The Hungry Young Widow
by Phillip Carpenter


Chapter One 

That damned piece of steel had been Gloria's last work, a statue she titled 
The Innocents and one that won her first place in the Los Angeles Art 
Critics' Awards. But Gloria Devlin won't be winning any awards now, not 
unless they're giving prizes for the biggest slut in San Francisco County. 
It's been almost two years since Gloria informed me rather matter-of-factly, 
over breakfast I think it was now, that she and Larry Everet were taking off 
for the city by the Golden Gate, "splitting for a place with better vibes", 
she called it. And those better vibes didn't include me, or our son, Noah, 
then just two weeks away from turning four and hopelessly incapable of 
understanding why mom preferred the company of a kid young enough to be her 
son to the real thing, but maybe one day I can explain even that to him. 

I sold that statue as soon as I could pull myself together; even with the 
constant boosting of a precocious wide-eyed toddler, it must have taken 
something like a couple of months. I say must have because that's a part of 
our sordid little estrangement that would have to come from someone else. 
Gloria's hasty exit with another man wasn't something I found easy to 
swallow, but the liquor I used to forget it was. Finally one October 
morning, I piled Noah and the statue in our pickup and headed for the Artist 
Co-op Galleries just north of Malibu. Gloria had built quite a name for 
herself as a sculptor by then, not just in Southern California but as far as 
New York, and it was a newly-transplanted New Yorker that finally picked up 
her last work. 

He'd been in school at the same time Gloria was, though as widely apart in 
their curriculums as their worlds must have been. He had been studying 
finance and economics at the downtown division of New York University, while 
Gloria was struggling away as a budding young artist in the school's fine 
arts curriculum. I gathered from the conversation we had right after he 
dropped off the check that he'd had a bit of a crush on my wife, though she 
wasn't Mrs. Wright Devlin then, just a kookie artsy type I dated from time 
to time. But anyway, back to this guy. He paid me well for that statue, more 
than I'd hoped to get and probably more than it was worth. But I was in no 
position to feign decency; Gloria's exit had left me empty in more ways than 
one. 

I'm a writer . . . and until that unseasonably hot autumn morning, a damn 
good one. I'd been used to knocking down twenty or thirty thou without 
really busting my ass; editors used to call me, and I enjoyed that rare 
pleasure of playing hard to get. But that was before . . . now I'm lucky to 
get an answer at all when I call any of those same fellows who used to bid 
for my typewriter time. And that Coldwater Canyon split level is now housing 
an insurance executive, I think, or maybe it's a mortician. I don't know, or 
care anymore. 

Noah and I are going to give it a go down south, down in a little sleepy 
Mexican town where nobody cares that most of my inspiration comes from a 
quart-sized bottle now. I understand that accursed statue, Gloria's own 
twisted portrayal of a young couple in the throes of hvemaking, still wore 
that mantle of bad luck that had rubbed off on me when it settled in with 
its new owner. And I suppose, in some ways, his unahppy fate had not been a 
lot worse than mine, though his was a heUrof a lot more permanent. I 
remember reading about it in the newspapers-big-shot Hollywood executive and 
company pilot lost over Sierras in freak snowstorm. 

Once or twice, I wondered about the statue, whether his widow would keep it 
or if it would go up for sale again, but the booze soon quenched any serious 
curiosity I might have had in that direction. Yet there was something 
strange about that statue, something that pushed it out ahead of any of her 
other works. I don't know exactly what it was, maybe she knew even then that 
she was on the dowhill slide. Maybe she'd somehow envisioned that eternal 
hell of heroin pain she had in store for her in San Francisco and determined 
to put everything she had into one last piece of art work. Like I said, I 
don't know, and probably I never will. 

It's for sure I'll never find out from Gloria. Nobody outside of a few of 
those junkie friends of hers can even communicate with her now. But that 
statue was something special, that much I know. And somehow, as crazy as it 
might seem, I've had the feeling for two years that I might be seeing it 
again... 

 Chapter Two 

Karen Bellser was alone in the empty Bel-Air ranch house. Mrs. Hansen, the 
one servant Karen had kept on after David's death, was off for the rest of 
the night; she'd driven her to the bus stop just before dark, to catch the 
eight fifteen express Greyhound to Bak-ersfield, where the elderly Swedish 
woman's daughter lived with her husband. Karen always hated Fridays, not 
that Mrs. Hansen was much company, just that the house always seemed even 
more empty when she was gone than during the rest of the week. 

She'd thought often enough of selling the place. It was far too much house 
for just herself, just as it had been overly large for her and David before 
he died in that plane crash. But it had been David's prize in life, the one 
big purchase he held off on until he felt he'd made it to the top. But it 
hadn't helped him much when he hit bottom-the bottom of San Xavier Canyon in 
the high Sierras. 

And now Karen was left alone, twenty six years old, uncommonly attractive, 
and still proud of the figure that David had spotted in the rushes for her 
first movie, when he was still head of California Film Services, leasing 
moviemaking equipment to all the major producers on the Coast. Actually that 
movie, The Naked Stranger, had been both her dramatic debut and her farewell 
performance, for David had insisted that she devote her time solely to being 
Mrs. David Bellser. And that was a task she had undertaken with relish; no 
woman could have wanted more in a husband than David. He was kind and 
gentle, and as powerful and bold as they come, a man who could start with a 
thousand dollar loan and some borrowed space over a garage on Sepulveda 
Boulevard and build it, in two short years, into the largest film equipment 
leasing company in the country. 

David's trucks and specially-designed buses had been on every continent, 
filming everything from medical documentaries to first-run Hollywood 
spectaculars. And David had created it all himself, designing the quipment, 
making the sales contacts, and pushing, pushing, pushing until there wasn't 
another company that could touch him. But unfortunately, David, like too 
many corporate generals before him, knew well how to lead, but lacked the 
foresight to surround himself with able lieutenants. California Film 
Services crashed that night in the Sierras with him, for his company, like 
his wife, was scarcely more than an empty shell without the potent 
life-force of David Bellser to call the shots. Creditors and tax men swooped 
in like hungry carrion-eaters, and when they'd finished their lurid feast, 
young, blonde Karen Bellser was left with a very expensive house, a fast 
car, and very little else. They never found enough of David to bury. 

There was the vague slam of a car door somewhere out on the street. In 
practically any other neighborhood in America, you wouldn't have noticed it. 
But in Bel-Air, where the homes occupied five and ten acres instead of 
postage stamp lots, noises were rare indeed, unless they came from one's own 
driveway, and Karen was expecting no one tonight; like most other nights, 
she planned to stay at home, lonely perhaps, but at least safe from the 
ravages of being a widow in a city full of wolves. There was liquor enough 
here, and none of the frightening rituals of supercharged southern 
California sex life to contend with. 

The quick slam had become a shuffling of feet on the concrete walk. Karen 
sat unable to move, her heart thumping hard against her rib cage. She hated 
herself for being frightened. Christ, she was in one of the richest 
neighborhoods in the United States, patrolled by a private police service as 
well as the local one. What on earth could she be afraid of? But she was 
indeed afraid. If David were here, he'd simply walk to the door, switch on 
the ground's lights and see who the intruder was. Only now it wasn't so 
easy. 

Summoning every ounce of courage she could muster, Karen rose from the 
living room sofa and walked to the entry foyer. Her mouth was so dry her 
tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and she was afraid she wouldn't be 
able to speak if she had to. Whoever this was prowling around her house at 
this hour, her only hope was to bluff them and scare them away. Or at least 
keep them outside until she could reach the police. She glanced at the 
phone, thought seriously of calling the Bel-Air emergency number without 
waiting to see who was there, but decided against it. After all, what if it 
was a friend. 

Karen nearly laughed aloud at that last thought, remembering the cozy dinner 
parties and cocktail hours she and David had hosted when he was alive..But 
all that was before the bankruptcy and auction sale the attorneys had agreed 
on as the only way to settle the company's debts; now, the parties were all 
held elsewhere, in someone else's shining new home. And Karen Bellser was 
left out; money was more than important in Hollywood society. 

Standing near the door, she took a deep breath. Her breasts rose high under 
the bright yellow nightgown with bikini panties she was wearing. Someone was 
definitely just outside, though they didn't appear to be trying the lock. 

Biting her bottom lip, Karen pulled back the curtain on the glass side panel 
at the right of the front door, at the same time nicking on the lights from 
the doorside switch. Her lungs suddenly emptied with relief as the slender 
male figure came into full view. It was Bobby Joslin, David's office boy 
when he was alive, and the son of one of their neighbors, the Harold H. 
Joslins. Karen threw open the door. 

"Bobby, what are you doing here so late!" she exclaimed. But her tone was 
not one of anger; anyone who still came to visit was welcome, even a 
nineteen year old boy. 

"Gee, I'm sorry, Mrs. Bellser," he fumbled, looking very nervous and rather 
sheepish, "Dad asked me to drop by and ask you if I could use your riding 
mower. Ours is in the shop and I have to cut the lawn tomorrow." 

Karen was puzzled, "Your father asked you to come over here at ten past 
midnight to see if my lawnmower was in use?" 

"Oh, no, not actually," he explained, "He told me this afternoon, only ... 
well, a bunch of us guys went to the beach, and..." 

"Oh, I see, laughed Karen. "You got a little sidestepped on the way over, 
huh? Well, come on in. I'll fix you a cup of coffee before you head back 
home. I'm afraid that red nose of yours is a dead giveaway." 

Young Bobby was visibly embarrassed that his secret was out so easily. 
"Gosh, I had no idea it showed. Can you really tell I've been drinking, Mrs. 
Bellser? My Dad would kill me if he knew." 

Karen showed the slender young man in and closed the door. "Bobby, if you'll 
pardon my humor at a time like this, it's as plain as the nose on your 
face." 

The custom-designed bar David had been so proud of was in an alcove off the 
living room facing the long expanse of carpet that angled ninety degrees in 
the opposite direction in the dining room. Karen turned on the electric 
burner next to the stainless steel sink beneath the counter of richly inlaid 
walnut. She filled a copper water pot and placed it on the heating coil, and 
emptied a couple of spoonfuls of instant coffee into two glass coffee cups. 

"Why don't you check in the utility shed and see if the mower is there, 
Bobby," Karen suggested. His nervous pacing and hand-twisting somehow 
annoyed her. "Mrs. Hansen takes care of those things, and she's off 
tonight." She thought for an instant she had caught a faint glimpse of 
something odd in the boy's eyes as he glanced up at her, but he was quickly 
gone again and she gave it no more attention. 

When he returned and acknowledged that yes, ma'am the mower was there, and 
no, ma'am, it hadn't cranked itself up and driven away. Karen thought first 
of scolding him for being impertinent but then shuddered at the prospect of 
being old enough to treat this young man like a son. Especially since there 
wasn't that many years difference in their ages, a span no one would notice 
if she were forty five, and Bobby were, say, thirty eight. She poured them 
both a cup of very black coffee, then diluted hers with a healthy slug of 
good cognac, a trick for insuring a good night's rest she'd learned from the 
family doctor. She'd never understood why the liquor didn't just offset the 
caffeine, but somehow it seemed to work for her. 

"How about a little of that for me, Mrs. Bellser? Or are you like my mother 
and think I'm too young to be drinking?" asked Bobby with a grin. 

Karen hesitated, then, "No, Bobby, I'm not like your mother. Here, let me 
see your cup." She took her coffee and headed for the tiny sofa at the end 
of the bar. Only when she was sitting down did she notice she had 
instinctively grabbed the cognac on her way. It was an increasingly strong 
habit she was building these days, and one she didn't like at all. Karen 
Bellser.had no intentions of winding up like those has-been movie starlets 
you see dotting the hills of Hollywood, bleached-out shipwrecks adrift in a 
sea of booze and pills. 

Bobby had finished his coffee and cognac and was helping himself to another 
shot, this time straight and in a brandy glass. She noticed he'd picked the 
right one from the five or six dozen glasses along the back bar without a 
second's hesitation. Hardly like the nervous teenager she'd pegged him for 
all along. 

And something about the way he looked at her now made her suddenly very 
uncomfortable. She stirred uneasily under her gown, grateful that at least 
it covered her down to the middle of her thighs and wasn't particularly 
transparent, though when she looked down once she was aware that her breasts 
could be seen in clear outline, right down to pert jutting tips of her 
nipples as they pressed into the double layer of sheer silken fabric. 

They talked for a while, awkwardly at first, then more easily for both of 
them. Perhaps it was the liquor that did it, but something in that short 
span of time helped to lower the barrier of seven years that stood between 
them. Karen found it easier to talk to young Bobby as she would to another 
person, to another man. And he was obviously not ill at ease in her company, 
though he did keep glancing from time to time at the long bare lengths of 
her legs. She'd been readying herself for bed when he came, and her legs 
glowed with the wetness of the baby oil she'd rubbed on them to ease the 
drying out from the hot California sun. 

"Uh, what beach did you say you and your friends went to today?" Karen asked 
routinely during their conversation. 

Bobby looked defensive suddenly. "I didn't say. How come you want to know?" 
he asked cautiously, his eyes squinted. 

"It was just a simple question," replied Karen. "I'm sorry if it's something 
personal. We'll skip it." 

Bobby's smile had returned. "Oh, it's not your fault. I'm sorry. It's just 
that I'm so used to my mother trying to pry it out of I me. She found out 
about the place once from j Elaine Rogger's mother. Elaine slipped up I and 
said something over the phone when her mother was listening in." 

"Listening in? What kind of mother would listen in on her daughter's 
telephone calls?" 

"Elaine's mother would," continued Bobby. "And so would mine. Anything to 
find out where skinny dip beach is." 

"Skinnydip beach!" exclaimed Karen. "You've got to be kidding. There's no 
beach around here with a name like that!" 

Bobby nodded. "I know that. It's just a name the kids use for it. Sort of a 
code name, you might say. It's really a private beach. Belongs to a really 
neat guy. Maybe he's a little kinky, but he lets us use it. We can all go 
nude and there's no cops or nosey neighbors around. It's totally isolated; 
the only way in is through his property, so nobody can complain." 

Karen realized her mouth was hanging open, so she closed it. After a moment, 
she was eager to hear more about this incredible place. Christ, these kids 
were a lot more sophisticated than she gave them credit for. Nude swimming 
and cognac! What other surprises did Bobby have to offer. "What about this 
man who owns the beachfront? You said he was a little kinky?" 

"Oh, yeah. He's got some kinda' weird hangups. Likes to have young chicks 
piss on him and things like that," he said matter-of-factly. 

"Bobby! You shouldn't be talking like that! You know that can't be true," 
Karen nearly shouted. 

"Oh, it's true enough all right. But with all the shit that goes on there in 
a good weekend nobody really notices the old guy's trip. Some of the girls 
just take turns keeping him happy. That's what nearly fouled us up. A few 
weeks ago it was Elaine's turn and she told one of her friends about it." 

"You mean that's what Elaine's mother heard on the phone?" Bobby nodded. "No 
wonder her mother was upset. And yours too!" 

"Aw, come off it, Mrs. Bellser," said Bobby. "You and your husband had some 
pretty wild parties over here not so long ago. I've heard Mom and Dad 
talking often enough." 

"Bobby, I forbid you to talk like that," Karen shouted, jumping to her feet 
in a gesture she quickly realized was to have lasting repercussions. "I 
won't allow things like that to be said about David." 

"Aw, all right, have it your way. Who cares about your old parties, anyway. 
We have more than our share of fun at the beach, anyway. More than any of 
you old-timers ever dreamed of," he said smugly, a little bolder now with 
the aid of Karen's cognac. 

Karen hated herself, but she was annoyed. Not so much at Bobby's coarse 
rudeness, but at the inclusion of herself in his sweeping categorization of 
"old-timers". Christ, she was only twenty six years old, still a kid to most 
of the people she knew. Who the hell was this smart-aleck to say something 
like that! 

She would have liked to have dropped the whole subject, to simply let 
Bobby's revelation of the teenager's wild beach scene fade from her memory. 
But she couldn't. . , she had stumbled onto something that fascinated her. 
There was something wickedly perverse and tempting about the subject her 
young neighbor had injected into their conversation ... something that 
seemed to tap a hidden well of salacious curiosity she'd not drunk from in 
quite some time; For a brief moment, she was reminded of those first days 
with David, or more truthfully, those first nights. "Uh, how many kids go to 
this ... this skinny-dip beach?" she asked, leaning forward intently. 

Bobby looked away, uncomfortable now, "Oh, I can't really say." 

