XE-1023 The Suppression Of Susan
By Bert Ormsby


CHAPTER ONE

Susan Blake stared at the gleaming silver soup spoon laid out on the spotless white damask cloth. A caricature of her own beautiful face stared back at her, turning her, in the reflection into a pudgy, puff-cheeked Tweedle Dum. She laughed and Judge Bennett Allen, sitting opposite her, looked up from the huge menu he was studying. "Does something amuse you, Susan," he asked.

Susan shrugged her lovely shoulders. "Nothing, really, Bennett."

"Nothing? But you laughed."

"I did? Yes, I guess I did." She bent her head, and her long blond hair caught the dancing light of a flickering candle flame and tossed it towards the mirrored wall of the dining room. Her fingers toyed with the silver candlestick.

"Well," Bennett pursued.

"It was really nothing, Bennett. I just happened to see myself in the bowl of the soup spoon. That was all."

"That was all?"

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

Bennett gave Susan a quizzical look and she hastened to explain further. "You know how a convex surface distorts an image," she said.

"But the soup spoon is concave, my dear," Bennett corrected.

"Concave, then," Susan admitted the point. But you know that it does distort an image... " Susan spoke rapidly, as if afraid that Bennett might dispute the fact. "Well," she hurried on, "I just happened to see myself in the spoon, and I looked so silly-so bloated and chubby and, well, so plain silly, that I laughed," her voice trailed off as Bennett stared at her. "I just laughed, I'm afraid," she added apologetically.

Bennett forced a tight little smile. "Oh, yes," he , said. "Yes. Very amusing." He studied the menu again.

But it was amusing, Susan thought. It was so... so... out-of-place. That was it. It was the only thing in the room that wasn't absolutely perfect.

She glanced around the restaurant again. The lights were low, the atmosphere hushed. Waiters moved across the deep carpet as quietly as cats. And Bennett, with his lean, handsome face, his classic features, the touch of gray at his temples that made him look every inch the judge, sat opposite her, choosing the perfect wine to go with the perfect meal he would select. Yes, Susan thought, the face reflected in the spoon was decidedly out of place.

A tiny glow of pride, no bigger than the candle flame that sputtered beside her, burned in Susan. How lucky she was, how lucky to be engaged to Bennett Allen.

He was still a young man, but he had already gone from a profitable law practice with Hastings, Watson and Thomas, Bellevue's biggest firm, to the State Bench. The step had considerably added to the prestige he already enjoyed in Bellevue, although it had substantially reduced his earnings. That fact had made little difference, though; there was as much money in the Allen family as there was in the Blake family. And Bennett had actually seemed to welcome the financial loss. At least he had made a statement to the newspapers, saying, "I consider it a privilege to serve the community in this way, and am delighted that I am in a position to do so."

Oblique as the reference was, it was the only time Susan had ever heard Bennett talk about money. Like Susan, he had been brought up to believe it was as vulgar to talk about one's wealth as it was to talk about sex. And yet-and Susan's laugh rang out again-it was obvious that both families were wealthy, and she and Bennett were the living proof that they had indulged in sex! She thought of telling that to Bennett, then decided against it. He wouldn't have thought it funny. Bennett, she reflected, didn't have much sense of humor.

Did that matter though? Not when you were as devoted to your work as Bennett was. Or as conscientious. Or determined. Those were the qualities for which Bennett was respected. That was what people had in mind when they spoke of Bennett's "moral rectitude" and his "propriety." Oh, yes. People admired Bennett. Susan had to admit that there were many who didn't like him. But they admired Bennett.

He looked up from the menu and asked, as Susan knew he would, "Would you like asparagus, Susan? And perhaps filet mignon then, with a green salad to follow?"

It was the dinner Bennett always suggested, and Susan wondered vaguely what would happen if she asked for something else. Oysters, perhaps, or an avocado. She actually considered doing it, but something in Bennett's manner put her off, and she merely said, as she always did, "That sounds wonderful, Bennett."

"And a Martini, of course?"

"Yes, Bennett. Of course."

Bennett gave the order to the waiter who hovered solicitously near by, then studied the wine list. Susan noticed the little lines of fatigue that creased the comers of his eyes, the tight, tense muscles of his neck. He was so tired, she thought. So tired.

But was it any wonder, considering the ordeal he'd been through? That wretched trial, those wretched people. For weeks he'd been presiding in the crowded, stuffy courtroom, trying to keep order, listening to long-winded speeches, trying to sort out fact from fiction. When Susan had made little clucking sounds of pity for him, saddled as he was with this interminable trial, he had been surprised. Actually surprised! "I'm only pleased to be able to serve the community!" Susan had been ashamed to think that she, herself, was so much less generous than Bennett.

The waiter appeared with the Martinis in frosty crystal glasses, which he carried on a silver tray. He set them in front of Susan and Bennett. Susan lifted hers, twirling the long-stemmed glass between her fingers. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Bennett answered. He held his drink out to Susan's. "Cheers, my dear!"

The drink tingled on Susan's tongue as she sipped it, and sent a warm glow through her as she swallowed. It made her very happy.

She sipped at the drink again. Then she said, "I heard the news on the radio, before I left home."

"About the trial?" Bennett asked.

Susan nodded. "Oh, Bennett," she said quickly. "I'm so glad it's over. Aren't you?"

"Frankly, Susan, I am." He rested his elbows on the table and pressed his finger tips together, almost, Susan thought, as if he were at prayer. "And I'm very pleased, too, that the jury saw its duty and returned a verdict of guilty. They were a responsible jury," he continued. He paused, then added, "So few of them are."

