rampant prick, his head 
was cocked to one side as though he were listening to something. Cecelia tried to still her own
ragged breathing and listen too.

She jerked up on the bed in horror and amazement as she recognized a similar sound of 
heavy breathing in the hallway, right outside the bedroom door. Oh, dear God, don’t let it be 
my husband out there, she thought in an agony of fear as Mike Farmer strode quietly to the 
doorway.

A moment later, he returned, dragging behind him the terrified intruder.

“Martha!” Cecelia gasped.


CHAPTER 9

Martha Winston had sat sipping coffee for several hours. Despite her natural curiosity and 
lively imagination, the vigil had begun to bore her after a while. The Bailey’s house had shown 
no signs of unusual activity and, even though the two visiting trustees had not emerged, there
was no sign of anything amiss. On top of that, a light wind had sprung up to rustle through 
the leaves of the trees so that Martha had not been able to hear a sound from the 
neighboring house.

At last, tense and fidgety, she had pushed her chair back from the table and walked out 
the living room to read the morning paper. For several minutes, she had sat, staring at the 
printed pages, but it had been to no avail. She had not been able to concentrate on the words
before her.

The same strange mental images that had been plaguing her all afternoon had kept 
returning to bother her. Pictures of that sweet young Cecelia Bailey being beaten or raped or 
even worse kept flashing through her mind. Harry had told her to stop her meddling in other 
people’s affairs, she had reminded herself of that advice, but what if the poor girl needed 
help?

The handsome, brunette woman had wrestled with her instincts for a few moments longer,
then came to a quick decision. She would go over and see for herself. She would say she had 
come to borrow an egg or something, she had decided. If something was wrong, the girl 
would have a chance to communicate her distress and, if there were no problems, … well, they
could sit and chat for a few minutes-anything to while away the long, lonely afternoon.

A moment later, she had been outside the Bailey’s back door, her hand raised to knock, 
but something halted her a moment before her knuckles rapped on the screen door. There 
was something odd going on in this house, she had almost been able to sense it. She had 
peered through the screen to the dark interior of the kitchen, but she had been able to see no
one. Where are they, she had wondered. From somewhere in the house, she had heard 
muffled, rhythmic sounds that she had been unable to identify.

Quickly surveying the area to make sure she would not be seen, Martha pushed open the 
door and slipped inside. The house had been absolutely silent except for the measured 
cadence of the sounds she now could tell were coming from the upstairs level. There was 
nothing else for it, she had decided; her curiosity would drive her mad unless she found out 
for herself exactly what was happening upstairs.

*

Martha stared in fascinated horror at the trio who lay panting on the bed in the Bailey’s 
bedroom. A moment ago, she had seen them all involved in something she had never even 
dreamed of in her wildest erotic fancies. There had been that young Mrs. Bailey kneeling on 
her hands and knees with two men using her mouth and vagina at the same time and another
plunging his finger in and out of her anus! Martha’s horror had lasted only until she realized 
that the fantastic spectacle was arousing her violently. Then, moving back into the hallway, she
had begun to try to satisfy herself, peering every few minutes around the doorway to make 
sure it was really happening. She had been nearing a climax when Mike Farmer discovered 
her.

Now, she stood blushing in chagrined embarrassment before the three naked convicts and
Cecelia. The slim skirt of Martha’s dress was still wrapped high around her full hips where she 
had pulled it up in the heat of her excitement.

“Look what I found outside the door,” Mike Farmer announced to the exhausted 
threesome on the bed. “I don’t know who she is, but she was fingering her cunt like it was 
going out of style tomorrow.”

“Wahl, mah goodness,” Buck Jones drawled, propping his sweat-shiny body up on one 
elbow. “Why, gen’l’men, we is in the presence of royalty. Mrs. Harry Winston, the 
superintendent’s wife in person, has come to join our li’l party. How gratify in’. “

Martha smiled hesitantly, not sure of what to say, not sure she even wanted to escape 
from what was obviously going on. Her body still raged with the fires of passion and she knew
that her Harry certainly would not have time to put them out.

“Oh, God, Martha, I’m so sorry,” Cecelia moaned from where she lay sprawled on the 
sheets. “These men … th-they’re crazy … they raped me… . “

“Oh, shut up, lady,” the swarthy-faced Garcia growled. “You weren’t complaining a minute 
ago and Mrs. Winston don’t look like a little he-man cock would hurt her none either.”

Martha shivered with excitement, the man’s lewd words flustering her. Something told her 
that she should run, try to escape from these men, but she held back. It had been months 
since she had been so aroused. She could not help but admit to herself that she wished it had 
been her instead of Cecelia between those two lunging men.

“Sheitt! We gonna do a hundred years for this anyhow,” the Negro suddenly exclaimed. 
“Why not get the warden’s ol’ woman in on it too.”

“Yeah, man, and I got an idea that will get these tired cocks of ours jumping again,” Garcia 
said eagerly. “Let’s get Martha and blondie here together, playing with each other and sucking
each other off!”

As she heard the convict’s words, the look of happy anticipation faded from Martha’s face. 
Fearfully, she searched the three men’s eyes for some sign that they were only joking.

“Oh, no,” she faltered. “I … can’t do … I mean, I’ve never … “

Martha’s eyes came last to Cecelia who met her gaze with a look of quiet despair.

“You’d better do as they say, Martha,” Cecelia stated calmly. “Their methods of persuasion 
are rather unpleasant.”

Martha gulped and nodded. It was all too apparent that Cecelia had been “persuaded” by 
something. The ivory flesh of her thighs and backside still carried pale red traces of what must 
have been ugly welts. Slowly, as if she were in some kind of trance, Martha reached behind her
and pulled down the zipper of her dress. Slipping the garment off her shoulders, she let it 
drop to the floor, revealing that she wore nothing beneath it but panties and a low-cut 
brassiere.

The men in the room gasped in amazed appreciation.

Martha’s flesh was as firm and smooth as that of a teenager. The bounteous swell of her 
large breasts all but overflowed the scanty lace brassiere she wore and her waist narrowed 
breathtakingly above her full, beautifully proportioned hips and thighs. Even Cecelia gazed 
admiringly at the marble-white flesh of the woman’s body. The young blond had not yet 
completely calmed down from the earlier session and now she found herself becoming 
unexpectedly aroused at the sight of the older woman’s body.

“Come her, Martha,” Cecelia whispered throatily. “Let me help you.”

The warden’s wife hesitated for a moment, then walked over to stand beside the bed. 
Cecelia slowly rose and stood beside the taller woman, her eyes roving hungrily over her 
full-rounded body. The young girl could not understand what was happening to her, but 
suddenly she realized that she was unfastening the clasp of Martha’s brassiere, gently pulling 
the garment away from her shoulders. Cecelia dropped the flimsy lace under thing to the 
floor, then reached out to tentatively touch the pale gleaming skin of Martha’s breasts. They 
jutted proudly from the woman’s body like full ripe melons, their large nipples the 
ruddy-beige color of doeskin. As though in humble homage to their dramatic perfection, 
Cecelia’s fingers traced a trembling path over the smooth swell of Martha’s breasts, circling 
and finally coming to rest on the sensitive tips. The young girl felt a strange new arousal at her
own bravery and she looked boldly into Martha’s face to register the effect as she began to 
squeeze and pinch the rosy protuberances. To her delight, she saw the older woman’s eyes 
close in ecstatic though involuntary reaction as beneath her busy fingers the soft flesh 
contracted and tightened under her insistent touch.

Her mind alight with joy at her power to control another woman’s body, Cecelia slipped 
her hands down Martha’s torso and began to tug gently at her filmy panties.

“Oh, no,” Martha breathed. “Please don’t … no more … I can’t.”

“Relax, Martha,” the blonde girl murmured. “I won’t hurt you. Relax.”

Around the two women, the trio of men stared with eyes ablaze with lust. The sight of the 
young girl seducing the beautiful older woman was arousing them beyond belief. Mike Farmer
stroked his still-rampant prick and moaned in frustration. But he did not want to interrupt this 
unbelievable performance, not yet. Cecelia’s ragged breathing broke through the stillness of 
the afternoon as she slid Martha’s panties down over her rounded hips and thighs, then 
gently lifted one ankle then the other to remove the underclothing. She tossed away Martha’s 
last vestige of protection, then crouched beside her. Caressively, she wound her arms around 
Martha’s legs, then slowly began to run her palms up the inside of the woman’s thighs. Above 
her, Martha trembled and groaned in an agony of conflicting emotions.

“P-please, dear, don’t do any more,” Martha gasped. “I can’t stand it… . “

Cecelia just smiled smugly and moved her hands upward until her fingers grazed the soft 
sparse hairs that framed Martha’s pussy. Something had happened to her that afternoon, she 
knew, something that had snapped something inside of her, somehow releasing all her 
inhibitions. Now, she could not calm her body down. It was blazing again with need, 
screaming for release. For some reason she could not yet fathom, the sight and the feel of 
Martha’s body was arousing her even more until she could not care less about the uncertainty
and fear she sensed in the other woman. In fact, the idea that she was forcing Martha to 
become excited against her will aroused Cecelia even more. Rising from her squatting 
position, she began to nudge Martha back against the bed.

Martha’s mind was a confused jumble of agonizing indecision and mounting passion that 
was straining at what was left of her control. She knew she wasn’t a lesbian, yet this young 
girl’s touch was driving her mad and she almost thought she’d like nothing more than to have
this innocent-faced young, blonde sucking and licking at her burning vaginal slit. Hesitantly, 
she allowed her body to be muscled back against the bed, then forced down onto the 
mattress where Cecelia sat down beside her.

Martha’s eyes were riveted on the other woman’s face. There was a queasy feeling in the 
pit of her stomach and she apprehensively tightened her buttocks. Cecelia’s blue eyes 
gleamed as she gently pushed Martha down on her back, then lay down herself, stretching her
body against the older woman’s. Martha could feel the heat of the young blonde’s body next 
to her own, thigh against thigh, smooth belly against hip, her breasts crushed against 
Martha’s rib cage with each of the hard pink nipples jabbing into her soft flesh.

Both women had completely forgotten the three men who stood around them, staring in 
fascination at the scene being enacted before them.