Karen uncrossed her legs, noticing the quick darting glance of the young 
slender boy's eyes as a fleeting peek between her smooth glistening thighs 
was his for the taking. "Yes, you do know, Bobby, now tell me, I'd like to 
know." 

Bobby eyed her with the hungry appreciative gaze of a grown man; her breasts 
were high and firm, pressed seductively against the sheerness of her 
nightgown. And he could see her legs and the soft inner flesh of her thighs, 
a smooth unbroken expanse of warm womanly softness that tunneled his stare 
into the tight white band of her bikini panties. "Oh, wow, are you asking 
for trouble, lady?" he murmured, almost under his breath. 

"What are you talking about, Bobby?" demanded Karen, her thighs tightly shut 
now, but reflexively, not by design. "I think you'd better go now." She 
stood up and motioned toward the doorway, but Bobby only grinned. 

"Come on now, Mrs. Bellser," he laughed, "You wouldn't be so curious about 
skinny-dip beach if you didn't have something on your mind, now would you?" 

"Get out! Get out of here, Bobby, and never come back!" she screamed, her 
face contorted with anger. But even young Bobby noticed that a certain feel 
of seriousness was missing from her demand. 

"No, not 'till I tell you about the beach parties. You're so damned 
interested, it's only fair you hear the whole story." 

Bobby paused, waited for her to shout her hysterical command again, but 
there was nothing. Something had silenced her cries, some inner emotion 
greater than her anger had seized control. It was true, she did want to 
hear! She wanted to hear all of it, everything! 

He moved from his chair, moved closer to her, his drink still in his hand. 
"We fuck, Mrs. Bellser, we fuck all week-end long. That's it in a nutshell. 
Four, five, six girls, and as many guys as the chicks will go for. Sometimes 
one of the girls will take on a dozen or more in a gang fuck, then..." 

"No, I won't hear it! I don't want to hear any of this filth!" 

"But of course you do, Mrs. Bellser. It's getting you all turned on, isn't 
it? Just thinking about that lucky girl getting it from a dozen different 
boys in one night, sometimes two or three of 'em at once. You like that, 
don't you? Well, don't you?" 

The thought was electrifying, she shuddered all over at just the tiniest 
mind's image of what Bobby described for her. God, what could be happening 
to her? What was it about this boy's story that could do this to her? "No, 
Bobby, you're wrong, I don't want to hear it," she said rather 
unconvincingly. Bobby was standing beside her, close against her right 
shoulder as she still sat below him. Suddenly now he was pressed hard 
against her bare upper arm; she could feel his youthful hardness throbbing 
beneath the fabric of his jeans. She wanted to slap him, to push him away, 
to banish him from this house that her beloved husband, David, had once 
lived in ... but she couldn't. His young rock-hard cock seemed to hold her 
as it if possessed some mysterious power all its own. She could feel little 
shivers of wicked wanton excitement radiating throughout her body from the 
point of its electric contact with her naked flesh. 

"Sure you do, ma'am," he grinned arrogantly now, grinding the bulge of his 
youthful loins harder against her skin. Karen shivered all over. It hadn't 
been like this for years, not since the very first months with David, and 
even then, not so blatantly, glaringly sensuous as this moment. Bobby was 
young and slim and hard ... his whole body seemed to be supercharged with 
the vibrant, sensuous virility of youth. "P-Please, don't..." Her voice was 
suddenly weak and cracked, her lips trembling as she spoke. 

"You'd like one of our little parties, Mrs. Bellser. You could do a little 
striptease for the guys, maybe. Sort of parade around the beach there in the 
light of the fire and strip for us. I'll bet you could do a real cocktease, 
lady. You'd have everybody cumming in their pants before you'd finished. How 
about it, you'd like that, huh?" 

Karen suddenly felt very giddy, nearly faint from the impact of this young 
boy's words. Yes! He was right! God, it was insane, but he was right! It was 
filthy and evil, everything she'd said it was . . . but it was exciting! 

"I think I've had too much to drink,'' she said weakly, her voice shaking as 
she spoke. Her head suddenly reeled, the room spinning around her, and she 
felt a pair of strong, young arms help her to the carpet below her chair. 
She sprawled limply at his feet, her nightgown riding up along her gleaming 
thighs nearly to the flimsy band of white nylon concealing her now moistiy 
throbbing pussy. She looked up at him; from down here he was like a young 
giant, towering high above her as she lay helpless at his feet. 

She looked up, mute . . . Bobby had unbuttoned his jeans. He slowly lowered 
his zipper, stopping halfway as he grinned lewdly down at her 
near-nakedness. She wondered if it was all some big, insane joke, but he 
continued. In a moment's time, he had stripped his jeans from his young 
athletic legs; something struck her as odd. At first she couldn't pinpoint 
it, but then . . . of course, his legs are strong and sinewy, but as smooth 
and hairless as a young girl's! He rolled down the waistband of his crisp 
white athletic undershorts. Karen immediately hated herself for not catching 
it, but a quick gasp escaped her lips as she caught her first glance of his 
naked manhood. His young, hard cock was incredibly long and straight like a 
lance. A. tiny clump of coarse hair surrounded its base, otherwise his 
pelvis was flat and smooth, unbroken by a single wrinkle or ounce of flabby 
flesh. 

"I pegged you right a long time ago, lady," Bobby confessed, "But I always 
figured it would be too risky. But now it doesn't matter any more. That 
pretty little pussy of yours is mine, Mrs. Bellser!" 

Karen tried to rise on her elbows, but suddenly her neighbor's son was on 
top of her with all his weight. She collapsed back against the thick pile 
carpeting, teetering on the brink of immediate and unconditional surrender. 
She could barely contain her wanton excitement as his young eager hands 
fumbled with her nightgown, pushed it up over her breasts so that now the 
soft melon-shaped mounds were naked and vulnerable. Her nipples erupted into 
aching hardness at the first sensation of cool air across her shivering 
flesh; the tiny pinkish buds quivering under his clumsy, but unmistakably 
eager touch. His lips lowered to one proudly jutting mound, then locked onto 
the crinkly circle of her nipple. A jolt of electricity raced along her 
arched spine as his tongue lashed out at the passion-hardened, pulsing tip 
of her nipple. "No, no ... this isn't right, please .,. you mustn't!" 

Bobby raised her head between both his opened palms and kissed her firmly on 
the mouth, his own lips wide and his tongue probing hard against her sealed 
teeth. She held him back as long as she could, yielding only when, finally 
he squeezed the delicate bud of her nipple between two of his fingers, 
causing a deep moan of helpless surrender that gave, his tongue access to 
the moist depths of her mouth and throat. This was no kiss of tenderness and 
love, this was an open, undeniable invitation to lust, pure and simple! She 
felt her lips parting, her mouth opened, and Bobby's tongue like a serpent's 
lashing around hungrily, searchingly. And like some wanton savage, she found 
herself responding with an incredible surge of passion she had long 
forgotten, her tongue burrowing into his fresh young mouth. 

Finally, allowing her to catch her breath, Bobby ceased his frantic, 
passionate kisses as his fingers teased in under the elastic leg-band of her 
sheet white panties. His lips were at her ear, "If you were down at the 
beach stripping for all the guys, these are the panties you should wear, 
nice and low-cut. And so sexy!" His fingers rolled her panties down over the 
swell of her hips, exposing the first gentle fluff of her soft pubic mound. 
His fingertips paused to play in the curly hair, much like a child toying 
with a new discovery. "You could prance around with your big tits bouncing 
and drive the boys insane. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd like to 
dance around, rolling your panties down while they watched, pulling your 
prick-tease act and showing them your naked pussy, wouldn't you?" 

Bobby cupped his hand over the soft pink folds of her vaginal lips, feeling 
it all warm and furry beneath his touch. Karen responded with a gushing sigh 
as her body shivered convulsively and then relaxed, her womanly secrets now 
open to this young handsome intruder. 

"We could all watch you there in the firelight, your tits sticking out real 
nice like. We could watch your nipples get all hard and shivery and the 
goose-bumps break out on your naked skin from the wind off the surf. How 
about that, Mrs. Bellser?" He could see the effect his lascivious 
description of the lewd acts was having on her; her eyes were two thin smoky 
slits, her lips, dry now and parched, hung half open as a long, low moan 
escaped her throat in answer to his soft, rhythmic fondling of her naked 
pubic mound. Her blonde hair spilled seductively onto the carpet in a sort 
of fan-like swirl around her head. Bobby nearly laughed as he noticed the 
halo-effect the golden mane produced around her twitching head. 

"Please, Bobby, we mustn't do this . . ." Her eyes were closed and her words 
bore the deeply-moving sincerity of a telephone company recorded message. 
Her hands were at her sides, relaxed and motionless, save for an occasional 
twitch as the young man's ringers stroked the soft, flaxen-blonde curls of 
her pussy-hair under the leg band of her panties, her body involuntarily 
beginning to move steadily in rhythm to his gentle caress. 

"You'd like one of our parties, wouldn't you Mrs. Bellser?" Bobby implored 
through gritted teeth. "You wish you were the girl last week-end who got it 
from all the guys, don't you? You'd like a dozen different cocks cumming in 
your pussy and everywhere else in one night, huh?" Karen only moaned 
painfully at his words. "Answer me!" 

It suddenly came out in an uncorked rush, the anguish of countless nights 
alone in the cold expanse of king-size bed that had once been her marital 
bed and was now a king-size nightmare for her to face night after night. 
Suddenly her body was aflame with the rekindled passion that had lain 
dormant so long, a smoldering ash of barely-burning desire, but ready at a 
moment's notice to burst into a hellish inferno of unrequited passion and 
need. "Oh, yes! Yes, Bobby, I'd like it more than you can imagine. I'd love 
all those hard young cocks inside me! Yes, yes!" 

Above her, Bobby smirked victoriously pulling his hand away from the warm 
moist furrow of her pussy and dropping his full weight onto her, his hot 
aching cock ground against the smooth plane of her whitely quivering belly 
like a Kafkaesque dream, the image of Bobby's boyish young face swirled 
before her, innocent yet accusing; a child, and still, her master. Her mouth 
opened, her words came from the depths of her subconscious mind, "You can do 
anything to me you like," she groaned, her whole body writhing now as the 
ripples of radiant ecstasy swept over her from the rhythmic magical caresses 
he was bestowing on her long-dormant womanhood. 

Bobby seized her shoulders and kissed her lips frantically; Karen's response 
was immediate and unrestrained. "Oh, it's so nice, Bobby, so nice," she 
murmured in a husky whisper. 

"Say you want it, Mrs. Bellser... say you want me to fuck you. Say it!" 

"Yes, yes, I do, Bobby. Please fuck me long and hard and deep!" Her last 
pretense at morality and decency had been lost now; she was a squirming, 
writhing mass of passion and lust, a woman in desperate need. Her 
magnificently formed body lay nearly nude and helpless beneath the 
nineteen-year-old; every fiber of her very being ached for his virility, his 
surging youthful hardness to fill her, quench the agonizing holocaust of 
unanswered passion flaming hotly around in her naked belly. She spread her 
legs and tilted the jucture of her naked thighs at him, "Fuck me all you 
want, Bobby! Please!" 

The young neighbor boy lifted her and tore off her nighgown, yanking it over 
her shoulders as she lifted her arms in assistance. Her breasts were totally 
free and unrestrained now, large firm hillocks that danced with a spirit of 
their own beneath his eager stare. She lay back, shivering as if chilled by 
an artic blast as his tongue snaked over the newly exposed curves and 
valleys of her breasts. His whole mouth closed over the circle of her nipple 
and sucked voraciously; Karen was alive with the spasms of her lust for this 
virile teenage neighbor boy who'd come so rapidly into her life. Then his 
teeth nibbled and pinched each full rounded globe, her nipples quivering and 
broadcasting ripples of pleasure throughout her body along the messageway of 
her naked spine. Below the soft sparse curls of her pubic strands, her 
pussy-lips puckered out sensously as her cunt passage contracted and 
flowered open of its own accord in answer to Bobby's phrenetic fondling of 
her body from head to toe, moistening even more the tautly-stretched crotch 
band of her already half-soaked panties. 

Bobby pulled away from her; for a second, she only stared dumbly, her eyes 
half focused and glazed with passion. "I want you to suck it first," he 
said, then stood up and roughly took her head in his hands, his fingers 
knotted in her luxuriant blonde locks. "Tell me how you'd like to suck it. 
Say how much you'd like it." 

Without hesitation, fingers trembling, Karen reached forward and took the 
erect young cock in her hands, gasping softly as she felt its throbbing 
young hardness. Just the sight of it was like a new experience for her; it 
was as if David's death had ended her sex life, and now... now it was being 
reborn again. And with an intensity she had never felt before. This young 
virile cock she now fondled like a precious stone was beautiful, a gleaming, 
alabaster monument to this young man's untapped virility, hard and young 
like him. "Say it, Goddamnit!" he repeated. 

"Yes, I want to," she cooed, "I want to suck it, Bobby. I want your 
beautiful prick in my mouth... fucking it all the way to the back of my 
throat." She felt herself quiver from the wickedness of the words she was 
using. But the unmistakable truth that she meant every syllable of it was 
more thrilling still. 

Gently, she pulled the distended, blood-filled cock toward her mouth, on her 
knees now, as Bobby needlessly pushed her lips forward. His cock loomed 
magnificently before her passion-blurred eyes and she relished the taste of 
his youthful hardness between her moistly clinging lips. She was strangely 
proud of the single gleaming drop of fresh young semen that oozed excitedly 
from the tiny eye in the mushroom end of his young cock, proud that it was 
the sight of her nakedness that had caused it to be there. Slowly, lovingly, 
she caressed the throbbing roundness of it, her eyes sriining as it swelled 
even larger and harder between the soft caressing strokes of her small 
hands. It soared out from his smooth hard belly like a young sapling, longer 
than any cock she'd seen before, thin and arrow-straight. It was so huge it 
seemed threatening in her gentle grip; it was an experience she could not 
remember feeling before, this deliciousness of total subjugation and 
helplessness at the hands of a man. And this was undeniably a man that stood 
before her, her fingertips told her that if nothing else did. 

Slowly, cautiously at first, the tip of her tongue swished the dew-drop from 
the end of his cock, then tasted it appraisingly. The virile young sweetness 
was delicious to her! God, she wanted him to cum in her mouth and she'd do 
anything to make it happen! 

Eagerly, stifling the moan that rolled from her throat, she ovaled her 
glistening, lipstick-rimmed lips and let his hard youthful cock slide wetly 
in, filling her mouth, slithering further and fruther in, almost touching 
her tonsils, until she was certain she'd choke. Then, teasingly, withdrawing 
it to the very tip of the smoothly throbbing young head. 

It was wickedly delicious. Her body quivering with excitement, Karen wished 
for a dozen boys like this one, hard and smooth and young. Bobby began 
rhythmically pumping in and out of her widely ovaled lips now as Karen 
sucked and swirled the long fleshy cock around in her saliva-wet mouth, her 
tongue coursing over the length of the hard shaft. Bobby fucked her mouth 
faster still, "Suck it real hard, Mrs. Bellser, baby!" 

Karen obeyed, far beyond all reason and sensibility, sucking as hard as she 
could, determined to somehow milk all the virile teenage energy from his 
young naked body, to drain his young liquid manhood into her hungrily 
clasping lips. 

With a sudden cry, Bobby pulled himself free of her wet sucking grip and 
pushed her back onto the floor, gasping, "Gret your legs open ma'am. Time 
for a little sixty-riining!" 

Obediently, Karen followed his excited command, lying fully spread-eagle, 
naked on the carpet as Bobby tore her panties down the remainder of her 
smoothly tapered legs, nearly yanking them to shreds as he hurriedly 
finished the enviable task of stripping the twenty-six year old blonde widow 
completely naked. Karen had never felt more totally naked or deliciously 
wicked and wanton. She watched intently as young Bobby knelt on all fours 
over her, his head over her thighs, his gorgeously virile cock and 
ripely-swollen balls dangling temptingly over her face. Eagerly she took it 
and stroked it in her fingers, her tongue straining out for it but falling 
short. Bobby lowered his naked slender form onto hers and Karen seized his 
long cock eagerly as it came close to her pursed lips. She let it slide 
deeply down her throat, her lips tight around it as it slithered into her 
mouth, her hands reaching up and cupping the firm athletic cheeks of his 
youthful buttocks, struggling to pull his loins down hard against her face. 
She yearned for the pungent dampness of his pelvis against her face, the 
brushy tickle of his boyish pubic hair on her lips. 