"But it was clear that the people were guilty, wasn't it?" Susan demanded.

"Clear to me," Bennett assured her.

"Well, if it was clear to you, why shouldn't it have been clear to the jury, too?" Susan asked.

"Oh, Susan! Susan!" Bennett smiled and Susan had the uncomfortable feeling that he was laughing at her. She'd felt that way often, recently, and now she wanted to lash back at him in some way. The feeling passed, and Susan was ashamed of herself. How unfair she was to Bennett, when he'd been under such terrible pressures for so long.

But the trial was over, now and Bennett would have time for her. She thought back over the period of her engagement. It had all been so... so... impersonal. Not that Susan would have thought of sleeping with Bennett before they were married, any more than Bennett would have thought of asking her to. But still, there had been none of those little intimacies between them that existed between most young lovers.

Well, that was past, Susan thought. Thank God for that! She set her drink down and leaned across the table, listening to Bennett.

"You see, my dear," he was saying, "a jury is composed of a cross-section of citizens. You'll get some very intelligent people on them, sometimes. But, unfortunately, you'll get others who are not intelligent at all. Then you expose that jury to a barrage of conflicting arguments, day after day, sometimes week after week. Naturally, the jury is confused."

"Naturally," Susan murmured. She fished for the olive in her Martini, speared it and popped it into her mouth.

"Then you have the element of personality," Bennett continued. "Someone on the jury takes a dislike to one lawyer for some utterly ridiculous reason. He's wearing a green shirt, for example, and Mr. Juryman loathes green. Something as simple as that." He noticed that Susan's glass was empty. "Another Martini, Susan?"

"I'd love another."

"And then there's a third factor, the one that could have been most important in this case," Bennett went on. "That's people's attitudes. Now, in a normal case, where a man is accused of stealing or murdering, it's a simple question of guilt or innocence, as it should be. But this case... The Free Men's Movement case... was different. Here you had half a dozen members of the Movement charged with arson arid rioting. Those are crimes, like theft or murder; the people who commit those crimes are criminals.

"But someone on the jury is likely to see it all in a different light. He's likely to remember all the idealistic aims these people claim to have. Note that I said 'claim.' He won't see these people for what they are."

"And what are they, Bennett?" Susan asked hesitantly.

"Troublemakers, Susan. Troublemakers. Nothing more."

"But Bennett," Susan protested. "I've seen some of their pamphlets and things. And it seems to me that these people are pretty idealistic. I mean the Free Men's Movement stands for a lot of things that everybody is in favor of. Like peace and equality and an end to discrimination. Things like that."

Bennett smiled indulgently at Susan, showing her unmistakably that he considered her as foolish as she was naive. "My dear," he said, "I'm afraid you've been taken in, too."

He stared at Susan over the plate of asparagus the waiter had slipped discreetly in front of him. It was fortunate that she hadn't been on the jury, he reflected. Happily, the jury had seen its duty and found the accused guilty. And he had seen his duty and sentenced each of them to the maximum term allowed, regretting only that he couldn't give them longer ones.

They richly deserved those sentences, he told himself. From the moment he saw them, he had considered them no better than common criminals.

The men were bad enough, with their lack of respect for the court. They didn't even dress decently, but came in gaudy sport shirts, open at the neck to show their hairy chests. Why couldn't they wear ties and jackets, like others in court? Why did they come into court in dirty jeans, like the winos and bums who dried out in the county jail?

Yes, the men were bad enough, but the women! My God! The women! Some among the spectators wore sweaters so tight you could see their nipples standing up straight under them. Or they wore blouses cut so low and open so wide that their round, full breasts actually bounced out. Then there was the one in the see-through blouse who might as well have been naked; the blouse concealed nothing. Not the two round spheres of her firm, full breasts, or the rosy aureoles that were vivid against the snowy flesh or the pert, hard little nipples, either.

She'd worn pants, too... pants so tight they looked as if they'd been sprayed on. They pulled and strained across the round curve of her buttocks, cupping them, moulding them to her skin, rippling like flesh itself as she moved lasciviously across the room. Bennett had noticed that the pants bunched and caught in the furrow of her buttocks, outlining the little pucker of her anus. And every man in the courtroom was staring at her, practically panting with sheer, raw lust.

But the most disgusting of them all, Bennett remembered, was the girl who'd come in late and taken a seat in the front row. She was young and slim-about Susan's age and Susan's size, he guessed-with a waist he could have spanned with his two hands. She'd even had a certain beauty, with her olive skin, the raven hair that hung to her shoulders, the eyes round as two black saucers.

No pants for this one, but a mini that seemed as brief as a bikini. It had barely covered the hard little half melons of her sensuous buttocks, barely concealed the vee of her crotch.

The girls full rich thighs were bare-why, oh why didn't these women wear bras and girdles and stockings like decent people?-and the provocative color of ripening wheat. Her breasts were lewdly tilted, the nipples taut under the sheer summer blouse she wore.

She flashed Bennett a knowing look as she passed the bench, a look that told him as plainly as words that she would be willing to-what was the expression? "put out?"-for him. Her walk had been an open invitation to him and every other man in the courtroom. Hips undulating sensually, she prowled the room like a bitch in heat, just begging for some man to shove his rock-hard penis deep into her quivering little belly. And there were plenty of men in the courtroom who were willing to do it, too.

