Jailhouse Harem
by Kim Michaels
(SG-135)


CHAPTER ONE 

"Fuckin' bastards!" she muttered, trying to catch her breath. 

Isabel Chatham wore a brown, shapeless dress that matched the desert. Only 
22 years old, she walked as fast as she could along the dusty dirt road, 
grateful that the sun had gone down and that it was twilight. 

Occasionally, without stopping, she would glance backward, as if in fear of 
someone or something. And then it came: a black sedan, with a burly man 
behind the wheel, and another one beside him. The driver, Quentin Wakefield, 
stared straight ahead, keeping his eye on the road and at the same time 
looking for the girl. 

The other man, Jerome Sapporo, occasionally glanced at the barren fields on 
either side of the road. Neither man spoke, but both had the same 
objective-to get the girl. 

Isabel wasn't sure whether she heard the roar of the approaching motor or 
whether she saw the black dot on the horizon. But one thing she did know: 
that the car was fast catching up to her, and there was little chance of 
eluding those two men. 

Which was when she muttered, "Fuckin' bastards!" 

She threw herself in a ditch and lay flat against the dirt, ignoring the 
possibility of meeting a rattlesnake or a scorpion eye to eye. A lizard 
scurried past, not even stopping to look at this giant creature, and she 
said to herself, If that's poisonous, I wish he'd bite me and get it over 
with. 

Isabel held her breath as the sedan raced by at-70 miles an hour, leaving a 
trail of dust. A minute later, when she pushed herself to her feet and 
didn't even bother to brush herself off, she started walking in the same 
direction. There was no sense in retracing her steps, even to elude those 
two men. 

Suddenly, in the distance, she saw the sedan lurch to a stop and make a turn 
on the narrow road. As it came toward her, Isabel became hysterical and 
started to run across the desert. It was an hour before darkness, and there 
was no protection for her. 

Once more the car lurched to a stop, and the two men slid out of the front 
seat and gave chase. As they got nearer and nearer, Isabel cried out in 
panic, ran harder, stumbled, got to her feet, and ran some more. 

She was no match, however, for the men. Wakefield caught her first, grabbing 
her arm (but not without first stroking his hand across her breast), and 
with her free hand Isabel struck blindly at him and screamed, "Let me go, 
you cocksucker, let me go!" 

"Shut up before I shove it down your throat!" snapped Wakefield. 

"You do, and I'll bite it off!" she warned, and the big man knew she wasn't 
kidding. 

Sapporo was there seconds later, and when he grabbed Isabel's shoulder, she 
gave a sudden jerk and fell to the ground. Both men pinned her to the desert 
floor, glaring at each other with silent satisfaction as she finally gave up 
the straggle. 

"Bastards!" she swore. "Why don't you kill me?" 

"Got a better idea," Sapporo grunted. In a moment his hard, throbbing penis 
was in his hand. "Ever see one that big?" 

Before Isabel could answer, Sapporo was down on his knees, between her 
spread legs. In one fell swoop he lifted her skirt and ripped off her 
panties, and like an expert he guided his penis to the lips of her vagina. 
They were moist from the desert heat, not from passion, but that was all 
Sapporo needed to slip his penis inside her. 

"Rape!" she snapped. "You'll go to prison for this!" 

Sapporo was too busy pushing himself up and down to pay attention to her 
words. But Wakefield merely grinned and answered, "Who'd believe you?" 

Isabel knew that was the truth. Nobody would believe her-especially after 
her record for prostitution. 

"Hurry up, Jerry," coaxed Wakefield. "Christ, she won't help any," Wakefield 
groaned, sweating profusely as he worked hard on the desert floor. 

But at that moment, as if on cue, Isabel rose to the occasion. She wrapped 
her legs around Sapporo's torso, as if to pull him tighter inside her, and 
her arms went round his neck and held his face close to hers. 

There was a low, guttural sound emanating from Isabel's innards, and Sapporo 
shot his load just as she came. 

"How's that for timing?" he bragged, pushing himself to his feet and turning 
away from Wakefield. 

Isabel's eyes were closed, and she relished the warm feeling inside her. 
When she opened her eyes, she saw Wakefield prone over her, and she felt his 
penis entering her. 

"Fuck you!" she screamed, pulling back and leaving him hanging there. 

"You got it wrong, girlie," Wakefield grinned. "I'm the one who's going to 
fuck you." 

And fuck her he did. It took a little doing, holding her down, but once he 
got inside her, she was like a wild horse gone tame, and she did everything 
he wanted. 

When it was all over, Isabel stood up, dried herself with her torn panties 
and threw them away. 

"You shouldn't try running away all the time," Sapporo gently chided her. 

Isabel was ready to curse him out when she thought better of it. 

"Look, fellas-why don'cha pretend like you never found me? Some day our 
paths will cross, an' I promise, I'll make it up to you." 

"Would like to oblige you, Isabel," said Wakefield, "but if we came back 
empty-handed, we'd lose our jobs." 

The two men led her to the car. Wakefield got behind the wheel, and Sapporo 
sat in the back of the sedan with Isabel. "What the hell you always trying 
to escape for?" Wakefield asked, then commented, "Nobody ever made it yet." 

"This one will," she averred. 

"That'll be the day," muttered Wakefield, and he hit 70 miles an hour, 
although he was in no particular hurry to get back to the Honor Farm for 
Women. 

The other 15 inmates, ranging in age from 18 years to 30, were already in 
the dormitory of the barracks-like wooden building, when Sapporo turned over 
Isabel Chatham to Mrs. Preston, the middle-aged matron. 

Mrs. Preston, an unusually considerate woman, merely nodded to the deputy. 
She did not thank him, for it was not in her heart to do so. She did not 
condemn nor condone Isabel for her escape attempt. Instead, she said to the 
worn girl, "You must be hungry." 

"I'd just as soon starve to death," Isabel blurted out ungraciously. 

"Get undressed and get into bed," said Mrs. Preston, "and I'll-" 

Before she could finish the sentence, John Munhall walked unannounced into 
the dormitory accompanied by Wakefield, who had gone to tell him that the 
girl had been captured, and by Sapporo, who never let an opportunity go by 
to watch the girls undressing. 

Munhall was the stern superintendent of the Farm, as it was called. In his 
middle-fifties, he was an unbending man, adhering to the letter of the law. 
In the three years that he was reponsi-ble for the Farm no one had escaped, 
although there had been no less than nine attempts. With fury in his eyes, 
but his voice low, he approached Isabel's bed. 

"You'll never quit, will you?" 

"Not until I'm out of this fuckin' hell-hole" she exclaimed. 

"It's an Honor Farm," the superintendent reminded her sharply, at the same 
time wincing at her choice of words. "You were sent here because-" 

"I don't want to hear that bullshit again!" Isabel cried out. "I'm here 
because your two goons caught me. But next time they're not going to." 

"There won't be a next time," said Munhall. 

"You wait and see!" she snapped back. "The first chance I get, even if it's 
tonight, I'm getting the hell out of here, and you or nobody else is going 
to stop me!" 

Munhall turned to Wakefield. "Handcuff her to the bed," he ordered. 

Mrs. Preston moved forward. "Do you have to?" she asked. 

"The girl leaves me no choice. You heard her." 

After Isabel was handcuffed to a metal bar of the bed, she stretched out, 
her hand over her head, and glanced up at the deputies. "Well, what're you 
two goons starin' at? You saw it all before!" 

Wakefield and Sapporo were enjoying themselves, being in the proximity of 
all these women of different sizes and ages, who were in the process of 
undressing when they had come into the dormitory. As a matter-of-fact, some 
of the women had continued to change from dresses into pajamas as if they 
were doing a strip-tease, and Sapporo, who never let a cheap thrill get past 
him, kept a lustful eye on them. 

"I want to see you in my office," Munhall said to Mrs. Preston, and when he 
left the dormitory, the two deputies reluctantly followed him. 

"Are you too uncomfortable?" the matron asked Isabel. 

Actually, Wakefield had handcuffed only one wrist to the bed post, so that 
Isabel could lie there in a degree of comfort. To Mrs. Preston's question, 
however, she muttered, "What's the difference?" 

The matron shook her head, then finished the sentence she had begun before 
the superintendent had come in. "I'll bring you something to eat." 

The moment Mrs. Preston left the dormitory, the other inmates began to 
chatter, like monkeys in a cage. 

In one corner, somewhat apart from the others, were four beds occupied by an 
un-likely quartet. At the moment, like the rest of the women, they were 
talking about Isabel. 

"What's she all the time trying to get away for?" drawled Augustine Rostov, 
a hard-nosed, sarcastic, 24-year-old prostitute. "Don't she like the country 
club atmosphere?" 

"Must be the company," remarked Nancy Minot, just past 21, a remarkably 
pretty girl who had been mistress to a millionaire, a man influential 
throughout the state. Nancy's cross was that the gentleman had refused to 
use his influence to keep her out of prison because any obvious association 
with her or interest in her might tend to incriminate him. If she was a 
bitter girl, she had good reason to be. 

"Maybe she was invited to a party," cracked Roselle Parma, and the remark 
was, in a way, self-chastisement. For Rose was at the Farm for having been a 
party girl. She had held down a regular job as a model so that she would 
never be charged with vagrancy, but she earned most of her income on 
weekends, when she got a hundred dollars a night for being a willing 
companion. 

There they were-Nancy the mistress, Rose the party girl, and Aggy the 
prostitute-all with a different sense of morality but, when the sham or the 
glamor of their calling was stripped away, they were three of a kind. 

The fourth girl in their little group was Clara Sedan, a quiet redhead who 
had just reached her 21st birthday. Clara had been imprisoned for petty 
thievery. Unlike the other women at the Farm, she had refused to discuss her 
crime. She took no pride in it, and carried a deep resentment in her heart. 

"It's too bad," she said softly, "that they caught Isabel again. I wonder 
what they'll do with her?" 

Aggy laughed. "If she knew what to do with them, they wouldn't have brought 
her back." 

Isabel, handcuffed to her bed, thought to herself, Little does she know. 

Nan said to Aggy, "You ever give it a whirl with those guys?" And then, 
before Aggy could answer, she made the reply herself. "I'll bet you did." 

"Oh, they're not good enough for you," said Aggy, taking off her brassiere 
before slipping on the tops of her pajamas. "They gotta have a million bucks 
before you get in the hay with them." Then, needling Nan, she went on, "For 
all the good it did you." 

"Lay off," said Rose. 

Aggy was not one to stop a good argument. She indicated her full round 
breasts and grinned slyly at Nan. "Hey Nan, if your guy saw these mountains 
of flesh, instead of your little knockers, you think he'd set me up in a 
swank apartment and give me charge accounts in all the big stores?" 

"The men I know," said Nan, "would rather go to bed with a cow than with a 
pig." 

Aggy threw a shoe at Nan, who ducked. The shoe hit Clara. Instead of 
apologizing, Aggy was contrite. "Serves you right," she said to Clara, "for 
being in the way." 

When it was time for lights out, Mrs. Preston returned with a sandwich and a 
glass of milk for Isabel. It was too much to refuse, though Isabel barely 
muttered her thanks. 

"Before I turn out the lights," Mrs. Preston said to the 16 inmates, "I want 
to talk to you girls." 

"Girls," cracked Rose. "We were old women when we were 13 years old, all of 
us, I bet." 

Mrs. Preston gave Rose a reproving glance, then went on: "Mr. Munhall wants 
it made clear that as long as he is superintendent of the Honor Farm, no one 
will escape. From my own point of view, I don't see why any of you ever 
attempt it." 

There were several sarcastic remarks, but the matron chose to ignore them. 
"In the first place, all of you are here on your good behavior. It means a 
chance for rehabilitation, a year at the most before you return to society. 
Is it worth the gamble to take a chance to-" Mrs. Preston hesitated, then 
continued, "to be sent to the Women's Reformatory?" 

That meant serving out a full term, with no possibility of a parole. 
Nevertheless Isabel, having washed down her sandwich with the cold milk, 
shouted, "Damn right it is!" 

Mrs. Preston spoke to everybody, although the words were meant, most of all, 
for Isabel. "In the second place, how far do any of you think she can get? 
Ten miles to Tecumcare? Fine, so you get there. Then what? There's no place 
to hide in Tecumcare, and from that point on, the highways are patrolled by 
state policemen." 

The matron turned out the lights and said, "No, girls. It isn't worth it. 
The state is giving you a second chance here. Take it. Make the most of it. 
And when your time is up, put this phase of your life behind you and forget 
it." 

She said goodnight to the inmates, knowing none of them would reply in kind. 
Then she went out and closed the door. 

As she left the barracks, she checked to see that the night guard was on 
duty. It was Jerry Sapporo, one of the two deputies. He alternated, days and 
nights, with Wakefield. 

Sixteen girls lay in their narrow beds, row after row after row. Sixteen 
women with but a single thought: I wish to hell I was out of this 
god-forsaken dump. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Some time during the early morning hours, when all of the women were asleep, 
Mrs. Preston came back into the dormintory with Sapporo. They went to 
Isabel's bed, and the matron gently shook the girl. 

"Shhh," she said softly. 

Isabel opened her eyes and watched while Sapporo unlocked the handcuffs and 
removed them from her wrist and the bedpost. 

"Come with me," said Mrs. Preston, "and don't make any noise." 

The moment they had left the dormitory Aggy, who was a-light sleeper (a 
habit, no doubt, influenced by her profession), reached to the next bed and 
awakened Rose. "They just took Isabel." 

"Where to?" asked Rose. 

"Where do you think?" replied Aggy. She slipped out of bed and peered out 
the window. That awakened Nan and Clara, the former pushing herself up on 
her elbows to ask, "what's up?" 

"There's a state car outside," said Aggy. "Can't see what is says. Must be 
the sheriffs office, or maybe the highway patrol." 

"You know what that means," said Rose. "They're shipping her to the 
Reformatory." 

"She's a sucker," said Nan. "She knew damn well she couldn't get out of 
here. Nobody escapes, like Munhall said." 

"Well," said Aggy, climbing back into her bed but remaining in a seated 
position, "there's always a first time. And me, I'm going to be it. You'll 
see." 

"If you figure out a way," said Rose, "count me in. I got too much catching 
up to do." 

"What about you?" Aggy asked Nan. 

"Oh sure," said Nan, not for one moment believing that Aggy would take her 
seriously. "I'm getting tired of the decor of my bedroom, and any change 
would be for the better." 

Aggy spoke in a hosky whisper to Clara, in the fourth bed. "Hey Clara-you're 
coming with us." It wasn't a request; it was more of an order. 

There was no answer. "She's asleep," said Rose. 

"Hell she is," snapped Aggy, who knew better. 

But Clara did not stir, despite the fact that the talking had awakened her, 
and she lay there in silence, her eyes closed. 

"Leave her alone," said Rose, "she's only a kid." 

Aggy let out a soft, sarcastic chuckle. "Clara a kid? Didn't you ever see 
her in the showers? Her tits are almost as big as mine." 

"Is that all you ever talk about?" snapped Nan. "Every girl has breasts." 

"You got marbles, compared to some of them around here," claimed Aggy. 

"Where I come from," said Nan, "it's quality that counts, not quantity." 

That was the last word. In a hair-pulling contest, Aggy usually won. In a 
word contest, Nan was always the victor. Rose was the go-between, the keeper 
of the peace. "That's enough, you two. Goodnight." 

Clara was grateful for the resulting silence. But not for the long, dreary 
hours before dawn. They were the worst hours of all, when the inmates, if 
awake, stirred restlessly in their beds. They were the idle hours,'when the 
girls had nothing to do but think. And remember. 

Clara remembered how her parents were killed in an automobile accident when 
she was 14 years old. She moved in with her mother's sister, a widow who had 
a 16-year-old son of her own. At first Jack never made a pass at his cousin, 
and Clara was grateful for that, because Jack had a reputation in town for 
being a fast one with the girls. 

But one night when Clara was 15, there was a thunderstorm. Frightened at the 
noise and the lightning, Clara ran to her aunt's room for solace, but her 
aunt always kept her bedroom door locked. Not kowing where to go in her 
fright, Clara ran into Jack's room and slipped under the covers beside him. 

Now Jack was not one to pass up an opportunity. He knew Clara was a virgin, 
and if he took her cherry and his mother found out, there would be hell to 
pay. But there was nothing wrong in an anatomy lesson, and a little 
pretending. 

Jack held Clara close to him, and he could feel her heart beating loudly. 
His blood pounded against his head as her small, firm, round breasts pressed 
up against him; and when the thunder struck again, Clara unwittingly pressed 
her stomach against his, and through the nightgown his penis felt the touch 
of her pubic hair. 

Jack took Clara's hand and placed his penis in it. "Do you know what that 
is?" he asked. 

"I-I never really saw one," Clara admitted. 

Jack reached for a flashlight that he kept by his bedside and turned it on, 
a beam of light shining on his erection under the covers. Clara, holding 
onto it, peered at it. 

"It's hard," said Clara. "Does it stay like this all the time?" she asked 
innocently. 

"Wish it did," laughed, Jack. He turned off the flashlight, then gently 
lifted her night-grown. He just pressed his penis flat against her body, its 
head stroking her pubic hair. "Like that?" 

Clara's answer was noncommittal. She had forgotten about the thunderstorm, 
and she gave a little moan, as if it were approval. Taking it for that, Jack 
gently rubbed his forefinger on the outer lips of her vagina. But there was 
no getting inside. 

"Tight," he remarked. 

"I'm scared," she told him. 

"And a virgin, aren't you?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Well, don't worry, I'm not going to lay you." 

Clara received that information with mixed emotions. Other schoolgirls had 
been laid and told her about it, and she wouldn't have minded. On the other 
hand, there were dangers-and there was no sense in pressing her luck. 

"There're other ways," said Jack. 

"Like what?" she asked. 

"Take off your nightgown." 

Clara complied, and Jack took off his pajamas. They kissed gently at first, 
then he pressed his lips hard against hers, and he forced his tongue into 
her mouth. Clara responded to that, and returned the compliment. 

Jack's head moved slowly down her body, kissing her neck and then each 
breast, the tiny nipples becoming hard with excitement. Jack proceeded to 
tongue her body all the way down to her pubic hair, and finally his tongue 
touched her thighs. 

Clara opened her legs. The tip of Jack's tongue touched the tip of her 
clitoris, and she cried out softly in ecstasy. 

"Shhh," he warned her, and then he slid on top of her. Instead of thrusting 
his penis inside her, her merely placed it between her legs, against the 
vagina. "Now press your legs together," he whispered, and she did. 

Jack had only to move up and down a couple of times before, in the heat of 
passion, he ejaculated. 

"I won't get a baby?" asked Clara. 

"Naaa, it's all on the sheet," he assured her. 

The rainstorm had ended, and the thunder was silenced. Clara went back to 
her own room, still a virgin, but nevertheless thrilled at what little 
pleasure had taken place. 

When she graduated from high school, Clara went to work in the local 
department store, and a year later she was promoted to cashier. Cousin Jack, 
meanwhile, worked at a bakery. His wages went to pay for his mother's 
illness; Clara's went for household expenses. 

Strangely enough, Jack only played a game of cat-and-mouse with Clara, never 
quite going all the way. But it was enough to satisfy her, bettter than 
masturbating, and she did not ask for more. 

Then the time came when Jack, having been careless with another girl, got 
her in trouble and needed money badly. He confided to Clara, and said his 
life would be ruined if he did not get the girl $50 that would pay for an 
abortion. He promised to pay it back a week from Saturday, when he got his 
salary from the bakery. 

It was against Clara's better judgment, but she knew the accountant would 
not check up on the cash until the first of the month. So she took the $50 
out of the safe and gave it to her cousin, once more getting his 
reassurance-and a little feel to boot-that he would repay her in time. 

Jack's girl friend had her abortion and died the following morning from 
blood poisoning. 

Frantic, Jack left town, and Clara was left holding the bag. 

Nobody believed her story. Or, if they did, they didn't care. The point was, 
the trusted cashier stole $50 from the department store safe, and she was 
tried, convicted and sentenced to the Honor Farm, for this was her first 
offense and she was not an habitual criminal. 

Nevertheless, the scandal was too much for her aunt, and the poor woman, 
already suffering from a weak heart, passed away. With Jack gone too, Clara 
was all alone in the world. 

All alone, except for 16 roommates who had come from various backgrounds for 
having committed assorted crimes. 

Nan heard the motor of the car outside start up, and that brought to mind 
her own car. It was a high-powered red convertible, given to her by Sam, her 
gentleman friend, when she agreed to move into the apartment that he had 
furnished for her. 

At the time, Nan was a college student. It was at a football game, where she 
was leading the cheering section, that Sam took a fancy to her. Long thin 
legs, boobies that bounced beautifully and bountifully underneath that 
sweater. So Sam arranged to meet her, to shower her with small gifts, to 
make her yearn for the so-called better things in life. 

"Why do you want to waste away the best years of your life studying?" Sam 
had asked her. "To become a schoolteacher, and make five, six thousand 
dollars a year? Hell, Nan," he said, "I'll spend that much just on clothes 
for you. Don't you want to be all prettied up?" 

Nan was torn between the material things and her better judgment. Her good 
sense told her to stay in college, that her whole life lay in front of her. 
Beside, there was Denis Tiffin. He was president of the student council, 
captain of the football team, and the idol of all the girls on the campus. 
The girl he loved, and pinned, however, was Nan Minot. 

The only flaw in their relationship was that Denis, being healthy and 
virile, needed an outlet, and he talked Nan into giving herself to him. "It 
won't make any difference," he had convinced her, "because sooner or later 
we're going to get married." 

She thought of that spring night when they both slipped out of the campus 
library, where they were supposed to be studying, and met behind the hedge. 
Usually it was just for a cigarette and a kiss. But this night it was 
special. It was Denis's birthday. 

"I wish I had a present for you," she said, kissing him warmly. 