His tongue had found the pink fleshy lips of her moistly waiting pussy and 
was probing teasingly at the soft wet walls of the hungrily quivering 
passage. She pulled her knees back as far as she could and opened her legs 
to the fullest, laying the full naked expanse of her softly hair-fringed 
vagina open to him like a pagan love feast. Bobby's insistently probing 
tongue found the throbbing, nerve-filled bud of her clitoris and began 
licking at it hungrily. A fresh lightning bolt of wanton ecstasy raced 
through her naked torso with every electrifying touch of his tongue on the 
super-sensitive little bud. 

Like the prestidigitations of a stage magician, this young man had somehow 
swept away every trace of the old Karen Bellser with his touch on her 
shivering flesh. Gone was the young girl who was before, and in her place, a 
passion-wracked, maddened savage, a wild-woman aflame with an animal lust of 
such magnitude that it threatened at any second to consume her bodily in its 
orgasmic inferno. 

Uttering a muffled cry, she felt the hurried, unexpected onrush of a coming 
orgasm and she sucked harder and more hungrily, her buttocks twisting up and 
rotating madly around the focus of Bobby's ravenously sucking lips and 
probing tongue. A brilliant kaleidoscope of colors exploded in her brain as 
she suddenly came, bucking upward viciously and spasmodically, her body held 
rigid, her whitely contracting buttocks arched high-up off the carpet in 
wildly trembling spasms as she came again and again with the young teenage 
neighbor boy still sucking frantically at the wetly soaking lips of her 
greedily pulsating cunt. 

With a gasping cry, she fell back limp, Bobby's cock slipping wetly from her 
lips while her head tossed from side to side, her eyes rolling strangely 
around in their sockets. She nearly lost consciousness, weakened beyond 
endurance from the delicious ravages of her orgasm. Bobby was moving around 
over her, but she was only half aware. He was breathing hard, gasping in the 
air in huge lungfulls, his lips back on hers again as she tasted the pungent 
juices of her own ecstasy. Her legs were still doubled back and in an 
instant, she felt the sudden push of something hard and persistent against 
the sensitive hair-lined furrow of her still throbbing pussy. And in 
scarcely an instant more, a resurgent wave of awareness and decency broke 
over her. Her mind was clearer now, able once again to think rationally and 
sensibly, and she knew this wasn't right. 

"No, Bobby, stop! Oh God, I can't! I won't let this happen! I . . . 
Aaaaaggggghhhhhh!" Her protesting cries were cut short by an agonizing 
scream that shook the glass in the windows as the young man thrust with all 
his strength into her nakedly upturned cuntal slit, his cock sliding 
relentlessly into her tightly lubricated passage, wet with he own orgasmic 
juices and his saliva from moments before. The long unused walls of her 
vagina gave way in rippling waves of passionate surrender before the 
headlong dive of his long hard cock far down into the depths of her belly. 
Karen winced under the sudden intense pain, but her will to fight this 
lascivious ravishment of her loins was gone, driven away with the first 
deliciously skewering thrust of this youthfully hard prick deep up inside 
her totally defenseless belly. She felt stretched and filled beyond belief, 
and a salaciously lewd thrill ran through her that left a trail of 
involuntary quivers in its wake. 

She kicked out in the air and locked her arms and legs around his tense 
young body and pulled him close. The thrill of pleasing this young boy with 
her cunt, of bringing him ultimate fulfillment, was overpowering; It was 
like discovering a new talent, a long-hidden ability one never knew existed. 
She felt pleasurably like a slut, some two-dollar whore off the streets, and 
now she wanted nothing more than to fuck like one, to give this half-man, 
half-boy a thrill he'd never forget. She wanted to show him she was better 
than all those young, inexperienced girls at his beach parties! She wanted 
to show him a real woman! 

Bobby began fucking her hard, his cock slipping with a wet sluicing noise in 
and out of her tightly stretched cunt as Karen held it locked firmly in the 
grip of her soft, hair-lined pussy lips as hard as she could. Nothing 
mattered but this, nothing counting for anything except being fucked by this 
boy as she'd never been fucked before! 

Somehow, by totally abandoning everything she knew was right and decent, 
Karen found a new freedom even greater than that she had known before. She 
had, with this simple lustful act, filled a long-empty void in her life that 
she had accepted as being permanently empty. She found herself growing 
aroused again, growing more intensely desirous of lewdness and obscenity by 
the second, by each long punishing stroke of his de-liciously-hard cock deep 
into the moistly willing channel of her vagina. She could feel another hot 
blinding orgasm coming on and suddenly it exploded with double the fury of 
the first one and she could hold back her muffled scream no longer, "Yes ... 
YES! ... AAAAAGGGGHHHHhhhhh..." 

Over her, his face contorted from the strain of the maddened pace, the young 
neighbor boy fucked harder and harder into her ravenously starved cunt, 
propelling their sweat-soaked bodies across the carpet with the blunted 
force of his furious thrusts. Christ, this was nothing like the girls he 
knew, this was no teeny-bopper naked under him. This was an honest-to-God 
woman, a woman who'd probably been fucked by lots of grown men in her life, 
and now she was writhing with ecstasy from his fucking! Damn, he'd give her 
the ride of her life! 

Their breath came in pantings gasps now, their mouths open and Karen's 
sweat-soaked hair matted in thin, fine wisps across her face and eyes as 
they ground tightly together as one, sliding wetly against each other in a 
lewdness that only heightened their excitement. Karen could feel the young 
man's hard muscular chest smashed against hers, flattening her naked breasts 
under his strength. Her nipples were quivering uncontrollably, rubbing 
sensuously against his hardness as they wildly writhed against each other. 

More unconscious than not, Karen felt herself cumming again, all the while 
thinking, Oh God, he's going to fuck me to death! Hell never stop! 

She started to moan, and then couldn't stop herself as the agonizing cries 
gushed forth from her throat like the wild, wet surge of the orgasmic juices 
from her ravaged cunt. And Bobby too, frantically pistoning into her with 
long, deeply impaling thrusts, began to gasp and felt his cock swelling, 
straining as if to burst the hotly clinging walls of her vagina. Suddenly 
they both gasped aloud, mindless half-words and grunts. Their mouths locked 
tightly together as Karen felt a fourth and final bone-shuddering orgasm 
snap through her body like the cracking of a bullwhip. She was suspended in 
space, blasted with a heat more intense than she had ever known before as 
every nerve ending in her body exploded like a miniature grenade. 

Bobby's throbbing young cock blasted a scalding hot flood of viscous sperm 
greater than she'd ever felt before, pumping in incredible quantities a 
seething stream of his youthful, potent sperm in her cock-ravaged cunt again 
and again until finally she could stand no more. Mercifully, she blacked 
out, her body at last dropping to the carpet from its painfully arched 
position as young Bobby Joslin's emptying penis jerked out the last of its 
thick white sperm in the deepest depths of her limply spread body. 

When Karen once again dared to open her eyes, her youthful lover was gone. 
It was ak most dawn outside; she'd slept the night through as the neighbor 
boy had left her, naked and contorted on the thick pile carpet. The shades 
were still drawn from the night, blotting out the bright California morning, 
except for one skylight in the living room, the one that was directly over 
the statue David had been so fond of. It was primitively erotic, much like 
the Hindu temple carvings from India, but-bore the title The Innocents. 
David never talked much about it, but from the attention he lavished on it 
and the secretive way he went about buying it, Karen knew it was more to him 
than just a piece of art. He had mentioned the sculptress, Gloria Devlin, 
and she'd long guessed there might have been something between her husband 
and that woman, though it surely didn't matter at all now. 

The morning light splashed in a fountain of gold through the roof glass and 
bathed the steel statue in a cascade of gleaming reflections. It seemed 
eerie, somehow ... that light coming down from the sky when nothing else was 
illuminated. Karen struggled to her feet, a stinging wash of tears blurring 
her vision as she winced from the pain in her ravaged vagina. Oh, David how 
could I... how could I have done that? I'm so sorry, darling, so sorry! 

 Chapter Three 

Karen would have never accepted Art Albertson's invitation to any kind of 
party, much less one where she suspected she would be one of only a handful 
of guests. Al-bertson had been one of David's biggest clients, as well as 
his first, and it had fallen to her to entertain the great Mr. Hollywood 
Producer whenever he chose to drop in inopportunely, and always unannounced. 
He had never made a secret of his lust for David Bellser's young blonde 
wife, even going so far as to make an outright pass at her once while David 
was just in the kitchen getting ice. Yes, Art Albertson was one name she 
simply crossed out of her mind when she'd recovered from David's death; if 
there was anything good to come out of the shattering disaster of the loss 
of her husband, it was the knowledge that she would never lay eyes on that 
fat, leering woman-chaser again. 

And yet, now, just ten minutes ago, she'd agreed when his secretary 
Christina called to be present at his Malibu house for a get-together. Even 
now she could hardly believe she had said yes. 

It certainly wasn't Art's winning ways that changed her mind for her; there 
wasn't a coarser lecher in Hollywood. And the particularly unpleasant 
memories of one afternoon in Albertson's Wilshire Boulevard offices were 
certainly less than endearing. That was before she met David, when she was 
just another would-be film actress, freshly arrived in the Movie Capitol, 
armed with barrels of optimism derived from a successful year in stock 
theatre productions and a couple of words of encouragement from friends who 
were confident that Karen would be the hottest thing to hit the Coast since 
Lana Turner was yanked off that drugstore stool in Schwabs. Art wasn't a man 
to beat around the bush; he'd more than hinted that afternoon that there was 
one sure way to get recognition with Albertson Films. 

And that was a route she would rather have died than follow. 

But it was young, nineteen year old Bobby Joslin who changed all that. In a 
sense, anyway. That night last week was going to be a very, very important 
turning-point in Karen Bellser's life, that much she was sure of now. She'd 
not understood at first, of course, and the days immediately after her 
horrible nightmare with her young neighbor, Bobby, had been mostly hours of 
nearly-hysterical crying laced with fits of depression and bouts with the 
bottle, most of which she lost. 

Karen had wondered then, as now, if she had lost her mind completely. She 
remembered hearing about aging movie-queens and their retinues of young 
lovers . . . God, that couldn't be happening to her! How could she be an 
aging anything at twenty-six! But, yet she couldn't escape the agonizing 
truth of that fateful night with her young neighbor. Something had happened 
. . . some hidden switch had been thrown deep in her psyche. And that 
nineteen-year-old kid had managed to do something to her no other man had 
managed. 

Maybe she'd have gotten over it, maybe with only a couple of days to herself 
she would have just catalogued it away as one of those things that just 
happens. One of those mistakes we all make once in our life and is best just 
forgotten. 

Only Karen wasn't fated to be that lucky. Saturday afternoon, not quite 
twenty-four hours after nineteen-year-old Bobby Joslin left the Bellser 
house, Karen pulled into a hamburger place off Sunset, not far from the 
coast. It was just a spontaneous act, a happening born out of nothing more 
complicated than a sudden craving for a double-hamburger. But Karen would 
have been far better off to have gone hungry, for when she pulled her Mach 1 
Mustang into one of the few available places and pressed the intercom buzzer 
to order, the sound of girls giggling and young boys laughing caught her 
ear. In a drive-in full of teenagers, noise like that was far from uncommon, 
but there must have been something, some word or sound, that caused her to 
notice. And when she turned to see, she found herself parked right next to a 
blue convertible. Loaded with Bobby and a gang of his friends! Probably the 
same ones who spent those wild sex-fifled nights at their private beach. It 
didn't take much figuring to tell the object of their amusement ... it was 
her! She could still hear their awful shrieks and howls of derision as she 
raced away, leaving behind her a trail of burned off rubber from her tires. 

And it was with that horrible incident in mind that Karen received the phone 
call from Christina Halborg, one of David's steno pool before the company 
collapsed, and now Art Albertson's private secretary. And from what people 
said, she was his very private secretary. Christina seemed almost reluctant 
to deliver her boss's message; it was easy to feel the animosity Christina 
bore for any woman Albertson deemed important enough to extend a personal 
invitation to, especially when, as Karen learned in their ensuing 
conversation Christina was going to be on vacation, and away visiting her 
sister in San Francisco. Even over the phone, Karen could easily sense that 
she was hoping for the usual refusal, for this wasn't the first time Art had 
phoned his greetings and struck out. 

But this time, it was different. Maybe it was the stinging memory of those 
teenagers laughing at her ... perhaps the unconscious desire to prove to 
someone, even if only herself, that she was still normal. Still capable of 
attending a dinner party with a group of peers, still the same Karen Bellser 
who used to so ably make this poolside cocktail circuit without losing a 
breath. In any case, the answer had been yes, and just the satisfaction of 
that long astonished pause on the opposite end of the line was reward 
enough. She'd thought immediately afterward of changing her mind, or maybe 
just not showing up. But no, something had to change. Karen was determined 
to get out of that Bel-Air house, to get out of it before it destroyed her. 
She'd tried one avenue already, and the pressures of loneliness had driven 
her to an unspeakable act she would probably find impossible to forget. No, 
it was time to get into the swing again ... or God knows who she would let 
take Bobby Joslin's place between her nakedly spread legs. 

 Chapter Four 

Art Albertson's place was like the Hollywood stereotype of a producer's 
home, especially a rich bachelor producer. From the outside, you could get 
the distinct feeling that any second now, a director would shout "strike the 
set", and an army of stagehands would come from behind the trees and take 
the false fronts down and load them into a fleet of flatbed trucks. Art 
always called it his Malibu place so named to distinguish it from his 
Beverly Hills place, though the Hills mansion was only rented, and that 
through the company, as a slightly-illegal tax dodge. Art belonged to an age 
that thought Malibu places and Fleetwood limousines with push-button 
telephones were marks of a man's worth; some of the newer, and more talented 
filmmakers about Los Angeles would have laughed themselves silly from just 
one look at this place. 

Wyoming Skies, it was named, and so read the brass plaque that adorned the 
entrance gates off the beach highway, though this place was about as far 
from Wyoming as one could travel without getting wet. Actually it was named 
for Art's first film, one that barely broke even, but established him in the 
Film City as a top commerical film producer, one nearly devoid of talent or 
appreciation of the film as art, but a man who could be counted on to bring 
a film in on time and produce a money-making product. 

To Art Albertson, making films was like making neckties, which, 
coincidentally, was what he did before moving west to seek his fame and 
fortune. As Karen drove her Mustang through the opened gates, she remembered 
a remark David had once made, that the sign should better read Handsom' 
Ties, for it was necktie money that got him on his way. A Negro gentleman, 
clad all in white and looking for all the world like an extra in an 
ante-Bellum movie, greeted her and took the keys to her car. Art himself was 
in the doorway; she could identify him by the distinctive egg shape of his 
body, nearly disguised in a three hundred dollar tailor-made suit, but still 
unmistakable, even in the dark. 

"Karen, baby! I never thought you'd actually make it!" One arm went up in 
the air like a signal of some sort, the other never left its iron grip on a 
tall whisky and soda. 

"Well, looks like you were wrong," smiled Karen, trying bravely to get 
things off on the right foot. "I told Christina I'd be here, and here I am." 

Art paused to give her the usual Hollywood greeting, a huge hug and a kiss 
on the cheek; followed by the extra gesture best left for producers, 
directors and star properties, an affectionate pat on the behind, which 
Karen artfully dodged. "Christina said you had other plans and probably 
couldn't come," he said. 

Karen almost laughed, but thought better of it and decided not to give the 
girl's charade away. She wasn't really surprised- in Hollywood everyone 
lives in constant, dread of being bumped off the top. And Christina 
obviously considered her a threat to her cozy little scene with the big-time 
producer. "Oh, well, my plans didn't work out. I'd rather come to your party 
anyway, Art." 

Albertson roared with laughter, sloshing the top third of his drink onto the 
entry foyer carpet, "Boy, that's one helluva lie, sweetheart, but thanks for 
the effort." 

Karen only smiled, her face dead-pan. It was a technique she'd mastered 
many, many parties ago. 

"Come on in," gestured Albertson, "There are a lot of people here anxious to 
see you again." 

There was nothing for the foyer closet, as Karen had come in only a matching 
hot-pants and jacket outfit with a knit form-fitting top and a pair of 
thigh-high vinyl boots. It was the first time since the plane crash that 
she'd worn anything so daring, though for the film set, she supposed, this 
was hardly more than something to wear shopping. She looked around quickly, 
anxious to see the changes Art had made since she was last here. Hardly 
anything was the same, but then, he had always been extremely popular with 
the Hollywood interior designers, since he usually threw everything out and 
started over at least every two years. 