A deceptive calm settled over the place when the girl sat down, just in front of the bench. She smoothed her skirt over the lushness of her hips, pressed her knees together, even crossed her ankles demurely. Beneath the calm, though, was a subdued current of excitement that threatened to explode at any minute. But as the day wore on-as witnesses were called and sworn, questioned and cross-questioned-the excitement drained away. The room was left blanketed in a lethargy that weighed it down like heat.

Bennett had leaned back in his chair, listening to an argument of one of the lawyers for the defense. As the voice droned on, his mind began to wander.

He glanced over the courtroom, wondering vaguely why all these people crowded into the place, day after day. He singled out an elderly woman over on one side. Who was she? The relative of one of the accused? The mother, perhaps? If so, the mother of which defendant?

He glanced at the jury box; several jurors were gazing around the room, too. Then his eyes settled on the girl in the front row.

The lithe young body had gone slack with boredom, and the girl sprawled in the chair, now, legs wide apart, knees splayed open teasingly. Bennett stared absent-mindedly, and a jingle he had chanted in childhood sang through his brain: "I see London, I see France. I see somebody's Underpants."

Well, the slouching girl was certainly giving him a good view of hers, he thought. And then it dawned on him that the girl wasn't wearing any. No thin strip of nylon, however narrow, however flimsy, concealed the quivering flesh of her smooth, curving thighs. There was nothing to hide the thin triangle of dark, silken curls that grew so sparsely there in the tight little vee between her legs, nothing to hide the delicate pink-tinted edges of her moist, pouting little pussy.

The girl shifted in the seat, and now her legs slid farther apart, her smooth-skinned, swelling thighs spread open even wider. The pink-tipped hair-lined split lay open now, parted like the petals of a flower, and revealed the tiny bud of her clitoris that nestled within.

Bennett stared in fascinated shock. The tiny, blushing mound attracted him and held his attention riveted to it. He yearned to turn away, to ignore the tender tip of flesh, to close his eyes and to close his mind. But he was transfixed, powerless, trapped by the lewd sight."

He knew somewhere, in the back of his mind, that the case was continuing, that a lawyer was questioning a client, that words were being bandied back and forth. But the words seemed far away; they had no meaning. Only the girl's full, fleshy vaginal lips seemed real, seemed near.

And then Bennett had come to with a start. "Your Honor!" one of the lawyers barked at him. "I object! I object, Your Honor!"

"Objection overruled," Bennett snapped. He picked up his gavel and brought it down with a sharp crack on the polished oak rail in front of him. He banged it once again. "This court is now in recess," he rasped out. He pulled himself to his feet and plodded into his chambers.

His palms were moist, and his entire body dripped with sweat. He tore open his black robe and let it slip to the floor, then eased himself into the overstuffed leather armchair which the state provided for his comfort.

Bennett had no idea how long he sat there before the hammer-like thumping of his heart subsided, before the clerk knocked discreetly to ask if he should call the court to order once again. He had no idea how long it was before he pulled himself heavily out. of the chair, took a deep breath to steady himself, and staring at the floor, marched back to the courtroom.

He heard the rest of the case staring at the ceiling, trying to concentrate on the arguments of the lawyers. But his mind kept wandering back to the girl. Was she still there? He refused to look. If not, where was she? Probably thrashing around in bed somewhere with some man she'd picked up! Lying there with her legs flung wide while he licked and sucked there between them. Or licking him, sucking him, taking him into her mouth until she almost swallowed his hard, jutting cock.

She was a menace to society, Bennett had thought. But she was no worse than the rest of the lot, all the other kooks and weirdos and perverts who went around spouting slogan and stirring up trouble, banding together in whatever movement happened to appeal to them at the moment.

They were a menace to society, Bennett thought again, as he sat now in the Coq Hardy, staring at Susan over his plate of asparagus. He'd been absolutely right to sentence them to long terms. That would give them time to think things over.

Susan nibbled at her salad, wondering at Bennett's long silence. Why didn't he talk to her?

What was on his mind? He seemed a thousand miles away.

Suddenly, as if a cloud were lifted and the sun had broken through, Bennett's mood changed. Where he'd been withdrawn, he became affable, for him almost effusive. There was even an unaccustomed touch of warmth in his voice, to which Susan responded at once, as he said, "But Susan, my dear. I almost forgot. I have something important to tell you!"

"Oh, Bennett!" Susan clapped her hands impatiently. "Is it about a house?"

"Yes, it is," he said. "I have one in mind which I think is just what we're looking for."

Susan listened with rapt attention as he described it. The bedroom was here, the study there, the dining-room down the hall. "At least," he said with a smile, "I suppose so. I haven't seen the place yet."

Susan's face fell. "Oh, Bennett. That's not fair."

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

"When, Bennett? Susan's lovely gray-green eyes sparkled.

"Would tomorrow morning be all right?"

"Of course it would."

"That's fine," Bennett said. "Because that's when Mr. Curtis, the real estate agent, is taking you to see it."

"Mr. Curtis?" Susan asked.

"Mr. Curtis," Bennett repeated. "He's from a new agency here. I think he said it's called... " he stopped, searching for the name. "Well, it doesn't matter. What's important is that Mr. Curtis will pick you up early tomorrow, and drive you out to see the place, near Hartley."

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

Bennett looked at his watch. "It's getting late," he said. "I'd better take you home, Susan." His mood had changed abruptly. His tone was now as cool as before, his manner almost insultingly offhand.