Slowly, Cecelia took Martha’s face in her hands. Martha felt Cecelia’s lips on her own, soft 
and warm at first. It was done so gently that Martha wasn’t even aware of the exact moment 
that Cecelia’s tongue floated into her mouth. The older woman was breathing in short gasps, 
excited by the idea that she was doing the forbidden. Her objecting conscience was 
completely overruled by the thrills of delicious feeling between her legs as her cuntal muscles 
expanded and contracted in delightful anticipation.

Almost without knowing what she was doing, Martha began to lick and suck greedily at 
the strange tongue swirling in her mouth. When Cecelia pulled it back, Martha’s tongue 
quickly followed it into the other woman’s warm sucking cavern.

Cecelia slipped one leg over Martha’s firm upper thighs, rubbing her swollen clitoris over 
Martha’s hip bone. Martha felt an electric shock course through her at the contact, shuddering
as she realized that Cecelia’s hand was moving up toward her breasts again, stroking and 
massaging at Martha’s snow-white skin with an exciting knowledge, born of this strange new 
lust that had captured the young girl’s mind.

“Ooooooooh,” Martha moaned in sheer delight as Cecelia’s lips left her own and began 
kissing and nibbling their way down to the breast she now held tightly in her grasp. Cecelia’s 
hands had become suddenly aggressive, locking and squeezing on both snowy mounds, 
pushing them high up on Martha’s chest to ease the blonde’s access to Martha’s throbbing 
nipples, which she sucked on alternately like a starving child.

Martha was trembling with passion by the time Cecelia reluctantly released her hold on 
one of the older woman’s breasts to reach down and tangle her fingers in Martha’s soft dark 
pubic hair. A moment later, Cecelia’s long middle finger began carefully sliding up and down 
the damp, secret crevice between Martha’s thighs, maddeningly avoiding all contact with the 
distended clitoris, even though Martha was helplessly undulating her hips with frustrated 
desire.

A strangely exciting idea popped into Cecelia’s lust-inflamed brain as she felt the narrow 
crack becoming more and more lubricated from the overflow of Martha’s vaginal lubrications. 
Why not let Martha experience the same oddly sensual pleasure that she, Cecelia, had felt for 
the first time today, she thought eagerly. Following her inclination, Cecelia’s finger slid further 
and further back in the damp crevice until it reached the tiny anal ring. Here, it began an 
unrelenting pressure to break into the forbidden opening.

Suddenly frightened, Martha raised her hips to get away from the uncomfortable pressure,
but the slender finger was moistened and slippery enough to penetrate with a slight pop into 
the hot twitching cavity.

“Noooo, please, noooooooo,” Martha suddenly screamed. “That hurts!”

In answer to the complaint, Cecelia sank her teeth into the tender flesh of the warden’s 
wife’s breast, seemingly trying to cram the whole thing into her sucking mouth. The pain, she 
knew, would fade quickly and become an exquisite sensation. Cecelia began to move her 
finger back and forth in the tiny quivering rectum, trying to gain more depth, but she could 
not get it in any deeper than the first joint. The puckered ring had so tightly clenched on 
Cecelia’s knuckle that it followed each movement of the blonde’s squirming finger.

Martha moaned from deep in her chest. The painful sensation had changed into 
something else -something fantastically exciting. Suddenly, she began to move the muscles of
her naked buttocks in a frantic effort to pull the invading finger in further. Flexing and relaxing
desperately, she found herself building toward a climax. Her body quickly worked toward that 
badly-needed peak of sensation. She wanted more and more of that finger shoving in and out
of her pulsating anal passage, she wanted something shoved in her cunt … something big and
hard.

Suddenly, Cecelia was brutally pulled away from Martha’s frantically churning buttocks. 
Both women groaned with frustration as they were separated. She had been so close, so close 
… but, then, Martha looked up.

Before her stood Mike Farmer grinning salaciously and lewdly massaging his inflamed 
cock. Beside her, Martha heard the bed squeak as the strange prisoner climbed between 
Cecelia’s widespread legs.

“That was some show, Mrs. Warden,” the handsome convict purred, “but we just can’t wait 
any longer.”

“Oh, God, hurry,” Martha fairly screamed in the agony of her need. She stretched her legs 
wide apart. “Fuck me now! Somebody hurry up and fuck me!”

The young convict knelt beside the bed, his huge, blood-gorged member resting against 
the side of the mattress. Grasping her hips, he jerked Martha toward him until her buttocks 
hung slightly over the edge of the bed and her legs were splayed on either side of his panting 
form. Grabbing his cock, he aimed it at her gasping hole and lunged forward with a violent 
thrust.

The huge seven-inch prick was driven in hard like a battering ram until the two 
sperm-filled balls slapped hard down against the sensitive ring of Martha’s rectum.

“Aaaaiiieee … ” she screamed in ecstasy. The thin, soft edges of her vagina clung lovingly 
to the penis as it slowly withdrew and she screwed her ass down into the mattress. Then the 
thrusts -that fiery entry that brought her body to blazing life-pushed the soft fleshy fold back 
into her. The glistening cock, like a never-ending oil drill, disappeared into the warm dark 
depths of her welcoming cuntal passage.

For just a moment, Martha thought of her husband, feeling a brief spasm of guilt, but then
Mike Farmer again thrust deep into her and the centers of her reason and sanity shorted out 
in a shower of delicious sparks.

The bed jiggled wildly from the action of Cecelia and the stranger fucking into her and 
Martha realized she had never been so excited in her life. Her eyes rolled and she saw Buck 
Jones behind her, unhappily stroking his huge rampant erection as he waited for someone to 
finish. A new and exciting idea struck her and she grasped her own huge breasts, pushing 
them together invitingly and glancing significantly at the huge Negro. His eyes lit up as he 
caught her thought.

Mike Farmer stopped his rhythmic stroking for a moment as the black man climbed over 
Martha’s body until he was kneeling over her chest. Lubricating his bone-hard ebony cock 
with a drop of spittle, he wedged the massive instrument between her pair of tightly-pressed 
tits and found the narrow, warm tunnel between them. The two men using Martha’s body 
began stroking again, this time in rhythmic unison.

Martha looked down and sighed in ecstatic contentment as she saw the blue-black shining
head of the black man’s cock peeking through the valley of her cleavage at the same time the 
young trustee’s prick battered excitingly against her tingling cervix.

“Harder … ” she moaned. “Fuck harder, you bastards.”

The bed quivered and shook as the three men drove their cocks harder and harder into 
the two women humping on the mattress. Cecelia’s legs were pushed higher and higher by 
Garcia until her ankles were pressed over her quivering shoulders. Martha too was in a 
position where she could not do much but take what the two men were thrusting into her 
body. Still, both women screamed and moaned with the force of their approaching orgasms.

Cecelia felt the first scalding spurt as Garcia’s ejaculation began to pour into her. Her cunt 
instinctively contracted and squeezed around his spurting cock, sucking at it to pull all of it 
into her. His orgasm triggered her own and her body began to twitch uncontrollably, her feet 
and legs dancing in time to some unheard wild abandoned music. The convict’s life-giving 
white hot lava filled her quivering belly and when the volcano continued to erupt, the molten 
flow spilled out of her pink quivering vagina and cascaded down the smooth white crevice 
across the white mounds of her still-twitching buttocks. She was too exhausted to notice or 
care when Garcia’s prick slipped out of her and he sank beside her on the bed.

A moment later, though, both their heads lifted at the sounds coming from the other side 
of the bed and they turned to watch the spectacle before them.

Cecelia gasped in amazement as she saw Buck Jones riding Martha’s rib cage, his huge 
black prick sliding in and out of the deep furrow between her breasts that the woman held so 
tightly together that bloodless ridges of flesh bulged between her pressing fingers. At the 
same time, in automatic rhythm with the Negro’s lunging strokes, Mike Farmer was thrusting 
his own visibly growing cock in and out of the hungrily sucking hole between Martha’s legs.

“Oooooooh, fuck harder, both of you,” Martha suddenly screamed as her body began to 
twitch and hump against them. “I’m cummmmming, oh, God, I’m cummmmmiiiing!”

The two men began driving with renewed fury and the sound of their three damp bodies 
slapping against each other could be clearly heard. Martha’s back arched from the bed and 
she savagely used her heels as spurs to drive Mike Farmer even further. The young man gave 
one mighty lunge and his buttocks began twitching as he reached his climax at the same time.
Then, suddenly, all three were groaning out their pleasure and release as the cum spurted 
from the open cunt between the warden’s wife’s legs and spattered on to her face and chin 
from the cock that was fucking between her tits.

Gradually the storm within them died. They all lay almost lifeless on the bed, panting and 
groaning happily. Later, when they began to feel more energy, the momentary 
embarrassment between the two women was quickly dispelled as they both realized that it 
would be silly at that point, to start acting shy and innocent before one another.

Predictably, it was Martha-whose husband had shown her so little attention for so 
long-who initiated the idea of one more bout of fucking and sucking before the party broke 
up an hour later. It was five o’clock, a mere half hour before their husbands’ usual arrival from 
work when Martha and Cecelia handed the convicts their clothes and ruefully reminded them 
of the time. A few minutes later, the five happily bid each other adieu in gleeful anticipation of
another day’s fun.

Not one of them had noticed or heard the quiet click of the screen door an hour and a 
half earlier or the heavy-hearted trudging steps of a man walking across the Bailey’s back yard
to the house next door.


CHAPTER 10

Harry Winston sat hunched over the breakfast table where his wife Martha had spent the 
first half of her afternoon. He knew very well where she had spent the other half.

When he had come home at three-thirty, complete with a dozen roses and a bottle of 
champagne to celebrate the rebirth of their marriage, she had been nowhere in the house. 
Thinking that perhaps she had gone grocery shopping, he had sat down at the same table to 
drink a leisurely cup of coffee before she had arrived. That was when he had heard it.

Even though the breeze was rustling the leaves like crinkling parchment, he had still been 
able to make out the emotion that ran through that voice as it shrieked out: “Fuck harder, you
bastards, fuck harder!” The voice had been familiar, too familiar, and, like a man in the throes 
of a nightmare, he had risen from the table and strode over to the house next door. He had 
found the screen door wide open and, without even thinking of what he was doing, had 
slipped into the Bailey’s house.

Harry had walked through the downstairs of the house, and then he had stood in an 
agony of indecision at the foot of the steps leading to the upper level. He had listened to the 
abandoned heaving on the bed, the wild shrieks and moaning and, after a few miserable 
minutes, he had decided to go back to his own house. It had been painful enough to listen, 
but he had known he might lose control of himself if he tried to just watch his wife being 
fucked by two other men.