The living room was sunken, and trailed away in an enormous expanse of white 
carpeting onto the redwood deck that overlooked the Coast Highway and the 
overpriced shacks along the Malibu Beach strip. A huge stainless-steel 
Swedish fireplace dominated the room, and through the open doorway that led 
into the Albertson study and smoking room, Karen could see an array of 
electronic grown-up toys that would have turned Hugh Hefner green with envy. 
A battery of dials, switches, and gauges from every room in the house, along 
with four television screens and a panel full of tape decks. She recalled 
vaguely hearing about this from someone, that he was equipped to run video 
tapes of all his movies, channelled to any room in the house, as well as the 
latest rushes from whatever film he happened to be shooting at the moment. 

"Karen! Karen Bellser!" There was a grating high-pitched shriek from 
somewhere in the milling two dozen or so that shuffled around the living 
room in search of someone less accomplished, less successful than 
themselves. Karen scanned the blank faces until she stopped one with an 
unusually insipid smile painted across it. It was Marjorie Rothman, the wife 
of Albertson's top director, Daniel Jacob Rothman, a specialist in, aptly 
enough, Biblical spectaculars, though his time was spent nowadays on 
sex-sational thrillers like Laura's Men and The Island of Dr. Sexus. "Come 
and join us, dear," continued the empty face, "It's been forever since I saw 
you last." 

She answered all the expected questions about her life now; yes, she was 
still in Bel-Air; no, she had no plans for another movie; and finally, yes, 
why don't you drop by sometime for a chat. A silver tray loaded with drinks 
appeared at her elbow and Karen picked a potent-looking Scotch on the 
rocks-she was going to need some kind of fortification if she was to make it 
through this evening without losing her mind. 

Marjorie soon wandered off, satisfied that there was no fuel here for a 
juicy bit of gossip, and Karen went through the motions of being friendly 
with a succession of Mar-jorie's, both male and female, until she'd made the 
full circuit and could be awarded entry into the chattering crowd, confident 
again of full membership. It was an honor she would have preferred to 
decline. More than once she caught herself weighing the choices, Whafs 
really worse, a life like this night after night, or an endless parade of 
teenagers like Bobby Joslin? 

It was well after three and the guests were pretty well thinned out, leaving 
now in twos and fours for late nightcaps at another, equally as tasteless, 
monument to wealth, and Karen was, herself, choosing between one last Scotch 
or the drive back up Sunset Boulevard through the hills to Bel-Air. But she 
didn't have to make a decision, for Art, fresh from another round of 
emotionally rich good-byes, was at her side with a fresh glass. 

"One more for the road, honey?" 

Karen nodded, "Sure, why not. I'm not doing anything important in the 
morning.'' 

"You could be, you know," said Albertson, his voice a bit lower now. 

"Now, Art Albertson," Karen pouted, "If I didn't know what a gentleman you 
are, I'd think that was a proposition." 

Albertson held up both his arms as if he was being mugged. "Karen, I'm 
surprised at you. That was the old Art... you're talking to a reformed man." 

"Yeah, I'll bet," snickered Karen. "Just what did you have in mind if it 
wasn't a roll in the sack," she asked, looser now from the liquor-courage 
she had found. 

Art placed both his hands on the blonde's shoulders, in a fatherly gesture 
that seemed absurdly phony coming from him. "I was talking about your 
career, Karen. You could be starting on another film tomorrow, and I must 
say it's about time." 

Karen turned away. The conversation had shifted to a topic that was serious 
with her, and she did not want to have to deal with anything painful 
tonight. "I'd rather not talk about it, Art," she said quietly. 

"Well, I'd certainly like to discuss it. I'm starting shooting on Bravata 
tomorrow, I guess you heard." 

"Yes, Rothman told me about it. Something about a cavalry hero in the 
Mexican Wars?" 

"Right, and it's on location in the Guerrero hills. We're using the company 
villa in Acapulco for a shooting base. And there's a part in it for you." 

"Oh, come off it, Art," Karen retorted, "I haven't been in front of a camera 
in years. I don't even know if I can still act... if I ever could, that is." 

Albertson was persistent, but without the Hollywood brashness to his manner 
this time that Karen found so repugnant. She listened . . . mostly because 
she had never heard him like this. "The screen tests you made, remember the 
scene. Well, I've got it, and a full print of The Naked Stranger. Your old 
studio gave it to me, and I've got full assurance that they would not stand 
in the way if I want to use you in Bravata" 

"I'm not under contract to them anyway," Karen interjected. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know all that. But anyway, this part. It's the mistress of an 
American Army officer sent into Mexico. She follows him down there because 
she loves him, buys her way in on a French cargo ship that drops her in Vera 
Cruz. She makes it to this little village, Bravata. That's where the name 
comes from. But it turns out he's off fighting Mexican troops somewhere and 
she misses him by just hours. Well, the Mexicans ride in, find her in the 
village and she's raped and murdered. The rest of the film is about her 
lover's revenge and his subsequent court-martial for the massacre of a whole 
platoon of Mexican regulars. It's based on a real event . . . well, how 
about it? It's a juicy part, huh? You're not on camera all that much, but 
you're sure to be remembered. Hell, you'll be the only woman in the film 
outside of a few Mexican extras." 

"I don't know, Art. It's been so long. I'm just not geared for the pressures 
of shooting now. That sort of strength has to be maintained, you know, like 
weightHfting. I doubt if I could just jump right in and start filming 
again." 

"What 'ya mean?" shouted Art, the producer's bellow back in his voice, 
"You'd think you were one of these Hollywood-has-beens, instead of a 
beautiful girl still in her twenties!" 

Karen winced at the familiar words, "Ouch, Art, that hurts." 

"Well, I'm sorry to be so frank, honey, but I think this role is for you. 
And you're a damn fool if you don't take it." 

"Have you really got a print of The Naked Stranger? I thought they burned 
all of them." 

"Yeah, it was a stinker. But your part was beautiful, considering the script 
you had to work with. Hey, you want to see it?" 

"Sure, over the foot of your king-sized bed, no doubt?" 

Albertson laughed, but it didn't change the glazed look in his eyes. Karen 
wondered how much of it was alcohol and how much ... well, what's the harm 
of seeing the film? It's not like I've got anything better to do. "Okay, 
let's see the print. But no funny stuff, Art. You can save that for 
Christina and the rest of the steno pool." 

He held up his hand, palm out, "On my honour as an upstanding Los Angeles 
citizen," he recited. 

'Then I'd better have another drink. The shock of seeing myself on the 
screen and watching you behave yourself at the same time may be more than I 
can bear!" 

 Chapter Five 

Medium close shot, Karen Bellser with tears on her cheeks, she looks up ... 
reverse angle, Jean Romard looks into her eyes . . . two shot, they embrace 
but do not kiss . . . medium shot, following, as Karen leaves the room . . 
.titles over and closing credits. 

Art turned off the video tape recorder that had fed eighty-eight minutes of 
The Naked Stranger into monitor number two of his system. Karen was sitting 
on the leather sofa opposite, slouched down now, her muscles sore from the 
same position. "One thing for sure, Art, it was every bit as bad as I 
remembered it." 

"Right, right," he answered, his hands characteristically waving, "But 
didn't I tell you your performance was goddamn good? Well, wasn't it?" 

"Maybe better than I remembered it." He was right and she knew it; the movie 
did indeed stink, but she had done her best for the role, and her extra 
effort showed in the final result. "Got any more of that Scotch?" she asked 
instinctively. If she'd thought about it, she would have known she had 
already had one more than enough. 

Albertson, seeing now the chance he'd been waiting and watching for, left to 
fix her another J & B on the rocks. His face, when he returned, showed 
nothing to betray his actions . . . there was no hint of the little extra 
ingredient in this last drink, three pulverized brown pills. For Art had 
added something special to this glass of Scotch and ice, full-strength 
thorazine, a drug usually used by mental hospitals to relax and control the 
rowdiest of patients. Dr. Simon Levy, Albertson Films' staff-retained 
psychiatrist, had more than willingly offered a vial of the potent drug. 
Willingly, that is, when Art so aptly reminded him of the annual retainer 
he'd stand to lose if the good doctor turned him down. Albertson had become 
skilled in the use of thorazine and alcohol now, almost like some 
bush-league shrink in his own right. And by gauging the right amount at the 
right time, it was nearly impossible to distinguish the rapid effects from 
the normal symptoms of over-indulgence in strong drink. 

"Here, baby," he offered, smiling, "One more for the road. We'll talk more 
about this film tomorrow. I don't want you making up your mind until you've 
had time to think it over." 

Karen's hand reached out for the drink. Damn it, I'm developing too much of 
a taste for this stuff. I've got to slow down . . . no, better I quit 
altogether. But what the hell, one last one tonight can't do any harm. 
Tomorrow, it's cold turkey, or I'll wind up at the dry-out farm... 

Karen barely noticed the whirring sound as Albertson nipped the switch that 
opened the electrically-operated couch against the study wall into a 
full-sized bed; it was another of his many gadgets, an ordinary-enough 
convertible sofa bed equipped with three rheostat-controlled electric 
motors, geared to the necessary motions that transformed the piece of 
furniture into a bed. She was groggy... so groggy... the lights in the 
panelled study all dimmed at once into a bronze glow that barely 
iHurtrinated the room ... music came from a half-dozen hidden tweeters and 
woofers buried in the rich wood walls. 

"M think I'd b-better be going," she stammered, her words slurred. 

"Oh, no, you're in no condition to be driving. Come on, let me help you to 
the bed here," offered Albertson. 

"Yeah... yeah, the bed ... that's where I should be. You're not a bad guy, 
Art, yToiow that?" Karen slurred drunkenly. 

"Sure, sure, baby ... c'mon, over here." He helped her to her feet and 
propelled her toward the waiting bed. In her drugged state, she didn't 
notice that the bed was not there a moment ago. When her knees bumped the 
mattress, she collapsed forward, outstretched across the mattress. Art stood 
by impatiently until he was certain the drug had done its full work. 

"Here, honey, let me give you a hand with your jacket. Don't want to mess it 
up by sleeping in it, now do you?" 

"Huh ... oh, sure, sure." She rolled over and half-raised herself, enough 
for Art to pull the jacket from her arms and toss it on the cocktail table 
behind him. She started to drop back onto the soft comforting mattress, but 
he held her arms. Her mouth opened as if to protest when he grabbed the 
bottom third of her knit top and yanked it from the waist of her hot-pants, 
but only a low guttural sound escaped her lips. He pulled the tight garment 
over her head and off; it was impossible to stifle the gasp he uttered when 
it was removed. Like most of the girls in California with a figure to be 
proud of, Karen hadn't worn a bra tonight, and when the tightly sculpted 
fabric was yanked off her body, her breasts soared magnificently before him, 
her nipples already hard and jutting. Just the firm round globes themselves 
were ivory white, the rest of her was a magnificent mahogany tan, deepened 
by the southern California sun. The contrast seemed to set them off, to 
highlight their incredible tantalizing beauty even more. He gave her a nudge 
and she fell onto her back, the two goregous mounds of white, firmly rounded 
flesh quivering sensuously as she fell. 

Her hot pants zipped on the side, and when he'd loosened the zipper's grip, 
he tugged them inch by inch from her hips, pulling down the sheer baby-blue 
panties with the shorts. With more than a little effort, he managed to get 
the cuffs of the hotpants over her thigh-length vinyl boots. She moaned a 
few half intelligible sounds as he stripped the shorts and bikini-style 
panties from her booted legs; the last struggling cells of her brain must 
have been futilely voicing their objection to this indencency, but the rest 
of her mind was beyond reasoning, even from within. He looked over his prize 
catch ... Jesus Christ, what a body! She should be in the middle of Playboy, 
but nobody would believe it! 

He looked over her bare shoulders, draped with the long curls of her blonde 
hair; she was still wearing a velvet choker adorned with a tiny cameo in the 
middle of her throat. That and the vinyl boots . . . and no more. Her trim 
waist narrowed beneath the enormous twin swells of her gorgeous breasts, 
then flared majestically in the curves of her hips, adorned at their 
midpoint by a vee-shaped triangle softly curling blonde pubic hair that 
curled downward toward the hidden treasure between her soft supple thighs. 
The picture was like something a photographer would have dreamed up in his 
wildest fantasies! Her fantastically alluring nudity highlighted by just the 
neck choker and the boots! 

His pants dropped to the floor as he unzipped his fly and fully exposed his 
long thickened prick; it was hard and blood-engorged already, just from the 
tempting sight of her luscious charms laid out before him. It stood out 
menacingly over the outstretched body of the blonde before him; he gave his 
organ an affectionate rub, peeling back the thick foreskin and exposing the 
purplish, lust-distended head. For an instant, he fantasied an image of 
jacking off onto her spread-eagle form, letting the thick white juice of his 
cum spray like a thick rain onto her face and naked tits. Christ, it would 
serve her right for all the times she'd rejected him! That would show the 
stuck-up little bitch that her proud little ass was no better than the rest! 

But no . . . there would be plenty of time for the kinkier stuff, that much 
he was sure of. This thorazine stuff was remarkably effective; it blurred 
enough of the memory to serve a double end: she'd remember this, all right, 
but she'd never suspect it was anything but her own drinking and unleashed 
desires that led her to spread her legs to him. 

He couldn't resist one little amusement, though, before he climbed onto her 
and shoved his cock into the hot, hair-lined little slit between those 
delicious thighs, he'd thought of it often, even tonight, and Art Albertson 
wasn't one to deny himself anything if it was in his reach. Her smoothly 
sculptured face was near the edge of the bed, and he rested himself on his 
knees there and turned it toward his erect penis. His hips rocked forward 
and the wet sticky underside of the throbbing head lay gently on the closed 
pink lips. He gripped the sides of her nose between his thumb and forefinger 
so she would have to breath through her mouth, and her lips slowly parted. 
Instantly, his huge cock slid over the moist ridges of her lips and along 
the sandpaper surface of her tongue. He shivered as he felt the warm air 
from her nostrils against the shaft of his aching member. 

She was more unconscious than not, but as he released his fingers from her 
nose, her lips closed reflexively over the intruding penis, and Art began to 
saw back and forth, her mouth and lips lubricated with the first oozings of 
his seminal discharge. His hand closed over the soft tissue of her breast; 
he could feel the hard, crinkly nipple against his palm. It hardened and 
pulsed with a heartbeat of its own as his opened fingers massaged the 
sensitive flesh. Karen responded solely from instinct... her body began to 
make tiny but distinct movements, her arms moved restlessly at her sides, 
one leg lifted slightly in a jerky little pumping motion, her lips closed 
tighter around the thick fleshy length of his cock, leaving a glistening 
trail of saliva along its shaft as he pulled it nearly fully from her wet 
oral grip, then eased it slitheringly back into the warm moistness of her 
mouth. Her tongue, lips and mouth closed around him like a wet, warm glove, 
and shivers of wanton appreciation raced up his back from the pleasurable 
fucking of her beautifully proud face. 

She began to stir more noticeably, and he pulled his prick from her mouth, 
leaving a thin thread of stickiness that trailed over her chin. 

"David ... David, I've waited so long for you, David." 

David! Damn, he's been dead for over a year! She thinks I'm her husband ... 
Christ, that stuff must be really working! 

"David, please," she murmured faintly, her eyes still closed, "Be gentle 
with me, David. It's been so long." Her tongue ran slowly over her moist, 
sticky lips; she seemed to savor the pungent taste of his semen that tainted 
them. The odor of his masculine juices seemed to trigger a mechanism buried 
far in her unconscious; she began to squirm passionately on the covers, her 
legs opening and closing in that unmis-takeable gesture of a woman in heat. 
Tiny Hazing fires began to burn in her nipples, and a warm, liquid throbbing 
filled her belly with a heat like a reddened poker was rammed inside her. 
One leg lifted and bent at the knee; as it raised, Art caught his first real 
glimpse of the pink, ragged furrow between her legs. It bore a string of 
pearl-like drops, moisture from her own growing excitement as the thick, 
pouting lips began contracting, throbbing wetly against each other. 

"Oh, please, David. Put your hands on me, touch me down there between my 
legs, David," she moaned. 

Art eased himself cautiously onto the bed, careful not to jar her lest he 
break the drug's spell. He positioned himself over the softly squirming 
body, pushed her unresisting legs back until the deep brown vinyl of her 
boots doubled back against the undersides of her smooth unblemished thighs. 

He crawled between them, panting like a dog hunting food, his face just a 
few inches from her open pussy. His mouth watered at the sight of her smooth 
flat belly and the warm soft flesh that trailed down the crevice of her 
crotch to the rounded creamy spheres of her ass pressed tightly against the 
mattress. Her buttocks-cheeks pinched the sheet between them in their 
opening and closing grip. 