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

Bennett helped Susan into the car, then slipped under the wheel himself. Susan inched nearer to him until her marvelously molded young thighs brushed against his. The contact sent a little electric spark charging through her that seemed to set her on fire. Tiny flickers of flame licked at her loins deliriously. Bennett's very nearness teased and tantalized, until a thrill of pleasure caressed her whole body, crawled over her flesh, making it tingle maddeningly.

Aching for him to take her in his arms, she let her head fall on Bennett's shoulder. Surely he felt something, too! But if he did, Bennett showed no sign of it. When they reached the Blake home, he helped Susan out, and saw her to the door, kissing her lightly on the lips before she was swallowed up in the darkness of the house. He wouldn't even come in, Susan thought, as she climbed the stairs to her room!

Would he always be like this, she asked herself again.


CHAPTER TWO

Susan went directly to her room. Taking off her fur jacket, she let it fall on the pink satin slipper chair in the corner of the room. She unzipped the simple little black dress that had cost a small fortune and slipped out of it. The black silk rustled over her body, sliding over her smooth, creamy shoulders, onto her full, round breasts, then down to her smooth, sveltly curving buttocks, her voluptuous young thighs, her slim legs. At last it settled on the floor with a faint sound that could have been a sigh.

Susan stepped out of the crumpled pile of black fabric that lay on the thick white rug. She pulled the sheer froth of her petticoat over her head, and dropped it, too, on the rug. Reaching behind her, she unhooked the bit of black lace which was her bra, then slipped the straps off her shoulders; it joined the dress and petticoat on the floor.

Her flimsy nylon panties came next, followed by first one stocking and then the other, a garter belt, a pair of high-heeled shoes. The clothing lay scattered around the room when Susan pulled a robe of pale blue silk around her, then sat herself before the long mirror of her dressing table, picked up a hair brush and began her nightly ritual. One hundred strokes to the shoulder length, shimmering golden strands of silken hair. "Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six... " She stared at herself as she counted. Her skin was clear, almost translucent, glowing with subdued color. It stretched across the high cheek bones which were, perhaps, her finest feature. Yet her generous mouth was good, too, her teeth perfect.

Her eyes, Susan thought, were a little too wide set. Still, their unusual color-they were a green that shaded to gray, then back to green again- gave her face an added fascination. And the long black lashes that shaded her eyes made up for any imperfection.

She twisted around on the antique Victorian chair, and her sheer robe fell open, revealing the firm snowy mounds of her breasts, the gentle curve of her belly, the golden hairs that grew lightly over her pubic mound. With a gesture of impatience, Susan pulled the robe around her again, tying it with a sash.

She stood up then, and walked over to the bed. She stood there for a moment, before she switched off the light. In the dark, she shed the robe and climbed into bed.

She lay awake for a long time, thinking. Was there something wrong with Bennett? He had seemed upset at dinner. Was that it? Or was there something wrong with her to feel this way about the man she was to marry? Susan remembered her mother's scathing voice when once she had denounced a friend of hers, calling her lewd, immoral, wanton. And she had added, in that haughty voice that sent tradesmen scurrying, "People of our type aren't, interested in sex, Susan."

Well, Bennett was certainly "of our type." And maybe he wasn't-truly wasn't-interested in sex. Marriage might be only a convenience to him, and Susan an asset, rather than an object of desire, let alone passion.

Or maybe the problem was with her. Even though she was beautiful, she might not be attractive to men-not in that sense.

She began to feel that she'd been left out of everything. She was the child not invited to the birthday party, the one too young to stay up late with the others. She was Susan Blake, and she seemed to hear a familiar voice saying, "Oh, Susan Blake! No man would go for her."

The words clicked over and over, like a broken record spinning in her mind. She listened to the voice and struggled to place it. "No man would go for her. Not for Susan Blake."

Who had said it? Where? When?

Susan closed her eyes and clutched at a wisp of memory. Boarding schools and classmates and a dance in the gym where everyone wore long dresses and the band played sentimental old songs and everybody drank a pink punch that tasted like mouthwash. Susan hadn't gone to the dance, but Kathy had. Kathy Jenkins.

Kathy had said it, and Susan seemed to hear it now, just as she had heard it then, through the wall between her room and Kathy's. "Susan Blake. No man would go for her."

Kathy Jenkins.

Kathy Jenkins wriggled beneath Jeff Carter's hand as it explored her slim young body, caressing the firm little breasts, tracing the swell of her belly, stroking her milky thighs. But when it roamed down to the golden patch of silky pubic hair that nestled between Kathy's legs, she pushed it away.

What she and Jeff were doing was wicked, she knew. Even when Jeff had insisted that they sneak away from the dance, she had known how wicked it was. She was certain she wouldn't have gone with him at all if he hadn't spiked her glass of punch from time to time with gin from the flask he'd pinched from home. The gin had made her feel warm and weak and wonderful and when Jeff's hand slid to her swaying buttocks, pushing her so close to him that she could feel the hardening bulge beneath his trousers press into her flesh, little prickles of delight crawled up her spine.

Now, lying naked on her small bed, Kathy tried to push his hand away. "Oh, God, Jeff. We mustn't. You know we mustn't!"

"I know," Jeff whispered. "I know. But it's so good, Kathy. Isn't it?"

"Oh, God, yes," Kathy gasped. She stopped struggling, and Jeff's hand moved cautiously to the small tufted vee between her legs. He probed gently and found the tiny moist cleft, gently parted the delicate hair-lined pink lips, as Kathy quivered uncontrollably from the brand new experience.