White-faced and trembling, he had slipped back out the screen door and wearily walked 
back to his home, oblivious to anything but the gruesome mental pictures of his wife in 
various poses of intercourse with the two strange men.

The pain had soon diminished though, followed by a calm rage that frightened him by its 
intensity. Forgotten was the guilt he had felt for neglecting his wife and his intentions to 
rebuild their relationship. All he could think of was her audacity in daring to criticize him for 
his indifference to her-while she was probably anticipating meeting her two lovers at an orgy 
next door. He would make her pay, he had decided, and not only Martha, but that bitch-wife 
of Captain Bailey. He had never had any doubts about his wife’s fidelity before that new 
woman came to their happy, quiet neighborhood.

The beginnings of a plan started to crystallize in his tortured, angry mind.

Now, Harry Winston rose from the table where he had been morosely contemplating the 
remains of his coffee and went to the telephone. A moment later, he was speaking to his 
private secretary, one of the inmates at the prison.

“Smithson, listen, I won’t be in tomorrow. Something important has come up … a personal 
matter … That’s right … I definitely will be in the next day, Smithson, so you can reschedule my
appointments for then … All right. Thanks. Goodbye.” As he started to return the receiver to its
cradle, Harry suddenly realized who the strange men at Bailey’s might have been. Quickly, he 
lifted the receiver up to his ear again and asked, “Smithson, are you still there? … Oh, good, 
listen, did you send any trustees over to the Bailey’s house yet? … Hmmm, uh-huh. Just one, 
huh? … Well, keep him in the prison tomorrow and any other men who work in the 
neighborhood … no, that’s all right. There’s nothing wrong now, but there may be something 
happening around here that’s not according to regulations … All right. Goodbye.”

A few minutes later, as he stood over the telephone, congratulating himself for his 
cleverness, Harry heard Martha come through the back door. He turned to see her walk into 
the kitchen, her face flushed and happy. He felt his anger rise again at the sight of her 
contented expression, but he fought it, forcing himself to be calm.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted her, smiling coolly. “Been out visiting the neighbors?” Come 
on, you lousy bitch, he thought to himself, let’s hear your lies.

Martha’s jaw dropped at the sight of him, but she quickly regained her composure and 
answered him, side-stepping his question so he would not catch her in a lie. “Well, hello, dear. 
What are you doing home a half hour early?” she asked, smiling brightly. “Did the prison burn 
down?”

Harry chuckled briefly in acknowledgement of her sarcastic humor, then began the next 
step of his plan.

“No, dear, Dunstead is still intact. I just thought it was about time I started taking it easier,”
he replied to her question, forcing his voice to remain nonchalant. “By the way, darling, you 
haven’t had a shopping spree in quite a while … Do you think you might enjoy a trip to the 
city tomorrow-with a couple of hundred dollars to spend on a new wardrobe, of course. I 
think it would be good for you to get out of the house for a while.”

Martha stared at him in astonishment. Did he somehow find out about what happened 
today, she wondered suddenly. Was this some kind of trick to make her feel guilty? She 
studied her husband’s expression, but could find nothing more than the expansive smile he 
wore on the infrequent occasions when he took time from his work to give her a bit of his 
attention.

Why, he is trying to buy me off, she thought in rising anger. He feels badly about how he 
has treated me lately, so he is trying to make it up with money and clothes. Whatever guilt she
had felt about the illicit encounter that afternoon faded from her mind. All right, Harry, she 
fumed mentally, I’ll take you up on your kind offer. The least I can get out of this disastrous 
union is a new wardrobe.

“Oh, Harry, you sweet man. How terribly thoughtful of you,” she purred sweetly, hiding her
irritation behind a sparkling smile. “I’d love to go shopping and I’ll ask that sweet young Mrs. 
Bailey if she wants to come with me. I’m certain a pretty girl like her is already bored to tears 
with our stodgy old neighborhood. She probably be absolutely thrilled to go into town for the
day.”

Harry heard his wife’s words with a thrill of malevolent satisfaction. Things were working 
out even more beautifully than he had hoped for. A “sweet pretty young thing” would be just 
perfect for what he had in mind.

“I’m sorry, darling, but I’m afraid you’ll have to invite one of your other friends to go with 
you,” Harry said, managing to look as though he sincerely hoped Martha was not 
disappointed. “Mrs. Bailey is going to be tied up tomorrow. Captain Bailey has some sort of 
surprise planned for her and he wants her to be home all day, I think. He mentioned it to me 
at the staff meeting today.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure one of the other girls will be free to go,” Martha said. “Thank you, dear. 
You are good to me. I’ll go start dinner now.”

Smiling to himself, Harry strolled into the living room and settled down in his easy chair to 
read the daily paper. Ah, yes, he thought to himself, tomorrow will be a day to remember. For 
us all.


CHAPTER ll

Cecelia relaxed in the warm bath water, contemplating her problems. It was nearly ten 
o’clock in the morning and she happily considered the possibility that perhaps Mike Farmer 
and his friends might not show up today. If that were so, she would be truly grateful for that 
small favor from the fates that seemed determined to punish her.

She remembered the evening before, how, after everyone had finally left the house, her 
guilt had returned with the force of a tidal wave, and she had had to struggle violently within 
herself to keep from confessing everything to Ken as soon as he had returned home from 
work. Instead, she had tried for hours to involve him in conversation, commenting brightly on 
everything from the weather to the friendliness of Martha Winston. All she had wanted was a 
smile or some kind of gesture to show her that her husband cared about her even a little bit. 
All she had received for her efforts were a few gruff, monosyllabic answers and, eventually, she
had gone to bed even earlier than he, her head averted to hide the despairing tears she could 
no longer contain.

This morning, though, she had discovered that the daylight made it much easier for her to 
think rationally, to put away her emotions and consider things objectively. Before she arose 
from bed, she calmly decided that she would not fight Mike Farmer today; it did not much 
matter anymore what he did to her. The important thing was that tonight, she was going to 
tell Ken everything that had happened, whether or not he would listen. She was beginning to 
doubt if anything she had to say could elicit a response from him, but, if anything could, this 
was it.

Later, she had wakened Ken, seen him off to work with a smile born of pure, blind courage,
then washed up the breakfast dishes, resignedly awaiting Mike Farmer’s arrival. To her delight, 
nine o’clock came and went with no sign of him and, in celebration, she decided to go take a 
long, leisurely bath. Now, her contented smile disappeared as she heard the insistent ringing 
of the front doorbell downstairs. Oh, God, she wondered, who could it be now?

“I’m coming! I’ll be there in a minute,” she yelled down the stairs as whoever it was at the 
door continued to punch the button. Quickly, drying herself off, she bundled herself into a 
thick terry cloth bathrobe and hurried down to the front door.

“Hello. Excuse the delay in answering your ring,” Cecelia said, smiling at the short, 
potbellied man who stood outside the door. “I was in the bathtub, as you can see. Are you 
selling something?”

“No, Mrs. Bailey,” the little man in the dark suit and tie answered amiably. “I’m one of your 
new neighbors and I’ve just come by to welcome you and get acquainted.”

“Why, how lovely of you. I’m sorry I’m not dressed,” Cecelia exclaimed, embarrassedly 
patting her damp curls. “Won’t you please come in, Mr… . I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you 
told me your name.”

“Winston. Harry Winston,” he answered. “My wife and I live in the house next door. I’m the 
warden at the prison.”

Cecelia’s mind raced as she heard his words. My God, she wondered frantically, had 
Martha told him what had happened yesterday ? What did he want from her? Reluctantly, she 
moved away from the door to let him pass into the living room.

“I’m v-very happy to meet you, M-Mr. Winston,” she faltered as she followed him into the 
room. “I’m Cecelia Bailey.”

“Just call me, Harry, my dear,” the man said jovially as he ensconced himself in Ken’s 
favorite chair and pulled out a long, black cigar. “And I’ll call you Cecelia. After all, Martha’s 
told me so much about you, I feel as though we were good friends already.” His eyes virtually 
stripped the young blonde girl of the fuzzy bathrobe she wore before he added, “We are 
going to be great friends, you know. Even better than you and my dear Martha. Don’t you 
agree.”

Cecelia’s heart leapt almost into her throat as her mind tried to digest what the pudgy 
middle-aged man had just said. It was too much to believe that Martha had told him what had
happened yesterday, yet he seemed to be obliquely informing her that he knew all about it. 
Not only that, but his eyes had hinted at something worse. Gathering her courage, she slowly 
sat down on the sofa and turned to face him, staring directly into his watery, pale blue eyes.

“Mr. Winston, I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning,” she said haughtily. “Your wife 
has been very kind to me. As a matter-of-fact, I don’t know anyone else in the neighborhood, 
yet. But I find your overtures of friendship a bit overpowering.”

“Is that so, Cecelia, my dear,” the man asked gleefully, chomping on the end of his cigar. 
“You don’t seem to find afternoon orgies overpowering. Did you know that you could be 
getting your husband in quite a bit of trouble, playing around with the inmates of the prison?”

Cecelia gasped audibly. How could he know? It didn’t matter, she told herself quickly. The 
important question was why was he here?

As if reading her thoughts, the man grinned slyly and said, “You may be wondering about 
my purpose in coming here today, my dear. Well, put your mind at ease-I have no intention of
firing Captain Bailey.” He paused to light the ugly-looking cigar, then, when it was lit, went on.
“At least, not if you are willing to do certain favors for me.”

Oh, God, no, not him too, she thought. When is this thing going to end? “What do you 
want, Mr. Winston?” Cecelia asked calmly, praying that it would not be the same thing 
everyone else had wanted. “I’m a pretty good typist if you need help in the office … ” Her 
voice wavered then faded away as she recognized the expression in his eyes.

“Don’t be naive, Cecelia,” Harry Winston snapped. “I’m not getting any younger and 
neither is Martha. In fact, she’s getting a bit set in her ways. Often, when I want to do anything
daring or “experimental” in bed, she is horrified, and, to tell you the truth, I’m getting a bit 
bored with her. You will be my safety-valve, my dear. You can salve your conscience, if that is 
your imagine, by the idea that you’re helping hold our marriage together.”

The young blonde wife stared at him aghast. Hadn’t she been through enough already? 
she wondered. “What … what do you mean by anything … anything daring?” she whispered.

Harry Winston merely smiled smugly and puffed on his cigar.