He touched his ravenously hungry lips to her pink hair-lined vaginal slit. 
"Oooooohhhh," she moaned through half-closed lips as his fingertips parted 
the fleecy damp down and spread apart the soft tender ridges of her pussy, 
allowing his devouring lips full access to the treat he'd been so long 
denied. 

Her head rolled from side to side, her hands against the sides of her face, 
as his hot searing tongue shot out, its soft flicking tip circling her 
quivering clitoris ... his lips sucked furiously on the sensitive little bud 
and the fleshy ridges around it. He could taste the sweet pungency of her 
flowing juices... warm, soft folds of pink flesh were drawn into his mouth. 
Karen groaned a husky, throaty cry as the hot probing tip worked its way up 
and down the narrow wet slit, down over the elastic orifice of her vagina 
and into the crevice of her flexing buttocks where his tongue probed 
wickedly at the tiny, puckered ring of her anus. Her hips ground 
uncontrollably into the bed now, soft mewling animal sounds escaping 
pitifully from between her passion-clenched teeth. 

Her pussy-lips were suddenly aflame with her incited lust, and it felt as if 
he would be sucked up into her by their ravenous nibbling. The heels of her 
boots dug painfully into his back as she forced his mouth harder against the 
moist throbbing furrow of her cunt. Karen's whole naked, writhing body was 
alive with passion, every muscle in her helpless body tensed as she strained 
her hips upward toward the maddeningly exciting probe between her thighs. 
The vinyl sides of her boots clamped tightly around his head, positioning 
him perfectly in front of her ravenous little cuntal opening. "God, God! 
Fuck me, please, darling please!" 

Art could stand it not a second longer. He grabbed her flailing, booted legs 
and slammed them roughly back to her shoulders; the tops of her vinyl boots 
bit into the soft flesh of her thighs, leaving a reddened welt where they 
punished her sensitive skin. He slithered up her body at the same time, 
dampening her with his sweat-soaked torso as he dragged himself lustfully 
over her, reveling in the feel of her moist, fleecy crotch against his chest 
and stomach as he pulled himself into position so he could fuck her 
drug-incited body. His rigid, thick cock stood stiffly erect, brushing 
tantalizing-ly against the tickling curls of her pussy-hairs. He gripped her 
shoulders tightly as her ankles locked around his neck; he could look down 
between them over the swollen paunch of his belly and see where their naked 
bodies nearly came together, her narrow cunt-slit visibly throbbing its 
hungry lips in invitation. Her moist furrow was open wide by the pressure of 
her widely-spread thighs. 

Karen was insane with passion, mindless of anything except the taunting 
closeness of the lust-quenching cock brushing teasingly against her now 
greedily quivering pussy. Art looked down... guided himself forward, 
dragging the blood-engorged head of his penis through the wet furrow of her 
cunt to moisten it. He eased it forward... the starving lips of her 
hair-rimmed slit gripped it tightly, sucked him forward in a mad attempt to 
pull the delicious hardness deep into her belly. Damn, she wanted it so 
badly! She wanted to feel it rip through her like a saw through wood, to 
fill her completely, to ravish her with the exquisite pain only a man's cock 
could give her! 

Art shoved his loins forward... the elastic rimmed cunt lips resisted for an 
interminable moment, then suddenly parted in a moist wet welcome. He eased 
an inch of his long turgid shaft into her, then paused tauntingly as she 
squirmed ecstatically beneath him, a helpless prey savoring the impaling 
-member about to rend her proud little belly open like a battering ram...she 
moaned pitifully, maddened by the teasing entry and wildly, lustfully hungry 
for more of his wonderful thick penis inside her. 

He could hold back no longer . . . with a coarse grunt, he rammed his prick 
as hard as he could into her, slamming the swollen, throbbing organ to the 
hilt in her belly, his balls slapping flatly against the upturned furrow of 
her ass as her legs splayed out wildly on either side of his thick body, her 
boots kicking the air madly. 

"Oh, David, David . . . it's too big, it's hurting me!" Art grinned a 
self-satisfied smirk at the sound of her cries. Shit, I always figured that 
old man of hers didn't have much equipment. Vll bet she's never had a real 
cock in her . . . but she's getting one now, by God! 

She screamed again, her cries echoing through the empty house and down the 
hillside, her impaled form pinned mercilessly to the bed. With every snap of 
his hips, the heavy-set man buried his huge cudgel-like prick deeper inside 
her. Her arms and shoulders were pinned against the mattress as Albertson's 
knees pressed her soft supple thighs back against her body. Her boot heels 
pummelled his back with a rain of blows, but the lust-crazed producer was 
oblivious to her struggle. 

No, he gloated, she's never had it so deep! Squirm, you little cock-sucking 
bitch, squirm! 

Looking between their sweat-soaked bodies, he could see the soft pink lips 
of her pussy straining as they stretched around the thick pistonrng shaft of 
his cock as it slid wetly in and out of her, each punishing thrust seemingly 
deeper than the one before. He paused on the bottom of each in-stroke, 
flexing the head of his prick far inside her, bringing a squeal of pain and 
delight to her trembling lips. 

His deep, battering thrusts took on a new, pronounced rhythm, long, steadily 
skewing strokes that impaled her painfully with every downward push. Her 
body began to vibrate uncontrollably ... thick warm liquid oozed from her 
throbbing vaginal passage and soaked his pistoning cock with a oozing layer 
of her orgasmic juices. Her streaming warm trickle ran down the crevice of 
her ass and wet the sperm swollen spheres of his balls as they clapped 
bluntly against her upturned buttocks-cheeks. A wet smacking sound resounded 
through the room as his paunchy belly bumped against the smooth flat plane 
of her own as they ground nakedly and lasciviously together. 

He locked his mouth on hers, thrusting his dripping tongue deep in her 
throat, stifling the low animal moans that welled there. Reaching beneath 
her, he forced his hands between the covers and her warm fleshy buttocks, 
cupping the cheeks in his palms, kneading the pliant hot flesh, pulling the 
firmly rounded globes far apart. 

Her very insides opened to him, the taut lips of her hair-lined slit 
flowered wider and wider with each stroke to receive this delicious 
plundering of her secret genitals. Her hands reached behind his back and 
added their blood-tipped marks to those of her leather-heeled boots. She 
pulled him deeply into her and thrust her fleece-covered pelvis up hard to 
skewer herself deliciously on the driving hot poker of his pumping organ. 
She sucked voraciously on the thick wet tongue that was thrust through her 
teeth; she swallowed greedily the droplets of his saliva. Only the wet 
slurping sound of his cock rapidly fucking in and out of her open cunt could 
be heard. "David, David, my darling . . ." 

"You hot little slut, see what you've been missing!" he snarled as his lips 
pulled away from hers, but her ears heard not his words. His face was 
contorted both with maddened lust and the agony of his incredible physical 
exertion; his frantic rhythm continued, every deep skewing lunge bringing a 
fresh sharp cry to the young blonde's lips. He lifted himself to see her 
clearly as she writhed helplessly beneath his ravishing assault, the 
neck-band cameo choker and matching vinyl boots highlighting the incredible 
loveliness of her naked form. Jesus, he'd fucked a lot of young, hot cunted 
starlets in his time, but never had he found a woman like this! 

Her nakedly upturned loins received the fury of his pounding jerks; his 
balls, aching with the seething white sperm that was ready to burst through 
his flesh, beat hard against her trim, sinewy buttocks. 

Karen could feel her insides splitting painfully as the head of the 
tormenting, deeply-sunk prick threatened to tear her belly asunder ... it 
began to spurt.. . she could feel the first assault wave of the scalding 
white liquid blast far up into her, hosing warmly into her belly as if to 
literally quench the agonizingly painful flames of passion that burned 
there... the pores of her pussy-walls clasped around the wondrous organ, 
erupting in answer again and again, spilling her own joy-juices into the 
sloshing cavern of her pinkly quivering passage. Art grunted again and again 
as his distended penis emptied its painful contents in a long relieving gush 
of ecstasy. 

She reached frantically around under her squirming buttocks with both hands 
and began to desperately milk at the softly jerking balls pressed into the 
slit of her ass. Her legs kicked out, her boots high in the air over the two 
of them. The huge blood-veined member continued to jerk its completion . . . 
white hot spurts still spewed from its engorged head, a gushing flood of 
viscous discharge that channeled through the tiny opening on the end and 
became a deeply spurting stream that emptied deep in her belly, filling her 
completely and foaming out in a bubbling bath that soaked her pubic hair and 
drowned the soft ragged lips of her pussy. 

"Yes, fill me, darling, fill me!" she groaned hoarsely. The walls of her 
jerking cunt sucked at the throbbing cock hungrily until it gave one final 
spasmodic jerk, accompanied by a gasping sigh of anguished relief from the 
flabby lover smashing her tightly to the mattress. With a groan of pleasure 
and pain, he pulled free of her, his rubbery prick not an inch shorter, just 
softened. It popped free of her with a wet slurp and he rolled on his side, 
his breath in heavy, gasping pants. 

Karen's eyes were closed; she still lay as Albertson had left, thighs 
doubled back against her large breasts, hands now at her side. With the 
final quivering throes of her climax, the powerful chemical seemed to waver 
and lose at least a portion of its enslaving grip on the naked, shivering 
blond. Slowly, ever so slowly, the present began to take shape around her 
again, the awful truths of the moment drowned out the fantasies she had 
dragged from the past. A trickle of tears streamed down her sweat-soaked 
cheek ... God, even a young teenage boy would have been better than this! 

 Chapter Six 

The stretched DC-9, on loan from the Mexican airlines in exchange for credit 
in the titles and forty-five seconds of on-screen footage in Albertson's 
next picture, banked low over the lushly covered jungle mountainside north 
of Acapulco. Below them, in what seemed an endless stretch to the horizon, 
broken only by an occasional cove or rocky overhang, was a glistening white 
beach, unspoiled by a single beer bottle or hot dog wrapper. Not a human 
being could be seen in any direction. It seemed an odd place for a Miami 
Beach South, as Acapulco was fast becoming, but that tell-tale wispy brown 
that hung over the resort city's milside high-rises and villas like a 
Mexican shawl was evidence enough of civilization coming up fast in the 
distance. Even one of the new world's most beautiful cities suffered from 
the faint beginnings of man's blight on his environment. 

Karen was stretched out across three economy seats, the center armrest 
having been removed. A large net bag at her feet held the odds and ends that 
were left out of the dozen or so bags Mrs. Hansen had packed for her on an 
hour's notice. She had awakened this morning at Albertson's place, naked and 
cozily bedded down in one of his guest bedrooms. Her clothes were all hung 
neatly in the closet and a note by the dressing mirror told her the staff 
would fix breakfast when she awakened. It all seemed so pleasant at first, 
like awakening in a luxury hotel with nothing to do but leisurely dress and 
be on one's way. But that fleeting pleasure had indeed been short lived. For 
two breaths out of her deep slumber, and the memories of last night tore 
into her head like a .45 slug. She could only he there at first, not 
believing, not wanting to believe. But it was all true, she knew she hadn't 
dreamed it. She felt all dirty, inside and out, and even the long hot soak 
in the tub she'd allowed herself failed to adequately rinse away the stains 
of what she had done. 

But yet, though she felt rotten to the very center of her being, used and 
debased like a servant-girl, there was still another emotion she felt. One 
that, given the circumstances, bordered on the ludicrous. For Karen Bell-ser 
was, in a small sense, relieved... relieved that her sex urges, whatever 
their most recent manifestations, were at least normal. Art Albertson was at 
least a grown man, though there was very little else she could say for him. 

There was a sharp jerk and the squeal of airplane tires on concrete as the 
big jet touched down. The others on board, almost everyone in the production 
from the producer and his director, Allison Mason, to the grips and 
script-girl, were stirring now, waking from the cat-naps most of them had 
taken on the long boring stretch over the Mexican desert. Karen thought of 
the luggage and expensive camera equipment stored in the cargo section, but 
more specifically, of one particular piece of last-minute cargo. An 
odd-sized addition, carefully padded with two tightly wrapped sheets and 
bound in a canvas tarp. tt had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, just as 
she was leaving the house with the studio station wagon waiting outside. 
Something, some sensation like a voice, called her from the living room, 
called her back for one more piece of baggage. It was as if that piece of 
metal was all she had left of the David Bellser she'd once been a part of, 
and somehow, having accepted Art Albertson's office, she knew she'd need all 
the help she could get. Maybe, just maybe, that statue could give her 
something she couldn't give herself. Just the support she needed to help her 
find herself, to stand by her as she tried painfully to carve out a new 
identity for herself, one that wasn't a tiny chunk of David Bellser, but a 
whole person, the new Karen Bellser. 

She should have been ecstatic; most of the other cast members were. Art had 
told the truth about something at least; she'd read the script on the way 
down from Los Angeles, and the film stood a chance of being a real 
box-office success. Like all of Albertson's films, there was scarcely any 
creative merit, but a hell of a lot of commercial appeal. Yet Karen felt 
strangely despondent this late tropical afternoon, oddly chilled with a sort 
of foreboding. 

Well, it doesn't matter now, we've got a film to shoot. And the last thing 
they need is another temperamental actress. Maybe a double dose of good hard 
work wiU be just the cure. 

 Chapter Seven 

Shooting was over early for Karen, and it being the last day of filming, the 
director, Allison Mason, was more than willing to release her for the rest 
of the day. A couple of shots were, planned for sunset, mostly action takes 
with the horsemen-extras playing the parts of the U.S. Cavalry in a 
to-the-death struggle with a band of Mexican army regulars. They were a few 
kilometers northwest of Jalea de Catalan, a sleepy little Mexican village in 
the foothills of the majestic Sierra Madre del Sur, and the only 
transportation effective ori the dusty, rutted mining trail that led to 
their location site was the dependable jeep. Albertson had been foresighted 
enough to rent a fleet of the vehicles, so there was always one headed back 
to Villa Ortega, Albertson's Film's rented hacienda-style house in the lush 
green hills over Aca-pulco. Karen dreaded the bouncing, dirty trip back, but 
it would be worth it to settle into a long hot bath in her bungalow. 

She had been in Mexico for over two weeks now, and while the tropical 
weather had been obliging, she'd hardly had the opportunity to enjoy it. 
Only once had she managed to slip down to the surf, and even then she was 
summoned back to the villa for rehearsals before she could even get wet in 
the blue Pacific breakers. The filming itself had gone beautifully, and 
Karen had been delighted to discover the old acting promise still lingered 
on. Even Mason had commented on her fine, polished delivery, and getting a 
compliment out of him was like getting testimony out of a Mafia chieftain. 
Art had surprised her even more; all the way down in the jet, she'd worried 
that his offer of a choice role had a couple of long, binding strings 
attached. But that hadn't been the case-she'd scarcely seen him since she 
arrived. It was warmly exciting to be acting again, to be back in front of 
the cameras, but returning to Los Angeles would be even nicer. She never 
dreamed she would, but she'd found herself jnissing that rattly old house, 
and the electrified hustle and bustle of Sunset Strip, the monied towers of 
Wil-shire Boulevard. Shooting would be over for her today, if none of todays 
takes had to be redone; the remaining studio filming left for Hollywood 
didn't include her. It was all over but the waiting. 

"Karen, heading back?" 

She turned on the dry powdery path. It was Banning Carver, the film's new 
discovery and one of the studio's hottest new properties. Banning had played 
pro football with the Rams for three years, until a ligament ripped beyond 
repair in his knee, and Albertson had snatched him up without so much as a 
screen test. His part wasn't a big one; he was on camera quite a bit, but 
his lines were limited mostly to monosyllables. And even these sometimes 
were beyond his acting abilities. But Karen liked him; it was hard not to be 
appreciative of his ruggedly handsome looks. In fact, he was the first Negro 
she'd known whom she found genuinely handsome. "It's all right with me, 
Banning. You finished too?" she asked, shielding her eyes with one hand from 
the harsh desert sun. 

"Yeah, Allison said that last take was a print. All he's got left now is 
that hand-to-hand scene with Tracy and Rodrigues." 

"Beautiful. Maybe he'll be in a good mood tonight for a change. I don't 
think I can bear another of his pep talks." 

The tall, broad-shouldered black laughed, his teeth gleaming white in the 
harsh sunlight, "Don't bother me none, ma'am. I guess I'm just used to pep 
talks." 

Karen smiled, "Yes, Banning, I suppose you are. Do you miss football?" 

He looked around as if he half-expected a reporter to be lurking behind the 
mesquite. "Well, to tell you the truth, Miss Bellser, I don't miss it at 
all," 

"What! I thought I read an interview in Life that said you could hardly live 
now that your ball-playing days were ended." 