She turned on the bed, now, pulling Jeff's lithe boyish body close to her own, his face to hers. Little shocks of excitement jolted through her as Jeff's tongue pried into her mouth, as she splurged her own into his. Suddenly he cupped her firmly ripe young breasts in his two hands and she felt her nipples harden. He rubbed the stiff little buds between his thumbs and forefingers, and Kathy moaned with pleasure. He trailed his tongue down her throat, to the furrow between the twin snowy mounds of her breasts, then over one breast itself. As his hand slid down to her belly again, his mouth closed over one stiff little nipple. He sucked on it with tantalizing delicacy at first, then with ever increasing pressure. At last he nipped the little mound gently, making Kathy gasp with the pleasurable pain.

The boy ran his tongue over her plump ripe breast again, over the other breast until his tongue found the nipple there. As he fastened his mouth to it and began to suck, his hand once more crawled down her belly to the mass of golden hair and found the warm moist slit of her vagina.

A probing finger worked its way into the little orifice, twisting and turning inside the narrow passage, while Kathy writhed and squirmed in ecstasy under his plunging hand.

Oh, God, it was good, she thought! I never knew it was going to be like this! She lay on her back, responding to the maddening movement of Jeff's fingers, pushing her hips up, rotating them, jerking them back and forth in wild, excited spasms.

"Ooh, Baby," Jeff groaned. "Like it, Baby?"

Jeff's voice broke the ecstatic spell, and a small, still voice warned her to be careful. My God! Didn't she have any sense! What was the matter with her? Suppose someone heard? Kathy thought of Susan Blake, asleep in the next bedroom. Suppose they woke Susan up? She'd run straight the headmistress and tattle, the snooty little bitch. Suppose Jeff wanted to go all the way? What if she had a baby? Oh, no! They couldn't do this. Not here-not now. "Jeff," Kathy begged him, "we've got to stop. Please. Now. We've got to. Don't dc anything more."

For answer, Jeff only wormed his finger deeper into her warm, moist vaginal passage, withdrew it, plunged it in again, sawing back and forth as she ground her buttocks into the mattress. At last he withdrew his finger to search out and caress the tiny bud of her clitoris and to tease it into hardness.

Kathy quivered, and a long drawn-out moan escaped her lips. Her little cunt was burning with hot flames of desire. As they leapt and licked at her loins, setting her whole being on fire, she knew that nothing... nothing at all... would make her stop Jeff now. She would rather die, she thought. She really would rather die!

Her hand searched for his virile young cock and found it pressing into the soft flesh of her thighs. She grasped it in her hand, and heard a groan of satisfaction from Jeff. It was beautiful, she told herself. Beautiful! She hadn't known that, either. She rubbed the foreskin back and forth, teasing Jeff, exciting him. She ran her finger over the smooth rubbery head of his glorious young prick, and tickled the parted hole, then ran it along the underside of the desire-hardened length. She stroked harder and harder, abandoning herself to the raw lust that possessed her aroused young body and moistly steaming pussy.

Jeff's fingers plunged deep inside her once more, and began moving slowly, rhythmically while Kathy, impaled on them, squirmed in an insane, contrapuntal rhythm of her own. A warm, sticky fluid oozed from her pulsing depths under Jeff's feverish manipulations, drenching her pussy and flowing down her sensuously naked inner thighs.

Jeff's awakened young prick jerked in her hand and Kathy cried out in delight. All doubts, all fears were wiped away by the exquisite pleasure she was feeling as Jeff finger-fucked her passion-obsessed cunt.

In a frenzy of wild abandon, Kathy's other hand slipped down to his sperm-laden balls, encompassed them, and cradled them with infinite tenderness as, with one finger, she stroked the pendulous, silk-smooth sacs. At the same time, she gripped his rigidly throbbing cock still tighter, and brought first a deep groan from the boy, and then a spine-tingling wail that resounded eerily in the small dormitory room.

With a violent shudder, Kathy released Jeff's sensitive tender balls and grasped his lust-rigid prick between both hands, massaging it furiously, working it back and forth, reveling in the obscene excitement that made itself felt in Jeff's heavy breathing, her own short, panting gasps. Unaware of anything now but her own overwhelming desire for satisfaction and release from the lust that pervaded her entire being, Kathy guided the bulbously throbbing head of Jeff's blood-swollen cock down to her openly gaping pussy. A stifled, muffled scream of "Jeff... " broke from her constricted throat, and with an uncontrollable jerk, Kathy's knees shot out further, opening a clear smooth path to her tight little virginal passage.

With a grunt, Jeff rolled over onto Kathy, and one leg slipped between her open thighs. Abruptly he withdrew his hand from the young girl's excitedly clasping cunt, and touched her small, elf-like face. He bent his head to hers, his tongue darting out, finding her lips, flicking them open, finding her teeth, her tongue, to end in a long, wet kiss.

God, it was so wonderful! And how Kathy wanted him inside her! That rock-hard young cock of his plunging deep inside, plundering her virginal passage, making her a woman at last. Her burning little cunt ached for him with an unquenchable desire. Oh, God! She could hardly stand it!

Now, rolling over on top of her, his hardened young penis parted the thin silken hair that guarded her vaginal mouth, eased slowly through the gently pulsating lips and slipped hotly into the fleshy opening of Kathy's unplundered cunt. A shudder of sheer delight convulsed her slight frame while little mewls of pleasure burst from her openly quivering lips.