“Mr. Winston, I demand to know what you are talking about!” Cecelia almost shrieked.

Harry Winston stared silently at Cecelia as if wordlessly condemning the bad taste of her 
outburst, then leaned back in Ken’s easy chair and put his cigar down in the ashtray beside 
him. “My dear, please, calm yourself. You’re losing sight of the pertinent aspects of this little 
encounter. What you should be interested in is not what I am going to do to you, but what 
you must be willing to submit to in order to keep your husband employed at Dunstead Prison.
After all, my dear, you are in no position to negotiate. As a matter-of-fact, does you husband 
have any idea of what goes on here in the afternoons?”

Completely shaken by the unexpected turn of the vicious cycle in which she was now 
involved, Cecelia broke down into tearful pleadings. “A-all right, Mr. W-Winston, I-I’ll d-do … 
anything … ” she sobbed brokenly, “anything y-you t-tell me… . “

“First of all, please quit that infernal weeping,” he snapped. “You sound like Martha.”

“Yes, of course,” Cecelia said, trying desperately to pull herself together. If she had to act 
like a tramp for these men, at least she could preserve her dignity, she told herself. 
Brightening, she realized that Harry Winston looked like an absolutely inept lover. The would 
be some consolation, at least. If nothing else, she could preserve the tattered remains of her 
self-respect. Nothing this repulsive little man could do would make her enjoy sex with him. 
Then, someday, when this nightmare was all over, she would make sure that he knew that she 
was laughing at him all the time.

“Now, Cecelia, I want you to remove whatever clothing you’re wearing and sit down on the
sofa,” he directed. Harry Winston was feeling very proud of himself. Things were going even 
more smoothly than he had planned and the little bitch was very attractive. He only hoped her
body was as good as it appeared through that thick robe. If so, this would be a real pleasure. 
There was only one thing that would hurt Martha more than his fucking another woman and 
that was his fucking a beautiful girl who was at least ten years younger than she. Yes, old 
Martha was going to be sorry she had played around, but, first-first, he would have the 
enjoyable duty of paying back the little cunt who led his wife astray.

A gasp of admiration whistled through Harry’s lips as Cecelia dropped the robe, revealing 
that she had worn nothing beneath it. She felt as much as saw his eyes lustfully lingering over 
her ripe young curves. Suddenly embarrassed by his openly salacious gaze, she quickly sat 
back down on the long sofa, curling her legs and arms tightly around herself to protect her 
body from his gleaming eyes.

“Come, come, my dear, it’s a little late to run shy on me,” he chuckled smugly. “We both 
know that your innocence and modesty are things of the past. After all, what kind of woman 
holds orgies in her husband’s own bed.” His expression suddenly turned vilely sinister. “Now, 
do as I say and don’t try any more silly tricks, you slut! Spread your legs! Wide, so I can see 
your cunt.”

No, no, she silently protested. I was forced to do everything I did; I had no choice. But the 
expression of determination on the warden’s face killed any thought of explanation. He would 
believe only what he wanted to believe and he had already called her a slut. Slowly, Cecelia 
swallowed her pride and spread her legs apart. When she could see by his eyes that the coral 
slit of her vagina was visible to him, she stopped and leaned back in the cushions, closing her 
eyes to the humiliating leer that twisted his chubby features.

“I said, spread your legs, you little whore,” he suddenly bellowed. Cecelia’s eyes flew open 
and she saw him gesticulating wildly with his cigar, his face almost purple with rage. “I want 
one foot over the back of the sofa and the other one touching the floor. Now, do as I say!”

Numbly, she did as she was told, splaying her legs wide open and positioning them as he 
had directed. She found herself leaning back into the corner of the couch, her thighs spread 
so far apart that it almost hurt the taut muscles. Shuddering in revulsion, she saw a drop of 
spittle form at the corner of the warden’s mouth and trickle down his chin as he stared 
hungrily at her helplessly exposed crevice. Her humiliation was heightened by the fact that the
man still sat there, completely dressed in his business suit as she posed naked before him, 
presenting up her open cuntal slit to his devouring eyes.

“Now,” he growled hoarsely, start playing with yourself.”

“Oh, no, I can’t do that,” she gasped in horror. “I’ve never, ever done anything like that.”

“My dear, I’ve been quite patient with you … ” he began, an evil light shining from his eyes.
“But, if you don’t start cooperating, I will be forced to become unpleasant.” His baleful gaze 
sent chills up Cecelia’s spine and she nodded wordlessly to indicate that she understood. 
“Very good. I’m glad we finally understand each other. Now, play with your body.”

Hesitantly, Cecelia lifted her trembling hands to her full luscious breasts, commencing to 
pull and tweak at the aureoles and nipples until her body began to respond to her 
manipulations. She was certain that she had never felt so mortified in her life, but she forced 
herself to go on, rolling the nipples between her thumbs and forefingers until they became 
erect, standing out from the smooth swell of her breasts like tiny, hard penises. After being 
roughly used by so many strange men in the past few days, Cecelia found it oddly pleasurable
to just be able to touch herself, without fear of harm or further, unexpected humiliations.

“That’s enough of that,” she heard the warden suddenly command. “Your cunt. Massage 
your cunt. I want to see you make yourself really hot.” His hand was now resting on his 
trousers below his belt and Cecelia could see the rising protuberance under his stubby fingers.

You stupid old fool, Cecelia silently fumed. I can’t make myself hot, and it would certainly 
take a lot more of a man than you are to arouse me. Catching the vulgar thought as soon as 
she had formed it, Cecelia chastised herself for sinking to his level and began to concentrate 
on the task he had set for her. Even if she could not satisfy herself, perhaps she could pretend 
enough excitement to appease him. Maybe, she mused to herself, maybe he just wants to 
watch me.

Encouraged by the idea, she let her hands drop downward and flutter like pale birds over 
the golden thatch of her pubic hair. Slowly and dramatically, she ran the tips of her fingers 
over the smooth, sensitive outer lips of her vaginal opening, experiencing an electric shock of 
surprise as a startling shock of exquisite pleasure resulted from her first tentative touch.

Inquisitively, she stroked her forefinger over the tiny rosebud of her clitoris, softly at first, 
then with more and more vigor as a delicious tingling sensation radiated out around the tiny 
swollen peak. It was good, almost as good as a man, she realized joyfully as, forgetting the 
presence of her audience, she furiously fingered her clitoris, feeling her whole torso quivering 
in response to her fevered manipulations.

A tortured groan slipped from between her lips as she suddenly plunged one finger into 
her hot waiting passage. She wiggled it experimentally inside of herself until her impaled 
vagina became accustomed to the invading finger probing at the lubricated softness of its 
tender walls. She could feel its moisture covering the palm of her hand as it ground erotically 
into the fiery knot of her clitoris. She moved her finger in tiny circles, expanding the tight hole 
with each teasing rotation.

Realizing that two fingers would probably be even better than one, she quickly added 
another and began to frantically finger fuck herself as she started to fight for an orgasm.

Harry Winston watched the depraved drama before him in undisguised delight, his flabby 
paunch heaving up and down as he felt himself becoming more and more aroused. His eyes 
were glued to the fascinating spectacle of this lovely, young blonde woman trying desperately
to bring herself to a climax, and, almost involuntarily, he had begun to stroke his rapidly rising
member. “That’s it, baby, give it hell,” he growled hoarsely as beads of perspiration began to 
break out on his forehead and upper lip. “Go ahead, whore, fuck it. Fuck yourself!”

Oblivious to his obscene remarks, Cecelia was almost out of her mind with excitement. She
was ready to crawl the wall to quench the fire raging in her clenching vagina. Her two long, 
slender fingers dipped wildly in and out of the swollen, deep pink lips of her cuntal passage, 
the outer surface of which was pearled by glistening droplets of her lubricating fluids. Tiny 
rivulets of perspiration coursed down her trembling thighs as she began to heave her 
buttocks upward, trying to get more and more of her skewering fingers. A deep growl of 
frustration rose from deep in her chest, then changed to a whine of ecstasy as she added one 
more finger to the two with which she was punishing herself.

Cecelia drove herself on, three fingers now in her wide-stretched, liquid drenched cuntal 
channel, trying insanely to break out of this plateau of passion on which she found herself 
stranded. But, she could not do anymore. She had turned herself on, and now she found that 
she was driving herself mad because she could not come to a climax.

At last, there was nothing to do but give it up. She allowed her hand to fall away from her 
throbbing, aching slit and moaned despairingly. Suddenly, her gleaming eyes fell on the man 
who had started this.

“Oh, God, Mr. Winston, help me. Fuck me!”

“I thought you’d never ask, my dear,” he grinned lopsidedly and rose to tear down his 
trousers.

A moment later, Harry Winston stood before her, completely naked, his great, heavy cock 
standing out from beneath his paunch like a thick ramrod. His weighty balls swayed ominously
between his pudgy thighs as he stroked the thick uncircumcised foreskin back and forth over 
the bulbous head of his shaft.

He moved closer to the sofa on which she sat and she sensed unwanted flames of desire 
burning furiously in her loins. Staring in horror and disgust at the unattractive middle-aged 
man who stood over her, she wondered again, what had happened to her in the last few days 
that she could feel desire for someone like him. A lifetime of chastity and now she was 
reduced to this!

The warden reached down and ran his hand over the awakened mounds of her breasts 
and down over her belly to the soft, fleshy folds of her cunt below. “Ooooooooooh,” she 
moaned as his touch sent new waves of pleasure over her body until her nerve ends felt 
scorched and frazzled from the heat of her desire. A rash of goose bumps arose over the ivory
paleness of her sensitive skin.

Yes … she wanted him. She wanted him! She wanted him to crawl up inside of her, to 
possess her, to quiet the thunder that was building up deep, once more, from his maddening 
fingertips, playing over her defenseless nakedness. “Yes, please, touch me like that. Fuck me … 
now ! ” she pleaded piteously.

“Shut up, whore,” the warden rasped, enjoying his hold on this beautiful slut who had 
introduced his wife to other men. “You’ll get cock when I decide to give it to you!”

His greedy eyes feasting on her squirming nakedness, the warden lowered his bulk onto 
the sofa, then crouched on all four over the white moving body, resting his palms hard on the 
inside of her widespread thighs. His mouth watered as his eyes fastened onto the hair-framed 
slit of her open crotch, rotating sensuously, expectantly, a scant few inches from his lips. Saliva
drizzled down his chin to mingle obscenely with the lubricating juices oozing from the narrow 
passage at the bottom of her smooth white belly.