"That was for the press, ma'am," he grinned. "Tell me, what would you rather 
do, stand in front of a camera for a few hours, maybe get a little dirty, or 
spend ten or twelve hours of every day running your ass off around a 
football field, then getting mauled for somebody else's sport on Sunday 
afternoon?" 

"You know, I guess you've got a point there. Come on, let's see if we can 
pry one of the drivers away frorn his tequila and get on the road." 

They were moving slowly in the general direction of the parked jeeps when 
Karen heard her name shouted from somewhere far off. It echoed down the 
parched mountainside and frightened a hawk circling overhead; the huge bird 
lurched suddenly and tacked on a new course, away from the disturbances 
below. In the distance, along the same narrow, cactus-lined path they had 
just trod, she could see Allison Mason, omnipresent clipboard in hand, 
trudging up the gentle grade, leaving a trail of kicked-up dust behind him. 
She held her breath . . . maybe something had gone wrong, maybe the whole 
scene had to be shot again. 

"Karen, Karen, I'm so glad I caught you," he panted as he neared the two of 
them, "Are you going back to Villa Ortega?" "Yes, that is if you've finished 
with me." "Oh sure, sure. It wasn't that. It's just a little errand I need 
run for me. Would you be an absolute doll and give this money to Hillary? I 
ran out this morning without leaving her a cent, and she so wanted to go 
shopping in Acapulco this afternoon before we leave." 

"Ill be glad to give it to her, Allison. Is she in your bungalow?" 

"Probably. I told her Fd be late. Thanks a million darling." He turned and 
started back toward the filming site; the electricians were warming up the 
intense lamps for the day-for-night shooting, a tricky shot in which daytime 
exposure is made to look like night, through a system of filters and 
screens, and extra-bright lighting for the areas that are supposed to be 
illuminated. Bluish smoke was billowing from the carbon arcs. "Oh, one more 
thing," he said as he stopped in mid-stride and turned, "If you see 
Albertson, tell him to try to get that call through again please. He'll know 
what you mean . . . Hey, you, get those lines back out of the shot. We can't 
have Mexican cavalry horses tripping over electric cables, can we!" 

Karen and Banning both chuckled at Allison's animated enthusiasm as his 
marionette-like features vanished in the distance. Both of them were 
probably remembering the whispered laughs and dirty remarks that had passed 
around the set like a contagious disease when the story leaked that Allison 
Mason, noted Hollywood director, had eloped to Jamaica, and would be joining 
the cast and staff of Albertson Film's latest movie on location in Mexico. 
Hillary Mason, his new young wife, was an odd-ball in this bunch, sweet 
enough, though, and likeable as hell, but still a misfit in this assortment 
of Hollywood film set types that transcended every human frailty from pills 
to booze to assorted perversions. Hillary was hardly more than a kid, just 
turned twenty according to the newspapers, though Karen, for one, doubted 
she was a day over eighteen. She wished she could have seen more of the 
girl, but the filming schedule left little time for girl-talk, and when the 
day's takes were finished, no one was in shape for much more than going to 
bed. Karen hoped the strikingly beautiful, pert brunette hadn't heard the 
viscious gossip; Hollywood people can be unnecessarily cruel at times. But 
it did seem more than a little ludicrous at first-after all, Allison Mason 
was one of the film world's most notorious faggots. More than one wag, on 
hearing of his recent elopment, had quipped, Who's the lucky boy? And those 
were the warmest of the comments. 

And Hillary didn't seem the type to bear up under much talk like that. She 
was a southern girl, in the grandest tradition of the Old South; channing, 
poised and oozing sweetness and pulchritude from every pore. 

But on her, it didn't seem phony somehow; all that naivete was real enough, 
though Karen couldn't help wondering how long it would last in this crass 
jungle of Hollywood society she'd chosen for herself. Art had offered, much 
to everyone's surprise, to bring her along as assistant to the wardrobe 
mistress, a job that he created just to have an excuse for the auditors, 
surprisingly generous in light of Art's penny-pinching reputation as a 
producer. But the wardrobe woman could handle her assignment without 
anyone's help, especially that of an inexperienced youngster who'd never 
even been on a movie set before, so much of Hillary's day was spent alone at 
Villa Ortega, or shopping alone down in the city. Rumor was that she'd 
started giving English lessons to the servants' children. It was easy enough 
to believe, Hillary was just the sort one could imagine struggling against 
impossible odds in some missionary outpost, veiled in long, flowing dresses, 
like something straight out of African Queen. Karen was glad she'd been 
asked to" deliver the money to the Mason bungalow; it might prove to be 
refreshing to spend some time in the company of at least one person who 
didn't eat, sleep and live movie-making. 

Pepe, one of their most trusted drivers, was warming up the jeep for the 
drive back when they crested the last rise. "Hey, Pepe, how about a lift?" 
bellowed Banning in his deep resonant voice. The young Mexican Indian looked 
up, startled. 

"Si, Senor Carver, but the jeep she is loaded with equipment already." 

"That's okay. We can all squeeze in the front. That is, he looked at Karen, 
"If it's all right with Miss Bellser." 

Karen nodded. Anything would be better than standing around for perhaps 
another hour in the parching sun, with only a lizard or two for company. 

They climbed into the military-style vehicle, Karen and the well-built black 
sharing the passenger seat. Banning's muscular frame pressed hard against 
her side and thigh; she could feel his athletic firmness and sinewy strength 
even through his clothing. He placed his arm around the back of the padded 
seat, part of it resting lightly on her bare shoulders; his eyes looked into 
hers searchingly, as if maybe he expected a polite rebuff... or something 
worse. 

But Karen only smiled, her moist lips still glistening from the make-up 
man's glaze. In the fierce dry wind, her blonde hair swirled and tossed 
around her head like a fiery mane. No, she didn't mind his arm around her. 
It was a long, winding road back to the Acapulco highway, some of it through 
twelve thousand foot mountain passes, and Karen was grateful for his 
strength . . . grateful to have a man beside her. And particularly one as 
brave and powerful as the famous Banning Carver. 

 Chapter Eight 

Allison Mason's bungalow was outside the Villa Ortega compound, beyond the 
six foot whitewashed wall topped with a row of champagne bottle halves 
imbedded in concrete. He had specifically requested a place away from the 
others, a quiet retreat where he could go over the day's progress and map 
out the strategy for the next day's shooting. Albertson had granted the 
much-demanded director's request, calling it a wedding present, a place for 
a "working honeymoon," as he chose to call it. Mason's tile-roofed cottage 
wasn't part of the Ortega property at all, actually, and it had taken a bit 
of Hollywood-style wheeling and dealing to manage its rental on such short 
notice. Somewhere down the mountain Acapuleo's Gold Coast, there was a very 
disgruntled American tourist family, probably still wondering how they could 
have managed to wind up without the house they had reserved months in 
advance. But there was a certain Senor Ramirez, pockets heavier with 
American dollars now, who could tell them how. 

It was after sunset when they arrived, Pepe singing an Indian folk song at 
the top of his lungs, swearing religiously on his mother's grave that it had 
been handed down in his family from the Toltecs. his forebears who ruled the 
Valley of Mexico in the eleventh century. Karen and Banning assured him that 
they believed him, then reassured the raven-haired Mexican when he 
questioned their faith. And after a paper cup half-full of Pepe's own brand 
of real Mexican tequila, they discovered it was indeed possible to believe 
everything the Indian said. 

Lengthening shadows raced along the green hillsides as they parked the jeep 
inside the Ortega compound. Pepe called for some help from the servant staff 
to handle the unloading, observing_the carefully adhered-to status structure 
that the peasant employees had formed. After all, Pepe Estrella Minoza de 
Aquiles was a driver, not a handler of baggage. 

Banning offered his company on the hundred-yard uphill hike to the Mason 
bungalow, explaining that a pretty American, especially one with her looks, 
should not be out walking alone in these hills, particularly after dark. And 
with a choice of words like that, she'd had no choice but to accept; it had 
been quite a while since a man showered her with flattering phrases like 
this one did. He might have been lying like a gypsy, but somehow Karen 
suspected his concern was genuine. 

The tiny wooden gate was locked when they reached the top of the hill, but 
Banning quickly found another way in through the back wall, a narrow slit 
just wide enough for them to squeeze through. The rear courtyard was 
serenely beautiful, a hidden alcove draped over with clinging vines that 
grew up the insides of the wall and over the brick terrace along a trellis 
of bamboo stalks. There was a tiny gurgling fountain dead center, and beyond 
it, in the brightest corner of the tiny hideaway, a tarnished brass bird 
cage filled with a fluttering assortment of larks and sparrows. Banning held 
her arm as she climbed the narrow rock stairs that led up to the rear 
veranda; the roof overhung deeply there and the tile-floored balcony was 
dark already in the waning daylight. A huge picture window dominated the 
rear wall, running almost the full length of the terrace, opening onto the 
rooms inside. There were red-painted wooden shutters, but they were thrown 
open and they banged steadily in the evening onshore breezes from the 
Pacific far below. 

Karen paused to let Banning catch up and to allow her eyes to adjust to the 
sharp change from the sunlight outside and the near-blackness of the rear 
veranda. "I wonder if she's home . . ." Karen's casual comment was sliced in 
mid-sentence like a sharpened blade had passed through her throat. She stood 
mute, glued to the spot where she had stopped. She looked again through the 
glass, across an empty expanse of room and focused once more on the twin 
images she'd glimpsed more accidentally than not. It was Hillary! And who 
was that with her... Oh, my God, it's Art Albertson! 

Banning reached the top step, smiling and panting for breath. He opened his 
mouth to speak, but Karen silenced him with a wave of her hand. His eyes 
followed hers into the dimly lighted room; both of them simply stared in 
wide-eyed disbelief at the incredibly perverse tableau they had unwittingly 
stumbled on. Allison Mason's young bride was naked, her youthful teen-age 
body without a stitch to cover her. And so was Albert-son! He hovered over 
her like a paunchy bear over its prey. At first their minds refused to 
believe what their eyes relayed; this wasn't real, it wasn't happening... 
not even in Hollywood did a bride betray her husband on their honeymoon! 

Art was kneeling between her naked, wide-spread legs, running his lips and 
tongue moistly up and down her body. He had sucked her quivering young, 
adolescently-pert breasts into quivering hardness and then traced a wet hot 
path down to the flat plane of her jerking stomach and inner white thighs. 
Hillary writhed passionately beneath his flicking caresses like a 
demon-possessed savage, her hands tangled tightly in his hair pulling his 
lips to her tingling skin. 

Karen leaned around the corner of the massive window; she and Banning were 
sufficiently concealed by the darkness not to be seen. She couldn't move ... 
it was positively mesmerizing, this gorgeously beautiful young girl, her 
trim, slender body in such marked contrast to Art's slobbish flabbiness. Her 
mind rebelled at what she was doing, but she found it impossible to turn 
away. 

Banning, still silently behind her, had pulled a tiny handmade cigarette 
from his shirt pocket. He ducked down low so as not to give away their 
presence in the brief light of his match; a sweet smelling wafting vapor 
suddenly filled the night air. Karen was no fool, she knew what the big 
Negro was smoking. It was common enough around Hollywood, though she 
preferred something tried and true, like liquor, herself. Before she knew 
what was happening, he had held it up to her lips. She hesitated, but when 
he whispered his insistence, she took a long deep drag that felt 
surprisingly good as it filled her lungs. Her eyes closed for a moment, and 
a momentary giddy rushing sensation raced over her. An instant later, the 
burning stick was at her lips again, and this time she took a deep puff 
without even thinking. It tingled through her body and quickly eased the 
day's tensions like a half-hour rubdown. She found herself wickedly enjoying 
the scene before her, watching with studied detachment the pagan ritual as 
old as time itself. 

Young Hillary was indeed beautiful, more so naked like this than with her 
clothes on. Her body was alabaster smooth and white, like a fragile, 
porcelain doll who had been cherished away in a dark Southern mansion 
somewhere; her breasts seemed to dominate the scene-they rose like hills 
from the plane of her outstretched torso, proudly erect and capped with the 
twin, trembling points of her soft pink nipples. 

Art's head dropped, his long wet tongue snaking out to flick teasingly at 
the hair-lined furrow between her supple thighs. Her legs parted 
automatically, bent back slightly to give lascivious access to this man old 
enough to be her father. His tongue lashed at the quivering little nub of 
raw nerves at the top of the moist slit. Hillary's body jerked as the 
electrifying contact was completed, and her legs clamped tightly together 
around his head, the soft inner thighs imprisoning his in a vise-like grip. 
Her hips began a slow up and down movement in rhythm with the probings of 
his slavering tongue. Soft purring sounds of animal pleasure came from 
between her clenched teeth; her long, rich coal-black hair cascaded over her 
shoulders and swished against her naked breasts as she quivered and writhed 
under the older man's practiced tonguing. The luxuriant deep ebony of her 
hair contrasted starkly with the unblemished, almost translucent, whiteness 
of her soft, warm flesh. Her squirming body thus presented a strange image, 
like a pool of black-and-white in a room filled with color. The strangeness 
of the sight she offered only made the forbidden vision more exciting to 
Karen and Banning outside the heavy, thick glass. At first she wasn't even 
aware of it, but Karen soon began an involuntary swaying in time to that of 
Hillary's as the young girl squirmed in lewd, abandoned surrender to the 
nerve-shattering lickings of the lips and mouth glued to her crotch. Karen's 
mindless movements might have been aided by the first rich drags of potent 
Mexican marijuana, but whatever the reason, she was suddenly, and 
unwittingly, periously close to something she had not counted on. Perhaps if 
she'd been less tired, and consequently, the pungent smoke less effective in 
its efforts to seize control of her mind, she might have realized before it 
was too late . . . but she didn't. 

Banning was right behind her, his dark eyes fixed on the slowly rotating orb 
of her deHciously-formed buttocks, squirming in a slow, taunting tempo 
beneath the taut denim fabric of her jeans. He moved swiftly, his hands deft 
and accurate as they had been on the football field. The metal zipper at the 
rear of her tight jeans was suddenly open; hot moist hands coursed under the 
loose hem of her skirt and closed appreciatively over the slightly dangling 
globes of her large, full tits. She'd not worn a bra since the shooting was 
to hot, exhausting work, and the fewer clothes, the better. The huge black 
man's hands squeezed painfully the soft tender flesh of her breasts, his 
opened palm so enormous that he was able to cover one in either hand. 

"No, please..." Karen was torn between screaming and giving herself away, or 
remaining silent and allowing herself to be ravished and- toyed with by this 
Negro. She tried frantically to think of a way out, some excuse to use on 
Albertson. But no, the truth would probably come out, Banning would tell it 
all. Christ, he had nothing to lose; dozens of studios would sign him if Art 
was foolish enough to let him go. But not her ... if she lost this job, she 
was finished. No other producer would have given her the chance Albertson 
had, whatever his motives. And that colossal ego of his could never stomach 
the knowledge that she'd been witness to his lewd indiscretion. He'd fire 
her on the spot, that much was certain. 

She tried to gently, yet forcefully, push the Negro's hands away from her 
breasts, but his athletic strength was far too much for her. She turned her 
head, whispering, "No, Banning, this isn't what I came here for. Please, 
it's no reflection on you, just stop it." 

But the ex-quarterback only smiled suggestively and tightened the iron grip 
on her tits, squeezing her painfully swollen nipples between his fingers as 
he left reddened welts on the tender curves of her breasts. She looked ahead 
once more, Banning crouched over her, pushing her slightly forward as his 
masculine hardness pressed at every pore of her backside. 

She watched in wide-eyed wonder as Art, dripping wet already, sheets of 
perspiration rolling off the countless rolls and ridges of his paunchy torso 
slid slowly over the young bride's nakedness and straddled her breasts. His 
eyes were wide with the relish of his young, innocent companion. 

Like a thick rubbery appendage, his cock jutted out from beneath the 
overhang of his immense belly, inches from the young girl's lips. She looked 
confused, not frightened really, but more mixed-up, dangling on the 
precipice of an adventure she'd never dreamed of. Art's hand went behind him 
and with a quick flick of his wrist, shoved his middle finger deep between 
Hillary's widely-spread legs, skewering it into the moist pink flanges of 
her pussy up to his palm. She jerked nearly off the narrow bed as he rotated 
it around inside her, teasing the sensitive walls of her vagina. She began 
to breathe rapidly, her youthfully lovely breasts rising and falling so that 
as she inhaled, her quivering crinkly-pink nipples brushed against the 
undersides of his thighs as he squatted over her. He lowered himself a bit, 
and now the delicate little buds rubbed constantly against his legs and his 
balls rested in the deeply furrowed cleavage between her large firm breasts. 