"There is something you can give me," he told her. 

"What's that?" she asked innocently. 

"You." Then, without waiting for her answer, he took her in his arms and 
pressed his lips against hers. Her mouth opened, and his tongue found hers. 
When he felt her resistance lowering, he pulled her to the grass, and his 
hands slipped under her sweater, unfastening her brassiere. 

As he massaged the full, firm breasts that protruded, Nan whispered, "Denis, 
not here. Somebody might come along." 

"Nobody will see us," he assured her, and he kissed the nipples that pointed 
at him, his tongue slipped over the nubs of the nipples and made them stand 
erect, so that she moaned with the pleasure of it. 

Then his hand lifted her skirt, and although she resisted briefly, she let 
him pull off her panties. It was the first time that he saw that sweet 
rounded hillock of flesh between her legs and, to make sure she would not 
come out of the passionate spell, he leaned down and his tongue found the 
tip of her clitoris. 

"My God!" she moaned, and he continued to move his tongue gently along the 
lips of her vagina as he managed to undress himself. 

Now his lips traced tiny designs in the sweet-scented bush above the love 
nest, up her belly, to the firm breasts. First one nipple, then the other, 
and as she moaned some more, his lips met hers and his tongue entered her 
mouth. She responded in like manner, unaware at first that he had slid on 
top of her. 

But getting his penis inside her was another matter. Penis met membrane, and 
there was resistance. 

Nan cried out a little. "What's the matter, Denis?" 

"Either my prick is too big," he sighed, "or your cunt is too small." 

But he soon remedied that by salivating her juices with his finger. When her 
pussy was well lubricated, he slipped his throbbing penis between the lips, 
gave a gentle shove, and when she cried out once more he knew the cherry was 
gone. 

Slowly, at first, he pushed up and down, at the same time kissing and 
fondling her breasts. 

Nan just lay there like a dead fish, not knowing how to cooperate. Perhaps 
dead was not the word for it, because every nerve of her body was out. 

Suddenly, then, Denis whispered hoarsely, "Move your ass!" 

Nan complied. It was like second nature. She undulated, twisted and turn, 
then wrapped her long, lean legs around his torso. 

"Baby, this is it!" he exclaimed, and as he moaned, she groaned with 
ecstasy, and they both came at once. 

When I was all over, her first thoughts were, "What if I have a baby?" 

"You don't have to worry about that," he told her. "I used protection. Look 
here." 

Denis showed her the rubber over his shriveling penis. He pulled it off, 
extended it to her. "Smell it," he said. 

She took a whiff of it. 

"That's love juice," he explained, and he thought, before long I'll have her 
swallowing that, and she'll love every drop. 

And because Denis had broken her in, Nan did not find it difficult to give 
herself to Sam, for he had given her some lovely gifts and promised her even 
more. The material things eventually outweighed her better judgment, and she 
left college to live in an apartment that Sam had rented and furnished just 
for her. 

Being a public figure, Sam was a careful man, and even when he bought the 
convertible for her, he paid cash, so that it could never be traced to him. 
Which, it turned out, was a smart move. 

Because one night, driving at 80 miles an hour, Nan was not able to swerve 
in time to avoid crashing into a farmer in a pickup truck. Unfortunately the 
man died, and Nan was charged with manslaughter. 

Sam sent an attorney to her who informed Nan that it would be best, for all 
concerned, if she would plead guilty and serve the year at the Honor Farm. 
By "all concerned," Nan understood, Sam meant that if he tried to pull 
strings, one of his political enemies might uncover their relationship. 

So Nan, feeling abandoned by the man for whom she had given up both her 
college education and her steady boyfriend, went to the Honor Farm an 
embittered, disillusioned young woman. She swore to herself, and she meant 
it, that she would never have anything more to do with a man for the rest of 
her life. 

Roselle Parma, on the other hand, liked men, and tonight, as she lay on her 
bed, she wished that someone of the opposite sex were beside her. 

She had had a good job in the big city, modeling clothes. The only 
difficulty was that, with her 65-dollar-a-week take-home pay, it didn't 
leave much for her to buy the nice things that she modeled for others. And 
she felt she had as much right to them as they did. 

She needed no coaxing, then, when the buyer of the store suggested she might 
find it worthwhile to spend the weekend at his ranch with some friends. The 
friends were out-of-town gents who did business with the buyer. 

As it turned out, they also did business with Rose. She averaged a hundred 
dollars for a Saturday night gig, and $150 for the two days and nights of a 
weekend. 

Rose was an expert at fellatio. Nothing gave her as much pleasure as taking 
a man's erection in her hand and guiding it into her mouth. The bigger the 
prick, the better she liked it. She drove men crazy the way her tongue 
licked the underside of their pricks, then as she took the balls, one at a 
time, into her mouth. When the whole prick was in her mouth, her tongue 
worked miracles on the organs. No man ever thought of fucking her, this was 
so good; and no man could possibly stop, once she got started. 

The hot semen was sweet juice to her, and not only did she swallow every 
drop, but even when the man was through, she continued to suck until every 
last drop eked out. 

This was something Rose would pay for if she had to or if she had the money; 
but she was getting paid for it, and paid well. What's more, the money was 
tax-free. 

All was perfect, as far as Rose was concerned. Not as far as an older model 
who had been shunted aside for Rose was concerned, though. She anonymously 
informed the state police of a weekend party at the ranch, and after the 
raid that followed, Rose wound up at the Honor Farm. 

It didn't bother her too much, once she got over the initial shame. She 
knew, from experience, that she had two attributes: she was a good model, 
and she was a better cocksucker. Somehow, when she finished serving her 
sentence, she would get to New York, where she would be lost in the crowds, 
and then she would let nature take its course. She really had nothing to 
worry about, and she was aware of it. 

Not so with Aggy Rostov. For Aggy was an ordinary whore, who had spent seven 
years working in houses throughout the midwest. She had become part of a 
syndicate, and after a month or two in one city, she was moved to another. 

The price varied according to the location. In the farm belt, where things 
were bad, the price was five dollars a fuck. In the cities, where 
manufacturing was at an all-time high, the price was ten dollars. Aggy was 
allowed to keep half of what she earned. 

And she earned it, taking on all comers: young kids just breaking in, old 
timers too spent to make the grade, alcoholics who couldn't get a hard-on, 
and dope fiends. For all of them, however, she had only one question: Where 
s the money, dearie? 

And for all of them, though she felt nothing, she put on a good act. She 
rarely had an orgasm, but the way she moaned, she made the man feel like he 
had conquered the world. That was part of the game. 

It dawned on Aggy that if she went in business for herself, she could keep 
all the money. So she left the syndicate and set up shop in an apartment. 
But she didn't know the angles, like the art of paying for protection from 
the law, and the syndicate saw to it that she was picked up for pandering. 

Where would she go from here? Aggy didn't know, didn't care. Wherever the 
syndicate would send her. That is, if they'd take her back. That's what 
bothered her. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

The Honor Farm was more than a facility for rehabilitation. Ordinarily it 
would not pay to have a superintendent, a matron and two deputies, who 
alternated as day and night guards, to watch over 16 young women. 

These girls, however, worked. Not only for their own room and board, but to 
help sustain the Women's Reformatory by raising vegetables and farm products 
for that institution. 

This morning, as they did all mornings except Sunday, the women were in the 
field, tending to the various patches. There were other farm chores, too, 
and the inmates took turns at these. 

The heavy work was taken care of by a resident farmer and his assistant. 
They usually milked the cows, too, although once in a while an inmate who 
had been raised on a farm knew how to handle this and was given the 
assignment. 

All the girls were dispirited about Isabel having been removed to the 
Women's Reformatory. It was not that any of them cared one little bit for 
this unfortunate girl; it was merely the thought that if one of them should 
attempt to escape, the same thing would happen to her. 

"It's not worth it," grumbled Rose. 

"Hell it isn't," said Aggy. "All it takes is brains and guts." 

"Well," cracked Nan, "you got the guts." 

"Very funny," said Aggy. Then, as Nan examined her broken fingernails, Aggy 
added, "What's the matter, Miss Minot-didn't your manicurist show up this 
morning?" 

"You should talk," shrugged Nan. "I'll bet the only place you ever had your 
hair done was at a barber's college." 

Before Aggy could hit Nan with a rake, Rose warned them, "Hop to it, you 
two. Here comes the law." 

All the girls pretended to work hard as Mrs. Preston approached across the 
field. "Nan," she said, "it was Isabel's turn this week to work in the 
laundry. I'm afraid you'll have to take over." 

"Yes ma'am," said Nan, noticing the grin of delight on Aggy's face. 

"Everything all right, girls?" asked Mrs. Preston. 

"You know what I read once, Mrs. Preston?" countered Rose. 

"What's that, Rose?" 

"Some folks go to farms during the summer. What I mean is-they actually pay 
to get out on the field and do this kind of work. Talk about nuts!" 

"It's not so nutty," said Mrs. Preston. "The combination of physical work 
and fresh air is a good one. At day's end, after a hearty meal, a person is 
ready for a long night's sleep. You'd be surprised how it rebuilds the 
body." 

"That's one thing l don't need," remarked Aggy. "To rebuild this body of 
mine." She inhaled deeply, so that her breasts stood out. 

Mrs. Preston chose to ignore both Aggy and her wisecrack. She spoke 
seriously to Rose. "It may be old hat, Rose, but nevertheless there's a lot 
of truth in the saying that the devil finds work for idle hands." 

"Well," laughed Rose, "the way we're watched, the devil won't even get a 
foothold at this Farm." 

Mrs. Preston smiled and walked away. "What's her angle?" asked Aggy as the 
matron joined another group of girls some distance across the field. 

Clara, who had been silent all this time, couldn't help saying, "Does 
everybody have to have an angle?" 

"You tell me," said Aggy. 

Clara cleared her throat, as if to throttle the anger that was choking her 
words. "She happens to be a nice person, that's all. As long as I've been 
here, she has gone out of her way for the girls. Just because she works 
around people like us...." Clara let the words trail off. 

Aggy indicated Wakefield, the deputy on day-guard duty, who was standing not 
too far away. "I suppose he's okay in your book, too?" 

"I didn't say that," Clara replied. 

"What're you trying to confuse her for?" snapped Nan. "Clara was talking 
about Mrs. Preston, not Wakefield. That's like saying-" 

"That we're all whores," broke in Aggy. "You and Rose, you got paid for it 
just like I did, and you're no better than I am." 

"Why, you two-bit-" and again, before Nan could finish, Aggy was at her. 
This time Aggy slapped Nan across the face and grabbed her hair, 
successfully knocking the rake out of her adversary's hand. 

In retaliation, Nan kicked Aggy in the shin, forcing Aggy to let go of her 
hair. The next instant, however, saw both Nan and Aggy grab each other's 
hair and pull it hard. 

"Break it up, you two!" said Rose. 

But Rose's words went unheeded as the two women fought and knocked each 
other to the ground. The noise attracted Wakefield, who ran over and pulled 
apart Nan and Aggy. 

In doing so, Wakefield grabbed hold of Nan around the waist and yanked her 
to her feet. He pulled her tightly against him, and let his hands slip 
upward to clamp over her breasts. Nan elbowed him, freeing herself and 
yelling, "Get your dirty paws off me!" 

Mrs. Preston was back on the scene by this time, warning both girls that 
they would be confined to the dormitory if they continued to act like 
children. 

Meanwhile Wakefield was grinning lasciviously, having received his kicks 
from Nan. She eyed him grimly, had a notion to kick him in the groin, then 
thought better of it. It would be too difficult to convince Mr. Munhall, the 
superintendent, that his deputy was some kind of pervert. 

Before the kettle of emotions boiled over, there was the loud honking of an 
automobile horn. Everybody turned to watch the jeep turn off the dirt road 
onto the terrain that led to the nearby farmhouse. 

"Wow, look at him!" exclaimed Rose. 

She was referring not to Louis Niles, the elderly, very efficient farmer; 
but to his new assistant, whom he had driven up from the bus stop in 
Tecumcare. 

Nan turned white and in the next instant the blood rushed to her face. For 
the farmer's helper, to her dismay, was none other than Dennis Tiffin, her 
former college sweetheart, the one whom she had abandoned for Sam, her 
millionaire gentleman friend. 

Denis lifted the suitcase out of the jeep and paid no particular attention 
to all the women who were staring at him from the field. 

"Well, this is your new home," said Niles. "Hope you like it." 

"I'll like it fine," said Denis, and he followed the farmer into their frame 
living quarters. 

"Pretty soon," said Aggy, "we'll have enough men here to go around-one for 
each of us." 

Nan, glaring at Wakefield, said, "You call him a man?" 

"That's enough. Both of you," said Mrs. Preston. "Now, back to work. And 
Nan, don't forget-the laundry." 

When the matron and guard walked away, Nan turned to Clara. "Honey child," 
she said sweetly, "how would you like to make ten dollars?" 

"I'd like it," said Clara, "but how?" 

"By taking my turn in the laundry." 

"No thanks," said Clara. "I'll wait for my own." 

Aggy said to Nan, "As long as you're handing out money, what about the 
sawbuck you owe me?" 

"You'll get it." 

Aggy decided to needle Nan some more. "Sure, I'll get it. The point is-where 
will you get it?" 

"Don't worry. I'll get the money I owe you, and plenty more." 

"Your bank closed, sister. Only you don't know it," Aggy kept hammering 
away. 

"I know the combination to the safe," said Nan, losing her temper and 
raising her voice. 

"You're talkin' loud enough for me to hear," said Aggy with a wry chuckle, 
"but not loud enough for your boyfriend. And I use the word loosely." 

Rose stepped between them before there were any more fireworks. "Listen, you 
two. If you keep on fighting, what chance will any of us have of breaking 
out of here? They'll keep watching us day and night." 

That hit home with Aggy. She did not want to jeopardize her chances, however 
slim, of escaping from the Honor Farm. And Nan, who had not cared one way or 
the other about escaping or serving out her sentence, now felt, because of 
Denis coming here as a farmhand, that she just had to get away. 

"I'll see you-all later," muttered Nan, and she walked slowly across the 
field toward the Administration Building. This was the only two-story 
building on the farm. Mr. Munhall had his office on the first floor. The 
rest of the space was given over to the kitchen, which was entirely staffed 
by the inmates on weekly shifts, and the huge area that served both as 
dining room and recreation hall for the women. 

Upstairs were the bedrooms of Wakefield and Sapporo, as well as the suite of 
rooms set aside for Munhall. Mrs. Preston had a small apartment in one 
corner of the dormitory building. 

In the basement of the Administration Building was the laundry room. This 
was Nan's destination, and if she went there with reticence, she had good 
reason. The most difficult chore on the Farm was washing the laundry, mostly 
because there were no modern appliances. 

Nan had to wash all the sheets and towels by hand, then carry them to the 
rear of the building and hang them on a clothes-line to dry. Not that she 
had to do all of it in one afternoon, of course. 

The work was spread out over an entire week, and it included not only the 
flat wear, but the women's prison dresses as well, which had to be ironed 
individually. (The girls washed their own underwear and hung it to dry in 
the community shower room.) 

Nan went to work with a vengeance. She scrubbed and she scrubbed, as if to 
wash all thoughts of the past out of her mind. It wasn't the pile of dirty 
towels that bothered her; it was the proximity of Denis Tiffin. 

She was certain that his coming to the Honor Farm was no coincidence. After 
all, Denis was a college graduate and a super athlete who could get a good 
position as teacher and coach at practically any high school. His coming 
here meant that he wanted to be near her, and though that should have 
gladdened her heart, it made her furious instead. 

She bent over the tub, scrubbing for all she was worth, and she did not hear 
someone come down the basement steps and move up behind her. The moment she 
felt a slight pressure against her, she was sure it was a man. And she was 
sure that the man was Denis Tiffin. 

She whirled in anger to face him, and realized at once that she had made a 
mistake. It wasn't Denis at all. It was Wakefield. 

Taken by surprise, she blurted out, "Oh, I thought you were-." But she 
caught herself and bit off the words. 

Wakefield grinned, and even in the reflection of the naked light bulb she 
could see the evil in his eyes. "Who'd you think I was-Mr. Munhall?" 

Nan tried not to show her relief. If that's what he wanted to think, well 
and good. Just so he didn't connect her with the new farmhand. 

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. 

"You know what I want," he sneered. 

"There are fifteen other women around here. And Mrs. Preston makes sixteen. 
So why pick on me?" 

"You got class," he said, and he reached out for her. 

"I also got a loud voice," she warned him. "You just touch me, that's all, 
and I'll scream bloody murder." 

"You tramps," he swore under his breath, "you're all alike. What do you 
want-money?" 

"You'll never make enough in your whole life to pay for the likes of me," 
she told him. 

Suddenly his anger dissolved to amusement. He stepped back, to indicate that 
he was not going to try to touch her, and he smiled. "You got a long time to 
go," he said quietly. "Some day you'll want a favor. Then you'll come to me. 

"Don't hold your breath," she snapped. 

"No need to," he spoke with confidence. "It's happened before. It'll happen 
again." 

And when he left her alone in the basement, Nan, torn by fury, frustration, 
and self-pity, wept bitterly. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Denis Tiffin sat on the porch of the farmhouse with his new boss, Louis 
Niles. The elderly farmer, smoking a pipe, said to Denis, "You must be 
tired, riding on the bus all day." 

"Muscles are a little stiff. That's all," said Denis. 

"Why don't you turn in, then? Good night's sleep never hurt nobody." 

Denis glanced at his wristwatch. "Man, it's only half-past eight." 

Niles smiled to himself. "My regular bedtime is nine or so." 

"Nine o'clock!" exclaimed Denis. "I'm just beginning to wake up about then." 

"We wake up at five in the morning round here," chuckled the farmer. "I'm 
afraid you'll have to change your habits." 

"Guess so," agreed Denis good-naturedly. He got to this feet and stretched. 
"Think I'll take me for a long walk and work out the crinks in my muscles." 

"Might be good for you at that," allowed Niles. 

"Want to come along?" asked the younger man. 

Niles broke into soft laughter. "Me walk for the fun of it? Son, I walk so 
many miles doing my chores each day, when it comes night-time, my feet argue 
about carryin' me as far as my bed." 

Denis stepped off the porch. "By the way, are there any limits? What I mean 
is-any place I'm not allowed to go?" 

"No. Ain't no laws for us. Only thing is," the farmer told him, "You're not 
allowed in that barracks building down there. It's the women's dormitory." 

"Thanks," said Denis. "I'll remember that." He turned around and added, "If 
you're asleep when I get back, I'll see you in the morning." 

"You sure will," said Niles, and Denis could not see the twinkle in his 
eyes, " 'cause I'll be shakin' you before the cock crows. Take it easy, 
son." 

"Right you are." 

Denis went to the barn first, as that was near the farmhouse, and gave it 
the once-over. He remembered his early childhood on a farm, before he was 
ten years old, and he hoped he could recapture some of the knowledge and 
experience that had been instinctive with him. 

Then he strolled down a path that inevitably led him toward the barracks. 
Denis was unaware that a man was nearby in the shadows of the buildings, so 
preoccupied that he did not hear the young farmer approaching. 

The man was Jerome Sapporo, the deputy who was on night guard duty. At the 
moment, his duty consisted of peeping into the dormitory. In order to do so, 
he had arranged a neat pile of logs on the ground, and he stood on these so 
that he could look into the window. 

All of a sudden Sapporo heard someone say, "Good evening," and he almost 
fell off the logs. He stepped gingerly to the ground and, in order to hide 
his embarrassment, tried taking command of the situation. 

Throwing a beam from his flashlight on Denis, the night guard demanded to 
know, "Who are you? And what are you doing here?" 

"I'm the new ranch hand. Denis Tiffin." Then, barely able to hide his 
amusement, Denis drawled, "By the way, what are you doing here?" 

Sapporo blustered, "What's it look like?" And he answered his own question 
when he added, "I'm the night guard. Just checking up." 

"Nice work if you can get it," said Denis, and before Sapporo could make any 
more excuses, the farmhand ambled away. 

Sapporo, speaking under his breath, said, "The lousy sneak!" But of course 
he meant Denis, not himself. 

Having made sure that the farmhand was out of sight, Sapporo resumed his 
former position on the logs, assuming that no one could see him. 

But someone was watching him. It was Aggy, who knew where to look and at 
what angle, from previous experience. She laughed, and said to her own group 
of girls, "Old Jerry's at it again." 

Clara quickly turned her back to the window, though she still had on her 
brassiere, and managed to change into her pajamas without giving the night 
guard a free show. 

Nan was sitting on her own bed, watching the other girls get undressed. She 
took especial interest in observing the various sizes of women's bosoms, and 
she often wondered that while she thought some of the breasts were outsized 
and repulsive, why was it that they always seemed so attractive to men? 
Withdrawn, she didn't give Jerry Sapporo a second thought; all she cared 
about was that he, and the other guard, Wakefield, would leave her alone. 

Not so with Rose. "If there's one thing I don't like," she announced, but 
there was laughter in her eyes and in her voice, "it's a Peeping Tom!" 

"A Peeping Jerry, you mean," grinned Aggy. 

"I'll fix him," said Rose, and in a matter of seconds she ripped off all her 
clothes-her dress, her brassiere and her panties-and stood there stark 
naked. 

Outside, Sapporo emitted a soft moan as he watched the former model and 
party girl flaunt her nakedness in front of him. He had no idea that she was 
exercising, and facing him, for his benefit. Well, not exactly for his 
benefit, but just to work him up and then cut him off without any 
satisfaction. Rose knew what that would do to a man. 

She stood up straight, shoulders back, and her breasts pointed directly 
toward the guard on the other side of the window. As if to stir up 
circulation, she rubbed one arm, one shoulder, then one breast, until the 
nipple stood out eagerly. Then she repeated the performance with the 
opposite arm, shoulder and breast. 