The boy's surging cock burrowed deeper and deeper into the unresisting walls of her aroused drenched pussy, and Kathy struggled to clasp his arching back between her legs. Her buttocks were upturned, now, exposed fully, and as his excitedly swollen shaft sank in to the hilt, his equally swollen balls slapped flatly against the cheeks of her ass. Impaled on his piston-like thrusting prick, Kathy's hips rotated wildly in response, bouncing against the mattress, sending the headboard beating against the wall.

A few minutes earlier in the room next door, Susan Blake had lain in the darkness, listening. What on earth was going on? Kathy was" at the dance, wasn't she? Bitterly, she thought, everyone is at the dance but me.

She muffled a sob and wiped her nose on the bed sheet, remembering her mother's admonitions. "You're much too young to date, Susan," she had stated in a firm authoritarian tone. Even if her mother had approved of her going to the dance, who would have invited such a gawky adolescent, so shy she was absolutely tongue-tied whenever a boy looked at her? None, Susan admitted to herself, with another sob. If only her own flat, childish breasts were as fully developed as Kathy's, her hips as sensuously curved, her buttocks as round! Kathy had had a dozen different boys begging to take her to the prom. Right now, Susan was certain, there were a dozen more fighting over her, right on the dance floor, in the gym downstairs.

She heard the noise from Kathy's room again, and again she wondered what on earth was going on. If Kathy was downstairs, whirling around the dance floor like a movie starlet or something, who was making that noise in her room? Susan had to find out!

She slipped from the bed, drew a robe over her short, sheer nightie and padded barefoot into the hall. She glided over the carpet until she reached Kathy's door, and stood there, afraid at first to knock. But the sounds grew louder and Susan at scream of "Jeff... " broke from her constricted throat, and with an uncontrollable jerk, Kathy's knees shot out further, opening a clear smooth path to her tight little virginal passage.

With a grunt, Jeff rolled over onto Kathy, and one leg slipped between her open thighs. Abruptly he withdrew his hand from the young girl's excitedly clasping cunt, and touched her small, elf-like face. He bent his head to hers, his tongue darting out, finding her lips, flicking them open, finding her teeth, her tongue, to end in a long, wet kiss. God, it was so wonderful! And how Kathy wanted him inside her! That rock-hard young cock of his plunging deep inside, plundering her virginal passage, making her a woman at last. Her burning little cunt ached for him with an unquenchable desire. Oh, God! She could hardly stand it!

Now, rolling over on top of her, his hardened young penis parted the thin silken hair that guarded her vaginal mouth, eased slowly through the gently pulsating lips and slipped hotly into the fleshy opening of Kathy's unplundered cunt. A shudder of sheer delight convulsed her slight frame while little mewls of pleasure burst from her openly quivering lips.

The boy's surging cock burrowed deeper and deeper into the unresisting walls of her aroused drenched pussy, and Kathy struggled to clasp his arching back between her legs. Her buttocks were upturned, now, exposed fully, and as his excitedly swollen shaft sank in to the hilt, his equally swollen balls slapped flatly against the cheeks of her ass. Impaled on his piston-like thrusting prick, Kathy's hips rotated wildly in response, bouncing against the mattress, sending the headboard beating against the wall.

A few minutes earlier in the room next door, Susan Blake had lain in the darkness, listening. What on earth was going on? Kathy was" at the dance, wasn't she? Bitterly, she thought, everyone is at the dance but me.

She muffled a sob and wiped her nose on the bed sheet, remembering her mother's admonitions. "You're much too young to date, Susan," she had stated in a firm authoritarian tone. Even if her mother had approved of her going to the dance, who would have invited such a gawky adolescent, so shy she was absolutely tongue-tied whenever a boy looked at her? None, Susan admitted to herself, with another sob. If only her own flat, childish breasts were as fully developed as Kathy's, her hips as sensuously curved, her buttocks as round! Kathy had had a dozen different boys begging to take her to the prom. Right now, Susan was certain, there were a dozen more fighting over her, right on the dance floor, in the gym downstairs.

She heard the noise from Kathy's room again, and again she wondered what on earth was going on. If Kathy was downstairs, whirling around the dance floor like a movie starlet or something, who was making that noise in her room? Susan had to find out!

She slipped from the bed, drew a robe over her short, sheer nightie and padded barefoot into the hall. She glided over the carpet until she reached Kathy's door, and stood there, afraid at first to knock. But the sounds grew louder and Susan at last summoned up her courage, stepped forward and rapped lightly on the door.

When there was no answer, Susan rapped again, louder this time. There was still no answer, although the sounds from the room continued. She's in there, Susan thought with annoyance. Why doesn't she answer? She knocked one more time, then turned the knob and pushed the door open a crack. The sounds from the room were louder now-a low wail, followed by a moan and then a sigh. Kathy must be sick, she thought, peering into the darkness.

As her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, Susan froze in shock. Her legs seemed to go as soft as cooked spaghetti, buckling under her and caving in. She grabbed the doorknob to keep herself from falling. Kathy's moans changed to clearly recognizable words, and Susan heard her begging, "Oh, Jeff. Jeff! Honey! Do it to me. Dooooo... it! Please Jeff. PLEASE!"

Susan's head whirled as the lewdly pleading words registered in her shocked mind. She longed to turn away, to run, to hide in some dark comer where no one could see her fear and revulsion. She tried to close the door, but her trembling hands hung limp at her side, refusing to do her bidding. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to lift one foot and put it ahead of the other, carrying her away from this disgusting spectacle.