Karen could see the young dark-haired girl trying to squirm away from the 
teasing torture, but Art's knees had pinned her upper arms to the mattress. 
She was completely at his cruel and sadistic pleasure, and a lewd grin 
covered his round face as he reached down with his free hand and rubbed the 
underside of his thickly erect cock in a slow teasing circle around the 
girl's lips. Her tongue flickered hungrily out from between her teeth, 
licking at the tiny opening in the end; they could barely hear sounds from 
inside the house, but the squirming, passionate young woman seemed to be 
moaning in frustration as her licking tongue failed to totally find its 
mark; she seemed to want desperately to clasp her ovaled lips around the 
purplish organ and suck it deep into her hungry mouth. 

Karen's own body shivered in reaction to the black man's constant caressing 
of her breasts and the smooth downward slope of her belly. One of his hands 
left her breast, and as he ground his pelvis tightly and sala-ciously 
against her backside, his fingers slipped in between the waistband of her 
jeans and the warm soft plane of her abdomen, fondling the subtle womanly 
bulge, then thrillingly probing the curly light fluff of her pubic hair. His 
dark fingers explored the fleecy down, then suddenly eased into the 
hair-lined slit below, one thick stiffened finger snaking its way between 
the gently parted moist ridges of her vagina and into the elastic-tight 
opening of her pussy, sending wild electric shocks of pleasure stabbing 
through her awkwardly doubled body. The rigid hugeness of his enormous black 
cock was now wedged deep in the sweat-moistened crevice of her ass, and she 
could feel it through both their clothes, throbbing as if it had a life of 
its own. Unable to help herself, she ground back against it, imprisoned 
licentiously between the black man's pulsing manhood and the thirsting 
finger teasing deep in her vagina. 

Banning began a slow, gentle rocking motion that brought an involuntary 
response from her own body; together they ground together in perfect rhythm 
with the tormenting strokes Art Albertson was delivering to the writhing 
girl's now hungrily rotating little pussy. 

Suddenly, there was a sound from inside the bungalow. A wet gurgling sound 
as Art, grinning like a sadist, took the young wife of his director by the 
hair, pulling her head off the mattress, and thrust his thick, turgid cock 
deep into her gaping mouth. She started to cry, or perhaps to gag from the 
immense fleshy probe crammed between her lips, but the sound was muffled 
entirely as his lust-distended prick filled her throat completely. Karen's 
eyes grew wide with amazement as the tiny girl began to suck ravenously on 
the fleshy dangling penis, sucking and slurping as if she'd waited for years 
for just this moment. Her eyes were glazed with a wild, ecstatic film of 
pure savagery, and her body began to wriggle and squirm along its entire 
naked length, her legs kicking the air futilely as if her inability to suck 
this man's whole cock into her belly frustrated her. 

Karen felt the Negro's hands leave her tingling flesh for a moment, his 
finger withdrawn from the moist clasping grip of her cunt. There was a 
pause, a rustle of clothing, impatient breathing ... she started to turn, 
but a strong grip yanked her jeans from her hips and another powerful hand 
against the middle of her back doubled her over. Only her grip on the back 
of a convenient terrace chair she'd bumped against in the dark kept her from 
felling forward on her face. She felt a sudden onrush of chilling air, then 
realized _ that Banning bad stripped both her jeans and her tiny panties 
down to her knees, and the whole of her nakedly trembling buttocks were 
vulnerable and exposed to his leering gaze. 

Banning stood up, edged himself forward so that his prick was perfectly 
positioned at the now-exposed pink lips of the white girl's moistly-pulsing 
pussy. Karen suddenly quivered in fear at the realization that the enormous 
cudgel-like organ that spread her thighs with its immensity was Banning 
Carver's huge cock! And he was going to put that terrifying thing in her! 

Oh, God, he'll kill me with that thing! It'll split me in half! 

Her buttocks involuntarily cringed forward, drawing away from the dark 
rubbery cock pressed into her from behind, but it followed her movements 
perfectly. Her forehead rested against the window sill, her eyes nearly 
touching the glass through which she could see Allison Mason's bride and 
Albert-son, the thick fleshy rod that jutted from under his belly buried to 
the hilt in the young girl's roundly pursed lips. The Negro's hands gripped 
the edges of her hips like a pair of handles, holding her securely in place, 
directly in line with the enormous searching monster that probed for the 
elastic-like opening of her tightly clenched cunt. 

"Reach back and put it in," he said quietly, leaning toward her ear. 

"Oh, no, please . . . don't make me do it, please," she whispered chokingly, 
"It'll hurt." 

"Listen, you white little bitch, don't play games with me. Put it in!" His 
voice was louder now and Karen was terrified that Al-bertson might have 
heard. 

In sheer desperation, she reached behind her thighs and found the immense, 
throbbing, cock that awaited her; she nearly cried out when she gripped its 
enormous shaft and discovered that her fingers wouldn't close around it! He 
pushed forward, barely tapping his reservoir of strength, and the throbbing 
head of his prick pressed against the tight elastic ring of her vagina. She 
felt it begin a slow prodding and obediently, she guided it into position 
between the pink, widely-spread flanges of her trembling pussy. And then 
suddenly... 

She felt her thighs swept apart and Banning long, thick cock slithered wetly 
into her hot throbbing passage like a man's arm; the swollen, blood-filled 
head felt as huge as a clenched fist. The heavy weight of his loins crashed 
against the smooth white curve of her upturned ass-cheeks, his black, wiry 
pubic hair brushing ticklishly against the tender flesh of her buttocks. 

"Minmmmgggghhhhh," came the muffled cry from between her clenched teeth as 
she felt the huge pulsating head hit bottom somewhere deep up in her 
stomach. Her whole vaginal tunnel seemed to be aflame; the immense invading 
probe stretched the sensitive flesh painfully and proded at the delicate 
tissues. She squirmed from one side to another, fighting to wriggle off his 
impaling cock before it split her open. But it was no use; she was skewered 
right up into her ravished belly, stuck hopelessly on the end of his long 
rock-hard cock like an impaled bug. 

Through pain-misted eyes, she could see the young bride, Hillary, through 
the glass, her soft, lipstick smeared lips clasping hungrily the pulsing 
thick penis sawing into her mouth. The thin, elastic rim of her lips clung 
to it as though she feared it might be taken away from her; never had Karen 
seen any woman so ravenously starved for sex. Hillary had both hands free 
and was pulling the older man's fleshy buttocks hard against her face, fluid 
dripping from the corners of her tiny mouth and running in tiny, thin little 
rivulets down her cheeks. For some reason, the young brunette was revelling 
in the sadistic humiliation of Albertson's treatment; her eyes blazed with 
the masochistic revelry of her subjugation. 

Behind her, gasping and panting with delight, Banning began to rock 
rhythmically and gently in and out of the moist soft confines of her tightly 
clasping pussy. Gradually the pain vanished and Karen, like the young girl 
inside, began to feel ripples of delicious masochistic pleasure along her 
spine. Watching the girl engrossed in the depraved sucking of her husband's 
boss's thick turgid cock, coupled with the lascivious thrill of this 
magnificently-formed black man screwing into her from behind, was sending 
unfamiliar thrills of wicked perverse delight along her goose-bumped flesh. 
Her panties hung limply where the huge Negro had left them, at half mast 
around her upper calves, there with the crumpled top portion of her jeans. 
Her shirt was still on and buttoned, though Banning has pushed it up nearly 
to her shoulders. It was incredible... there was something exciting about 
being fucked this way, not naked and under the covers, but half-clothed in 
the outdoors, only her buttocks and the wetly seeping furrow of her open 
pussy naked and bared. There was something wickedly forbidden about it, as 
if she'd just turned around, dropped her jeans and panties and offered her 
eagerly waiting vagina to this huge, muscular master. A thrill of salacious 
ecstasy swept over her as she suddenly felt like a slave-girl, humbled for 
her master's pleasure taking. She began to undulate her buttocks 
lasciviously in tiny hungry circles around the thick shaft of the 

Negro's lust-distended penis, rotating in steady, rhythmic circles around 
the long thick pole imbedded deep up in her very in-sides. 

"Oh God," she breathed, her words coming louder than she intended, "Your 
cock is so big, Banning... it's soooo big!' 

Standing over her bent body, Banning gritted his teeth and fucked in and out 
with long, deliciously hard strokes that sent the knob-like head of his 
huge, ebony cock plummeting deep into her belly. A feeling of ecstatic power 
seized him as he watched the quivering young blonde come alive from the 
magic of his skewering thrusts; he could feel the soft fleshy ridges deep 
inside her give way before the merciless onslaught of his pistoning cock. 

His black fingers gripped her harder, squeezing the soft white flesh of her 
unresisting thighs with sadistic strength, wringing pitiful groans from the 
white giri's throat as the thick, turgid length of his glistening black cock 
fucked into her repeatedly. 

He stretched the quivering moons of her buttocks wide with his fingers, 
watching in the dim light as the pink folds of wet warm flesh pulled from 
inside her cunt with his outward stroke. He levered forward suddenly on the 
tips of his toes, sinking the wetly plunging shaft to the brushy thicket of 
his pubic hair. He prodded the deeply hidden recesses of her vaginal 
channelj enjoying the squeezing grip that enveloped his rigidity like warm 
moist elastic. His prick encased in the warm clasping sheath of her pussy 
pulsated with lewd pleasure. 

Karen's eyes opened and closed in a lost glaze of passion. She spread her 
thighs wider, moving her feet apart as best she could with the restraining 
bonds of her panties and jeans still holding her calves close together. She 
lowered her buttocks, forcing Banning behind her to lower his position, 
bringing the thrill-producing tip of his cock up hard against new pink folds 
of sensitive flesh deep along the walls of her tunnel. Forgotten was the 
humiliation of bending like a slave while a black man fucked her from 
behind, venting his lust into her eagerly welcoming vagina; forgotten were 
her panties dangling half down her long bare legs like a lowered flag of 
surrender. All that mattered now was the obscene pleasure coursing through 
her like a raging fire out of control. She wanted this so badly .,. she 
wanted this Negro's subjugating debasement . . . she wanted him to hurt her! 

Allison Mason's young bride, Hillary, was sucking the film producer's cock 
like a wild woman. His balls dancing beneath him slapped with a resounding 
smack against the girl's upraised chin. And Karen watched, horrified, Art 
suddenly jerked his cock from the young girl's tightly locked lips and 
holding the huge fleshy hose about two inches away with one hand and her jaw 
down with the other, with a groan of relief that could be easily heard 
outside, began spewing hot, sticky cum directly into her wide held mouth. 
The thin quick spurts streaming like liquid blown from a straw filled her 
mouth to the brim. Hillary swallowed voraciously, trying not to lose a 
single precious drop as she gulped again and again to keep up with the 
wildly ejaculating penis spewing its lewd discharge at her face. Karen 
gasped at the obscene panorama, Art's cock throbbing out its last remaining 
spurts of liquid and the thin viscous strings dribbling from her lips and 
bridging the gap between them and its obscenely jerking head like the tiny 
intricate web-strands of a spider's web. The director's young bride moaned, 
a strange, satiated smile on her face as she eagerly licked the last traces 
of the lust heated wetness from her lips. 

As if the young girl's total humilating subjugation had been a long-awaited 
signal, Banning, behind, began to fuck into Karen's obscenely-stretched 
pussy like a man seized by devils. Her whole body twitched and writhed 
uncontrollably as she groaned openly now, welcoming in undiluted abandon the 
deliciously-punishing instrument sinking deeper and deeper into her cunt. 
Her face contorted with passion, cries of ecstasy escaped her 
tightly-clenched teeth, try as she might to suppress them. 

"Oh, yes, god, yes," she gasped as Banning gripped her under the doubled 
bend of her waist and lifted her bodily off the floor. She was suspended in 
mid-air, joined to this incredibly virile black by only the long skewering 
length of his rapidly- pistoning penis as it fucked crazily into her from 
behind. It was wildly exciting, more fantastic than she could have dreamed! 
She was literally impaled on his delightfully long hard skewer, writhing 
uncontrollably with lustful ecstasy as he masturbated himself with her up 
and down on his prick, pulling her down onto the viciously probing organ 
like he'd pull a rubber lined sheath over the bulbous end of his cock. "Yes, 
yes . . . oh, god, yes! Puck me, fuck me with your wonderful black cock!" 

Karen felt a instant of breeze from her left side, saw, or imagined she saw 
a brief flicker of light. But her mind quickly dismissed it .. . nothing in 
the entire universe mattered but the deliciously-wicked pistoning of the 
Negro's immense lust-filled prick into the pink ravaged channel of her 
ravenously nibbling pussy. 

Her mind was playing tricks on her... or was it? She couldn't summon the 
energy or the will to figure it out... she thought she heard voices, but no, 
there were none, how could there be? 

Karen raced on mindlessly, driven to an incredible pinnacle of orgasmic joy 
by the frantic, slithering strokes of Banning's moistly gleaming cock, wet 
with her flowing juices deep, punishing strokes that charged their way into 
the very depths of her white-ly contracting belly. She was nearly there and 
could not stop. Shivering fingers of maddening desire plucked at her flesh, 
a million devils danced in her belly, their savage revelry spreading lewdly 
along the soft wet walls of her pinkly clasping passage. Sweat poured from 
every pore in her body as she strove wildly for that last wondrous second 
... her ass ground viciously back against the black man's hard driving 
pejyjs as he held her tightly with iron grips on her upper thighs. Her legs, 
dangling uselessly below, kicked the air spasticaUy as the huge Negro held 
her still-suspended, plundering her from behind again and again and again. 
And finally... 

"Aaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwww . . . AAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!!" Her wild animalistic 
orgasmic cry rent the still tropical night; a dozen colorful birds burst 
into flight in their brass cage, their fluttering wings flailing uselessly 
against the sides of their prison as they struggled to the uppermost bars. 

"God, God, I'm cumming!" she gasped, "Aaahhhh . . ." Her cum juice flowed 
wetly out around the thick circumference of his wetly pistoning cock, 
flowing down the sides of her thighs and trickling lewdly onto the tiles of 
the veranda. As the last purplish waves of pleasure flashed before her eyes, 
she felt the black man's savage climax join her own, a thick, seething 
torrent of hot, viscous cum that spurted in a staccato pattern far up into 
her insides. It felt deliriously warm and soothing, as if the sticky flow 
was coating her from head to toe ... she felt the immense, turgid pole 
shudder, heard a low gasp and quick breath from behind her up-turned 
buttocks, and it was over. He lowered her feet to the floor and backed away 
from the soft white curve of her ass-cheeks; his prick slithered like a long 
black snake from the deepest depths of her cock-ravaged pussy-hole. Karen 
struggled to stand erect again, painfully straightening her back as though 
she'd been doubled-over that way for years. She stood erect, belly filled 
with sperm and body still quivering from the orgasmic fury of her climax. 
Her eyes opened once more ... 

"Oh my God! Art! Art, I can explain! I..." Her hands went instinctively to 
her lower belly in a useless attempt to cover her nakedness; her jeans and 
panties were still dangling uselessly down below her knees. The wrinkled 
fabric of her shirt was bunched around her upper chest, over the bulging 
swells of her tits as they stood naked and proud, nipples still throbbing 
with the after-shocks of her devastating climax. 

Allison Mason's young bride, Hillary, was still naked, standing at Art 
Albertson's side with a silly, knowing grin on her lips. Her body glistened 
with the moistness of perspiration. Albertson looked at her for a moment. 
Karen looked appealingly to Banning, as if this coupling had somehow made 
the handsome Negro her protector. But there was no relief to be found there. 

"I guess we gave 'em one helluva show, huh? And all the time you thought we 
were the peeping toms!" 

Karen swallowed, moistened her lips to speak, "You ... you mean they were 
watching all along. You knew they were watching and still..." 

"Oh, don't get so uppity," interrupted Al-bertson, looking rather absurd in 
a pair of bedroom slippers and nothing else, "After all, you were the ones 
who sneaked up here for a good show." 

Hillary giggled, and her hand slid along Albertson's back, out of view until 
it reached the bottom of his buttock crevice. Her fingers popped into view 
again as they toyed with the producer's deflated testicles, teas-ingly 
pulling at the tiny hairs that covered his balls. 