After that came the exercises. Holding her stomach in tightly, she displayed 
a beautiful set of limbs. She raised her hands overhead, brought them to her 
shoulders, then extended them to her sides, and back to her shoulders again. 
Repeating this several times, it made her breasts bounce, and once 
more-though she did not know it-the night guard almost fell off the logs. 

Finally Rose turned her back to the window and bent over, touching her toes 
with the tips of her fingers. Sapporo's saliva ran out of his mouth as he 
saw those bounteous buttocks and, as Rose parted her feet, the rear view of 
the hairy nest that nestled between her thighs. The night guard zipped open 
his pants and out jumped his prick, throbbing like a steam engine climbing a 
hill. 

Sapporo watched Rose, at the same time pulling viciously on his penis until 
the wads of hot cream spilled against the wall of the building. "Some day," 
he muttered, putting the spent cock back in its place, "I'm going to shove 
my prick right up her ass." 

Then he moved away from the barracks and started on his tour of duty, 
checking the various buildings. 

Sapporo was not the only one, however, who had been staring at Rose. Nan 
Minot remained immobile on her bed, watching the display of feminine 
pulchritude. The tits that bounced like tennis balls all over the dormitory 
room, the big asses and the small ones, the forests of pubic hairs and the 
combed bushes. 

Then a great change came over Nan. In her sudden hate for men, since the 
moment that her gentleman friend had virtually thrown her to the wolves, she 
took an abnormal delight in women. Not that she ever had anything to do with 
another girl. 

Not yet, anyway. But the desire, the urge, was there. And the imagination. 

Nan thought of how wonderful it would be to have cute littla Clara naked in 
bed with her. They would kiss gently at first, and their tongues would leap 
into each other's mouths. Then they would take turns running the tips of 
their tongues over each other's body: the neck, the shoulders, the full 
breasts until the nubs of the nipples were firm and erect, the belly, the 
triangle of hair that warned of the lovely danger that was below, and 
finally the sensuous lips of the vagina. 

As she thought about it, Nan's own pussy became wet with desire. She 
couldn't wait until lights were out, for then she could finger herself, get 
heavenly, blissful release, and sleep the dread night through. 

Mrs. Preston came into the dormitory and said, "Two minutes, girls. Then 
lights out!" 

Everyone hurried to get into pajamas and into bed. If any of the girls were 
late-not only for getting to bed, but also for reporting to the dining room 
or for work-she would receive demerits, and those marks took away from the 
few privileges the inmates were allowed. 

"Goodnight, girls," said Mrs. Preston, as she turned off the lights. 

There were a handful of goodnights from some of the women. Most of them, 
perversely, refused to say goodnight to the matron, although she was the 
only one who always took their sides. 

Going down the narrow hallway to her own rooms, Mrs. Preston struck a match, 
rather than turn on the light switch, and lit a candle. As the flame 
flickered, it threw a pattern of light over a small framed painting of a 
young woman. 

It was a painting made from a photograph. The young woman was only 20 years 
old. She would never reach twenty-one. For she was dead. And this candle, 
flickering brightly in the darkness, was an altar where, every night, Mrs. 
Preston sat and prayed for her daughter. 

Each night, as she performed this routine, Mrs. Preston couldn't help but 
remember the chain of events that led to the tragedy of Sally's death. She 
forced herself to remember, because she blamed herself for what happened, 
and this was her way of making penance. 

The Prestons were an average-income family, Mr. Preston being an accountant. 
Dealing with figures, he was a great believer in insurance-and when he was 
stricken with a fatal heart attack when he was only 42 years old, he left 
his widow with 13-year-old Sally and more than a hundred thousand dollars in 
cash. 

Wanting the best for Sally, Mrs. Preston moved from Kansas to New York City. 
That meant meeting the right kind of people, even for a young teenager. It 
meant a private school, ballet lessons, and on Saturdays a full day at the 
riding academy, where Sally became proficient as a horsewoman. 

She also became proficient as a teenage lay. Riding horseback always gave 
her pussy a warm feeling, and there was never any difficulty finding a 
willing mate in the stables, sometimes one of the help most of the time one 
of the male riders, usually a teenager also. 

Sally had, at first glimpse, a delicate body: breasts like rosebuds, narrow 
firm belly, strands of golden hair in the pubic area. Her legs were thin, 
not too long, and apparently had little strength. But the horseback riding 
strengthened them, let alone the ballet lessons, and lucky was the man or 
boy who found himself on top of Sally and inside her. 

For the looks belied the power, and she wrapped her legs around her partner 
and held him close to her, always whispering passionately, "Fuck me! Fuck 
me! Fuck me!" She got her kicks out of those two words, and let out a little 
scream when she came. 

Not until she went to finishing school did she take it in the mouth. Her 
classmates taught her the finesse of sucking cocks, and at that she became 
one of the best. 

Little did Mrs. Preston know what her daughter learned at finishing school. 
She had raised Sally to be a lady, with the idea that the lady would snare 
herself a wealthy young man. 

"It's just as easy," Mrs. Preston advised Sally, "to love a rich man as a 
poor man." 

"Easier," laughed Sally, and it amused her to think of what her mother would 
say if she told her how many men she had snared since they left Kansas. 

Sally was either lucky or careful, or perhaps both. Until that one romance 
when she was all of 20. He was an intern in a local hospital, and his cock 
was as big as he was bright. 

Sally loved it, every inch of it, length and breadth. It wasn't the longest 
one she had ever had inside her, but certainly the widest, and it was her 
favorite. 

So much so, that she usually had three or four orgasms, which was unusual 
for her, when she went out with the intern. Unfortunately one of these lays 
resulted in a pregnancy. 

Now it would have been simple for Sally to tell the intern and for the 
intern to arrange an abortion. But no, she told her mother instead. 

Mrs. Preston agreed that Sally must have an abortion but, for the first time 
in her life when it came to her daughter-perhaps because she was so 
overwrought-she tried to save money. Or maybe it wasn't that she tried to 
save money, but that she was too embarrassed to go to the right places for 
information. 

At any rate, Mrs. Preston found a quack nurse who agreed to abort Sally's 
unborn baby for seventy-five dollars. That should have been warning enough. 

The nurse came to the Preston apartment, and Mrs. Preston made sure she 
washed thoroughly. But evidently one of her instruments was not sterilized, 
:because less than two days later Sally Preston lay dead of blood poisoning. 

That was why Mrs. Preston lost herself on the desert, at an Honor Farm for 
first offenders. She thought, to make it up to her dead daughter, she would 
devote herself to other young women who had made a mistake, and she would 
try to comfort them or help them straighten out their lives. 

A pure and simple case of self-punishment, though she thought it was 
penance. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

In the morning, after a hearty breakfast, Denis went to the barn where he 
busied himself repairing a harness. Niles, the elderly farmer, was driving 
the tractor across an uncultivated patch of land which was going to be 
planted. 

Nan, carrying a basket, strode across the field toward the barn to pick up 
the daily supply of eggs. She was startled to find herself confronted by, 
and alone with, Denis. 

She ignored his wide grin and asked sharply, "What are you doing here?" 

"Fixing this harness," he said laconically. 

"I don't mean now, at this instant," she snapped. "Here, at the Farm. Why 
did you come here?" 

Denis put down his tools and stepped closer to her. "I thought that was 
pretty obvious, Nan. But if you must know in so many words, after what I 
read in the paper, I thought you needed a friend. And here I am." 

"Nobody sent for you," she reminded him. 

"Honey," he said softly, "you're not talking to some stranger. This is me, 
Denis. Denis Tiffin. The guy who loved you at college. The same guy who gave 
you his fraternity pin." 

"I gave it back," she said quickly. 

"It's not too late to pick up where we left off," he told her. 

"Where?" she said bitterly. "Behind the library?" 

That brought a flush to Denis's cheeks. She had brought to mind, bluntly, 
that first night when he had seduced her. More than that, he remembered the 
first time he made her kiss his prick. 

It was about their sixth love-match, and Nan had gotten to love it even more 
than Denis, if that was possible. Each time they met behind the library, the 
moment she kissed him she darted her tongue into his mouth, simultaneously 
feeling for the mountain of muscle between his legs. 

Even before he had a chance to undress, Nan zipped open his pants and let 
his penis jump out. Then, as he ripped off his shirt and slid out of his 
trousers, she'd fondle his big prick and express her emotion with adjectives 
filled with excitement. 

She never let go, even as Denis undid her bra and pulled off her panties. It 
was spring now, the weather was warm, and they always got naked together. 

Nan played with his protruding dick every moment he kissed her, ran his lips 
over her breasts and made her nipples erect, let his tongue touch the skin 
of her belly and work its way through her scented pubic hair, finally 
finding its way to the lips of her vagina. 

"Put it in," she begged him. 

"Not now," he told her. 

Instead, he put his fingers inside her cunt, worked them slowly at first, 
then faster, until she arched her back and came. 

Even then, Denis did not stop. He left his fingers inside the honeypot, the 
juice running over his hand, and worked gently until every nerve in her body 
tingled again. 

"Please, Denis, fuck me!" 

"First give me a kiss." 

She got up on her elbows, as if to kiss him on the lips. 

"Not on the mouth," he said. "On my big fat cock." 

"Denis-I can't!" 

"I kissed yours," he said. 

"That's different," she argued. 

"Okay," he said, suddenly contrite, "no kiss, no fuck." 

"Ohhhh...." it was a murmur of disappointment. Then, "All right, I'll kiss 
it." 

She finally let go of his prick and gently touched her lips to its head. 
Strangely, it excited her, and next time she kissed it with a passion. 

"Now lick it," Denis ordered. 

Without any argument this time, Nan scraped the underside of his penis with 
her tongue, then the upper side, then the balls. After that, when she least 
expected it, Denis shoved his whole prick into her mouth. 

"Suck it, baby, suck it!" 

She sucked, and he finger-fucked her. They both came at once. Nan was taken 
by surprise, and the love juice, squirting against the roof of her mouth and 
the back of her throat, gagged her. She pulled away, spit it out, retched. 

"What the devil did you do that for?" she snapped. 

"You were so good," he told her, "I couldn't control myself." Then, after a 
pause, he assured her, "Before long you'll want to swallow every drop." 

"Not me," she said defiantly. "We'll see." 

Nan was satisfied with her two orgasms, Denis with his one, and he did not 
lay her that night. But not more than a week passed by before she sucked 
every last drop out of his delightful cock. Then, as a reward, he would get 
it hard again and shove it into that lovely mountain of flesh, between those 
moist lips of her cunt, until she came again. 

But now, this morning on the Farm, it was different. Denis gently touched 
her shoulder, but she pulled away as if he were an asp. "Take your goddamn 
hands off me!" 

Then Denis remembered something else, someone else. The man who had replaced 
him in Nan's affections. He wondered whether that gentleman had mistreated 
Nan, to make her cringe like this at the touch of a man's hand. 

"Honey," he tried to assure her, "I'm not going to hurt you." 

"You're damned right you're not." Then, to drive home her point, she added, 
"No man is going to hurt me again. I'm not going to give him a chance." 

"That doesn't sound like you, Nan. You're sour on the world, embittered." 

"Who has a better right? I give up everything. I have-my education, my 
friends, everything-for some jerk geezer who comes along, and I do my best 
to make him happy. He tells me I'm his real wife, his wife away from home. 
He swears I'm the one he loves, not the other one who gave him children. 
"Sure," she said drily, "I meant everything to him. Until I got myself in a 
jam. An-an auto accident." 

"Yes. I read about it," nodded Denis. 

"What you didn't read in the papers," said Nan, "was that this great big 
millionaire lover of mine got scared. Scared to stick his neck out for 
little ol' me. Oh no, he couldn't take a chance and pull any strings, 
because someone-" 

And then, abruptly, she bit off the words and shrugged, picking up a new 
line of thought. "Oh hell, what's the difference? It's all over now, and the 
next step is to get out of this dump." 

"That's just another six months," said Denis. 

"Are you off your rocker?" she exploded. "You think I'm going to spend the 
next hundred and eighty days in this snake pit?" 

"Oh come on, now," Denis said, "it's not that bad. Lots of people live on 
farms." 

"Lots of people live in crazy houses, and lots of people are confined to 
hospitals," she pointed out, "but that doesn't make it good." 

"Don't get impatient," Denis advised her. "The time will pass faster than 
you realize, then you and I-" 

"You and I nothing," she broke in. "What are you trying to give 
me-sympathy?" 

"No, Nan. I came here because I couldn't get you out of my mind, out of my 
heart. I've been in love with you a long time, and I thought...." 

Now it was his turn to let the words trail off. He saw a softness in her 
eyes, the tension removed from her facial expression, and he took it for a 
sign of compassion. He placed his arms around her, and she let the basket 
drop to the ground as her own arms were raised to embrace his huge 
shoulders. 

Denis bent down, touching his lips to her. The spark awakened an old desire, 
and he pressed his hard loins against her, so that she would become aware of 
his love. 

For a brief moment, Nan was torn between the old emotion and the new one: 
between love and hate. The brushing of his lips against hers was a pleasant 
sensation, and in a flash of a second she thought of many things-the campus 
lawn, a lakeside motel, a porch swing. 

Her pussy became damp, the nipples of her breast became hard, and for a 
brief moment it was going to be like old times. Then, without explanation, 
she felt not the warm ache of a woman wanting a man, but the sudden fury of 
a woman hurt by a man. That was all anybody wanted-her body. Instead, she 
would give men this: her fingernails dug into the back of Denis's neck, so 
that he relinquished his hold on her and moved backward, out of reach. 

"What's with you?" he asked, somewhat alarmed, because he could feel the 
blood trickling down his back. 

"That's what's with me," she snapped. "I hate men. You're a man. So I hate 
you. Is that clear?" 

"Nan," he said, refusing to give up, "you've taken this whole thing too 
hard. It isn't the end of the world. I told you, we can pick up where we 
left off. We can both forget what happened in-between." 

"Maybe you can forget," she persisted, "but I can't. So if you're hanging 
around here just to get next to me, I can tell you right now-you're wasting 
my time. And furthermore, you're wasting your own. Because all the girls 
around here are nothing but tramps." 

The moment she said it, she heard a rustling sound behind her, and she 
wheeled around to see Clara standing in the open doorway of the barn. 

"What the devil are you sneaking around here for?" Nan demanded. 

"I'm not sneaking," said Clara. "Mrs. Preston sent me here to see what was 
holding you up. They're waiting for the eggs." 

"Well, if they're in such a hurry, let 'em get them themselves!" Nan gave 
the basket a vicious kick and sent it flying across the barn floor. Then she 
stormed out of the barn. 

Denis walked over and picked up the basket and brought it to Clara, where he 
placed it beside her. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, and then, referring to 
his interlude with Nan, went on, "I don't know how much you saw ... or 
heard." 

"Just that last part," Clara admitted, "when she said we were all tramps." 

"Oh, she was just hot under the collar. I'm sure she didn't mean it." 

"Maybe she's right," said Clara. "Birds of a feather...." 

"Come on, now," said Denis, managing a contagious smile so that the girl 
grinned back at him, "I'm a good judge of horseflesh and young women, and I 
know a thoroughbred when I see one." 

It was the first compliment Clara had received since her trouble with the 
law. Whether or not the fellow meant it, she thought, it sounds good, and 
she was very appreciative. 

The truth of the matter was that Denis really did mean it. He was educated 
enough to know that some mistakes are inevitable and the person involved had 
no intention of committing the error, and it was in this category that he 
mentally placed the girl who stood in front of him. 

Denis extended his hand. "By the way," he said, "my name's Denis Tiffin." 

"Mine is Clara Sedan," she replied. Then, to make a small joke, she added, 
"Like in four-door." 

When she bent over for the eggs, her dress pulled up in the back, and Denis 
got a quick rear-view of her ass and the protruding lump that was her cunt. 
His prick hardened and he was about to shove it against her, but something 
held him back, and he didn't try it. 

Clara turned to face him, basket in hand, and he started talking to get his 
mind off the subject that intrigued him most. "I'm not really a farmer. If I 
tell you something, can you keep a secret?" 

"That's what I do best," she said. 

"Nan used to be my girl. That was some time ago, before she-well, when we 
were in college." 

"Are you still in love with her?" asked Clara. She saw the confused look 
that came into Denis's eyes, and she hastily added, "I'm sorry, I had no 
right to ask you that." 

"Oh, I don't mind. Only-well, it just struck me, whether or not I'm in love 
or think I'm in love with her, I know one thing for sure. She doesn't want 
any part of me." 

"Some girls don't know when they're well off." 

Denis glanced sideways at Clara, and she caught his look and blushed. "What 
I mean is-well, when a fellow's interested enough in a girl to follow her 
all the way to a place like this-holy smokes, what I'm trying to say is I 
think she's a fool!" Clara exclaimed. 

Denis laughed. It was a soft, pleasant sound, and Clara laughed too. 

"That's the first time I laughed since I've been here," she told him. 

"How long has that been?" he asked. 

"Eight months. Four to go." 

"It will be over before you know it." 

"I guess so," she said, but without conviction. 

"Where do you go from here?" 

"As far away as I can," she said. 

"Don't you have any family?" 

"No," she said. "Not a soul." She did not count her cousin Jack, who had run 
out on her, letting her hold the bag. As far as she was concerned, he was as 
good as dead. 

Denis felt sorry for Clara. "You know," he said to her, "you can't run away 
from yourself." 

"That's what really worries me," she admitted. "No matter where I go, no 
matter what I do, I'll always have this to haunt me. However you look at it, 
Mr. Tiffin...." 

"Denis," he said. 

"No matter how you look at it, Denis, I'm a jailbird. It's on the record." 

"Some of the most famous men in history, Clara, have served jail sentences, 
for one reason or another." 

"For one reason or another," she repeated the phrase. Then, bitterly, she 
said, "They don't want the truth. They just look at the surface, not what's 
underneath." 

Denis understood her bitterness, but he did not question her. If the time 
ever came when she wanted to tell him about herself, well and good; if not, 
it didn't matter. 

But he gave her some good advice. "When you look at yourself in the mirror, 
Clara, you just don't see your face, do you?" 

"What else is there to see?" she asked curiously, knowing he was driving at 
something. 

"You see yourself. Not as others see you, to be sure, but as you know 
yourself and believe in yourself. Just look into the reflection of your own 
eyes each morning, and you'll see the truth. If you can face the truth, you 
can face a neighbor, a stranger, and the whole world." 

Clara let it sink in. Then another thought hit her. "I suppose you won't be 
staying here much longer, now that Nan-well, since you two don't seem to be 
hitting it off." 

"I'll stick around awhile, anyway," he said. "Four months, at least. 

Clara swallowed hard. She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a light kiss on 
the lips. "Thanks," she whispered, "for making life bearable." 

"It will get better," he assured her. As she stood near him, she felt the 
heat of his prick that tented his pants, and she wished it were inside her. 
She was afraid, though, on two counts: maybe Mrs. Preston would be coming 
here momentarily herself for the eggs; and perhaps Denis would think she was 
just like any other girl. 

And Denis, wanting to touch those breasts, finger that cunt, shove his prick 
inside her, held back. He was afraid he would scare her away forever, that 
she would think he was just like any other man. 

And so they parted. But they would meet again. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

The girls sat four to a table in the dining area. Actually there were only 
three tables in use, because the other four girls were working in the 
kitchen and serving. 

When the Farm personnel ate-Mr. Munhall, Mrs. Preston, Wakefield, and 
Sapporo-they had a small private dining room of their own. And better food. 

Nancy, Rose, Aggy and Clara shared a table, and all of them were disgruntled 
over their dinner. In disgust, when one of them shoved back her plate, the 
others did the same. Mrs. Preston, circulating around the room, stopped at 
their table. 

"What's the matter, girls-aren't you hungry?" she asked. 

"Hungry," replied Rose, "we're starved!" 

"You shouldn't have deprived the pigs of this slop," said Aggy. 

"That's enough, Aggy," Mrs. Preston reprimanded her, but when she walked 
away from the table, she made a mental note to complain to the 
superintendent that the meat was lacking in both quality and quantity. 

Disgruntled, Nan muttered, "Swell Saturday night chow." 

"Is it really Saturday night?" asked Clara. 

Aggy mimicked her. "Is it really Saturday night? Listen, Girlie-when you 
don't remember one day from another, it's time you got out." She paused, 
then said emphatically, "And that time is getting closer." 

"Aw, you're all talk," said Nan. "What are you going to do about it?" 

"Don't worry," Aggy replied. "I got ideas. You'll get action." 

Rose grinned. "Talk about action," she said, "this is my night to howl." 

When the lights were turned out in the dormitory, Rose wasted no time in 
getting dressed. Then she stepped over to the window, opened it slightly and 
emitted a low, long whistle. 

Outside Sapporo, the night guard, cautiously glanced in all directions. He 
heard a do, barking somewhere in the distance. He waited until it stopped, 
then returned the whistling signal and went over to the window. 

Rose eased herself out into Sapporo's arms. As she slid to the ground, he 
held her tightly, rubbing against her and getting a vicarious thrill. 
Instead of releasing her when her feet touched earth, he kissed her, at the 
same time rubbing his left hand over her right breast. 

"Now now, Jerry," she said softly. 

"What's your hurry, Rose?" 

"Later," she promised. "When I get back from Tecumcare." 

Sapporo showed his annoyance. "Hell, you always say that. And when you get 
back, you're always too tired for me." 

"It's a long walk both ways." 

"That's not what I mean," he told her. 

But when Rose gave him a fond hug and reassured him that she would be back 
in four or five hours and make it up to him, he gave her a final pat on the 
buttocks and told her to be careful. 

Aggy, who had been at the side window watching this little tete-a-tete, went 
over to Nan's bed and sat down. Both Nan and Clara were sitting up on their 
beds, waiting to hear how Rose made out. 

"Did he let her go?" asked Nan. 