A blast of Arctic wind seemed to ripple up her back from the base of her spine, raising goose flesh on her neck and arms. She shivered, and her teeth began to chatter. And yet she knew her forehead was burning; perspiration rolled down her cheeks in large, limpid drops.

Almost fainting now, Susan's head lolled against the open door. It swung farther ajar, and in the patch of light that now fell across the bed, Susan saw Kathy Jenkins nakedly sprawled across it.

She tried to shout at her, to save her, somehow, from this awful wickedness. But when she opened her mouth, no sound came. She couldn't stand this, she thought. She couldn't stand the vile, filthy scene being enacted in front of her eyes, with that boy named Jeff, naked like Kathy, straddling the girl as he made love to her.

He panted and writhed above her, groaning unintelligibly as his jutting rock-hard penis sought to enter Kathy's softly palpitating little vagina. "Oh, my God," he groaned, "I want you Kathy. Kathy, you know what I wanta do? I wanta fuck you... " The foul word struck Susan's ear like a clap of thunder. He couldn't have said it too! HE COULDN'T HAVE. Susan jerked to life and clapped her hands over her ears. It was too late, though. She had already heard Kathy's mewl of obscene pleasure at the vile expression and her hesitant answer, "I want you to, Jeff. Honest I do. I want you to... to... fuck me."

She reached out and took Jeff's throbbing cock in one small hand. It's so big, Susan thought! Why, Kathy's hand could barely go around it. Don't, she pleaded with Jeff silently. Oh, God, don't. You'll hurt Kathy! You'll split her wide open.

Kathy moaned again, then guided Jeff's swollen cock towards the pink, hair-lined split of her young throbbing pussy. She opened her legs wider, pulling her knees back until they almost brushed her shoulders. Holding Jeff's penis in her hand, she stroked the tender little mound of her clitoris with it, moaning softly all the time.

As Susan watched, frozen in horrified shock, Jeff eased his blood-swollen penis into the small pink hole of Kathy's tight little pussy, a twitch of excitement rippled through her own body. Drops of warm sticky vaginal fluid oozed from her own little virgin orifice, filtered through the gold silk of her pubic hair to trickle hotly down between her thighs. A warm throbbing ache there sent small waves of pleasure darting through her blood. Her little clitoris tingled and Susan, without realizing it, touched it, tentatively at first, then stroked it deliberately.

Suddenly she was aware of what she was doing, and hot, scalding tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, God, I'm as wicked as they are," she told herself through muffled sobs. "I'm evil and vile and... filthy. Oh, I'm worse than they are." Yet she was no more able to stop herself than she had been able to walk away earlier.

Through tear-blurred eyes she watched Kathy squirm and flail against the white coverlet of the bed as the boy plunged his penis deeper and deeper into her gratefully accepting little belly. Sweat dripped from his body; an unearthly gasp that was almost a shriek of pleasure escaped from his lips.

He slid his hands under Kathy's firmly rounded young buttocks, cupped them, lifting the smooth white cheeks from the bed, clenched them, released them, clenched them again. He forced his penis farther in between the warm moist walls of her open vagina and then, jerking back, he completely withdrew the bulbous, blood-filled head that was now wetly gleaming in the dim light of the room.

As Kathy bucked and heaved beneath the naked boy, he again, with the smooth rubbery head of his cock, parted the sparse silken strands that guarded her cuntal flesh and his stiff proud young cock speared deeply back up into her hotly sucking vagina. It was moving like a piston now, ramming all the way to her cervix, sliding out, spearing deep into the young girl's desperately working belly.

Still transfixed, Susan stood watching the sordid scene that passed before her eyes. The dull, tantalizing ache of her own tight little pussy up between her thighs maddened her. She stroked her tiny, budding clitoris into a steel-like hardness, while electrifying bolts of pleasure shot through her from tip to toe and she quivered like a violin string stretched too tight.

As if driven by the Furies she continued. It was wrong-oh, it was wrong. She was wicked, she was evil, depraved, vile and vicious. The words flashed through her tortured brain. Yet she was powerless to stop.

Gently, carefully, she parted the thin pink edges of her vaginal lips. An exploratory finger wormed slowly into her moist throbbing little cunt, and her pleasure mounted to an almost unbearable ecstasy. She slipped another finger into the burning cavern, then a third, and her tender, virginal flesh closed around them, sucking them, swallowing them on inside. On the bed, the lewd couple copulated with wild abandon, oblivious of everything but the crazed desires of their lust-filled bodies.

Kathy rotated her hips wildly, rose to meet Jeff's thrusts, fell back as he withdrew. The rhythm of their lascivious lovemaking became faster as it crescendoed to a nakedly writhing climax. Susan, watching, began to move with them, her fingers matching the thrust of the boy's rhythmically plunging cock, the lewd, smacking slap of his belly against that of the hotly twisting young girl.

Then a long wail of pleasure assailed Susan's lust-fogged brain. It was Jeff, howling, "Oooooh, fuck back, baby, fuck back! I'm cumming! I'M CUMMING!"

Kathy grasped him tighter, her fingernails trailing across his naked buttocks, leaving red welts mingled with white fingernail scratches. Her knees were tightly back up to the twin full moons of her breasts, and pinned there by the weight of Jeff's strong, lean body. The flat plane of her crotch opened wide to the pounding assault and Kathy welcomed it with little mewls of pleasure. The boy's sperm-filled balls slapped against the rounded cheeks of her upturned buttocks as he rammed again and again into the hungrily clinging passage.