Karen looked around her, into the faces . . . Banning, grinning like some 
dumb field hand caught behind the bam ... Albertson, smiling as if nothing 
were out of the ordinary. As if it was an everyday occurrence to be fucking 
another man's new bride while he earned his pay working at Albertson's 
instruction ... and Hillary, scarcely out of her teens, and yet, somehow 
older than any of them. Oh dear God, this can't be the world I live in! Am I 
like these people? Have I become some kind of animal since David's death? Oh 
God, is there nothing better than these people anywhere!? 

Karen pulled her jeans and panties tearfully up to her waist, mindless of 
their snickers as she struggled to clothe herself once again. She ran down 
the narrow steps, tripping once in the darkness but catching herself in 
time. There was a brilliant tropical moon high in the night sky and the path 
back down the hillside was clearly defined. On and on she ran, tears 
streaming in helpless rivulets down her cheeks. 

Pepe's jeep was where he'd parked it, unloaded now and empty. Without so 
much as a thought, she jumped behind the wheel. Somewhere far behind her in 
the darkness, she could hear the fat producer, Art Albert-son, shouting her 
name, others laughing. Their biting shrieks echoed off the stark hillside 
and followed her down toward the compound, chasing her like a band of 
wolves. 

The engine turned over, sputtered, then fired again. She fumbled with the 
gear lever, finally remembered the way the Mexican driver had done it. The 
jeep spun a cloud of rocks and sank into the moonlit night . . . Karen drove 
straight down the coast highway, not knowing where she was going, not 
caring. Soon Acapulco was in the distance and ahead lay an endless expanse 
of moon-white beach and dark jungle. 

 Chapter Nine 

Her headlights caught their brassy images in the distance. At first she 
thought her eyes were playing tricks on her; it looked like a light being 
shone into a deep pool, and down near the bottom, among the rocks, were a 
half dozen or so large bronze-scaled fish, darting and swimming about, more 
frantically now that the light grew brighter. 

She drew closer, slowing as the pavement gave way to rocks and hard-packed 
sand; the jeep slowed to a crawl and forded a freshly-cut furrow in the 
trail where a rain-swollen stream had left its banks high on the hillside 
and was carving a new route through the undergrowth and down to the sea. 

Karen swerved the jeep to avoid the darkest pool in the middle of sand and 
mud but it was too late; the wheels were stuck tight. The fishes swam toward 
her, gleaming and sparkling in the jeep's bright headlights. 

When they were closer, Karen could see that her eyes hadn't failed her after 
all. Nor was the last shred of her sanity gone, at least not yet. What she 
had thought were giant fish was a group of Indian boys, all in their teens 
it appeared, freshly out of the crashing surf just a few yards away, where 
they had been spearing for bottom-fish, drawn close to shore in the darkness 
of night and more vulnerable for their short pointed gigs. They had waded 
out into the stream and were standing around the vehicle, grouped in a 
semi-circle. Karen thought at first she was dreaming . . . the boys were all 
naked! Their bodies glistened with the palm oil they had rubbed into their 
skin earlier to protect them from the surf. What's happening to me? Am I 
losing my mind? 

They stayed in their positions, perhaps a dozen feet from the mired-in jeep, 
but venturing no closer. They spoke little among themselves, but what Karen 
could hear appeared to be an Indian dialect, not Spanish at all. They seemed 
to be laughing, laughing at her. She tried to speak to them, first in her 
limited Spanish, then in English, but there was no reply. 

"Why won't you help me!" she shrieked finally, distraught from the night's 
nightmarish events and nearly hysterical with rage and fear. "Can't you see 
I'm stuck?" She grew more and more outraged at their refusal to help; they 
moved not a step closer, but their laughing comments among themselves seemed 
to grow more frequent. One of them was pointing . . . Karen looked down 
accidentally, searching for the lamp switch to save the battery. It was then 
that she realized the source of their amusement-in her haste to escape the 
Albertson compound and all that it stood for, she had forgotten the buttons 
on her shirt. It dangled loosely to the waist, nearly three-quarters open, 
and the full white firmness of her breasts were quite visible in the 
moonlight. Embarrassed, she hurriedly covered her nakedness and tried again, 
"Please, won't you help me?!" 

One of the boys, who appeared to be the oldest, stepped forward through the 
swirling black waters. "No good, missie . . . mud too deep. I send little 
one here to village for truck. Then you be free." 

Karen breathed a sigh of relief, 'Thank God you speak English." 

The older boy nodded, "Yes, a little, from convent school. What you do here 
this hour? It very dangerous on this road at night . . . many sand and 
strong waters." 

She nodded, "I ... I guess I'm lost. Thanks for your help. I don't know what 
I would do if you weren't out here." 

"We fish for village," he explained, "No need for clothes. No women on 
beach. Village too far." He grinned broadly and pointed innocently at his 
dangling sapling-like cock; the others broke into peals of laughter at this 
and imitated their leader, pointing each to his own sex. 

Karen turned away, her face flushed. "I see . . . Well, when will the truck 
be here? I'm in a bit of a hurry." 

"I send little one now. Village far. Truck by many hours." 

"Many hours? But I can't stay out here alone all night!" Karen was genuinely 
afraid now for the first time since running out of the compound. Her blind 
rage had cooled now and she was looking at things realistically once again; 
the jungle was indeed dark and forbidding. And there were no lights to be 
seen in either direction along the Pacific coast. 

"No other way. We stay with you. No be alone." He smiled again, then 
gestured to the others and spoke in his native dialect. The young boys 
scampered like so many animal cubs back onto the sandy beach; the older one 
helped her from the vehicle and through the water to the safety of the 
hard-packed sand. She was soaked nearly to her neck when they finally were 
ashore, half-swimming, half-wading in the treacherously swift current. "We 
build fire. Dry clothes." And with that, the older boy and two others raced 
off for the jungle, only to return a few minutes later with armloads of 
driftwood they'd gathered at the winter storms' high-water edge. In minutes, 
they'd managed a roaring blaze; it felt good after the dousing she'd been 
through. 

The leader stood over her, not speaking, as if waiting for something. 
Finally, "Your clothes. Take them off. We dry here by fire." Karen 
half-laughed, then shook her head, "No, no. It's okay. I keep clothes." She 
realized she was beginning to talk like the Indian. 

But he too shook his head, and determinedly. "Must dry clothes. Circle 
around moon tonight. Storm before morning... very cold. You be sick if you 
no dry clothes." 

"But I can't! I can't just take my clothes off in front of all of you!" 
protested Karen. 

"Must dry clothes. We no have clothes. You no be ashamed your body." 

Karen couldn't believe her ears, but she wasn't in a mood to argue. This 
wasn't darkest South America, by any means, but she didn't want to be the 
one to anger a gang of natives in the middle of nowhere. And she did need 
their help, that much was for sure. If they ran off and left her now, she 
might starve to death before she found her way back. 

"Oh, all right," she agreed finally, and stood up to peel off the wet 
layers. In a couple of minutes, she was as naked as they, and two of the 
bronze-skinned boys had stretched her clothes on poles beside the flames. 
She sat there awkwardly at first, trying to ignore their openly curious 
stares. She folded her arms over her breasts and sat with her thighs pinched 
together; still, most of her nakedness was theirs to see? Yet it didn't 
particularly bother her, somehow; after all, they were naked too, so it was 
different, wasn't it? 

"We smoke now. Hours go quickly." The older boy pulled a clay pipe from his 
leather pouch lying at his feet on the sand; it was adorned with red carved 
birds and looked like something an American Indian might have offered the 
visiting cavalry in years past. He stuffed it with some loose leafy material 
from another, tinier, pouch and lit it with a burning twig from the fire. As 
guest, Karen was to be the first. 

She took it carefully and nodded a silent thank-you to the leader, then held 
it to her lips and took a cautious pull. It was marijuana! Of course, she'd 
heard that these natives down here smoke it all the time! 

"You take more," said the older boy, "Make you feel better." 

She started to explain that it wasn't necessary, that just the truck and a 
strong chain would be sufficient, but she remembered her predicament and did 
as the dark-haired youth said. It was stronger than any she'd had before, 
but it went down smoothly, not even burning her throat, though she must have 
taken quite a bit. 

It wasn't until the pipe had gone full around that Karen realized just how 
potent the marijuana really was, god, it wasn't anything like the stuff in 
the States. She could feel her head spinning dizzily and the fire seemed to 
grow brighter and then fade into a tiny ember. "I ... I think Fve had 
enough," she managed to say before she fell back on her elbows on the ragged 
blanket they had spread for her. Her modesty was gone, vanished with the 
stupefying wave that had just broken over her; the smiling boys' faces 
blurred into one greasy smear as the images spun round her in a drunken 
roll. 

Karen closed her eyes, allowed herself to float with the roller-coaster ride 
of the marijuana as it settled in the cells of her brain. When she opened 
them again, she felt strangely different . . . she stared at the naked young 
boys, much like they had stared at her when they found her in the swollen 
stream. She saw them now excited, erect young cocks all around her, smiling, 
innocent natives as they unashamedly stroked their precious members into 
stronger, more erect life. 

Young cdcks, thin and hard... young, sinewy bodies ... it all came back to 
her in a blinding flash. That night with Bobby, the incredible magic he had 
managed. A terrible obscene thrill ran through her dazed mind, an erotic 
feeling of pure savage sensuality so strong she had to catch her breath. Her 
mind reeled and she felt weak, nearly faint. 

She looked around at all the beautiful naked young boys, all trim and lean, 
their cocks rock-hard with unabashed admiration for her as a woman. Their 
stroking movements grew faster, and soon the naked native boys were 
masturbating, standing now as she lay outstretched on the sand. 

One edged closer, offering his cock in his hand to her lips and, without any 
conscious effort on her part, they parted, for she remembered the taste and 
feel of Bobby's cock in her mouth and she remembered the wickedly enjoyable 
feeling she'd savored too. She hungrily nibbled at the long boyish cock 
offered her, sucked it into her wet mouth until it was pressing far back 
against her tonsils. The tall thin boy suddenly moaned a whooping cry, like 
a warrior brave before battle, his head went back, his nakedly hairless 
loins grinding forward, and in an instant, his cock was emptying his fresh 
young sperm down her greedily milking throat. It was incredible! She was mad 
with the excitement of it all! These boys, these wonderfully naked boys, and 
they all wanted her. Wanted her so badly they ached for her nakedness! Naked 
boys with hard slender young cocks, eager for an education, eager for what 
she could teach them . . . her mind still whirled dizzily, but an idea was 
taking form ... Karen Bellser was beginning to see the faint prospect of 
light at the end of the dark, harrowing tunnel. 

"Please, please," she heard herself suddenly moan, "I want you boys to fuck 
me! I want all of your young wonderful cocks inside me!" And moments later, 
through her marijuana haze, she felt her cunt being opened down between her 
wide held thighs, eager, inquisitive fingers fondling the sensitive pink 
ragged edges of her vagina. She wiggled her buttocks at the" older boy, his 
ringers now worming around up between her thighs. He dropped to his knees as 
the others crowded around; he rocked forward . . . his young hard cock sank 
in easily, sliding through the moist, palpitating vaginal furrow like it was 
warmly melting butter, pushing the smooth wet walls of her cunt apart in 
rippling waves. A shouted chorus of enthusiastic cheers accompanied his 
moist slithering entry. 

Karen lay back on the warm blanket, moaning as a dozen hands found her 
voluptuous nakedness, sixty eager fingers probed and prodded at her every 
crevice, and curve. Work-calloused fingers found her tightly puckered anus 
and entered her there; she lifted her smooth white buttocks from the sand 
and ground back obscenely at the naked boy's hand. 

Strong hands and arms turned her over; she opened her eyes to find herself 
straddling the oldest one. She lifted her buttocks from his muscular belly, 
sitting over him, her hands on his chest. He smiled innocently as she 
reached around behind her thighs and found his virile young cock, guiding it 
to the wet hair fringed furrow between her legs. She rose higher to get 
above the long hard member . . . then sank down onto it with a gasping cry 
of relief as the incredibly long youthful prick soared hotly up into her 
belly, filling her with his strength and virility. Hands were on her bare 
back, pushing her forward. Obedient to their every whim, she leaned far 
over, her breasts dangling onto the eagerly licking tongue of the one 
beneath her. His upward strokes came faster now, bucking her like a rider in 
the saddle as he shoved his powerful native loins upward, driving his young 
prick deep into her belly. 

She felt a painful probing at her backside . . . from nowhere the clay 
bird-pipe was at her lips again. She filled her lungs with its mystic power, 
oblivious to the sudden pain as yet another of the young boys found his way 
into her nakedly writhing body. A ripple of pain shot from her anus as a 
long rigid penis popped through the taut elastic nether ring of her tiny 
puckered rectum and drove home, deep up the velvet channel of her tightly 
clenched back passage. 

God, it was wonderful! There was one fucking her deliciously from beneath 
and now this! His wondrously young hard cock was buried deep up in her 
insides! She could feel them both distinctly as they rubbed together through 
the thin membrane that separated her cunt and anus . . . there was a gasp 
from beneath her wildly bouncing tits, then another from behind her... she 
felt the gush of their fresh young sperm up in her belly and then their 
young cocks grow soft, then pull wetly from her body, only to be replaced by 
another . . . and another . . . and still another! 

Karen moaned incessantly, a whining animal cry of savage ecstasy shattering 
the cool tropic night. She wasn't running now ... the jeep could sink to 
hell, for all she cared . . . the Art Albertsons and Banning Carvers of her 
world could touch her no more. 

 Chapter Ten 

I thought I was dreaming that hot Sunday afternoon in Mexico City, wandering 
aimlesly through the Thieve's Market, mostly to kill time, but partly to put 
together the pieces of the article I was writing for an American news 
magazine. Things were getting better even then; I didn't need to look for 
help in the bottom of a bottle, and the simpler problems of life were enough 
for me, little things like teaching my boy Noah to tie his shoes or 
explaining why it's better to hang up one's play clothes than to leave them 
outside and run in the nude... 

But anyway, back to what I was saying. I saw that damned statue before I was 
close enough to be really sure it wasn't my imagination. I must have 
blundered through that crowd like a Brahman bull through the streets of 
Calcutta, but sure enough, when I got to the stall, there it was, Gloria's 
last work, the last piece of sculpture she'd ever do. And sitting here in 
the sun in the middle of Mexico. Jesus, did I ever do a double take! 

Naturally, I bought the accursed thing. Not so much for the memories of 
Gloria; she'd done enough to erase all the good ones anyway. But I figured 
maybe one day when Noah's old enough to be marching in a demonstration or 
occupying the dean's office, he'd appreciate having something to remember 
his mother by. God knows she didn't leave him anything else... 

But how the hell did it get there? It nearly drove me up the wall for weeks; 
Christ, I'm a writer, yet I couldn't dig up a simple little story like that. 
Somebody had to know, there had to be a clue around somewhere. And it was 
three weeks to the day after I bought The Innocents back that the riddle 
began to make at least a little sense. I say only a little, for the facts 
that I unravelled made less sense the more I dug into them. 

I got my lead from Leina Garceen, she's the sister of the vendor who sold me 
the statue. He wasn't about to talk; guess he figured I was a cop or 
something, but Leina was a bit more helpful. She said the statue had come to 
them through her friend in Aca-pulco, a sometime-chauffer named Pepe Minoza. 
Well, Pepe proved a hard nut to crack, but with my curiosity eating at me 
like a tapeworm, I finally broke down and blew my last twenty in a 
last-ditch attempt to loosen his tongue. It worked, all right, or at least 
it seemed that way. Pepe told me the whole story, how he'd taken the statue 
to Leina on his boss's orders, that his employer didn't want the thing in 
his sight. Something about a breach of contract, as near as I can figure. 
Damn good-looking woman in the middle, too- Karen Bellser, the wife of the 
guy who bought the thing in the first place. Well, that all made sense, and 
I would have been satisfied to leave it at that and forget the whole mess. 

But that damned Mexican couldn't leave well enough alone. Cocky bastard he 
was, too. I guess he thought I was some kind of gringo fool that would 
believe anything, or maybe he just wanted his name in print and figured that 
the best way to insure that was to tell this dumb Americano the most 
outlandish tale he could dream up. 

That must have been it; I can't think of another reason. But can you imagine 
it? That lousy little cactus-picker tried to tell me Karen had run off into 
the jungle down south of Acapulco, down where it's still real jungle, not 
the Disneyland variety. That she'd taken up with a bunch of fishermen 
Indians, just shucked everything, a promising career, fancy house in Beverly 
Hills, the works. Just to go live with some Indians. And to top it all off, 
Pepe said he'd caught a glimpse of her when he went looking for the jeep 
she'd vanished in ... running nude with a gang of savages along the beach at 
sunset! 

Can you believe the nerve of that guy! Thinking I'd swallow a story like 
that! 


End