"Doesn't he always?" replied Aggy. 

Nan nodded and said, "Well, if he can do it for one, he's going to do it for 
all four of us." 

Clara shook her head. "Not me. Like I said before-I'm going to do my time. 
I've only got another four months." 

Without provocation, Aggy reached over and slapped Clara viciously across 
the cheek. "When I make plans for us to shake this joint, they include you. 
All four of us. So make up your mind, Clara-you're going to do what I tell 
you." 

Clara buried her face in a pillow to hide her sobs when Aggy returned to her 
own bed. Nan stepped over to Clara's bed and sat down beside the unhappy 
girl. She gently ran her fingers through Clara's shoulders and back. 

Clara tightened and pulled sharply away. "Don't touch me like that!" she 
whispered, not wanting anyone else to hear. 

This angered Nan, who muttered softly, vindictively, "You're a fine one to 
talk, you petty thief! Anybody who's low enough to swipe fifty lousy bucks 
out of a-" 

Clara sat erect and interrupted Nan, not so softly this time. "I only 
borrowed it. I was going to pay it back, and you know it as well as I do." 

Aggy didn't like this loud talking and she pushed herself up on her elbows 
and warned, "Pipe down, you two. Want to wake up the law?" 

Now Nan vented her anger on Aggy. "Who the devil do you think you are, 
telling me to pipe down, you no-good tramp?" 

Aggy jumped out of bed threateningly. "That's the day," she snapped, "when a 
slut calls me a tramp!" 

Nan spit on Aggy, and that was the signal for a fight. They scuffled 
violently, knocking each other across the bed and pulling each other's hair, 
punctuating the activity with dirty names. 

Suddenly one of the other girls, nearer the main door, warned them, "Shhh! 
Somebody's coming!" 

That's all it took-one word of warning. Within seconds Nan and Aggy were in 
their own beds, pretending to be asleep. 

Rose had been thoughtful enough to put a couple of pillows under her covers, 
so that it would look like she was asleep if Mrs. Preston came in to check 
up. 

And that's exactly what the matron thought when she opened the dormitory 
door and ran a scrutinizing eye over the sixteen beds. All of them, in the 
light reflected from the hallway, seemed to be occupied. Seeing or hearing 
nothing unusual, Mrs. Preston backed out of the dormitory and pulled the 
door closed behind her. 

The girls remained silent for about five minutes. Then Clara, reprimanding 
both Nan and Aggy, whispered, "You almost got Rose in dutch." 

Nan said, "Who cares?" 

Aggy told her to shut up. 

"Shut up yourself!" snapped Nan, and another fight almost started. 

But when Clara reminded them that Mrs. Preston might be standing outside the 
dormitory door and listening, Nan and Aggy decided against another scuffle, 
and they went to sleep. 

Not so Clara, who lay on her back and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. She 
wondered what Denis Tiffin was doing with his Saturday night. 

Denis, who had borrowed the farmer's jeep, was in Tecumcare, seated in the 
small town's only bar. There were a handful of people in the booths 
listening to juke box music and drinking beer. 

Denis was seated at one end of the bar, while Sidney Cranston, a hulking man 
under forty, was at the other end, slowly getting himself drunk. Cranston, 
who was us uncouth as he was muscular, banged the bar and demanded another 
beer. 

Tom Rabat, the bartender, put his elbow on the counter and tried to reason 
with his friend. "Sid, why don't you take it easy?" 

Cranston wanted beer, not advice. "Look, Tom-when you come to my gas 
station, I fill up your tank and I don't give no pitch. So fill up my tank 
and save the lip for this stranger here." By stranger he was referring to 
Denis, who was making his first visit to Tecumcare. Cranston eyed Denis, 
decided he liked what he saw, and asked, "Want a beer?" 

Denis grinned. "As long as you buy, I'll drink." Then he got up and moved to 
the stool next to Sid Cranston's. 

"You heard the man, Tom," said Sid. "Two beers. And quick." 

When Tom Rabat put two glasses of beer in front of the men, Cranston said, 
"You're the new hand at the prison farm, huh?" 

"That's right," nodded Denis. 

"How do you like the dames over there?" asked Cranston, a sneer on his lips. 

Denis had the right answer. "I like dames anywhere." 

"Man," exclaimed Cranston, "you talk my language!" He raised his glass, and 
Denis touched it with his. "To dames, big ones, little ones, fat ones, 
skinny ones. They all got what it takes, and I'm the guy who takes it." 

Denis laughed, as he was supposed to, and they guzzled their beer. 

As they drank, Cranston stared into the mirror behind the bar and saw 
something that brought a frown to his face. Not hiding his fury, he banged 
his glass down onto the bar, and some of the beer spilled out. 

Cranston turned to his stool and confronted Rose Parma, whom he obviously 
knew. "Thought you wasn't comin' into town no more?" he asked sarcastically. 

Rose glared right back at Cranston. She did not know that the man beside him 
was Denis Tiffin, because the farmhand remained with his back to her. "As 
far as you're concerned," said Rose, "there ain't no more." 

Then Cranston shifted his eyes from Rose to the man escorting her. It was 
Juan Morelia, a slick-looking Mexican who ran a hash-house in the Latin 
section of town. "What's he got," sneered Cranston, indicating Morelia but 
talking to Rose, "that I ain't?" 

Rose had a quick answer. "Manners." 

"Yeah?" Cranston pushed himself to his feet, wavered unsteadily, then 
approached the man and woman. It was the man whom he addressed. "Morelia, 
you got manners?" 

Morelia was not cowed by this massive, drunken man. He merely nodded and 
answered in a quiet voice. "If that's what the lady said, that's what I 
got." 

"In that case, I'm going to knock them out of you." Then, without further 
warning, Cranston lurched at Morelia; in that same instant, as if it were a 
reflex movement, the Mexican whipped out a switch-blade and raised his arm. 

Cranston was agile enough to knock the knife out of Morelia's hand. From 
then on, it was a fair fight; vicious, with no holds barred, but even. 

Denis was more interested in Tom Rabat than in the fighters. For the 
bartender picked up the telephone behind the counter and dialed Operator. 
And Denis heard him say, "Give me the State Police." 

Dennis quickly slid off his stool, grabbed Rose by the arm and said, "Come 
on-let's get out of here." 

At first, Rose yanked away her arm. But when she saw who it was, and noted 
the grim expression, she followed him outside. 

They got into the jeep and drove back to the farm without further incident 
or conversation. When they stopped beside the farmhouse, from where Rose 
could easily get back to the barracks without being noticed, they both 
heaved sighs of relief. 

"Boy," said Rose, "am I glad you were there!" 

"No doubt," said Denis. "The question is-how come you were there?" 

Rose grinned. "The governor gave me a fourhour pass for good behavior. When 
Denis laughed, Rose made a suggestion, though it was in the form of a 
question. "Isn't there some way I could thank you?" 

Denis shook his head. "Forget it," he told her. 

"I wish I could," she sighed softly. 

But Denis did not encourage her. He got out of the jeep, and she stepped out 
on her side. 

"See you around," he said, indicating this was the end of the road. 

"You bet," she replied. "And thanks again." 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Rose returned to the side of the barracks. She could have stood on the logs 
and pushed the window open from the outside, and perhaps climbed in. In that 
way, she would have avoided Sapporo. 

Tonight, however, she wasn't crazy about the idea of avoiding him. It wasn't 
Sapporo so much. It was a man. Any man. She had been cheated out of a good 
time in Tecumcare, thanks to that no-good Sid Cranston. 

She made a wry face when she thought of the gas station operator. When he 
was sober, he wasn't so bad; but drunk, he was a regular hell-cat. That's 
why she wouldn't go out with him anymore. 

Her first couple of dates with Sid were well worth remembering. He was a 
good cook, and he took her to his little house and prepared two prime cut 
steaks on the charcoal broiler. Even out in the sticks, way out there in 
remote Tec-umcare, a man could act civilized. 

Sid served champagne before dinner, and a red wine with dinner. Afterwards 
they had liqueurs. And after that-well, Sid was as competent in bed as he 
was in the kitchen. 

Rose had the feeling that he ate his steaks rare, because the food seemed to 
work wonders with him. After feeding her, Sid made love to her. It was a 
violent kind of love, but the kind a young woman could enjoy. 

He wasn't a man of finesse, like those whom she had gone out with when she 
was a department store model. They believed in the little touches, the 
preparations-the tender kisses, the fondling, the warming-up process. 

Not Sid. He kissed her once, and the moment his lips were against hers, he 
shoved his knee between her legs and spread them. He reached down, a hairy 
paw searching for the hairy lips, and he spread them without much ado. Then 
he shoved in his cock in her, whether or not she was ready for it. 

All he knew that he was ready, and the hell with the fuss. But he was a big 
man, a real bull, and the size of his cock thrilled Rose. 

As a matter-of-fact, she got an extra thrill out of his crudeness. He seemed 
to forget she had breasts to kiss, a warm belly to rub gently, a vagina to 
lubricate. He was all animal. But the animal in him rubbed off on the animal 
in her, and that compensated for the loss of lovemaking. 

Even so, once would have satisfied Rose with Sid. Not so Sid. He would 
merely rest five minutes, ten at the most, then repeat himself, without 
having got up to clean it off after coming in her pussy. And then, to top it 
off, there was a third time, all in the same night. It was something Rose 
learned to take in stride. 

Leave it to Sid Cranston. It might have cost him plenty for the steaks and 
wine, but he got his money's worth. After that, he started drinking beer for 
chasers, and he got nasty. When he got nasty, he liked to slap people 
around, and since Rose was the only one around, Sid often hauled off and 
knocked her across his bed. He wasn't angry with her or anything at all; it 
was just his way of doing things. 

That's why Rose gave up Sid, and wanted Juan Morelia this night. Sid saw to 
it that she had neither man, and thanks to Denis Tiffin, she got back safely 
from Tecumcare without getting involved in a brawl. 

However, she still wanted a man. Denis had his chance, but he wanted no part 
of Rose. She couldn't understand why. 

The next best thing was Jerome Sapporo. The night guard had been good to her 
over the months, and she had always teased him. A kiss, a lingering feel, 
and that was about all. If she did not come across soon, as she had 
promised, Sapporo might get sore and not cooperate. So tonight she would 
make it up to the night guard. She would give him something to remember her 
by! 

Rose whistled-the low, sly whistle that was their signal. In about a minute 
she heard approaching footsteps, and at a safe distance, she heard someone 
whistle to her. Rose returned the signal. 

Sapporo quickly, stealthily approached her by the side of the barracks. Not 
expecting anything but excuses, as he had been used to, he whispered 
harshly, "You're back kind-a early, Rose." 

"Just like I promised," she said, and she placed her arms around him and 
gave him a long, passionate kiss, her tongue darting into his mouth. 

Instantly Sapporo pulled her to the ground. 

It was as safe there, under the protective shadows of the barracks, as to 
the barn, it would give her time to change her mind. 

Like all men who are fearful of losing opportunities, he wanted to make 
quick work of it. But Rose would have none of that. 

She wiggled out of her clothes, using her dress as a blanket. "Take all your 
clothes off, Jerry," she whispered. 

"That's taking a hell of a chance," he told her. "I can fuck you with my 
cock shoved out of my pants." 

"Naked or nothing," she said, and in half a minute Sapporo was stark naked. 

Rose lay back and reached up for Sapporo, pulling him toward her. "Now," she 
said huskily, "make love to me." 

It was a case of even-steven. Rose worked on him as much as he worked on 
her. He kissed the nipples of her breasts, she tongued his tiny but hard 
nipples. He ran his mouth down her belly, she repeated the action on him. 

He nibbled at her pubic hair, she bit tenderly at his. He stuck his tongue 
in her vagina, she stuck his cock in her mouth. 

Just before he was ready to come, Rose ordered him to fuck her. Which he 
did, lunging the massive lance inside her as she let out a moan of 
gratitude, a cry of satisfaction. 

Their preliminaries had brought them to fever passion, and in less than ten 
seconds, simultaneously, they both came, their hot love-juices intermingling 
inside her. 

Then a warm breeze caressed their naked bodies, and Rose held onto him, long 
after it was over. Finally Sapporo became anxious, lest Mr. Munhall should 
happen to come out for a walk around the farm, a possibility that was quite 
un-likely. 

With great effort, then, he pushed himself away from Rose, got dressed and 
told her to put on her clothes. 

"What for?" she asked lightly. "I'll only have to take them off again as 
soon as I get inside." 

"Okay," he agreed, "if that's the way you want it." 

Before she climbed in, with his help, he said, "Now you won't be so anxious 
to run into Tecumcare every chance you get." 

She gave him a light kiss on the lips. That was better than any word to 
convey her answer. 

He lifted her to the window, and didn't let the opportunity slip by to 
fondle her ass as he pushed her inside. Rose, once inside, leaned out and 
whispered, "Why don't you come on in?" 

He didn't answer her, for fear of waking one of the girls. Sapporo merely 
handed her her clothes and waited until she closed the window. Then he 
continued on his tour of duty, a happy and satisfied night guard. 

Aggy was sound asleep. Having been a prostitute, she learned the art of 
sleeping even if there was a party going on in the rooms on both sides of 
hers. 

Clara was not asleep. She did not stir, however, because she did not want to 
carry on a conversation with Rose, or anybody, for that matter. Clara had 
Denis on her mind. He was the first man she ever had any real feeling for; 
he was the first man who ever treated her with any honest consideration. 

Clara wondered whether he was just being polite, or whether he liked her. 
She didn't dare think that he might love her; at least not yet. She thought 
of the future, and then she became tense with fear. After all, Denis knew 
that she was a jailbird. Yes, a common, ordinary jailbird, no matter how 
much she protested. And what would he want with a thief? A petty thief, as 
one of the girls had called her. 

Clara bit her lip and continued to stare at the ceiling. Fourth months. And 
then what? She would give anything-anything she possessed now or would 
possess in the future-to know what the next year held for her. 

Sleep did not come to Nan, either. The scuffle with Aggy had infuriated her, 
and with her emotions thus aroused, she could not calm herself. 

It hurt Nan to think that she had to share a dormitory roomwith a prostitute 
like Augustine Rostov. Nan considered herself a completely different type of 
girl on a completely different level. 

In the back of her head, though, she could not shake the notion that she was 
really no better than either Aggy or Rose. They were, when you stripped away 
the embroidery of false morality, three of a kind. 

Of course, Nan told herself, she was not promiscuous like the other two 
girls. Her affair with Denis Tiffin, while at college, was the beginning of 
the real thing. He was the only one who had made love to her; and as he had 
said, it was quite all right, because some day they were going to be 
married. Her affair with Sam, the millionaire gentleman, was something else 
again. It was not bawdy. It was something fine, although she was a 
back-alley wife. Sam said he loved her, and he promised her many things in 
return for her love. So you could not call that promiscuity, call it what 
else you will, she decided. 

Then Nan considered the case of Roselle Parma. Rose was no ordinary call 
girl. As a matter-of-fact, she had held down a respectable job as a model. 
It was the after-hours work that got her into trouble. She was just a 
good-natured, fun-loving party girl. You could not say that she was not 
promiscuous; by the same token, she did not go to bed with every Tom, Dick, 
and Harry. Her men were in a high-salary bracket, usually out-of-towners, 
and all Rose did was play the good hostess. Of course, the men gave her 
money for her favors. But was that any different than if they had gone out 
and bought her a present? This way they let her choose her own presents. 
Still, Nan had to admit, Rose was promiscuous to a degree. 

Then there was Aggy, whom Nan dispised. Aggy, who would take on all comers. 
All they required was the fare. 

What bothered Nan most of all was that haunting thought that she was, in the 
eyes of the law and therefore in the eyes of society, not one bit better 
than Augustine Rostov. 

Here they were, the three of them-a mistress, a model turned party girl, and 
a common prostitute-lumped together like they were three of a kind. It was 
little wonder that Nan had changed herself from a lover of men to a lover of 
women. 

She slipped out of her own bed and got under the covers with Rose. 

"What the hell you trying to do?" asked Rose in a whisper. 

"I peeked out the window," whispered Nan, "and saw you and Jerry Sapporo. If 
you can love that guy, the least you can do is give me the same shake." 

Rose was about to haul off and tell Nan to go fuck herself. Then she thought 
better of it. Maybe the new experience would be fun. "Okay," she said, 
resigned to it, "I'm all yours." 

Rose was surprised, to say the least, at Nan's gentleness, her finesse, her 
every probe with tongue and finger. Nan merely brushed lips with Rose, then 
slid down her body with her tongue: the hills of flesh on her chest to the 
hillocks of flesh between her legs. 

Then Nan tenderly chewed Rose's clitoris. So far, so good. But when Nan 
darted her tongue inside Rose's cunt, she was surprised, shocked by the 
taste. It was a mixture of love-juices from a man and a woman, and she did 
not respond to it. 

She started to pull her face away from that bushy entrance, but Rose, 
already worked up, grabbed hold of Nan's head and held it there. Afraid Rose 
would press too hard and soffocate her, Nan slid her tongue up and down, in 
and out, until Rose arched her back and came once more that night. 

Without a word, Nan hurried back to her own bed. Rose grinned to herself. 
What the hell, it was rather enjoyable at that. Not as good as having a man, 
she decided, but not so bad, either. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Shortly after breakfast as Mr. Munhall sat fuming over a particular report 
in his office in the Administration Building, there was a knock on his door. 
"Come in," he said. 

Mrs. Preston entered, closing the door behind her. Mr. Munhall barely raised 
his eyes to see who it was, then glanced at the report in his hand again as 
she approached his desk. "What is it, Mrs. Preston?" 

Rather stiffly, both because she had not been invited to sit down and 
because she did not enjoy what she was going to do, the matron said, "I 
don't like to bother you on Sunday morning, Mr. Munhall...." 

When her words drifted, he leaned back in his chair and looked at her. 
"Something wrong?" 

"Yes. Yes, there is," she said. "The food." 

"What about the food?" he asked. 

"Well, the girls are complaining." Mrs. Preston cleared her throat and 
quickly added, "Personally, I think they have some reason to complain." 

"Really," he said, putting as much ice in his voice as he possibly could. 
Then he stood up. "I'd like to tell you something, Mrs. Preston. I am not 
interested in any complaints whatsoever from these convicts." 

Mrs. Preston was startled, stunned. "Convicts?" 

Mr. Munhall saw that he hit a sore point, so he rubbed it in. "You heard me. 
That's what they are, and I do not appreciate your attempts to portray them 
in any other way." He came around to the front of his desk, still holding 
onto that report, as he continued, "The food here is good-simple, 
well-cooked and nourishing." 

It would have been silly of Mrs. Preston to argue with him, so she remained 
silent. 

He held up the official looking document in his hand and said, "See this, 
Mrs. Preston?" She stared at the report, not knowing what it was. But Mr. 
Munhall told her. "It's an official reprimand from the State Commissioner of 
Prisons. All on account of Isabel Chatham trying to escape." 

Mr. Munhall reached behind him, dropping the document on his desk, but still 
facing the matron. "It's the first black mark on my record since I've been 
with the prison department. And just between you and me, Mrs. Preston," he 
added emphatically, "it's going to be the last one, too." 

Incensed, Mrs. Preston said, "Isabel needed psychiatric care, not a prison." 

The superintendent shrugged. "All I know is, she was sent here. That placed 
her under my supervision." Then, instead of facing the matron, he walked 
past her and glanced out the window. "The trouble with you, Mrs. Preston, is 
that you're too soft. I've been watching you a long time." 

"It seems to me," she answered quietly, "that I handle the girls without any 
difficulty." 

"Sure," he admitted, "you know your business. But you're too sympathetic." 

Mrs. Preston became tense. She thought of her own dead daughter, and the 
terrible mistake she had made with her. If she could only explain to Mr. 
Munhall what it would mean to help these young women, to encourage them, 
instead of beating them down. But she remained quiet as he spoke. 

"In this line, you've got to be tough. And one thing above all else, you've 
always got to keep the upper hand." 

That was too much for the matron. "Your trouble, Mr. Munhall, is that you 
don't understand human nature." 

It wasn't often that someone dressed down the superintendent. He wheeled and 
glared at her. "Maybe not. But I do understand criminals, and that's what we 
have here. Criminals," he repeated harshly, "whether you like the word or 
not." 

When she did not say anything, he went behind his desk, sat down and raised 
his eyes sharply to her. "I told you," he reminded her, "I wanted to see 
Nancy Minot this morning." 

"She's right outside," said the matron. 

Mr. Munhall spoke curtly. "Then send her in. Please." 

Mrs. Preston turned and went to the door. Just as she reached for the 
doorknob, she heard him call, "Mrs. Preston." She slowly turned around and 
looked at him across the office, but said nothing. 

"Just to repeat," he said in a softer tone, but with as much emphasis as 
before, "I run a taut prison and anyone who gets out of line with me is 
going to find herself in plenty of trouble." 

Then, quite rudely, he picked up some papers on his desk and started to 
peruse them, as if he were busy. 

The matron, knowing this was his way of dismissing her, quickly left and 
closed the door. Nan was sitting on the front stoop, waiting. 

"You may go in now, Nan," said Mrs. Preston. 

"What's he want?" asked Nan, as she stood up and straightened the wrinkles 
out of her dress. 

"He didn't tell me," said the matron, and when Nan went into the building, 
Mrs. Preston strolled over to the barracks where a group of girls were 
seated on the wooden steps. 

"It's such a nice day," said Mrs. Preston. "Why don't you girls take a 
walk?" 

Aggy asked, "To Tecumcare?" 

The matron refused to be needled by any of her girls. She simply replied, 
"You know the limits, Aggy." 

Rose stood up and beckoned to Aggy and Clara. "Come on." 

Clara said, "I'll catch up with you later." She waited until Rose and Aggy 
started to walk slowly across the field, and Mrs. Preston went into the 
barracks. Then Clara put a hand to her hair to make sure it was brushed back 
as it should be, and headed toward the barn. 