Through half-open eyes, Cecelia gazed down at the man crouched between her parted 
thighs. She could feel his hot, sweating palms pressed against the soft flesh of her inner thighs
and suddenly she wished she could widen them even further for him. She was no better than a
whore now, a slave to his lewd desires, bought and paid for!

“Aaaaagggghh!” she groaned piteously, jerking upward as she felt his hot lips clamp down
over the pulsating opening of her cunt. She felt his lips suck, drawing the warm, soft folds 
deep into the hot cavern of his mouth, while his tongue began a maddening licking against 
the straining pink bud of her hot, excited young pussy. She wriggled her buttocks 
unashamedly against him as the hot, probing tip worked its way up and down the length of 
the narrow, wet slit, then worked its way into her straining cunt like a racing lizard. Her hips 
ground wildly into the cushions of the sofa, soft mewling animal sounds of pleasure escaping 
from between her passion-clenched teeth.

Then, suddenly, he stopped, raising his head to grin up at her through her heaving thighs.

“Go on! Don’t stop!” she pleaded. “Oh, God, don’t stop now! Lick my cunt! Lick it! Lick it!”

But, in response, she merely received his salacious grin and the words: “Turn over, baby. 
I’ve got a real surprise for you!”

Unthinking, willing to do anything for the release she needed so badly, she twisted around
on the sofa, changing position until she was kneeling with her body resting on the back 
cushions. She felt the warden rise from the sofa and stand up behind her, his hands suddenly 
resting on the smooth oval globes of her buttocks. Then, she felt him kissing the ivory cheeks 
of her ass, biting into them with sharp little nips.

Through the haze of her passion, she felt him opening her buttocks, drawing the cheeks 
wide apart, then licking the crevice between them. He pulled and stretched at her asshole and 
she could feel the strain on the tight, rubbery ring of her anus. Suddenly, she felt obscenely 
naked and exposed as the panting form leaned over her buttocks and slobberingly kissed the 
tiny, brown puckered hole. But she didn’t really care now. Nothing seemed to matter any 
more as long as he could give her some kind of release from this agony of arousal.

Then, she felt the tip of his finger again at the entrance of her naked rectum and she 
jerked automatically away from the strange sensation.

“Relax,” the man rasped, jabbing again at the tightly clenched opening. “Open your ass.”

She gasped, then relaxed to be used as the man behind her desired. He probed for a 
moment longer at the outer edges of the small elastic circle, then shoved forward, sadistically 
sinking the finger up to the first knuckle. To her surprise, the pain was not nearly as keen as 
she had thought it would be. The warden dug into the tight, expanding hole, insinuating his 
finger slowly and methodically into the velvety depths of her rectum.

She began to relax slightly until suddenly she felt the extra pressure of another finger ram 
unexpectedly in along side the first. She winced with pain and tried to cringe away from him, 
but he followed; pinning her upper torso to the back of the couch with the palm of his hand.

“Oh, stop it, please. It hurts.” Tears of pain and humiliation streamed down her cheeks as 
she realized for the first time what he was going to do to her. He was going to shove his long, 
thick cock up into her rectum in an unnatural act of love she did not even know existed 
before. This is what he had meant by something “daring.” No wonder poor Martha had 
refused, Cecelia thought in horrified disbelief. God, she would never live through it; she could 
never face anyone again after this horror and subjugation.

As if in cruel answer to her plea, his fingers began to work together inside her clinging 
rectum, grinding down into her tightly contracted anal passage, expanding it mercilessly as he
twisted and turned his fingers in the narrow hole, preparing it for his coming assault. She tried
to jerk her buttocks away, but her quivers only drove the cruel probing deeper and deeper 
into her ravaged depths.

“You know, I’ve never fucked a woman in the ass before,” the warden said softly, as if 
talking to himself. “I’m really going to enjoy this, my dear. You have a lovely ass. Nice and 
hairless.”

“No, please, don’t do it to me,” Cecelia pleaded, knowing already that it was futile.

As suddenly as he had worked the fingers in, he pulled them out of her. They seemed to 
come out reluctantly, the rubbery skin of her anus clinging to them and making a sucking, 
hissing noise. Climbing onto the couch behind her, he forced her legs wide apart with his 
knees, then moistened the tiny hole with a drop of spittle, preparing it for the greater entry. 
She was held wide and helpless, completely at his mercy and she bit down on her lower lip to 
keep back the tears of fear and frustration brimming to her eyes. She couldn’t bear it; this was 
just too horrible.

His hands grasped harshly at her hips, holding them firmly in the air as she felt the 
excitedly pulsating head of his cock resting within her split crevice. She gasped in surprise at 
the first contact. It was huge! As big as Buck Jones’. She hadn’t expected it from such a small 
man. She would never be able to accept that into her back passageway. It would tear her 
bowels open! Desperately, she tried to pull away from him but he held her tight and began to 
prod at the tight, hairless opening of her backside.

His hands coursed down over her buttocks, his thumbs pressing on either side of the tiny, 
puckered anus, stretching it wide. The gentle probing grew into a hard, unresisting bluntness.

“Ooooooohhh! No! Pleeeeeeeease!” she shrieked as the tight resisting ring gave way 
before the unyielding pressure, the tip popping into her with a slight jerk.

The pain was so unbearable that she twisted and screamed, again and again, trying with all
her strength to get away. Her buttocks were moving wildly, but her thrashing only allowed 
him to drive his huge penis deeper and deeper inside her. There was no escape from the 
horror and degradation of her defenseless body. Filling her backside ceaselessly as if she were 
being impaled on a tree trunk, pushing the soft rubbery flesh inside of her widely-stretched 
anal passage in great waves of pain before it.

“Please, stop. It hurts. It’s too tight,” she cried, her eyes open wide in agony.

But he ignored her pleas, forcing inch after inch up into her vainly resisting rectal passage 
as he hugged her hips tightly in his barbarian attack and growled, “Push back, damn you. 
Shove back, you fucking cunt. Open your ass!”

With a mind-reeling effort, she forced herself to move back against him, than gasped in 
agony as his prick slid smoothly into her rectum, not stopping until she felt her buttocks 
flatten to her hipbones and his pubic hair slap hard against her ass. The excitement she had 
felt before was ripped away by the reality and overpowering presence of that hot, pulsating 
staff sunk deep in her rectum.

The warden chuckled lewdly and throbbed his long, hard prick deep within the confines of 
Cecelia’s rectum. “How do you like that, my dear? How do you like it-being fucked in the ass?”

Cecelia heard him snicker again and she groaned in anguish as he began to saw 
rhythmically and without mercy deep into the soft depths of her back passage, bringing 
further sobs of pain and misery to her tortured lips. She had never felt so soiled and 
debauched in her life, she thought miserably as the warden began to lunge the full length of 
his punishing rod into her with long smooth strokes.

He could see tiny ridges of her pink, clasping flesh pull out with the base of his cock every 
time it withdrew for another vicious lunge inside. This was it, this was his revenge. He had 
conquered the little bitch and was ass-fucking her. Now, he thought triumphantly, he would 
make her like it, whether she wanted to or not!

A moment later, Cecelia felt the warden’s arms reaching down under her heaving belly and
his fingers stroking her clitoris, fondling the knobby protrusion until the familiar sensations of 
pleasure again began to radiate out around it. To her amazement, she also began to feel a 
change in her rectum; the pain was becoming oddly pleasurable. She was beginning to 
experience some masochistic enjoyment from his thrusts and she instinctively knew she would
enjoy it even more if she reared back to meet those thrusts. She began to shove backwards 
with vigor, in tempo to meet the forward movement of his loins.

The warden groaned again and surged into her with renewed power. She too was 
groaning and twisting and waving the whiteness of her ass back at him in a lewd invitation to 
fuck harder and deeper. Her buttocks were swinging in tiny, rotating circles, clenching tightly 
around his cock with a slight throb of her rectum on each out-stroke.

Sweat poured down the face of Harry Winston. He stared in sadistic delight as his balls 
smacked resoundingly against her tight cunt each time he sunk his prick to the hilt in her 
wide-split crevice. He had stopped fondling her clitoris and still she bucked before him like a 
mare in heat. He knew she was his to do as he wished now. She was kneeling like a slave 
before him, prepared to follow his every desire and command. He would give it to her now as 
she had never had it before and she would love it-hell, she was loving it, he realized as he 
watched the wiggling of her buttocks and the golden curls bouncing around her head and 
neck as she worked frantically in front of him.

“Aaaaaaahhhh,” she moaned and grunted beneath him as he pressed forward as far as he 
could, pulling the soft cheeks of her ass wide apart to allow him to go deeper, and just 
holding it there. “Oh, God, yes, fuck it like that,” she gasped, rotating her buttocks around the 
giant blood-filled head deep in her asshole.

With long, unending thrusts, he began to batter into her quivering ass. His balls had 
commenced to throb almost painfully and his prick felt as though it were charged with a 
thousand volts each time he plunged into her. Cecelia was moaning like a crazy woman, her 
face flushed, her eyes rolling in her head as she sought her final fulfillment. He had always 
wanted to fuck a beautiful woman in the ass and now he had one. And she was his to do as he
liked, just as he was doing -digging his cock into her ass and leaving it there, hearing her cry 
and beg while he pushed and probed, moving it inside her anyway he liked and not having to 
worry about facing her over the breakfast table the next morning.

“Oh, yes, yes, fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck harder,” she gasped as he rammed into her with a 
mighty thrust that seared up her roundly stretched anus like a sword of fire. He did it again, 
pulling her back over his cock like fitting a boot, causing her to half-scream in the exquisite 
sensation of mixed pleasure and pain. She whined in ecstasy as he increased the vigor and 
power of his strokes.

And then the boiling lava began to churn in his balls. His prick tingled and he knew it was 
time.

Cecelia, beneath his battering attack, felt his giant staff of flesh begin to grow and expand 
until she thought it would never stop. “Oh, God, cum, cum!” she screamed in masochistic 
pleasure and fucked back against him in wild abandon.

He gasped above her and shoved forward with a mighty thrust that almost tore through 
the walls of her quivering belly and shot the hot torrents of his thick, white cream deep up 
into the welcoming depths of her rectum. It surged through her body like a volcanic eruption, 
warming her belly like a hot soothing bath. He cried out and his strangled voice set off her 
own explosion.