When Nan knocked on Mr. Munhall's door, he told her to come in and close the 
door. After she approached his desk, he said, "Sit down." 

Somewhat coldly Nan said, "I'd rather stand, if it's all right with you." 

Mr. Munhall stared at her with some annoyance. Then he rummaged through the 
sheaf of papers on his desk and picked one out. "Your attorney," he told 
her, "requested probation for you." 

Nan's heart skipped a beat. That meant her gentleman friend, Sam the 
millionaire, was pulling strings after all! Her moment of anxiety soon 
turned to despair. 

"Your father," Mr. Munhall said bluntly, "refused to sign it." 

Nan's face reflected her dejection. Her father! He had left her mother when 
Nan was only ten years old, and he had never even contributed to her 
support. Her mother went to work as a dressmaker, and it was she who sent 
Nan to college. When Nan became mistress to Gentleman Sam, her mother (it 
had nothing to do with the circumstances) became incurably ill, and despite 
the best doctors and treatment, she died. 

Nan glared at the superintendent. "What's my father have to do with my 
probation?" she demanded. 

"It takes the signature of someone legally responsible for you," explained 
Mr. Munhall. "No doubt he thinks you need more rehabilitation." 

"You call this rehabilitation?" she sneered. 

That infuriated the superintendent, and he pushed himself to his feet and 
came around to the front of the desk, confronting Nan. "Never mind what I 
call it. You're here, and you're going to stay here until you finish your 
time. That means you toe the line and do what's expected of you, and no 
back-talk. Do you understand?" 

"I understand," she nodded. She also understood, and this hurt more, that 
Gentleman Sam would not stick his neck out and sign her probation papers. 
She took a deep breath and asked, "Is that all?" 

"That's all," he said. "Unless you have any questions?" 

Nan said flippantly, "None you can answer," and she wheeled around and went 
to the door, opening it abruptly. 

"Nan!" the superintendent called sharply. 

Nan took another deep breath and turned to hold his level gaze. 

With tongue-in-cheek, he said, "You may go now." 

Nan returned his sarcasm with a like amount. "Yes, sir," she said. "Thank 
you, sir." She appeared to be leaving the office quietly. As soon as she got 
into the hallway, however, she slammed the door shut. 

Mr. Munhall jumped in anger and was about to go after her. Then he thought 
better of it and went back to his desk, where he started rummaging through 
his reports again. 

Nan stood in the fresh air, and her inner fury blurred everything in sight. 
She cursed her father, her gentleman friend, even her attorney. The thought 
of a parole had not occurred to her; now that she had heard about it, and 
also had been told it had been turned down, she swore to herself that she 
would not serve her full sentence come hell or high water. That made her 
feel better, and with the emotional haze clear, she saw something else that 
bothered her. 

It was Denis Tiffin coming out of the barn with Clara Sedan. 

They strolled leisurely down a path. Denis was neatly, though informally, 
attired. Ocassionally they passed another girl or two and said hello. 

"I never knew Sunday could make such a difference," Clara confessed. 

Denis chuckled. "I'll say. Sleep 'til seven. No work. Except milking the 
cows and collecting the eggs," he added amiably. 

"More than that," she said in a more serious vein. "Somehow I feel free. I 
know-the same buildings, the same faces. But when they let you walk around, 
it's like...." she couldn't seem to find the words and Denis picked it up. 

"I know what you mean, Clara. Sometimes I feel fenced in myself." 

"You? You can come and go whenever you want to," she pointed out. 

"Yeah, I guess I can. Only-" he shrugged non-committally. 

"You're still carrying a torch for Nan, aren't you?" she asked gently. 

"Not any more," he admitted. "When I first came here, I wanted to pick up 
the pieces. But it's hopeless." They walked in silence awhile before he 
added, "Prison-even an Honor Farm-can do strange things to a girl." Then, 
catching her glance, he quickly said, "Present company excepted." 

They sat down on the steps of the farmhouse, and Clara said, "To tell you 
the truth, Denis, except for having to stay here, this is no better or worse 
than anything I've ever had." 

"Must have been pretty rough for you," he said sympathetically. 

Clara wanted him to know what her crime was, and she told him about her life 
with her aunt, and what her cousin had done to her. 

Denis shook his head in disbelief. "They sent you here for that?" 

"I'm thankful," she said, "they didn't send me to the Women's Reformatory." 
On second thought, she continued, "But just the same, there's the stigma. 
That's why I want to get as far away as possible, as soon as I leave this 
place." 

"What about your friends?" he asked. "I don't have any friends," she replied 
simply. 

"You've got one," he stated. And when she looked at him, she began to 
understand that loneliness was not a condition suffered only by prison 
inmates. 

The farmhouse door opened and Louis Niles came out with a pitcher of 
lemonade and two glasses. "How 'bout a little something to wash down the 
dust?" 

"Suits me fine," said Clara. 

"Can I help you, Louis?" asked Denis. 

"That'll be the day," said the farmer, "when I need help." 

He poured the lemonade for Clara and Denis, but nonefor himself. 
"Whataboutyou, Mr. Niles?" she asked. 

Chuckling, he replied, "Not me. I made it. I know what's in it." Then, 
winking to her, he added, "Besides, I always say two's company and three's a 
crowd." 

Then, whistling happily, the elderly farmer reentered the house. 

"He's kind of corny," said Denis, "but they don't come any nicer." 

Clara said, "I think some of him must have rubbed off on you." 

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. At least she didn't pull away from 
him like Nan did. 

Then, ever so gently, he leaned over and kissed her. She responded in like 
manner. 

Pressing his luck, Denis let his hand brush across her breasts. This time, 
when she didn't reject him, he gave them a little squeeze. Obviously she 
liked that. 

How far could he go in the daytime, on the porch, with Louis apt to step out 
without notice? Boldened by passion and a willing mate, he slid his hand 
under her dress. 

Clara's legs parted amiably, and Denis slid two fingers under her panties 
and into her cunt. He finger-fucked her until she came. 

When it was over, she said, "That wasn't much satisfaction for you." 

"Just so you enjoyed it," he told her. 

"Do I have to tell you how much?" 

"Wait till we get to the real thing," he promised, at the same time taking 
her hand and placing it over his cock that was hard in his tight pants. 

"If I have to wait too long, I'll die," she said, giving it a squeeze. 

"Leave it to me," he said softly, "it won't be long." 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Several days later, in the early hours of the morning, Nan lay in her bed 
moaning. Rose, Aggy and Clara all got out of their own beds and came to her 
side. 

"What's the matter, Nan?" asked Rose. 

Nan merely moaned. 

Aggy leaned over the ailing girl. "Hey, kid-something hurt?" 

"My tooth," mumbled Nan. 

Aggy looked up at Rose and Clara. "She's got a toothache." 

"Isn't there something we can do to help her?" asked Clara. 

Aggy cracked, "A shot of whiskey would help. It would help me, too." 

Rose ignored the remark and said to Clara, "How 'bout waking up the law?" 

Clara put on her slippers and went to Mrs. Preston's suite, where she 
knocked on the door. The matron, in robe and slippers over her nightgown, 
asked what was wrong. When Clara told her, she followed the girl to the 
dormitory. 

Upon seeing the lights come on, Jerry Sapporo, still on night guard duty, 
went to the win-down and peered in. When he saw Mrs. Preston with the girls, 
he was disappointed; he had hoped there would be a fight and that the girls 
would tear off each other's pajamas. 

Mrs. Preston sat on the edge of Nan's bed and asked, "Is it very bad?" 

Half-crying, Nan whimpered, "I can't stand it." 

The matron turned to Clara and said, "You'll find an ice pack in my 
bathroom. Take it over to the kitchen and fill it with ice cubes." 

"Sure will," said Clara. 

"And hurry, will you, dear?" asked the matron. When Clara went out of the 
dormitory, Mrs. Preston bent over Nan and said tenderly, "We'll deaden the 
pain for now. Then, first thing in the morning, we'll send you in to the 
dentist." 

Quentin Wakefield was taken off guard duty after breakfast and ordered to 
drive Nan to the dentist in Tecumcare. Neither of them spoke a word all the 
way to town, and when they got to the dentist's office-he had been called 
and was expecting them-Wakefield let her off and drove across the street to 
the gas station. 

Sid Cranston, who ran the station by himself, greeted the deputy. "Hi, 
Wakefield." 

"Morning, Cranston." 

"Noticed you had one of your pigeons in the car. Sending her home?" 

"Naaa. She just had a toothache. Fill up the tank, will you?" 

"Be a pleasure." Cranston filled the sedan's gas tank, added two quarts of 
oil but was sparing with the water. He hated to give away anything that was 
free. "Eight dollars and seventy-five cents," he said. 

Wakefield paid and had Cranston sign a receipt. "Got an hour or two to 
kill," said the deputy. "Think I'll wait in the bar." 

"Might as well go with you," said Cranston, who always looked for an excuse 
for a beer, morning, noon or night. 

The bar was empty except for Tom Rabat, who was so happy to have company in 
the morning that when he served the first two beers, he announced, "This 
one's on the house." 

Cranston said to Wakefield, "We'll probably be hit by a tornado this 
afternoon." 

Rabat didn't take kindly to the remark. "If a free drink is so hard to 
swallow, I'm not allergic to your money." 

Cranston laughed. "Okay, Tom. Thanks for the beer." 

Wakefield shook his head. "When are you two guys going to grow up?" 

Tom said lightly, "Who else we got to quarrel with?" 

Cranston nodded in agreement and said to the deputy, "Yeah ... maybe if you 
send in a couple of those prison chicks, that would take some of the 
pressure off." 

Tom, who had been told why Wakefield was in Tecumcare, asked, "What about 
that one you left at the dentist's?" 

Before Wakefield could answer, Cranston blurted out, "Boy-she's a cutie. 
Even with the swollen jaw." He nodded sagely. "She's got it all over Rose." 

Wakefield sat erect and frowned. "Who you talking about-Roselle Parma, out 
on the Farm?" 

Cranston was quick to cover his mistake. "Naw ... Rose Morelia, one of the 
Mexican girls in town." The gas station operator glanced across the bar at 
Tom, then back to Wakefield. "How would we know about any of those dames out 
there? We never get to see them, 'xcept when you bring 'em in to the doctor 
or dentist." 

The telephone rang, and Tom answered it. "Hello?" He listened, nodded, and 
said, "Wait a minute." Then, turning to face Wakefield, he said, "It's for 
you." 

The deputy went to the 'phone. "Wakefield here." He listened, nodded his 
head, glanced at his watch and said, "Okay, Doc. Be over in an hour and a 
half." 

When he hung up, he told the others, "The dentist said she had an abscessed 
tooth. Has to pull it." 

Which was exactly what Dr. Gilbert told Nan. "Will it hurt much?" she asked. 

"No," he said, explaining he would give her an injection of sodium 
pentathol. That would make her sleep about fifteen minutes. Then she could 
rest. 

Dr. Gilbert carefully injected the solution into her arm, and in a short 
time Nan was asleep. First business first. Dr. Gilbert pulled the abscessed 
tooth, and there were no complications. 

Then he set about the real business of the day. Lifting her skirt, he pushed 
Nan's panties aside, bent over all the way, and tongued her vagina. At the 
same time, he reached into his own pants, took out his penis, and began to 
stroke it. 

As he pulled harder and harder on his cock, he worked his tongue faster and 
faster between the luscious lips of her cunt. Then he shot his load all over 
the apron that covered Nan. 

When she woke up, her tongue touched the empty spot along her gums, and she 
sighed with relief that the abscessed tooth had been removed. 

Suddenly she blushed. Her panties were wet, and she thought, in her deep 
slumber, she had pissed in them. Dr. Gilbert led her to the lavatory, where 
she was surprised to find only a dampness. It was a familiar feeling, and 
she knew she had had an orgasm. No, she thought, Dr. Gilbert couldn't have 
fucked me. Maybe it was a reaction to that shot. 

Meantime the beer flowed freely in the Tecumcare bar, because there was no 
air-conditioning. Finally Wakefield said goodbye to Tom and Cranston and 
went to pick up Nan. 

"Holy smokes, Sid," Tom Rabat chastised Cranston, "when you going to learn 
to keep your big mouth shut? You almost got Rose in trouble." 

"Okay. So he didn't catch on," was Cranston's excuse. 

Not only Wakefield, but also Dr. Gilbert was surprised to find that Nan was 
not in the anteroom where he had left her. 

"She was kind of woozy from the injection I gave her," explained the 
dentist, "and I thought it best if she'd sleep it off. I can't imagine where 
she got to." 

"I can," the deputy said sourly. "But don't worry. She won't get far." 

Wakefield drove the sedan east for ten miles, did not see a sign of Nan, so 
turned around and headed west. He raced through Tecumcare and hit the main 
highway at a 70-mile-an-hour clip. 

Nan was walking briskly, despite the hot sun. A truck came along and she 
tried to thumb a ride, but the driver had strict instructions not to pick up 
any hitchhikers, and he reluctantly passed her by. 

Nan cursed him out and kept walking. When she heard another car coming, she 
stopped, turned and looked. It was the farm sedan. Resigned to it, Nan 
folded her arms in disgust and just stood there until the car screeched to a 
stop beside her. 

"Where do you think you're going?" Wakefield shouted, relieved that his 
charge had not gotten away from him. 

Nan spoke flippantly, "I thought you left without me, so I decided to walk 
back to the farm by myself." 

"You happen," he said wryly, "to be going in the wrong direction." 

"Fancy that." 

He pushed open the door and ordered her to get in. After she did so, he 
remarked, "You're not going to be so flip when I report you to Mr. Munhall 
for trying to run away." He was infuriated because he might have lost his 
job. 

Nan's attitude changed and she became serious. That's all she needed-a 
run-in with the superintendent. "Now wait a minute, Mr. Wakefield," she said 
with all the sweetness she could muster, "you don't have to tell him, do 
you?" 

As he swung the car around and headed back toward Tecumcare, he snapped, 
"What do you think?" 

"That could get me into real trouble." 

"You should have thought of that," the deputy told her, "before you tried 
it." 

They sped along the highway, and Nan decided to try a different approach to 
this man's better side-if he had one. "You know," she said real cozy, "I 
could make it up to you." 

Wakefield kept his eyes on the road, but he said, "What are you talking 
about?" 

"I'll show you." With that, Nan slid closer to him and placed her hand on 
his trousers. He brusquely shoved it away. Much as he wanted her, he refused 
to give in. 

"What the devil do you think you're trying?" 

Nan became tense. "What do you want-money?" and before he could answer, she 
said brightly, "That's it. Say, you let up on me, and I'll see to it that 
you get a hundred bucks." 

"You're out of your mind," said Wakefield. 

"All right," she said angrily. "Two can play this game as well as one." 

Wakefield barely glanced at her. He didn't know whether this was some kind 
of threat or just some frightened small-talk. But it took all of his 
concentration to swerve around some cattle that had wandered onto the 
highway, and after that, the rest of the trip back to the farm was spent in 
silence. 

Wakefield pulled up in front of the Administration Building, "You go on in," 
he ordered, "and as soon as I put the car away, I'll meet you in Mr. 
Munhall's office." 

Nan got out of the car and slammed the door shut. She watched him drive 
toward the barn, then hurried inside and, without knocking on the 
superintendent's door, opened it and appeared breathless before Mr. Munhall. 

"That man!" she gasped. "He-he tried to kiss me and ... oh, I'm ashamed to 
tell you what else." 

Mr. Munhall was astounded. "Are you talking about Mr. Wakefield?" 

"I certainly am," she responded. "He even tried to put his hand under my 
dress. And when I didn't let him, he...." Nan buried her face in her hands, 
pretending she couldn't go on talking. 

"Imagine!" exclaimed Mr. Munhall, clenching his fists. 

"That's not the half of it," Nan went on. "He said if I didn't get in the 
back seat of the car with him and let him-you know what-well, he said he'd 
fix me, but good, with you." 

"Of all the-" before Mr. Munhall could finish, there was a knock on his 
door, and he fairly shouted, "Come in!" 

When Wakefield confronted the superintendent, Mr. Munhall demanded, "Now 
what's this all about?" 

"She tried to escape," the deputy replied. 

"I did nothing of the kind!" exclaimed Nan. 

Mr. Munhall looked at her and said, "I'll handle this, Nan. You go and 
report to Mrs. Preston." 

As soon as she had gone, Mr. Munhall stood up and faced his deputy. 
"Wakefield, is that true, what she said?" 

"Just what did she tell you, Mr. Munhall?" 

"That you molested her. Or at least tried to." 

Wakefield was furious. "Look," he argued, "who are you going to believe? Me, 
or that little tramp?" 

"I'll listen to your side of it," the superintendent said, "just as I 
listened to hers. 

"In the first place," Wakefield explained, "I've never laid a finger on any 
of the girls at the farm, and I've been here five years." 

"There's always a first time," said Mr. Munhall. 

"Not for me there isn't. At least not with this kind of trash. There's an 
old saying-you don't eat where you sleep. That goes for me." 

"I hope for your sake," said the superintendent, "that you're telling the 
truth." 

"If you have any doubts," said Wakefield, "all you have to do is ask the 
dentist. He knows she tried to escape." 

"Don't worry," said Mr. Munhall, "I'll call him." His curt nod dismissed the 
deputy. Then he went to his desk and sat down, perplexed. Obviously he 
didn't know whether to believe Nan or Wakefield. 

Mr. Munhall picked up the telephone and dialed a number. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

After reporting to Mrs. Preston, Nan joined the other girls in the dining 
room for lunch. The swelling had not yet gone down in her jaw, and there was 
still a soreness in the gums. So all she had was a glass of milk. 

Rose, Aggy, and Clara shared the table with Nan. Rose and Aggy were glad to 
divide the food that Nan did not eat. 

Mrs. Preston, walking from table to table as she usually did, was the first 
to see Mr. Munhall come into the dining room. She approached him. 

"Tell Nancy Minot to come here," the superintendent said. 

Mrs. Preston went over to Nan, tapped her on the shoulder and beckoned her. 
All the girls in the room stopped eating and watched as Nan followed Mrs. 
Preston toward Mr. Munhall, who stood like a statue near the door. 

The matron stopped, turned and admonished the inmates. "You girls keep right 
on eating. This is none of your business." 

The girls grudgingly started to eat, and the matron took Nan to Mr. Munhall 
and asked him, "Do you want me to leave?" 

"No," he replied. "You stay right here." Then, turning to Nan, he said, "The 
dentist just returned my call. He told me what happened." 

Nan asked, "What was that?" 

"That you disappeared from his ante-room without telling him." 

"How could I tell him?" she asked, pretending to be hurt by the news. "After 
all, he had a patient in his office. I couldn't break in." 

"You could have waited until he told you to leave." 

"But he did tell me. He said to lie down until I felt better, and then I'd 
be all right to go back," Nan insisted. "So when I thought I was okay, I 
went looking for Mr. Wakefield." 

"Went looking?" asked the superintendent, taken by surprise. "Wasn't he 
waiting for you in the car?" 

"Why don't you ask him where he was?" countered Nan. Then, seeing her 
advantage, she pressed it with, "He wasn't even across the street at the gas 
station, like he said he would be." 

Mr. Munhall shook his head. "Nevertheless," he stated, "that was no reason 
for you to try to escape." 

"I didn't try to escape," she persisted. "After all, Mr. Munhall, I had a 
shot of sodium pen-tathol and a lot of pain. Out there, one road's just like 
another." She shook her head, imitating Mr. Munhall, and continued, "I know 
better than to try to escape from here. Didn't I see what happened to Isabel 
Chatham?" 

Mr. Munhall looked at Mrs. Preston, but got neither a rise nor a reaction 
out of her. He took a deep breath, one that seemed to admit failure to solve 
a problem, and said, "Go back and finish your lunch." 

When Nan returned to her table, the superintendent asked Mrs. Preston, "You 
know what happened in town?" 

She nodded. "Yes. Nan told me." 

"What do you think?" 

"About her," the matron asked, "or about Mr. Wakefield?" 

Her answer was so evasive that Mr. Munhall sighed despairingly, then took a 
few steps forward, past her, and called for attention. "Girls, I want you 
all to hear this." 

There was a sudden silence, and all the women turned to face the 
superintendent. 

"As you all know, one girl tried to escape from this facility, this Honor 
Farm, and is now serving her full sentence at the Women's Reformatory. I 
have reason to believe that the same thought has entered the minds of other 
inmates in this institution." 

As he kept on talking, Aggy glared at Nan, who defiantly glared right back. 
They heard Mr. Munhall say, "let it be understood, once and for all, that I 
will brook no attempt at escape. From now on, you girls are going to work 
here and live here under the very letter of the law." 

He cleared his throat, wanting to emphasize his next point. "If any of you 
so much as step one foot off limits-r-even by mistake-you shall be severely 
punished." 

There was a slight rumble of low voices, but it stopped to hear the last of 
Mr. Munhall's speech. "Just to show you that I mean business, I am 
suspending your Sunday privileges until further notice." 

That was too much for Aggy. She viciously kicked Nan's shin. Nan returned 
the compliment. Mrs. Preston knew something was going on and moved closer to 
their table to prevent any fight. 

The moment Mr. Munhall left the dining room, the girls started to jabber and 
groan, with special attention aimed at Nan. Mrs. Preston clapped her hands 
and demanded order. "Girls, girls! That's enough!" 

The noise subsided and the inmates finished their lunch, but as they passed 
out, single file, there wasn't a one, except for Clara, who didn't have a 
dirty look for Nan. 

In mid-afternoon, Nan, Rose, Aggy and Clara found themselves working 
together in the vegetable patch. As they furrowed the ground, Aggy 
deliberately hit Nan with a rake. 

"What the devil do you think you're doing?" snapped Nan. 

"I ought to break your neck," countered Aggy, "spoiling it for the rest of 
us." 

"You're off your rocker," Nan came back. "You think I'd try to make a break 
from here all by myself?" 

Clara came to Nan's defense. "Mr. Munhall didn't say she tried to escape." 

"Not in so many words, maybe," said Aggy. "But he sure got some wild ideas 
about it." Then, turning to Rose, she said, "It's going to be all the 
tougher now, thanks to Nan." 

Rose didn't take it so hard, though. She said to Aggy, "Relax, will you? 
There are no walls here, and only two guards. Taking away our Sunday 
privileges isn't going to make that much difference." 

And just to show which side she was on, Nan added, "When I leave-and believe 
me, I'm going to-it'll be with the rest of you." 

"It better be," fumed Aggy, but she did not notice the wary look in Clara's 
eyes. 

The very next day the ball started rolling. At dawn the dormitory door 
opened and Mrs. Preston called out, "Up, girls! Another day. Everybody up." 

She was about to leave the dormitory when, at a quick glance to the end of 
the room, she saw that Nan was still in bed. "Nancy Minot-out! Didn't you 
hear me?" 

Mumbling, Nan rolled out of her bed. "They can hear her all the way in 
Texas." 

"What was that, Nan?" asked Mrs. Preston, somewhat annoyed. 

Nan smiled and said, "Good morning. That was all." 

"Oh. Good morning," said the matron, and she left the dormitory. 

"Now don't get her on our backs," warned Aggy. 

"You kiddin'?" asked Nan. "She's the one who always sticks up for me." 

After washing and dressing, the girls hurried to the dining room for 
breakfast. Mrs. Preston had gone to the private dining room to have 
breakfast with Mr. Munhall and the two guards, one of whom was coming on 
duty, the other going off. 

Rose took advantage of the matron's absence to have a little fun. Standing 
up, she lifted a tray off the table and placed it on her head, parading 
around the table in the same strutting manner she used to do as a model. 

"Look, ma-I'm a Fifth Avenue model!" she said, and all the other girls 
applauded. 

Mrs. Preston returned with a handful of mail and was unnoticed amid all the 
pleasant jeers and catcalls as the inmates laughingly reacted to Rose's 
horseplay. But when Rose made a sweeping turn and saw the matron in the 
background she froze, and there was sudden quiet in the room. 

Mrs. Preston made lightly of it. "Sometimes it pays to have a flat head, 
doesn't it, Rose?" she said good-naturedly, and everybody sighed with 
relief. 

Before Rose could sit down, the matron approached her and handed her the 
batch of mail. "As long as you're on your feet, you might as well give out 
these letters." 

There was the usual hubbub of anxious voices from the girls. "Any for me?" 

"Hey, Rose 

-where's mine?" 

"Nobody ever writes to me," complained one girl. And "You're sure you didn't 
see one for me?" asked another. 

During the confusion, Rose turned over a letter to Aggy. She merely glanced 
at the envelope, then slipped it into her pocket. Nan noticed the grin of 
knowing satisfaction that crossed Aggy's face, but she said nothing about 
it. 

Aggy managed a couple minutes of privacy before the girls had to go out on 
the field. She carefully opened the envelope and removed the letter. Then 
she made doubly sure that no one was around. 

And when she read the contents, she said to herself, this is it. 

She could hardly wait to share her secret with Rose, Nan and Clara. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

As soon as the four girls were working together on their regular vegetable 
patch, Wakefield strolled by and gave Nan a dirty look. 

Aggy said, when the day guard was out of earshot, "Hey Nan-how come you 
didn't give your boyfriend a big hello?" 

"What I wish for him," said Nan bitterly, "goes for you, too." 

"Why don't you dames bury the hatchet?" asked Rose, who was getting Weary of 
their constant arguing. 

"In each other's heads," cracked Nan. 

"Try it," said Aggy. "I got this." She picked up her rake and banged it 
against a rock, loosening one of the steel prongs. 

Rose frowned. "What are you doing?" 

"Getting all set for a getaway," said Aggy, with supreme confidence. She 
yanked off the steel prong and put it in her pocket, then grinned. 

"You know that letter you gave me this morning, Rose?" 

"What about it?" 

"It's from an old friend of mine," said Aggy. "He's got a nice place all 
picked out for us in Chihuahua." 

Nan showed interest. "A hideaway?" 

Aggy nodded. "You said it. One that's easy for us to get to, and tough for 
anybody else to find." Then she smiled with self-satisfaction and said to 
all three girls, "Didn't I tell you I'd come through? I wasn't talking for 
nothing." 

"I'm ready any time you are," said Nan. 

"Me, too," chimed in Rose. She held a finger up to her neck. "I've had it up 
to here." 

Aggy turned to Clara, who was on her knees pulling weeds. "What about you, 
Clara?" 

"I don't see what difference it makes if I don't go," she replied. 

"Then I'll explain the facts of life to you," said Aggy in a deadly serious 
tone. "Three girls from our section are missing. One is left behind. Now-who 
are they going to third-degree to find out where the runaways went?" 

"You don't have to worry about that," Clara tried to reassure Aggy. "I won't 
tell them a thing." 

"I'll say you won't," Aggy emphasized, "because you're going to be with us 
to Chihuahua-whether you like it or not." 

Before an argument could start, Rose warned, "Button up. Here comes the 
law." 

Moments later Mrs. Preston joined the group. "Clara," she said, "there's a 
wheelbarrow in the barn. The girls need it on the other side of the 
Administration Building. Would you bring it over, please?" 

"Anything to break the monotony," said Clara, not wanting to reveal how 
anxious she was to get away from Aggy. The matron walked away, and Clara got 
up off her knees and headed for the barn. 

"She 's a good kid, Aggy," said Rose. "Why don't you lay off her?" 

Aggy took the steel prong out of her pocket and looked at it menacingly. 
Then she raised her eyes to Rose. "What did you say, Rose?" 

"I told you-Clara only has about four months to go. Let her alone." 

"Sure," said Aggy, "I'll let her alone." But the way she wiped her fingers 
over the steel prong before carefully putting it back in her pocket, 
indicated she had something else in mind. 

The second Clara entered the barn, she stopped short, and she drew in her 
breath sharply. For there, some ten yards away was Denis Tiffin pitching 
hay. He had taken off his T-shirt, and his back was to the barn door, so 
that he did not know Clara was there. 

Clara tiptoed up behind him and said lightly, "You act like you know what 
you're doing." 

Denis stopped working, slowly turned and grinned. "I'll tell you something. 
I do." He wiped his brow, and Clara got a whiff of the manly perspiration. 
It excited her in a strange way, and it took all of her will power to keep 
herself from embracing him. "It's been a long time," Denis admitted, "since 
I've done this kind of work." 

"Did you live on a ranch?" 

"Sure did. Back near Norman, Oklahoma. When I was a kid." 

"You're a long way from home," Clara said. 

"And a long time." 

"You going back?" she asked. 

"We'll see," he said quietly. 

Clara was aware that he had said "we," not "I." When she reached down for 
the wheelbarrow, he bent over to help her, and their shoulders touched. It 
was like a explosion, this first, slight meeting of their bodies. As one, 
they melted into each other's arms, and at this first impact she felt his 
manhood against her loins. 

"Oh Denis," she murmured. "What are we going to do?" 

"Shhhh...." That was all he said. 

But not all he did. 

Denis led her into one of the stalls where, without a word, he disrobed her. 
Then he tore off his own clothes. 

They stared at each other's naked body. He saw those two firm breasts, the 
nipples already hard even though he had not touched them; the flat, hard 
belly from hard work; the triangular patch of lacy pubic hair that topped 
the hidden lips of the anxious vagina. 

Denis, too, had a hard, flat belly, and that was where the similarity ended. 
His chest was broad, as were his shoulders, and his hips were wide. He had a 
jungle of pubic hair, and standing erect from it was a massive prick, ready 
for battle. 

And a beautiful battle it was. They stood there, kissing at first, his cock 
pressed between their stomachs, her breasts throbbing against his chest. 
When their tongues intertwined in each other's mouths, he gently pulled her 
to the ground. 

Denis kissed her earlobes, blew into her ears, kissed the point of her nose, 
the point of her chin. Little did she realize that these, under such 
circumstances, were erotic points. Clara held onto his prick, squeezing it 
methodically, and he continued his downward travels with his hot tongue, 
pausing at each tit and chewing gently on the nub of each nipple, tracing a 
pattern of passion down her stomach, pausing at her belly-button where he 
inserted his tongue, then down along her bush until he found the moist lips 
of her vagina. 

He could tongue her and control her, and go on like that for an hour, but he 
knew they could not waste time. So he took his penis in his hand, giuided it 
into the welcoming vagina, and they just lay there quietly, not moving. 

At last he whispered, "We better get going." 

Clara moved her ass up and down, then from side to side, and he saw she was 
so good at it, he let her do all the work, for he was afraid if he moved, he 
would come too soon. 

As it was, they both ejaculated at the same time, their lips pressed hard 
against each other, their tongues wildly darting into each other's mouths. 

They were silent as they dressed quickly. Then, with only a glance of 
appreciation between them, Denis took the handles of the wheelbarrow, and 
they walked out of the barn together. Little did they realize that Mr. 
Munhall, standing outside the Adminsistration Building, saw them. 

After supper Nan, Rose, Aggy and Clara sat down in the lounge to play 
bridge. At least they pretended to play. It was a good cover for their 
subdued conversation, which was broken only by the infrequent appearances of 
Mrs. Preston, who walked from group to group and exchanged pleasantries. 

"Now look, girls," said Aggy, "I got us a place to stay. But the big 
question is-how do we get there?" 

"What do you mean," corrected Rose, "is how do we get out of here?" 

Aggy shook her head. "Nope. I got that all figured out." She winked at Rose. 
"You haven't been building up Jerry Sapporo for nothing." 

"You kiddin'?" countered Rose. "He wouldn't let us all out the same night." 

Nan nodded excitedly. "Aggy's got a point. Look, Rose-you just take him to 
the barn, and the rest of us will make a break without him being any the 
wiser." 

And Aggy added, "Then we'll meet you at the car." 

"What car?" asked Rose. 

Aggy turned her eyes toward Clara. "That's where you come in, my friend." 

Clara shrugged. "I don't have a car, and you know it." 

"Your boyfriend," said Aggy, "he has the keys to the jeep." 

"You mean Denis?" 

"Whatever his name is," said Aggy, "he still has the keys to the farmer's 
jeep." 

"Sure," chimed in Rose, "you can borrow it, with a little persuasion. The 
kind I give the night guard." 

Clara flushed. "I wouldn't involve him-not for anything." 

Nan gave out with a sarcastic laugh. "Involve him? Hell, he wouldn't stick 
out his neck for anybody. And I know what I'm talking about." 

"I know you do," admitted Clara. "He told me about you and him." 

"Did he tell you everything?" asked Nan, an evil smile crossing her face. 

"I didn't ask him," Clara replied quickly. 

"Well," put in Aggy, "you better ask him for that jeep." 

Then Nan did an about-face, and she said to Aggy, "Forget about the jeep. It 
makes so much noise, it would wake up the whole countryside." 

"All right, smarty," said Aggy. "You got any better ideas?" 

"I got a bank account in Santa Fe," said Nan, and glancing at Rose, she 
continued, "Can you line up a car from one of your friends in Tecumcare? 
After we get out, I can arrange to withdraw my money and pay for it." 

"Oh, fine!" Rose exclaimed sarcastically. "You expect me to make a deal for 
a car now, then tell the owner we'll pay for it when we're down in Mexico!" 

Nan was annoyed. "I'm willing to do what I can. I can't do any more." 

Aggy spoke up, "I'm doing my share, getting us a hideout." 

Rose was thinking. "Maybe I can swing it after all," she said softly. 

"What do you mean?" both Nan and Aggy asked simultaneously. 

"There's a guy in town-Sid Cranston-who has hot pants for me. It just may 
be...." 

Clara nudged her under the table to keep quiet. They had been so engrossed 
in their conversation that they did not see Mr. Munhall come into the lounge 
and speak to Mrs. Preston. 

Now the matron was beside the table. "Clara," she said, "Mr. Munhall wants 
to speak with you." 

Aggy tried to give Clara a warning glance, but Clara avoided her eyes and 
left the table, joining Mr. Munhall at the door. "Come to my office," he 
said, and Clara followed him outside. 

Clara sat in a straight-back chair without being told to, and she nervously 
watched as Mr. 

Munhall deliberately went from one window to another, pulling down the 
shades. Then he went to his desk and leaned against the edge of it, facing 
Clara, and he stared at her for an entire minute without speaking a word. 

Finally he said, "I suppose you're wondering why I asked you to come here 
with me?" 

"Yes, sir," she replied meekly. 

"The fact is, Clara, I took an hour off this afternoon to go over all the 
details of your case." He lit a cigarette, then continued, "It's true, petty 
theft isn't one of the most serious crimes committed in our society, but 
evidently, it was serious enough for the courts to send you to the Honor 
Farm." 

"Yessir," she nodded. "I'm aware of it." 

"You may or may not know it, Clara, but I've been keeping a close eye on you 
all the time you have been here. You-uh-you're quite different from the 
other girls. I tend to believe your story, that you did not perpetrate the 
so-called crime, but that you were a victim of circumstances." 

"Thank you, Mr. Munhall. I appreciate that." 

"I think you have a remarkably good chance at rehabilitation," he spoke 
thoughtfully now. "As a matter-of-fact, you probably had the best prospects 
of anyone on this farm." 

"I've always tried to do what is right," she said simply. 

"Up to today," he agreed, "you've pretty well succeeded." 

Clara knitted her brows in surprise. "Today?" 

"Yes. I saw you coming out of the barn with that ranch-hand." 

"Denis Tiffin?" 

"You seem to be on pretty familiar terms." 

"All the girls here know him," said Clara. 

"But all the girls," Mr. Munhall said accusingly, "don't go into the barn 
with him." 

Clara stood up quickly. "Mrs. Preston wanted the wheelbarrow, and she sent 
me after it." 

The superintendent ignored her explanation. "How long were you in the barn 
with him?" 

Clara, flustered, said, "I don't know." 

Mr. Munhall pressed the question. "Was it five minutes ... ten ... maybe 
fifteen?" 

"Mr. Munhall," she said, her voice quavering, "I don't know what you're 
driving at." 

The superintendent crushed out his cigarette in an ashtray and stood 
directly in front of Clara. "What I want to know is, did he do this to you?" 
And then, taking her by utter surprise, he ran his hand over her breasts. 

"No, sir. He didn't do that. Honestly." 

"Did he do this?" Mr. Munhall asked. He took hold of her hand and pressed it 
against his trousers, and Clara blushed when she felt his extending loins. 

"Oh no, no sir, Denis didn't make me do anything like that. I swear it." 

"Then what were you doing in the barn so long?" he persisted. 

"We were-uh-just talking." 

"I know men, especially around pretty women. I want to know the truth, 
Clara-did he try anything like this?" 

Then, as she stood there pertrified, Mr. Munhall reached under her dress and 
played with her. Her reaction was not a sensuous one, but pure fear. She did 
not know how far he would go, what he would force her to do. 

"Well," he asked, when he had finished playing around, "is that what he did 
to you?" 

"He didn't touch me. Honest. I swear it." 

"All right, Clara," he said magnanimously, "I'm inclined to believe you. You 
understand, of course, I have to asked these questions only because I am 
responsible for your behavior." 

She nodded, too frightened to answer. 

"What we have discussed here this evening," he went on, "is confidential. Is 
that clear?" 

"Yessir," she whispered. "Very clear." 

"I'd hate to see you make a mistake. Any mistake," he emphasized, and she 
well knew what he meant. "I wouldn't want you to be sent to the Women's 
Reformatory." 

"No sir," she agreed. "Neither would I." 

"Fine." He smiled. "You just toe the line, Clara, and before you know it, 
you'll be out of here." 

"I certainly will," she assured him. 

"You may go now. The other girls are in the dormitory." 

When she went to the door, he followed her, and he rubbed his hand on her 
buttocks. "Remember what I said," he reminded her. 

"Yessir." 

"Just routine questioning, if anyone should ask you." 

"I understand clearly," she said, and when he opened the door, she could 
hardly wait to get outside. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

Clara stood between the Administration Building and the barracks for fully 
five minutes, hoping the gentle breeze would soothe her mixed-up emotions. 
She had an urge to run to Mrs. Preston and tell her about the 
superintendent; however, she well knew that not only would Mr. Munhall deny 
it, but he would have her punished for insubordination, which would mean a 
long trip to the Women's Reformatory. 

Deciding to forget the whole incident, she went to the dormitory where the 
lights had already been turned out. As she started to undress in the 
semi-darkness, Aggy pushed herself up on her elbows and said, "Clara...?" 

"What?" she responded, continuing to undress and not even looking at Aggy. 

"What did he want?" 

Clara ignored the question and slipped into her pajamas. Angered, Aggy 
sarcastically remarked, "Maybe she can't hear so good," and she threw her 
covers aside and stepped over to Clara's bed. "I asked you, Clara-what did 
he want?" 

When Clara still refused to answer, Aggy grabbed her by the arm and pulled 
her completely around. "I'm talking to you!" Aggy exclaimed. 

"I've got ears!" Clara replied, furious. And she pulled away, sharply. 

Both Rose and Nan joined them, and Rose whispered, "Keep it low, you two." 

Aggy snapped, "What difference does it make now-after this stoolie spilled 
her guts?" 

"How do you know what she said?" asked Nan. 

"So why don't she answer?" was Aggy's response. Then she addressed Clara 
again. "Well, what did you tell him?" 

"None of your business!" said Clara. 

Needing no more provocation, Aggy slapped Clara across the face. Clara 
staggered backward and fell on her bed. Before either Nan or Rose could 
intervene, Aggy grabbed Clara by the hair and yanked at her viciously. 

"I'll teach you to squeal on us, you double-crossing rat!" said the 
vindictive Aggy. 

When Rose pulled Aggy off Clara, the latter asserted herself and was ready 
to give it back to Aggy, but Nan restrained her, admonishing her with, 
"What's the matter with you-you flipped?" 

"Me?" asked a surprised Clara. "I've taken all I'm going to take from her. 
From now on-" 

"Shut up, all of you!" Rose whispered harshly. And when the noise subsided, 
she continued, "This will get us no place-fast." 

"That's just where we're going," said a subdued, infuriated Aggy. "No 
place-fast." 

"If you quit fighting and relax like I told you," Rose said, "maybe I'll be 
able to line up a car for us." 

Aggy's attitude changed. "In town?" 

Rose nodded. "I'll give it a whirl." 

Aggy didn't let any opportunity get by. "How soon?" 

"Tonight," replied Rose. "If you stop all this brawling and leave Clara 
alone." 

"Okay," agreed Aggy. She looked at both Clara and Nan. "Come on-let's hit 
the sack." 

Aggy returned to her bed, but Nan sat down beside Clara and put her arm 
around her. "Did she hurt you?" asked Nan. 

"I'm all right," said Clara. 

"Did Mr. Munhall give you a bad time?" When Nan asked the question, she also 
let her hand slip onto Clara's breast, and she gently squeezed it. 

Clara had had enough trouble for one night, what with the superintendent and 
Aggy. So she merely pushed out her elbow, thereby forcing Nan to let go of 
her, and shook her head no. 

"Don't worry, Clara," Nan tried to comfort her, "things have a way of 
working themselves out." 

"Get into bed, you two," ordered Rose, and as soon as Clara and Nan got 
under their covers, Rose started to dress. 

Jerry Sapporo, turning the key in the patrol box, thought he heard a low 
whistle-the signal. This was unusual, being signalled in the middle of a 
week. He whistled back, just to play it safe, and listened. When he heard 
the signal again, he hurried toward the rear of the barracks. 

Rose leaned out of the domitory window. "What's with you, Rose?" apporo 
asked. 

"I have to run into town on business." 

"This is getting to be a habit," he told her. However, as she eased herself 
out the window, he helped her down to the ground. 

"Like I said, Jerry-it's business." 

"Yeah," he muttered, "monkey business." 

"Look, Jerry," she said softly, moving away from him, "didn't I come back 
early last time?" 

He recalled the wonderful time she had given him, and he couldn't be too 
harsh with her. But he did warn her. "You're taking too many chances. If you 
get caught, it's going to be curtains for both of us." 

"I never got caught yet," she reminded him. 

"There's always a first time." 

Trying a new tack, Rose shrugged and said, "Okay, if that's the way you feel 
about it, forget it." And then she added slyly, "and I'll forget about you." 

"Now look, Rose," he said, putting his arms around her and pressing against 
her, "No use getting sore. All I want is for you to be careful." 

She gave him a sultry smile. "You know how careful I am." Then, after a 
quick kiss, she pulled away and hurried toward the road. Sapporo, worried, 
looked after her with anxiety-and with the hope that she'd come back in time 
to spend half an hour or so with him. 

Rose sat with Sid Cranston in one of the rear booths in the Tecumcare bar. 
They necked openly and obviously were having a good time. 

Sid, undoubtedly surprised by Rose's strong response to his advances, was in 
a particularly good mood-which was Rose's intention in the first place. 

When the time seemed ripe, Rose raised her glass to Sid's and said, "Well, 
here's to us." 

"You said it, doll. Here's to you and me." Sid gulped down his beer, put 
dpwn his glass, lustily grabbed Rose and planted a wet kiss on her mouth. 
Rose pulled away. 

"Hey," she laughed, "wait a minute. Lemme up for air." 

"Baby" whispered Sid, "I'm nuts about you." Rose eyed him shrewdly. "Are 
you? Really?" 

"Cross my heart," he said, and he did so, as if that was reassurance. "You 
got everything. And then some." Sid lowered his voice suggestively. "I been 
thinking, Rose baby-maybe it's time you and me should go up to my place." 