Cecelia screamed as a great gush of pleasure rippled through her. Her body tensed and 
shuddered as the long awaited peak of sensation was finally achieved, then gasped as she felt 
his deflated and limp shaft of flesh slowly withdrawn from her flooded behind. There was a 
slight, wet, sucking noise as it slipped out from between the full white moons of her buttocks 
with a lewd slurping sound. Then a sudden rush of cool air into the wetness of her loins as she
remained kneeling with her buttocks waving high in the air for a moment and then collapsed 
off the back of the couch into the softness of the cushions.

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked across the room. She saw that Harry Winston was 
again sitting in Ken’s chair, drying his limp, deflated penis with a clean, white handkerchief. 
She stared at him for a long time, her vision still somewhat glazed by the ordeal to which she 
had been subjected, but reality was slowly returning, bringing with it all the harsh ugliness of 
her situation.

Twisting off the sofa, she sat up and snatched up her discarded robe to use as a covering.

The warden looked up at the sudden movement, then smiled benignly at the girl’s attempt
to shield her body from his gaze.

“Rather late to be developing a sense of modesty, isn’t it, my dear?” he asked softly.

Cecelia sat on the sofa, her legs curled under her, tucking the robe tightly around her still 
tingling body. “All right, Mr. Winston, you have had what you came for. Now, won’t you please
leave?”

The man across the room merely leaned back in the easy chair, making no attempt to hide
his nakedness.

“Don’t be so impatient, my dear,” he murmured smoothly. “Why, we still have most of the 
day ahead of us. Your husband isn’t due home for many hours yet, so you might just as well 
learn to enjoy the pleasure of my company.”

“Kindly say what you mean, Mr. Winston,” Cecelia snapped irritably. “I’m tired of playing 
word games with you.”

“What I mean, my dear, is that today is only the first payment for my continued silence,” he
explained, picking up his cigar from the ashtray. “I’m not greedy, my dear. Shall we agree that 
you save one day a week for my pleasure. I can see no reason why your prisoner friends 
wouldn’t be able to spare me that much time. Actually, I rather think the rest would do them 
good.”

Cecelia stared at the man with amazed disbelief. My God, was there ever going to be an 
end to this, she wondered, feeling her patience stretching to the breaking point. Even the 
prisoners’ desire for revenge made more sense to her than this pudgy old man’s selfish 
demand for payola. Suddenly, something inside of her snapped and she knew she was not 
going to take any more humiliation or debasement-from anyone!

Eyes blazing with hatred and rage, she jumped to her feet, determinedly knotting the robe
sash around her waist. Then, the tiny blond woman began to speak, quietly, but with all the 
force and power she could muster.

“Mr. Winston, I am going to the telephone now and I am going to ask my husband to 
come home. You can be here when he arrives or not. I don’t care. But, you are going to have 
to explain your presence in this house, because I won’t have time. I have a very long story to 
tell him, and you are only at the end of it!”

Cecelia watched with smug satisfaction as the warden digested the meaning of her words, 
then turned on her heel and began to walk toward the kitchen. Behind her she could hear the 
warden lifting his bulk from her husband’s easy chair, followed by the quiet rustling of 
clothing being retrieved and hastily donned. Had it been that easy all the time, she wondered 
to herself as she realized the warden was going to leave without an argument.

“My dear Cecelia, I hope you know what you’re doing,” Harry Winston called after her. “I’ve
heard rumors that your husband has a nasty temper and I wouldn’t want you to be harmed.”

Cecelia laughed silently at the undertones of fear in the warden’s voice. Yes, I know, she 
thought calmly. I know my husband’s nasty temper probably much better than anyone else. 
But, she knew too that she could not bear for things to go on as they had been, and would go
on, if she did not do something about it.

As she dialed the prison number, Cecelia heard the front door closing, the first truly 
welcome sound she had heard for days.


CHAPTER 12

This was going to be just as hard as she had anticipated, Cecelia realized as she stared at 
her husband’s face, set in an expression of impatience and displeasure at being called home 
from his work in the middle of the day.

It had taken quite a bit of talking to get him to come home at all, she thought ruefully, but
she had refused to take no for an answer, repeating again that she would explain when he got
home. Now, he sat stiffly in the same easy chair Harry Winston had occupied only a half hour 
ago, tapping his fingers in obvious irritation on the upholstered arm of the chair. For once, 
though, Cecelia was not afraid of him, not intimidated by his gruff manner. She had been 
through a dozen kinds of hell since she married him and now he was going to sit there and 
listen to her, even if … if she had to tie him to the chair.

Before beginning to speak, she studied her husband’s face for a moment or two. It still 
surprised her to realize how much of a stranger this handsome redhead was, even after a 
whole week of marriage. After his strange outburst on their wedding night, when he had so 
unfairly labeled her a “slut,” comparing her in some strange way to his mother, who he had 
never talked about before or since… . Well, after that, somehow, he had gone through day 
after day, saying so little that his young bride really felt she was living with a stranger.

Perhaps, she should have tried to shock him of his silence, she mused as she studied the 
ruddy masculine face that had not shown a whit of interest in her since that dreadful wedding 
night. But, she had been afraid of another show of violent anger, and afraid too that whatever 
love he had felt for her had been lost that night in the motel. Well, this would show it if there 
was any feeling left under that taciturn exterior. And, God knows, she thought glumly, if this 
appalling story doesn’t pull a reaction from him, nothing ever will.

Cecelia could see extreme annoyance becoming more and more apparent on Ken’s face, 
so, taking a deep breath, she began to speak.

“Darling, I wouldn’t have insisted that you come home right now if it hadn’t been 
something important,” she began hesitantly. “It… it’s not that it couldn’t wait until tonight but 
… I had to speak to you before I could think about it too much. It so … horrible … that, well, 
I’ve been afraid to tell you before this … Y-you may want me to leave after I tell you, but that’s 
all right.… We … We can’t keep going on like we have… . I can’t bear it anymore… . “

To her dismay, Cecelia suddenly realized that she was crying. Even though she tried to 
stop, her body shook with the racking sobs that she could no longer hold back. She couldn’t 
tell him about all those men, she thought hysterically. He might do anything; he might even 
kill her. And, she thought, he had every right to do just that.

Overwhelmed by her shame and grief, Cecelia rose from the couch and turned away so 
that he could not see the guilt that she was sure must be obvious in her face. She stumbled 
around the couch, wanting to turn, but not knowing where to go to escape her actions in the 
past several days. Suddenly, Ken’s voice boomed out, drowning out the sound of her 
heart-rending weeping.

“Cecelia! Sit down and stop crying! I know all about Mike Farmer and the others.”

“W-what did y-you say?” she gasped through her sobs, not believing she had really heard 
right.

His eyes warm with sympathy, her husband said again: “I know what happened. And I can’t
really say that it’s all right, but we’ll work it out. Now, sit down and let’s talk.”

Oh, God, how can I face him, she thought miserably, as she slowly reseated herself on the 
couch. Then, as a second thought hit her mind, she looked up to face him squarely, her eyes 
afire with anger.

“If you knew all about it, why didn’t you do something to stop it? Why didn’t you help 
me?”

Ken stared back at her, his eyes level and calm. “I didn’t know until today. Things get 
around very quickly in a prison and none of those men are capable of keeping their mouths 
shut. When you called, I had just finished questioning Garcia. I was going to talk to Mike 
Farmer and Buck Jones this afternoon. Why don’t you tell me what happened ? “

“Oh, I can’t, darling. Please, you’ll hate me,” she cried in anguish. Even if you still love me a 
little bit, you won’t if I ever tell you what happened ! “

“Even if I still … what?” he asked, an expression of astonishment spreading over his face. 
Then, suddenly, he snapped his fingers in shamefaced awareness. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Did 
you think I’ve been mad at you all this time? Cecelia, I love you. I really do. You’ve got to 
believe that. It’s been … other things.”

“What do you mean by ‘other things’? ” she cried. “I’m your wife! Your new bride! What 
other things could make you yell at me and rape me on our wedding night-then not touch me
or even talk to me for almost a whole week?”

His face crumpled in pity as he realized the painful depths of her distress and insecurity. 
He quickly rose from the easy chair in which he had been sitting and crossed the room to the 
sofa, seating himself beside her. Slipping his arm around her shoulder, he drew her close to 
his body, squeezing her tightly as if to protect her from the fears that were causing her such 
anguish.

“Baby, do you remember, before we were married, how we used to talk about the prison?” 
he began. “Remember how you used to ask me about the things you’d heard … about how 
prisoners were mistreated … not allowed even the barest dignity a human being deserves.” His
brow wrinkled with the effort of putting his thoughts into words. “Well, I told you then that 
those were just stories made up by bleeding-heart journalists to sell newspapers and 
magazines. But, since then, I’ve been watching … and thinking … ” He paused for a moment.

“Yes, Ken, go on,” Cecelia murmured.

“Well, I guess it’s all true,” he blurted angrily. “My men, even the people in the 
administration just think of the men as cattle to be herded around. They don’t even show 
them the kindness they’d show to an animal. I’ve seen men locked up in solitary confinement 
for weeks for some silly little thing-anything that strikes a guard’s imagine.” He looked down 
at her, a plea for understanding in his eyes. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking, trying to 
rationalize what I’m standing for by working in this prison. I originally became a policeman 
and then a prison guard just because I wanted to help people… . “

“Oh, darling, I do understand, especially after this week,” Cecelia cried, throwing her arms 
around him to embrace him sympathetically. “But … well, that doesn’t explain everything 
exactly… . “

“Yes, I know, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “It’s a long story, but it boils down to the facts 
that my mother was a sort of bargain basement whore and … you see, every time I’ve ever had
a woman respond to me sexually, I can’t help but remember my mother nuzzling up to one of 
the neighborhood Romeos and then, I see red… . That’s what happened on our wedding 
night.” He smiled ruefully. “Since then, I’ve been afraid to touch you for fear I’d hurt you again.
I’m sorry.”

“You big dummy,” Cecelia giggled. “I know we can cure that with just a little therapy.” She 
looked up at him mischievously, wrinkling her nose in an impish grin. “Besides, some women 
think their husbands don’t love them unless they get slapped around once in a while.”

“Is that so,” he growled in mock sternness. “In that case, stick out your chin and I’ll let you 
have one. I don’t want any doubting wives around here!”