"Not so fast," she told him. "Fact is, Sid, I've got a little problem that's 
worrying me." 

Sid was filled with confidence tonight. "Yeah? Tell me, doll. I can solve 
anything." 

"I'll bet you can," she flattered him. "You're the big, strong, dependable 
type, Sid. Anyone can see that." 

When she brought home her point with a passionate kiss, he said, "Most 
dependable guy in the world." 

"You'll really help me, then?" she pleaded. 

"Sure, baby." He hedged a little. "If I can. What is it? Money?" 

"I need your car," she said, taking the plunge. "Tomorrow night." 

Sid frowned. "What for?" 

"I've got to get to Amarillo." 

"What the hell," he exclaimed, "That's a hundred miles from here!" 

"So what?" she pouted. "I could do it in a couple of hours." 

"You mean skip out of the farm, go to Amarillo and back again-all the same 
night?" he asked dubiously. 

"Sure. What's so hard about that?" 

Sid wasn't anxious to get mixed up in thb plan. "I don't know...." 

"Please, Sid," she begged, putting her arm around him. "I never told you 
this before, but I've got a kid all my own. Lives with my older sister in 
Amarillo." 

"You married?" he asked, surprised. 

"Used to be. If it wasn't for that sucker," she said, feigning anger, "I 
wouldn't be where I am today." 

"Must be some guy," said Sid sympathetically. 

"You should see my kid. Tomorrow's his birthday-he'll be five, Sid. I 
promised him I'd be there for his party. You know what that means to a kid." 

"Yeah, sure," he agreed. "But how do I know you'll come back?" 

"Fine friend you are," she flared angrily. "I should have known better." She 
stood up beside the booth and glared at him. "You're only out for what you 
can get. For nothing," she emphasized. 

Sid quickly pushed himself to his feet. "Wait a minute, Rose." He took her 
hand and tried to pull her back into the booth. "Sit down. I didn't say I 
wouldn't do it." 

"And you didn't say you would." 

"Well, you gotta give a guy a chance to make up his mind." When she sat down 
beside him, he asked, "What time do you need it?" 

"About midnight. All you have to do is leave it on the side of the road 
about a quarter of a mile from the farm." 

"That's all?" he said sarcastically. "The least you could do is come in town 
and pick it up." 

Rose knew how to get around that one. "I would, if you want me to. The only 
thing, Sid, it would take all my strength-and instead of saving it for 
tomorrow night, I thought maybe tonight, you and me...." 

"Do you mean what I think you mean?" he asked huskily, starting to paw her. 

"Try me out," she whispered. "But not here." 

They wasted little time in getting to Sid's little cottage behind his gas 
station. It was bachelor diggings, a one-room affair with a built-in 
kitchen. Sid opened a couple of beer cans which he and Rose emptied as they 
undressed. 

Sid pressed the cold beer can against his forehead, trying to keep calm as 
he watched Rose wiggle out of her dress and unhook her brassiere. Her two 
breasts, freed from their supports, danced tantalizingly in front of his 
eyes. 

Knowing all the innuendoes, Rose turned around so that he saw her buttocks 
as she bent over and pulled off her panties. He would have pushed up against 
her at this moment, but his own trousers were halfway off, and he was in no 
position to move. 

When she faced him, it was more than he could stand. She opened her arms and 
embraced him, their mouths meeting in a passionate kiss, their tongues 
darting against each other's. 

Sid pushed her down onto the bed, already to go into action. "Hold it," said 
Rose. 

"Something wrong?" asked Sid. 

"Not so fast, honey," she said. "Make love to me. 

Sid was not an artful lover. He was what girls called a rabbit-fast and 
furious. So Rose gave him a lesson in the art of romance. She whispered her 
instructions to him, and his face came down upon her breasts, kissing the 
nipples, biting gently on them, until they were hard and erect. She took her 
hand and pushed his head along her body, and he had sense enough to tongue 
her, though he did it brusquely. Nevertheless Rose felt a coarse thrill, a 
new kind of sensation, at the roughness of this trip around the world. 

He even chewed on her bush, and when she opened her legs, she was surprised 
he did not resist and let his tongue linger on the vaginal lips. It found 
her clitoris and she moaned. 

"What'sa matter, kid, am I hurting you?" he asked. 

Amused, Rose changed positions, saying, "My turn." And as she pushed him on 
his back, she leaned over and gave Sid the works-a tongue-lashing from the 
top of his head to the tip of his toes. Everything but his big cock. 

Then, seeing he was losing control, she whispered, "The car, Sid-you goin' 
to let me have it?" 

"Sure, Rose. Anytime." 

"Tomorrow?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"At the farm?" 

"Yeah ... sure ... come on, baby. Fuck me!" 

She mounted him, then, straddled him and rode him like a jockey trying to 
win the Kentucky Derby. He grabbed her tits as if holding onto the reins, 
groaned, and away they went! 

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

The girls were having breakfast, and they ate in silence until Mrs. Preston 
walked past their table to another part of the dining room. 

"Holy smokes," said Aggy to Rose, "another half hour and it would have been 
daylight! Where'd you go-Galveston?" 

I went to the moon," said Rose. It was a private joke. Then, more seriously, 
she added, "The point is, I got out and I got back, didn't I?" 

"Yes," agreed Nan, "but did you get a car?" 

"If I'm half the woman I think I am," said Rose, "we have a car." 

"When?" asked Aggy, trying not to show her eagerness. 

Mrs. Preston had a feeling the girls were talking about something she would 
like to overhear, and she strolled near their table again. Suddenly, 
however, the glirls clammed up. 

"The food's been better recently, hasn't it, girls?" Mrs. Preston asked. 

"Great," said Nan. 

"Just fine," said Rose. 

"Swell," replied Aggy, and when Clara sat there in silence, Aggy kicked her 
under the trouble. 

"Yes, the food's been wonderful," said Clara. 

Mrs. Preston smiled at them and once more walked away. Aggy chuckled, "Food 
... oh boy, I know what I'm going to have for breakfast tomorrow morning." 
Then, just to make certain, she said softly to Rose, "Youre sure, now?" 

"Don't worry. The car will be there." 

Nan grinned. "How'd you manage it, Rose?" 

"As if you don't know," she grinned right back. 

Nan said, "You're the greatest. You get the car ... you get us out of 
here...." 

Aggy broke in with, "and I get us a hideout. Don't forget that." 

"I'll come up with the dough so's we can live awhile," promised Nan. Then, 
turning to Rose again, she asked, "How are we going to work it tonight? You 
know-getting out of the dorm?" 

Rose saw that Mrs. Preston was watching them from across the room, and she 
said, "We'll talk about it out on the field." 

Aggy said, "Trouble is, Clara does the laundry today." 

Clara just sat there, staring at her plate, saying nothing. She refused to 
commit herself or to start an argument by saying she wasn't going. 

Mrs. Preston clapped her hands and called out, "all right, girls-time to go 
to work!" 

As they filed out, Aggy walked closely behind Clara and gave her a pinch. 
"That's just to remind you, Clara-you're going with us. I'll fill you in on 
the details later." 

Clara was grateful for the solitude of the basement laundry. Just as she got 
started, however, she realized she was out of soap powder and she went 
upstairs, and looked for Mrs. Preston. 

Mr. Munhall was talking to the matron, and as Clara approached, she 
overheard him say that he would be gone all day, and for her to assume full 
responsibility. Then he walked toward the barn where the farm sedan was 
parked. 

"What is it, Clara?" asked Mrs. Preston. 

"We're out of soap powder," Clara told her. 

"Mr. Niles has the supplies," the matron said. "Go ask him for some." 

As Clara walked toward the farmhouse, she saw the superintendent driving 
away. Mr. Niles, the elderly farmer, met her on the porch. 

"Morning, Clara." 

"Good morning, Mr. Niles. I came for some soap powder." 

Mr. Niles was not as old as he looked. At least not mentally old. His eyes 
twinkled. "Suppose I bring it over," he suggested. 

"Oh, I don't want to put you to any trouble," Clara said. 

"No trouble," he told her. "In fact, I insist." 

"Thank you, then," she said, and she walked back to the laundry room, 
noticing on the way that Wakefield, the day guard, was patrolling the far 
corner of the field, while Mrs. Preston talked to the girls at the vegetable 
patch. 

For the next five minutes, Clara made neat piles of the sheets, pillowcates 
and towels. Then she heard the basement door opening, and she called up, "Be 
careful Mr. Niles. The steps are rather steep." 

And then she realized why the old farmer had insisted on bringing over the 
soap powder. Because Mr. Niles wasn't there at all! He had sent Denis to 
her. 

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Denis as he approached her and placed the 
soap powder on a ledge. 

"I'll show you how disappointed I am," she smiled happily, and she embraced 
him and gave him a warm kiss. 

"Hey lady," he laughed, "I could learn to like that." He noticed Clara's 
smile dissolve into a frown. "What's the matter, Clara-something I said?" 

"No, Denis. It's-well, something's up." Clara hesitated and turned away. 
"Maybe I shouldn't be telling you." 

"If you can't trust me," said Denis, "then who can you turn to?" 

"It isn't that I don't trust you, Denis. Only ... ," she let the words 
drift. 

Impatiently, Denis asked, "Only what? Tell me, Clara-what is it?" 

Clara turned to face him again. "Some of the girls," she revealed, "are 
planning an escape." 

Denis said, "Just so you're not in on it." 

"That's the trouble. I am." 

"You're out of your mind!" he exclaimed. "You've only got a couple of months 
to go." 

"You don't understand, Denis. They're forcing me," she told him. 

Denis was dumbstruck, but only for a moment. "They?" 

Clara nodded. "Yes. Nan ... Rose ... Aggy-the girls in my section." 

"How can they force you?" he demanded to know. "You're a grown woman, Clara. 
Not a kid." 

"It sounds simple, I know," she admitted. But you don't know them-especially 
that Aggy." 

"All you have to do is go to Mrs. Preston or Mr. Munhall, and tell either 
one of them." 

"I can't do that, Denis." 

"Why not? Who are you worried about-them ... or yourself?" 

"It isn't that. I just-well, I can't squeal." 

Denis took her by the shoulders and spoke in a soft but persuasive tone. 
"Look, Clara. You were a patsy once before for your cousin. I thought that 
taught you a lesson." 

Clara evaded his eyes, and he pressed his point. "Why do you think I'm 
waiting around here?" When she raised her eyes and looked directly at him, 
he said, "When you walk out of here, Clara, I'm walking with you." 

"Denis," she said very quietly, "do you mean that you and I ... ," she was 
afraid to finish the sentence, afraid that she might have misunderstood him 
or put a false meaning to his words. 

But Denis was quite reassuring. "If I didn't make myself clear, Clara, then 
let me tell you this: you're not alone anymore. And as far as that goes, 
neither am I." 

Clara threw herself in Denis's arms, and he held her tightly. There were 
tears in her eyes, tears of happiness. And as he held her against him, she 
forgot about the escape attempt, for there were new, more exciting 
interests. 

There was Denis, with his tense muscles, with his wordless appeal for her 
love. And there was her desire aroused once more, her wish to show this man 
that she loved him. 

Two healthy, young people, in love and alone in a basement. 

"Denis," she whispered, "reach up and turn off the light." 

"Somebody's liable to come in," he said. 

"No," she told him. "I saw Mr. Munhall drive into town. Mrs. Preston and 
Wakefield have all they can do to keep the girls busy on the farm." 

"You sure?" 

"Positive," she whispered, and this time, when she kissed him, he threw 
caution to the wind and reached up and turned off the single overhead light. 

Clara had arranged a huge pile of sheets, not for lovemaking, but it served 
well as a place for them to lie down. 

Denis had had her in the light; now it was time for a repeat performance in 
the dark. 

They undressed each other with anticipation, and as they lay on the bed of 
cool sheets, even before they embraced, she felt his huge cock pressing 
against her stomach. 

Clara gently took hold of it, moved closer to Denis, and they found each 
other's lips. Then, as she gently massaged his balls, he made love to her in 
the darkness. 

Without seeing, but with tremendous passion, he nibbled on her lovely tits 
until he felt the nipples hard and erect. Then he ran his tongue down her 
belly, stopping as before at the belly-button. Next stop was the fragrant 
bush, which he chewed tenderly. 

And then, when his tongue touched the tip of her clit, she let out a moan. 
Instantly he darted his tongue between the now moist vaginal lips, and 
without thinking about it, Clara made an undulating motion. 

"Wait for me," he whispered, and he lunged his massive prick into her. 

"Oh Denis!" she cried softly, "Denis! Denis!" 

Denis had rolled onto his side, holding her in his arms. "Clara, I love you 
very much. This is the real thing. It's going to last us a lifetime." 

She responded with a kiss, and she knew for sure that Denis Tiffin was hers 
forever. 

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

At eleven o'clock that night, just before her own bedtime, Mrs. Preston 
quietly went into the dormitory and tiptoed round the room. It wasn't often 
that she did this, but tonight she had an uneasy feeling that something was 
stirring. No doubt because of the animated, then subdued, conversations of 
the girls. 

All sixteen girls were in their beds. And all sixteen were sound asleep. At 
least that's the impression they gave the matron. 

She returned to her own room and turned in for a long night's sleep after a 
tedious day's work. 

Aggy waited several minutes after Mrs. Preston had left, then sat up in her 
bed. "You all awake?" she whispered loud enough so that she wouldn't awaken 
the other inmates. 

Rose sat up, and so did Nan. Aggy said to Nan, "Give Clara a shake." 

Nan reached over to the next bed and shook Clara, at the same time fondling 
her breast. Clara quickly sat up and said, "Who could sleep?" 

"You going to way-lay Jerry Sapporo first?" asked Aggy of Rose. 

"That's the general idea. But we might as well all get dressed and be 
ready," Rose replied. 

"Aggy, Rose and Nan pushed away their covers and started to dress. Only 
Clara remained in her bed. Aggy snapped, "Come on, Clara. Dig the led out." 

"I told you before," Clara said softly, "I'm not going with you." 

Aggy stepped nimbly to Clara's beds and ripped the covers off her. "You want 
me to tear your pajamas off, too?" she said vehemently. 

Clara stared defiantly at Aggy, remembering what Denis had told her earlier 
that day. "I'm not a kid, Aggy. I'm a grown woman. If you think-" 

Before she could finish the sentence, Aggy brandished the steel prong from 
the rake that she had fashioned into a weapon. Aggy pressed it against 
Clara's breast and warned her, "One way or another, you're not going to 
talk." 

"I swear to you," said Clara, "nobody will get so much as a word out of me." 

"I'll make sure of that," persisted Aggy. "Either you're coming, or you stop 
breathing. I've got nothing to lose. You've got everything." 

"You better do what she says," Nan advised Clara. "No use bucking traffic." 
' Clara reluctantly got out of bed, took off her pajamas, put on her 
brassiere, panties, socks, shoes and dress. To get a sweater would have 
meant opening a locker, and none of the four girls took that chance. 

They huddled beside the rear window and Rose pushed it open. Then, leaning 
out, she emitted a low, soft whistle. 

Jerry Sapporo returned the signal, listened once more for the whistle, then 
hurried to the rear of the barracks. This time he was sore, because he felt 
Rose was taking advantage of a good thing, and he was prepared to put up an 
argument. 

Rose, however, had anticipated himi and she was already sliding down from 
the open window when he arrived, and he had no choice but to take hold of 
her and ease her to the ground. He did not have an inkling that three other 
girls were leaning against the wall, watching furtively. 

"Now what do you think you're doing?" Sapporo asked Rose, trying to keep his 
voice down. 

"Is that any way to greet me?" asked Rose provocatively. 

"Fine one you are. Almost didn't get back in time last night. I mean this 
morning." 

Rose pretended to pout. "Why do you think I'm here now? I missed you last 
night, so I thought-well, if you want me to go back in...?" 

Sapporo took hold of her arm. "you mean you just came out to see me?" he 
asked, trying to hide his surprise. 

"Can you give me a better reason?" she teased him, and when he embraced her, 
she gave him a kiss that made him anxious for more. "Not here," she 
whispered. "Let's go to the barn." 

"Okay," he said. "Come on." 

After Rose took the night guard away, Aggy told Nan to climb out first. Nan 
clung to the ledge, which wasn't high off the ground, then let go. "Next!" 
she called up to the darkness. 

"That's you," said Aggy, and she gave Clara a little shove. Clara dropped 
down without any trouble, and thought this might be the time to make a run 
for it. Nan, sensing Clara's indecision, warned her, "You know what'll 
happen if we get caught. Not that I give a damn. But that Aggy-she'll slice 
your throat." 

There was no more time to consider the alternatives. Aggy had already jumped 
to the ground, and she took hold of Clara's arm. "Let's go," she said. "The 
car's supposed to be parked at the edge of the farm." 

As the three of them traipsed across the field, Clara caught sight of the 
farmhouse, and she decided to make one last attempt. Without giving any 
indication to Aggy, Clara broke away and started running as fast as she 
could. 

But she was no match for Aggy, who gave chase and tripped her. Clara 
sprawled on the ground, and Aggy sat on her, once more brandishing her crude 
weapon. "This is better for me," said Aggy, breathing hard. "I could slice 
you up right here, and we'd be to hell and gone before anybody found your 
body." To emphasize her point, she pressed the steel prong against Clara's 
neck. 

"Now," she said, and there was no doubt that she meant every word of it, 
"either you come along like a good girl, or they might as well dig a hole 
and bury you right here." 

"I'll go with you," Clara said weakly. As long as there was life there was 
hope, although she didn't hold out much hope for her prospects at this 
moment. 

The car was waiting on the dirt road that led from the Honor Farm to 
Tecumcare. The keys were in it, as Sid Cranston had promised. Evidently 
someone had followed him out in another car, and had taken him back to town, 
for he was not there. 

Aggy shoved Clara in the back seat and got in with her, holding the weapon 
in her hand in case of another attempt at escape. Nan sat up front, but not 
behind the wheel. Inasmuch as Rose had borrowed the car, it was her 
prerogative to drive. 

"How long are we going to have to sit here?" Nan asked Aggy. 

"It depends on Rose, not me," Aggy said sourly. 

If Rose had her way, she would have been there in a minute. But there was no 
eluding Jerry Sapporo, once she got him to the barn. 

"Let's make it a quickie," she suggested. 

"We got hours," he told her. "What's your hurry?" 

"I can't stand the smell of the barn," she told him. "Makes me sick." 

"It was your idea in the first place," he reminded her. "We can go behind 
it. Nobody'll see us there." 

So Rose followed him to an area behind the barn that wasn't too dusty. 
"How's this?" he asked. 

She shrugged indifferently. "I guess one place is as good as another," she 
said. 

Sapporo flelt that something was lacking, but he had no intention of letting 
this opportunity slip by. He took hold of her, brought her close up against 
him, and pressed his mouth against hers. She began to cooperate, and he felt 
better for it. 

When Sapporo started to take off his shirt, she said, "Don't get all 
undressed." 

"Why not? We did before. Remember?" 

"There was grass there," she replied. "I'll just slip off my panties." 

"What about up here, these gorgeous tits of yours?" he asked, giving her 
breasts a squeeze over her dress. 

"Let's skip that for now. Come on, hon," he said, lifting her dress and 
removing her panties, "I 'll take good care of you." 

When he saw her with raised dress, his prick pressed hard against is pants, 
and he let thjm drop to the barn floor. He didn't want to fast fuck, and he 
didn't want to argue with her. So he made a compromise. 

"Tell you what," he said. "How 'bout you sucking me off instead of fucking 
me?" 

Rose was all for that. She knelt down before him, and he stood up, glancing 
down as she took his big cock into her mouth and sucked back and forth, back 
and forth. 

"Not so goddamn fast!" he snapped. 

Rose took the hint. She kissed the head of his gargantuan prick, ran her 
lips along the side of it, pulled his balls out of his shorts and took them 
in her mouth, one at a time. 

"That's more like it," he breathed hard. 

Then, once more, Rose placed her lips over the head of his lance, slipped it 
into her mouth, worked her tongue over it until he came. She gagged at the 
first surge of semen, but after that she was all right and managed to 
swallow it. 

"You like it," Sapporo said, as he pulled his shrunken penis into his shorts 
and pulled up his pants. 

"I like everything you got," she lied, adding, "I'm going into town for an 
hour or so." 

"You're crazy!" he told her. "You'll never make it." 

"Sure I will," she replied. "Somebody's waiting for me in a car, at the edge 
of the farm." 

"So that's why your were in such a fucking hurry!" 

"Well," she admitted, "I figured if I paid you off first, the least you'd do 
was carry out your end of the bargin." 

Sapporo had no choice. 

"It's about time," growled Aggy, who had become impatient because Clara, 
beside her was restless. 

Rose chuckled, thinking of how fast she really worked, gave Nan a gentle 
pole and slid into the driver's seat. When Rose turned on the ignition and 
tread on the starter, the car did not turn over. She tried again and again, 
but still no luck. 

"Damnit all!" snapped Aggy from the rear of the car, "don't you know how to 
drive?" 

"Sure," said Rose, "I can drive. Trouble is, I can't get this damn thing 
started." She seemed to enjoy the suspense, but Nan did not. 

"Let me try it," said Nan, "I'm a whiz with cars." She slid over on top of 
Rose, letting Rose slide under her, and they exchanged places. 

Nan turned off the ignition, pushed on the accelerator to clear the flooded 
gas line, then quickly turned on the ignition. The motor started. "See," she 
said gaily, "I'm a genius!" 

"Okay, genius," said Aggy, "let's roll!" 

And roll they dd. Nan did not turn on the headlights, because they had all 
agreed that the beams might attract attention. There was a good moon, and 
they had a fair amount of light. 

"Hey Nan!" said Rose sharply, "where's the fire?" 

Clara leaned forward and said to Nan, "another five or ten minutes isn't 
going to make any difference. Take it easy." 

Nan merely laughed. Holding the wheel of a car gave her new strength, the 
same kind of strength she had when she drove her own convertible, the 
present that her millionaire boyfriend had given her. She pressed harder, 
harder, throwing caution to the wind. Four girls in an old, heavy 
convertible, speeding toward the main highway. 

And on the highway, rolling along at a fair clip, was a small truck. There 
was a driver up front, and there were a; dozen Mexican immigrant laborers 
standing crowded together in the back. 

The convertible on the dirt road. 

The truck on the paved highway. 

Chances were slim that they would meet. But in the game of life, no one can 
figure the odds. This time, depending on the viewpoint, they hit the 
jackpot. 

Or, to put it more bluntly, the convertible hit the truck. The driver of the 
truck saw the speeding car lurch out of the crossroads too late, and though 
he tugged at the wheel and the truck veered and skidded, it was hit so hard 
that it turned over. 

The dozen Mexicans were pinned beneath the overturned truck. But not the 
driver. He was knocked out of the driver's seat and killed. A swift, 
painless death. 

Not one of the four girls was even slightly injured! 

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

For the first few seconds after the impact, the girls remained in the car, 
stunned. It was Aggy who snapped out of it first, but her immediate concern 
was not for the injured Mexicans. 

"Holy mackerel, Nan," she yelled, "we should have known better than to let 
you take the wheel!" 

"It wasn't my fault!" exclaimed Nan. "You didn't want me to drive with 
lights on. Besides, they should have seen me." 

While the two girls were arguing, one blaming the other, the other making 
excuses, Rose and Clara ran toward the overturned truck to help the trapped 
men, whose fearful cries were blood-curdling. 

"Come around here," Rose called to Clara, "and we'll push from this side. 
One, two, three-both together!" The two of them pushed and strained and 
pushed harder, but to no avail. 

Clara shouted to Nan, "Hey Nan, give us a hand, will you?" 

Nan came over, and Aggy traipsed along. "Some of these men are hurt badly," 
said Rose. 

"It wasn't my fault," said Nan, repeating her previous statement to Aggy. 

"Who cares?" snapped Rose. "Let's push this damn truck upright and get them 
out." 

The four of them stood in one line and pushed with all their strength. The 
weight of the men held down the other side of the truck, and the girls were 
unable to right it. 

"We've got to get help," said Clra. "Somebody better drive back to town 
and-" 

"You shut up!" ordered Aggy. "Nobody's going to Tecumcare. We're headed 
south, to Mexico." 

"But we can't-" 

Again Aggy interrupted her, this time with a rough shove to the shoulder. 
"Who says we can't? We're going to Mexico, and the sooner the better." 

Rose took Clara's side. "We can't leave them here, Aggy." 

"Oh, for pete's sake," snapped Aggy, more impatient to make her escape 
secure, than she was worried about the screaming Mexicans, "somebody's bound 
to come along." 

"Along here, at this time of night?" asked Clara. "For all you know, they 
could die." 

Aggy was completely without compassion. "That's their hard luck, not mine." 
She grabbed Rose's arm and said, "Come on-before the cops get here." 

Clara took hold of Rose's other arm and implored her, "You can't run off and 
leave them like this, Rose. It's not human!" 

Rose, briefly torn with indecision, yanked her arm away from Aggy. "I'm 
staying," she said. "We'll get help, one way or the other." 

Aggy had already given up on Clara. It was not important now whether she 
stayed or went along. But Nan was important to her, and she turned to the 
girl, who was still shaken from the havoc that her carelessness had wrought. 

"Well, Nan," she muttered, "you coming with me, or are you staying with 
them?" 

The truth of the matter was that Aggy could not drive a car, and she had to 
have Nan. As far as Nan was concerned, it wasn't escaping from the farm that 
was on her mind now, but getting away from the law for the accident. For her 
first offense, she got off with a year's sentence at the Honor Farm. For 
this, a second offense perpetrated while committing another crime-the escape 
attempt-she knew it would go hard with her in the courts. 

"Let's go," said Nan, and the two of them ran back to the car. 

The second they were in, Aggy advised Nan, "Now be careful!" 

Nan furiously turned off the ignition and turned on Aggy. "You're so smart, 
why don't you drive?" 

"If I knew how, I would, damn you!" Aggy snapped. "Now get going, or it'll 
be worse for you than for me, and you know damn well what I mean." 

Nan knew all right. She turned the ignition key on again, started the motor, 
backed away from the scene of the accident, then put her foot on the brake 
and shouted to Rose and Clara, "Last chance, you two! Do you want to come, 
or don't you?" 

Neither of the girls answered. They were too busy trying to make an opening 
for the trapped men. Rose barely glanced over her shoulder as the 
convertible sped away from them. 

Aggy gave a backward glance to the overturned truck. "Crazy fools," she 
murmured, half to herself, "they'll get picked up by cops, sure as hell." 

She was about to warn Nan for driving at such a fast clip, but thought 
silence was the better part of valor under the circumstances. She folded her 
arms belligerently, stared straight ahead and wished they were already in 
Mexico. 

Clara paused for a deep breath, turned and got a fading glimpse of the car 
disappearing down the highway. "How can they do that," she asked Rose, 
"driving away from a terrible accident?" 

"It's not the first time for Nan," Rose reminded her, and she shook her head 
in disgust. Then, realizing the futility of their pushing against the 
overturned truck, she continued, "You wait here, Clara, and signal for help 
if a car comes along." 

"Where are you going?" asked Clara tensely, thinking that Rose was going to 
desert her. 

"I'll run into town, as fast as I can," she said. "I know where to get help 
there." For an instant she shuddered at the thought of having to face Sid 
Cranston, for by the time she got there, his car would be in Mexico. 

"It's closer back to the farm," said Clara. 

"Suppose I go and get Denis." 

"If you go back there," said Rose, barely touching Clara's arm, "you know 
what that means." 

"What difference does it make now?" asked Clara, and she motioned toward the 
truck and shuddered at the moans that came from under it. 

"I'll go with you," said Rose. 

"No," said Clara. "I'll manage. Besides, like you told me, if anybody comes 
along somebody better be here to signal them." 

"Okay," Rose agreed, "Hurry." 

Rose was tired and wanted to lean against the overturned truck, but she was 
afraid to, what with all those injured or dead men under it, so she stood 
several feet away and watched Clara running back up the dirt road. 

Then, alone on the highway except for the Mexicans, Rose shuddered. It was 
an eerie feeling. She said to herself that she could do not good here, and 
she was half-tempted to start running south, toward the Mexican border. She 
even regretted that she had not gone along with Nan and Aggy. 

She was lucky she didn't. 

As they sped southward, Nan clutched the wheel, as if holding on for dear 
life, while her past loomed up before her. Having crashed into the truck, 
knowing she was speeeding, driving without lights, and emerging from a side 
road onto the highway without stopping, Nan realized she was solely 
responsible for the tragedy. 

Once before, she remembered, she had snuffed out a life. That time, she was 
more interested in what would happen to her than what happened to the man 
she had run down. This time, however, the enormity of the accident, the 
number of lives involved, emotionally shook her. She considered herself a 
cold-blooded murderer, and she wondered what there was in her past that had 
driven her to this. 

Her father? He was unimportant to her. At least that is what she thought. 
The one time he might have helped her, by signing the application for for 
her parole, he had refused to so so. Nan cursed him out. Suddenly it came to 
her that if she had been paroled, she would not be in this predicament. 

Denis Tiffin? Was he the only good thing in her life, or was he the really 
bad thing? He loved her, or at least he said he did. But he had seduced her. 
He was the first one, the only one, in fact, until Gentleman Sam came along. 

Almost subconsciously she compared the two men. Denis was young and virile, 
and he played games with her tits, her bush, her cunt before laying her. 
Gentleman Sam was middle-aged, and he was only good for one orgasm at night; 
but that was a top-notch one, filled with gentleness and a tongue that was 
nothing less than heaven. 

She also remembered that Denis said she'd learned to take it in the mouth. 
But it was Gentleman Sam who finally induced her to do that, and came the 
time when there was nothing she liked better than his slim prick jutting at 
the roof of her mouth, bending slightly toward her throat, and the hot come 
streaming into her mouth. 

And then she recalled the one time that Gentleman Sam, wanting to 
experiment, suggested he shove his prick up her ass. She had never heard of 
such a thing, although the very thought of it was more of a mystery than a 
shock. 

"How are you going to get that prick of yours into my tiny asshole?" she 
asked Gentleman Sam. 

"Where there's a will there's a way. And baby-is there a will?" 

He took a jar of Vaseline, rubbed it all over his cock, put more on his 
finger and shoved it up her asshole. Then, as she lay on her stomach, he 
worked gently, as if she were a virgin, and slowly edged his slim cock up 
her rear. 

Nan thought, I was his wife. His common-law wife, anyway. But it was Denis 
who came back to me, back to where I was, on the farm. I had a chance to 
straighten out everything, to pick up where we left off. But I didn't. I was 
a fool, a damn fool! I should have stuck with Denis. 

"Watch it!" cried Aggy, and Nan snapped out of her reverie and held the car 
on a steady course. "What the devil you doing?" snapped Aggy. 

"What the hell do you think?" Nan snapped back. What she had done was to 
drive on the wrong side of the highway, so that if any car had come toward 
them, there would have been a head-on crash. 

"Well, concentrate on your driving?" said Aggy sharply. 

Nan tried to, but the past still loomed up before her. Sam, the millionaire, 
the married gentleman who had given her everything. Almost everything. When 
she got into trouble, with the car he had bought for her, he wasn't there to 
help. But living with Sam, she had to admit to herself, wasn't the same as 
being married. It wasn't in life and in death, in sickness and in health, 
for better or for worse. 

It was better for him, she said, and worse for me. I gave up college, I gave 
up Denis, and for what? The bastard, I'll get even with him. 

"We're going back," Nan suddenly said to Aggy. 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Those men," said Nan, "they might die." Actually she wasn't concerned about 
the Mexicans. She subconsciously thought that if she drove back for help, 
the whole story would come out-the story of how the millionaire had lived 
with her. She didn't care what might happen to her. All she cared about, in 
these moments of depression, was what would happen to Sam. She would tell 
all, and she would drag him down with her. 

Aggy tried to talk her out of it. "There's nothing we can do to help," she 
argued. "Besides, Rose and Clara are there." 

"It'll take me less time to drive for help," Nan persisted, "than for them 
to go for it." 

"It's too late," persisted Aggy. "Keep going, Nan. We're almost there." 

"No. I'm turning back." 

Nan put her foot on the brake and started to make a U-turn on the highway. 
Aggy grabbed for the wheel and tried to keep the car on a straight course. 

"Let go!" shouted Nan. 

"Don't be a fool!" yelled Aggy. 

The heavy convertible swerved wildly from side to side, and in the struggle 
for control of the wheel, Nan took her foot off the brake and pressed it on 
the accelerator. 

Nan gave a powerful tug on the wheel, and since she had both hands on it, 
she had more control than Aggy. But it was too much of a tug, and despite 
Aggy trying to keep the car on the road, it crashed into a fence and went up 
in flames. 

The force of the impact knocked the steering wheel into Nan's chest and 
mercifully killed her. Aggy's head hit the windshield, and she was 
momentarily stunned. By the time she recovered, however, she was already 
enveloped in flames. She screamed, her yells punctuating the silence of the 
night, but there was no one for miles around to hear. 

In the last moments of her purgatory, the sins of her life burned in her 
mind, just as her clothes burned against her flesh. There were flashes of 
her sordid past, all the oddballs who paid five or ten dollars for her 
services. 

Like the one character who only fingerfucked her while she jerked him off 
... the fat geezer who came when she squatted over him and pissed on his 
face ... the guy who reamed her, sliding his tongue as far as possible up 
her asshole, at the same time jerking off. These were the weirdos ... and 
then there were the hundreds of blokes who just fucked, fucked, fucked. 

Flesh they wanted. And flesh they got. The word flesh stuck in her mind, and 
Aggy screamed because the odor of flesh filled her nostrils. 

Burning flesh. Aggy Rostov's flesh. And when she stopped smelling it, she 
was dead. 

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

As Aggy screamed with her last breath, Clara banged frantically on the 
farmhouse door. The elderly Mr. Niles opened it, standing there in his 
pajamas and robe, and seeing the frightened, breathless girl on the porch, 
he asked, "What's the matter, child?" 

"There's been a-" Try as she might, Clara could not get the words out. She 
had been running, walking, and running some more. 

"Sit down," he suggested, "sit down on the steps." 

"No," she managed to say, "can't." Then, as Denis appeared in his pajamas, 
she seemed to gain new strength, and she blurted out, "Wreck ... crossroads 
... lots of men." 

Denis said to the farmer, "Go back with her in the jeep. I'll get Mr. 
Munhall." 

Denis slipped on his trousers and a shirt over his pajamas, stepped into 
shoes and ran across the field to the Administration Building. Jerry 
Sapporo, on guard duty, tried to stop him, but there was no time to explain. 
Denis hit Sapporo in the stomach, doubling him over; then an uppercut to the 
jaw knocked him out. Denis did not know why he did it, but there was 
something about this character he disliked. If he had paused to think about 
it, he might have remembered the first time he met Sapporo, when the night 
guard was peeking into the dormitory. 

Denis awakened Mr. Munhall, who first telephoned the State Police for help. 
Then he took Denis with him in the farm sedan, and they raced along the dirt 
road, catching up to the jeep just as it reached the highway. 

Rose was waiting for them. 

An hour later, Clara and Rose sat forlornly in the jeep and watched the last 
of the Mexicans being taken away in an ambulance, its siren wailing a 
mournful sound. 

Denis came over to them. "They'll be all right," he assured the girls. 

"All of them?" asked Clara. 

"All except the driver," he was sorry to admit. Then, trying to buoy up 
their spirts, he said, "You did the right thing, coming for help. You 
probably saved their lives." 

Before they could answer, a State Trooper rode up to the truck and asked, 
"Who's in charge here?" 

"If you mean from the Honor Farm," said Mr. Munhall, "I am." 

The Trooper got off his motorcycle and beckoned Mr. Munhall to one side. 
They spoke in low tones, so that they could not be overheard. Finally the 
Trooper remounted his motorcycle and roared off down the highway, and Mr. 
Munhall walked over to the jeep, where Niles had joined Denis and the girls. 

"I told you," Mr. Munhall said to Rose and Clara, "that nobody could escape 
from the Farm." 

"Mr. Munhall," Rose started to say, "Clara didn't-" 

But Mr. Munhall cut her off with, "I'm talking about Nancy Minot and 
Augustine Rostov." 

"They were caught?" asked Clara tensely. 

"No. The State Trooper just told me-the car smashed into a fence and both 
girls were burned to death." 

There was a sudden silence, except for Clara's sharp intake of breath. Rose 
shuddered, and she thought she was going to throw up. 

"You girls get in the other car," Mr. Munhall ordered curtly. 

They got out of the jeep and started for the sedan. Denis tried to make a 
pitch for them. "Mr. Munhall . ... " 

The superintendent looked at Denis. "It's late and we're all tired. What do 
you want?" 

"About the girls-Clara and Rose...." he began. 

"I think the superintendent," he said coldly, "is better equipped to handle 
the situation than a farmhand." With that, he joined the girls in the sedan 
and drove away. 

"There's a guy," Denis said bitterly to Niles, "who is cut out for his job." 

Then they climbed into the jeep, and Denis drove the farmer back to the 
farmhouse. 

At breakfast, there was not the usual chatter in the dining room. All the 
girls ate in gloomy silence, while Rose and Clara did not eat at all. 

Mrs. Preston came over to their table, where Nan's and Aggy's empty chairs 
were tilted, and said, "Try to eat something, girls." 

They both shook their heads, and Mrs. Preston did not insist. She walked 
briskly to the door as Wakefield, the day guard, came into the dining room. 
After talking to him, she returned to the table. 

"Mr. Munhall is waiting for you," she said. "Both of you." 

The other dozen girls all put down their spoons and forks and watched as 
Rose and Clara got up and walked silently, like a couple of condemned 
prisoners, out of the room. 

Mrs. Preston escorted them to the superintendent's office. When they got 
inside, Mrs. Preston pulled the door shut, showing her intention of staying 
there, and she stood slightly behind Rose and Clara as they faced the desk. 

Mr. Munhall was in a thoughtful, introspective mood. He looked at the girls; 
first at Rose, then at Clara. He glanced at two reports on his desk. He 
cleared his toroat. "I do not condone your escape attempt," he said, and 
Clara shut her eyes, figuring this was the end of the line for her. 

"However," Mr. Munhall went on, "I cannot overlook what you did for those 
men. It was a purely unselfish act." 

Clara opened her eyes and managed a brief exchange of glances with Rose. 
Then they heard him say, "What's more important, by coming back here for 
help and remaining with the truck, you both deliberately jeopardized what 
little chance you had of getting away. 

Mr. Munhall got to his feet and came around to the front of the desk. "That 
shows a spark of decency, and I want to keep that spark alive. The problem 
is-how?" 

Rose took it upon herself to say, "Mr. Munhall, there's something you ought 
to know about Clara." 

"What's that?" he asked. For a second he recalled his previous tete-a-tete 
with her, and it occurred to him that Clara might have opened her mouth, and 
now Rose was going to threaten him with exposure unless he was lenient. But 
he need not have feared. 

"Maybe I'm just as guilty as the other two," said Rose quietly, "but Clara 
was forced into this. She had no intention of trying to escape. As a 
matter-of-fact, she tried not to, but Aggy made her come with us." 

Mr. Munhall looked directly into Clara's eyes. "Is that the truth, Clara?" 

"Every last word," she said soberly. 

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. And he was. He had no heart to punish this 
girl. "When I make out my reports," he told them, "I'm going to recommend 
that both of you be allowed to finish out your normal terms right here at 
the Honor Farm." 

Rose's expression betrayed her surprise, and Mr. Munhall did not hide a 
little smile. "I know you're surprised, Rose, so I'll explain why I'm being 
lenient in your case. Not only did you stay with the injured men, but you 
were strong enough to assume the responsibility for the escape when you 
removed the blame from Clara. Besides," he added somewhat somberly, "I think 
the other two girls paid the price for this entire abortive episode." 

There was silence after that. No one had anything to say. Mr. Munhall went 
to the window and looked out. He could see the farmhouse across the field, 
and though he could not make out their features, he saw Louis Niles and 
Denis Tiffin standing on the porch. They should have been working, not 
wasting time. 

But this morning was different. Without turning, he said, "That will be all, 
Mrs. Preston." 

"All right, girls," said the matron, "we can leave now." 

The door opened and closed. But Mrs. Preston had not gone out with Rose and 
Clara. She had remained in the office, and she stepped to Mr. Munhall's 
side. 

"That spark of decency," she said quietly, "I guess it's contagious." 

Surprised, he turned and smiled. "I hope so," he said. 

Thinking nothing undue about it, Mrs. Preston reached over and kissed him on 
the cheek. To her surprise, Mr. Munhall held onto her, and the next kiss was 
on the lips. 

Their bodies pressed close, and she could feel his hot loins pressed against 
her. She pressed hard against him, to indicate her consent. 

He led her over to the leather couch and disrobed her. It was a long time 
since he had taken a woman's clothes off, and it was a longer time for her 
that a man had removed her garments. 

Then he took off his own clothes, during which time. Mrs. Preston stretched 
out on the couch, her legs spread open. Standing, she had full tits, 
overhanging. But lying down, she knew the secret of how to put her hands 
behind her head, and the mountains of flesh were firm and hard. 

Mr. Munhall was all impatience, undressing, eyeing that welcome vagina. He 
sat down beside her, and as he kissed her again, he placed a finger in her 
cunt. Then two fingers ... then three. The juices came, and he mounted her 
without further ado. 

Theirs was not to experiment, like the younger folks. Just a good lay was 
all they wanted. 

Mr. Munhall pushed up and down and breathed hard, and the matron told him to 
relax, she would do all the work. She wiggled her ass so that his prick slid 
around inside her, and she held off her orgasm until he came. Then she 
obliged. 

He was so spent that he just rolled over on his back. Little did he suspect 
there was another surprise in store for him, Mrs. Preston got up, bent over 
his shrunken dick and licked it clean. 

And as she licked, it became hard again. This time, she let him stay on his 
back, and she mounted him. 

"Now," she whispered, "let's just stay this way." 

"How long do you think it'll stay hard?" he asked breathlessly. 

"In me," she grinned, "till the day you die." 

"What a way to go!" he chuckled. 

And they just lay there, making up for all the years that had passed them 
by, his cock in her cunt. 

Outside, Rose and Clara had left the Administration Building and had headed 
for the barracks. Then something caught Clara's eye, and she ran alone 
toward the farmhouse. 

Denis came forward to meet her. They met on the field, near the vegetable 
patch, and they did not care if the whole world was watching. They opened 
their arms, and they embraced, and Denis held the sobbing girl close to him. 

"Everything's going to be all right," she cried. "I'll be out of here before 
the end of the year, like we planned." 

Denis ran his hand over her head, through her hair. He wondered about the 
details, what Mr. Munhall had said to her, but this was no time for 
questions. Besides, seeing her cry like this, he was too choked up to speak. 

At last, when she gently pulled away, he handed her a handkerchief, and she 
dried the tears. "I'm a little baby," she said, this time with a twinkle in 
her eyes. 

"No," he said kindly, "you're a big girl. And a good girl." She returned his 
handkerchief, and after he put it back in his pocket he said, "Fate may hand 
you a dirty deal once. But not the second time. Not if you do what's right." 

"Then you'll wait for me?" she asked, as if she needed reassurance. 

He smiled then. "The question is, my dear-will you wait for me?" 

She squeezed his hand, and they parted. They both knew that nothing, at 
least nothing within the control of humans, would ever keep them apart. 


THE END