Cecelia laughed for a moment, then stopped as she saw the happiness in his eyes cloud 
over with some sudden fear. She knew he was thinking of what the prisoner, Garcia, had told 
him that morning. She realized that she would have to ease his mind, maybe even lie a little, if 
he were ever going to trust her again.

“Darling, you asked me to tell you what had happened with those men,” she began softly. 
“Well, I don’t really want to talk about it. It even makes me shudder to think about it, but… . 
Believe me, I was bullied and blackmailed and forced to do everything I did… . I swear I’d kill 
myself before I’d ever let anything like that ever happen again.”

She lowered her eyes, partly in embarrassment at having to make such a speech, but also 
so that he wouldn’t be able to see the fact that she was partly lying. Even if he knew what had 
happened, she decided, at least she could spare him the pain of knowing she enjoyed it, 
probably just as much as his mother would have.

To her delight, she heard him sigh in relief.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said happily. “I wouldn’t have known how to ask you about it. 
I should never have doubted you, but I was a little worried, especially after that wedding night
ordeal.”

“Was it such an ordeal?” she asked shyly, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“Hmmmmm, it’s been such a long time, I’m not sure,” he said, grinning almost boyishly. 
“How about an instant replay?”

Cecelia felt a momentary stab of apprehension, remembering the horror of that night in 
the motel, but quickly pushed it aside. “I’d love to,” she smiled. “Shall we retire to the 
boudoir?”

*

Several minutes later, she and Ken lay naked, side by side, on the same bed that had been 
the setting for Cecelia’s debasement the two days preceding. Even after all she had been 
through in the past few days, the young blond felt strangely shy now that she was there with 
her husband. She blushed a deep pink as she realized he was examining her body with great 
interest.

“You’re absolutely beautiful, sweetheart,” he breathed when he had finished his inspection.
“This is the first time I’ve really had a chance to look at you. You know, I almost can’t blame 
those guys.”

Cecelia’s eyes were riveted to the rapidly hardening length of his cock. “Y-you’re beautiful 
too,” she whispered hesitantly. “Would … would it be all right if I … kissed it?”

Her heart sank as she saw the smile in his eyes fade away. She could see that he was 
battling down his natural suspiciousness, then suddenly he smiled again and she almost 
laughed aloud for joy when he answered: “You can kiss it any time you like, sweetheart. It’s all 
yours.”

Slowly, she reached out to tenderly touch his chest then ran her hand down his stomach 
until her fingers became entangled in the wiry patch of his pubic hair. Turning her hand palm 
upward, she began to softly caress the huge staff that rose like a totem from the auburn 
forest.

“I love you, darling, with all my heart,” she murmured as she bent over to plant myriad soft
kisses on the blunt shiny head of his blood-swollen instrument. Then, she slowly swirled her 
tongue over the mushroom-like tip, eliciting an ecstatic groan from her gasping husband. 
Encouraged, she repeated the maneuver, then stretched her lips over it, engulfing the entire 
glans in the warm, wet cavern of her mouth.

Her tight lips moved slowly down the shaft, her pointed pink tongue working persuasively 
as she lowered onto it, tasting the pungent tang of his viscous semen seeping from the tip.

“Ooooooh, sweetheart! That’s beautiful, beautiful!” Ken moaned as the warm, elastic 
pressure of her lips and the skillful ministrations of her tongue caused him to thrust his pelvis 
upward, stabbing his distended column deep in her mouth, forcing it toward her throat like a 
throbbing, aching piston of pleasure.

Her heart leapt as she heard the words rasped from the lust-contorted lips of her husband.
Holding his rampant prick in one tiny hand, she eased down on his loins, beginning to draw it 
steadily up and down through her open lips, twisting her tongue at the peak of each stroke.

As he raised his head to watch, the exciting vision of her lovely, flushed cheeks, bloating 
and hollowing with each thrust, drove him to even greater frenzy. She gasped and sucked 
harder as he began a rhythmic pounding into her mouth, brutally crashing the huge muscled 
cock against the tender tissue in the back of her throat. Her breasts quivered and billowed 
beneath her buffeted torso as he slammed his groin into her face, fucking her receptive 
mouth with his wildly straining rod of hardened flesh.

Then suddenly, his movements stopped and Cecelia could feel him gently tugging at her 
head, motioning for her to cease her sucking. She looked up and found, to her amazement, 
that there were tears in his eyes and his facial muscles were working desperately to force back 
the sob that was rising in his throat.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” she cried, jumping up to throw her arms comfortingly around his 
neck. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, baby, I’m afraid I was trying to hurt you,” he said unhappily. “Maybe, we’d just better 
forget it… . I’ll go and see a psychiatrist, or a lawyer, if you like.”

“Ken, darling, you haven’t done anything wrong,” she murmured soothingly. “And you 
didn’t hurt me a bit. But, anyway,” she added, smiling brightly, “let’s do something else so you 
won’t have to worry… . ” Wisely, she caught herself before she began to inform him that all 
men acted a little rough when they were about to cum in a woman’s mouth. Even, if he 
already knew she had done this before, it would not do either of them any good to remind 
him of it.

“Okay, baby,” he agreed hesitantly. “If you’re sure you’re not afraid of me… . “

“Well, maybe you’re right,” she said in mock pensiveness. “Maybe we’d better stop now 
before we get carried away… . ” Her expression stern, she reached down and wrapped her 
hand around his still-hard cock, slowly massaging it up and down. “Of course, we’ll have to 
figure out what to do with our friend here … ” she whispered, glancing up at Ken through her 
long silken lashes.

“I know just exactly what to do with ‘our friend’, ” he growled as an extra-hard squeeze of 
her hand made him gasp for breath. “Get on you back, wife!”

She was ready. Quickly, before he could change his mind, she twisted around, drawing her 
legs up, her feet flat on the bed and her knees pressed together. Then, with tantalizing 
slowness, she let her legs fall limply apart. She knew what he wanted now and, more than 
anything else in the world, she wanted to give him just that.

“Oh, God, Cecelia, I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” Ken breathed as he gazed 
down at the young firm body spread waiting before him. “Tell me that you want me.”

“Oh, Ken, I do,” she panted. “I want you now more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

They smiled lovingly at each other for a long, magic moment, then she saw his handsome, 
young body crawling over the bed and between her open and waiting legs. She curled them 
around his slim hips as he reached down and pressed the bluntness of his cock between the 
swollen pink edges of her moist and ready cunt. He drove forward with a grunt, impaling her 
on the thick shaft of flesh. Cecelia groaned in happy surrender and, tightening her arms 
around his neck, pressed her open wet lips against his, and with a deep moan, sucked his 
tongue deep into her mouth as she felt his huge driving cock hit bottom in her belly.

“Ooooooooh,” she wailed as she felt his bloated sacs of heavy cum smack against her 
buttocks and she stretched her hands down around his buttocks to touch his balls, tickling 
them gently with her fingertips.

Above her, Ken pushed himself up on his elbows and stared down into the face of his 
young wife. He had begun to feel the old resentment rising within him again, but when he 
looked at her and saw the sweet, childish face of Cecelia, he realized anew that this was not 
some wanton whore beneath him, but his wife-the woman he loved. Suddenly all the hatred 
and pain he had been nurturing for so many years began to seem a little silly and, for the first 
time, he realized that his mother was not all women, but only one who had nothing at all to 
do with the beautiful, loving creature who now lay beneath him, joyfully impaled on his long, 
throbbing cock. Experimentally, he flexed the hard shaft in the hot depths of her vagina and 
watched delightedly as her sweet face contorted in joyful passion. This was it, the woman he 
had been waiting for all his life. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by the gentle 
insistent nibbling of Cecelia’s cunt muscles on his swollen rod. Aaaaah, he thought happily, 
the lady is waiting… .

Cecelia felt him slowly withdraw his huge instrument, only far enough to make it rub 
maddeningly along the fiery walls of her vagina, then he plunged forward again. He started 
stroking in and out and her satin soft ass began pumping in matching tempo to his motions, 
her pelvis rotating with madness over his monstrous shaft. All that Cecelia could think about 
was that for the first time, she was being fucked by her beloved husband and she was truly 
enjoying it.

Oh, God, she thought, there had never been anything so wonderful, so free, so beautifully 
good! Not with any of the others. She was awakened! No guilt, no fear, no shame, at last! She 
had never thought such rapture could happen to mortal beings and now, after all the horror 
and perversion of the previous days, she was free to be a woman. Gone were all thoughts of 
pride or morals, of anything except the feeling … and a music older than the world.

Ken continued his demoniacally lunging, drubbing into her like a well-digger gone out of 
control, slamming his hardened cock even deeper into her cunt until her cervix seemed as 
though it must be moving up into her belly to accept him. She met him each time. Her vaginal
lips caressed it as it went in, sucking and massaging it as it stroked outward. Below him, 
Cecelia tossed her flaxen curls in abandoned ecstasy, spreading her thighs wider to take up 
into her open vagina even more of his exquisite masculinity and the thrilling sensation it 
brought.

Cecelia’s body had begun rocking from side to side in addition to her frenzied up and 
down movements. She was soaring rapidly to a new pinnacle of pleasure. Her breath whistled 
and rasped out of her throat in short, choking cries of mounting passion. Perspiration drizzled 
in glistening streams down her forehead and the sides of her face as she felt her orgasm 
churning deep in her belly.

“I’m … I’m going to … Oh, Christ, baby! I’m cummmmmmmming,” Ken shouted as he 
pumped madly into her seething pussy.

He babbled in mindless ecstasy and she gurgled in happy agreement, raising her tousled 
head to kiss his neck and bathe his ear, gasping jumbled words of encouragement as she felt 
the boiling sperm pumping into her. She worked with every vaginal muscle she had to milk his
thundering manhood of its precious load. She was almost there … so very close … and she 
wanted to feel their orgasmic juices mixing deep inside of her clenching womb.

“Oh, fill me, fill me, darling,” she whispered incoherently as the pace of his wild pistoning 
increased and he writhed over her heaving body, their wetness making lewd slurping noises as
he pile-drove into her thirsting vaginal passage.

“Oh … oh … ooooooooh … ” Ken stared down as the strange pagan chant began coming 
from his wife’s lust-contorted lips. Suddenly, she arched her back and, gripping his buttocks, 
began to grind upward like a woman possessed. He gazed down at her jiggling breasts as 
they heaved and twitched beneath his pummeling. He gritted his teeth and ground harder 
and deeper into her throbbing cavern, watching as her features became twisted with passion 
as her orgasm began its spiral up to the peak of her passionate fulfillment.

“Aaaaaaaaaaggggh!” she screamed as the very core of her being seemed to go up in 
flames. Her legs quivered on either side of his thick shoulders. The bliss was unbearable. Her 
body twisted and thrashed beneath him, convulsing crazily as her vagina squirted its warm 
white lava down the sides of his impaling shaft.

It seemed like they were cumming for hours and then Cecelia felt her husband’s maledom 
slowly deflating inside of her. It continued to twitch but more slowly … until finally it lay still. 
She gazed up at him with loving tenderness, her eyes moist and filled with satisfaction. Then, 
after about a minute, he pulled his limp penis out of her cum-flooded vaginal passage and 
toppled to the bed beside her.

Instinctively, she reached out and clasped his hand. “Oh, Ken, that was so good,” she 
enthused. “I’ve never thought it could be as wonderful as that. That… that’s the most exciting 
thing that ever happened to me!” In inexpressible gratitude, she lifted his hand and pressed it 
to her lips.

“Was … was it better than the other?” he questioned uncertainly.

“Yes, oh, God, yes. That was a nightmare. This … well, this … oh, I don’t know how to tell 
you!” She giggled in joyful satiation, then sobered slightly to whisper happily: “I love you, 
Ken.”

“And I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, stroking her stomach and loins. “And, believe 
me, I don’t hold any bad feelings about what happened to you with those men. I know it 
wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh, thank you, darling. I was so scared you’d hate me when I told you,” she said, smiling 
with relief. “I hated myself for what was going on, but I never knew how to stop it. Anyway, 
now I’m almost glad it happened. I guess it helped us realize what we really mean to each 
other.”

“Well, I don’t know-”

“Yes, Ken, it is true in a roundabout sort of way. If all those men, those prisoners and Harry 
Winston, hadn’t forced me to do all those things, we might never have started talking, and 
who knows how long we would have gone on like we were.” She stopped talking as she 
realized that Ken had lifted himself up to his elbow and was staring at her with a strange, 
angry intensity. “Ken, darling, what’s wrong?”

“Did I hear you correctly ? Did you mention the Warden?” he asked, his voice smoldering 
with fury.

Suddenly, Cecelia realized that Ken didn’t know, had no way of knowing what had 
happened to her this morning. “I’m sorry, darling, I somehow thought you knew,” she said 
slowly, testing each word before she uttered it. “Harry Winston came over this morning. 
Somehow, he either guessed or found out from Martha what was happening. He … he told me
he would have you fired and disgraced if … I didn’t do what he said … I tried to bluff him, but 
it was no use … ” The words were coming harder now and Cecelia’s lower lip was trembling 
with the remembrance of the humiliation of that morning.

“Well, dammit, what happened?” Ken snapped impatiently.

Cecelia cringed back from his harsh tone. She began to feel the fear of her husband rising 
again like a chronic ache. Ken saw her reaction and immediately softened, gathering her into 
his arms and cursing himself for being so harsh with her.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he crooned soothingly. “I didn’t mean to sound angry. I just hadn’t 
expected this too.”

“Do you think I did ? ” she said bitterly, and then was sorry as soon as she realized that she
had been snappy too. “Oh, forgive me, darling, it’s just that it was so horrible. He forced me … 
well, I guess the technical term is sodomy … “

Almost as soon as he heard it, Ken rose from the bed, his expression black with fury, 
fumbling around on the floor for his clothes.

“That son-of-a-bitch! That lousy bastard!” he raged as he pulled his trousers on. “Did he 
hurt you? I’ll kill the stinking little coward, sneaking around to take advantage of you while I’m
at work. There wasn’t much excuse for what the prisoners did, but him… . “

“Ken, wait,” Cecelia begged. “You’ll lose your job. They’ll put you in jail! Believe me, the 
pain wasn’t half as bad as the humiliation. Can’t we get back at him some other way?”

As her words slowly penetrated Ken’s anger, his expression became pensive, then exultant.

“Yes, love, we can,” he said slowly. “We certainly can. I’d just about made up my mind to 
get out of this prison anyway, so I don’t really care about the job … Yes, I think we can do 
quite a job on old Harry Winston and come out of it beautifully … “

“What do you mean, Ken?” Cecelia asked, puzzled by his exuberance after what she had 
just told him.

“Let me ask you two questions first,” he said gleefully. “Number one, do you think you 
could face Harry Winston again-for just a few minutes ? And, number two, how would you like
to go back and live in your hometown or somewhere nearby?”

“Well, I wouldn’t enjoy it, but, yes, I’m sure I could stand his presence for a little while,” she 
answered thoughtfully. “And, of course, I miss my home, but what … “

“One more thing, sweetheart,” he said, ignoring her implied question. “Would you be 
willing to tell the police what happened with the prisoners and Winston? You won’t have to, of
course,” he added hastily as an expression of alarm spread over Cecelia’s face. “But, as 
competent blackmailer’s, we should be able to back up our threats with action.”

At the word “blackmail,” a light went on in Cecelia’s brain and she laughed in sheer 
delight.

“Oh, Ken, what a marvelous idea!” she bubbled. “When shall we do it?” A shadow of fear 
flitted across her eyes as a disconcerting thought struck her. “You will come with me, won’t 
you. I … I just don’t want to have to face him alone again.’

“Baby,” he grinned. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”


CHAPTER 13

The next morning, Ken was kissed awake by a beaming, satisfied woman. He gazed at his 
wife, smiling back, then tossed back the covers and padded naked to the bathroom. Cecelia 
followed right behind and jumped into the shower with him to play teasing games as he 
washed himself. Doubly excited by the idea of again having a loving husband and the 
prospects of revenge against Harry Winston, she giggled and tickled him until he begged for 
mercy.

Her fingers were everywhere as the steamy water needled down on their nude bodies, 
flushing them pink with the heat and the tingling sensations they both were very aware of. 
Cecelia soaped and scrubbed his back and front and legs with gentle care, taking special time 
and interest in his genitalia. When it too was fully awakened, Cecelia slipped the stone-hard 
instrument into her hungry mouth and sucked and nibbled on it until they both were going 
out of their minds with excitement. Not even taking time to dry off, Ken finally dragged her 
out of the shower and threw her dripping form down on the rumpled bed where they found 
ample occupation for the next half hour.

Later, when they went down to breakfast, they talked and laughed with the bright interest 
of lovers, feeding each other huge forkfuls of scrambled eggs and chunks of buttered toast as 
happily as if it were the wedding cake they never had. After that, they returned upstairs and 
started to dress. Succumbing quickly to the delights recently discovered in each others bodies,
they postponed dressing for another hour.

It was a flushed and shaky couple that finally peered into the morning sunlight from the 
front porch of the house. Their spirits dampened only slightly by physical exhaustion, they slid 
into the car and drove the length of the prison wall to the gate and guardhouse leading 
within.

“Good morning, Captain Bailey,” the sentry greeted Ken. “Who’s that with you, sir?”

“It’s just my wife, Simmons,” Ken called back. “The warden’s going to show her around the 
administrative offices.” Cecelia smiled at the lie.

Once they were inside and driving up the long road to the main buildings, she began to 
feel her first twinges of nervousness about what they had planned to do. “Do … do I look all 
right, Ken ? ” she asked uncertainly.

Ken’s eyes played momentarily over her lush form encased in the clinging blue knit dress, 
then he grinned devilishly. “Well, we might have a rough time keeping Harry down long 
enough to talk to him,” he teased. “But, other than that, you look just dandy.”

“Oh, Ken, don’t say that,” she cried, then took a deep breath. “The very thought of that… 
that reptile touching me again make’s my stomach turn over.” Nervously, she leaned over to 
smooth the already-smooth nylons that encased her shapely legs.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Ken said, a grim undertone in his voice. “This time I’ll be there to 
protect you. I’d just like to see that slimy lowlife try something again. Just for the pleasure of 
tearing him apart with my bare hands.”

A moment later, Ken brought the car to a halt in a small parking lot beside a group of 
squat, white buildings. A sign planted in the grass in front of them carried the terse message 
“Prison Administration (Employees and Trustees Only)”.

As they walked along the sidewalk leading to the main door, Cecelia felt misgivings again 
begin to gnaw at her mind. “Darling, are you sure he can get you a job on the police force of 
my home town?” she questioned as she skipped a little to keep up with the long stride of her 
tall husband. “And, if he does, maybe we shouldn’t ask for the severance pay too. I’m afraid he
may get us into trouble if we ask for too much … “

Ken grinned down at her and bent over to cheerfully pat her on the rump. “Don’t you 
worry, little wife. He can and he will do everything we ask. He has strings to pull all over the 
state … and, if he doesn’t, he’ll find them. Besides,” he added, “that severance pay is in my 
contract, so we’re not doing anything illegal. We’re just being a little nasty about it, just like he
was.”

“Okay, boss,” she agreed, forcing herself to be calm and collected as they walked into the 
warden’s waiting room. To her relief, there was no one there but a man at a desk, busily 
typing.

“Tell the warden that Captain and Mrs. Bailey are here to see him.”

Ken’s voice rang through the office like a thunderbolt and the man at the desk jumped to 
his feet with a crisp “Yes, sir, Captain Bailey.”

The man disappeared through another door and momentarily returned, his face vaguely 
puzzled. “I’m sorry, sir, but the warden isn’t in today. He’s home ill with a cold.”

“Is that so?” Ken roared. “Well, you get back in there and tell him that he’d better 
recuperate pretty fast if he doesn’t want an investigation that will shake him right out of that 
big leather chair!”

“Well, sir-” the man faltered, obviously uncertain of what to do. Then suddenly, the door 
behind him opened wider and Harry Winston’s head emerged around it.

“Get back to your work, Smithson, you idiot,” the warden growled. “What do you mean by 
telling the Captain of the Guard that I’m not here? Are you crazy, man?”

“But, you said-”

“Get back to work, Smithson,” the warden screamed, his voice a little shaky beneath his 
angry tone. Turning to Ken and Cecelia, he snapped, “What do you want with me? I haven’t 
got all day to chat!”

“Don’t you, Harry?” Cecelia purred as she strolled into his office, followed by her 
stern-faced husband. “That wasn’t what you said yesterday, my dear … “


THE END