Then Kathy's shriek pierced the air. "Oh, my God!" she squealed, her voice made inhuman by her burning desire. "Oh, Jeff. Oooooo! I'm cumming, too. I'm cumming... I'm cumming!"

She jerked and thrashed beneath him as his hard, virile young cock hammered deep up into the soft fleshy recesses of her cervix. A shudder of overwhelming pleasure shook her, setting fire to her belly, sending tongues of flame licking through her body. She screamed again, calling his name. "Oh; Jeff. JEFF!" And then, with a final, convulsive spasm that signified the ultimate ecstasy, she lay back, legs splayed out obscenely once more as the boy pumped his hot, steaming sperm deep into her belly, to mingle these with her own thick, steamy juices.

Susan saw Jeff's milk-white sperm spill from Kathy's still wide spread young pussy, flow over her thighs and drip down into the crevice of her buttocks. Her own excitedly twitching little cunt was still impaled on her own fingers, and she moved them back and forth now, back and forth, in and out, deeper and deeper, stimulating the sensitive flesh of her passage. "Oh, God," she thought. "I can't stand it any longer. I CAN'T. I'M GOING TO EXPLODE!" And then, with shock and wonder, she felt it at last! "I'm cumming. Oh, my God! I'm cumming, too!" spiraled through her passion-fogged brain.

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

Slowly the passion ebbed and Susan came back to reality. A shudder of horror shook her slender body and she was convulsed again with sobs. "Oh, God," she thought. "What have I done! What... WHAT?" she shook her head and rubbed at her cheek with the back of her hand, brushing away a scalding tear. "And why?" she asked herself, hammering away relentlessly. "And WHY?"

Why had she given in to the desire that drenched her body? Didn't she know any better?

Of course she did, she answered herself. Her mother's voice came back to her. "People of our type, Susan, aren't interested in sex." Susan gasped at the thought of her mother. What if she should find out how wicked Susan was? Susan could never bear that. Never! She began to sob aloud, now, unable to hold back the tears that flowed freely down her pale cheeks.

There was a sudden sound from the room where Kathy Jensen and the boy lay, bodies nakedly entwined, all energy spent. Quickly, quietly, she drew the door closed behind her, as Kathy's startled voice demanded of Jeff, "What was that?"

"I didn't hear anything," Jeff said, yawning.

"Well, I did," Kathy snapped. "I'll bet it's that Susan Blake snooping around, the little prude."

"Nonsense, Baby," Jeff said. He pulled her over to him and ran his hand down the length of her slender, outstretched legs. He bent to kiss her throat, her still erect nipples, the small indentation of her navel. "Nonsense," he repeated, "that little prude, Susan Blake, is down at the dance, like everybody else."

"Think so?" Kathy asked sarcastically.

"Sure, honey."

"Then you don't know Susan Blake," Kathy announced. "No man in his right mind would ever go for Susan Blake."

At Kathy's first words, Susan had scurried to her own room, and dived into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She lay in the dark, shaking with terror at what she had done, at what Kathy had done. And through the thin walls separating their two rooms came Kathy's voice. "Susan Blake," she said. "No man in his right mind would go for Susan Blake."

* * *

Now, lying in the dark after dinner with Bennett, the words heard so long ago spun through Susan's brain. That must be the problem, she decided. Beautiful as she was, she lacked something essential. She was not attractive to a man in a sensual, carnal way.

She thought of Bennett again and of the boy named Jeff, so long ago, and of Kathy Jensen, too. Jeff and Kathy were "our type of people" just as much as Bennett was. Yet Jeff had done that to Kathy. Had Bennett done the same to another Kathy? Had he made love to a young girl-in the back of a car, somewhere-in the living room of her own house when her parents were away-in her room at the dormitory at boarding school?

No, Susan decided at last. No, Bennett hadn't. He had controlled himself then, as he controlled himself now. The problem was her own-not that she was not attractive to men, but that her mind was filled with lechery and evil.

Her head whirled in weariness, but just before she fell asleep, she vowed to control her wantonness, and to be a good-an exemplary-wife to Bennett.


CHAPTER THREE

The sun was shining when Susan awoke, filtering through the lace of the curtains to form a bright pattern on the pale blue wallpaper. Susan yawned, sat up and stretched. It was good to be alive, she thought. It was good to have slept well, to awake refreshed. She vaguely remembered the tormented feelings her memories had aroused in her the night before. Now, in the warmth of the sun and the cheerful light of day they seemed ridiculous. Susan stretched again; it was going to be a wonderful day.

She got up and dressed quickly in a well-tailored tweed suit that was discreet enough to please even Bennett, yet still managed to set off the delicious curving slope of her firm round buttocks, her firm thighs and slim, tapering legs. She'd added a frilly white blouse to the suit, to make it more feminine, and now she tied a bright scarf around her neck. The lipstick she painted on with such care matched the scarf; the high-heeled pumps she slipped on contrasted. She ran a comb through her hair and dusted her nose with powder before she went downstairs.

Her mother was already at breakfast and Susan, after a cheery "Good morning," kissed her dutifully.

Mrs. Blake looked up. "Good morning, Susan," she said, giving her usual perfunctory smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, Mother. Very well," Susan said. But Mrs. Blake was so absorbed in her scrambled eggs and bacon that she hardly heard. Susan sat down opposite her and applied herself with equal attention to the half grapefruit at her plate, until Mr. Blake emerged from behind the morning paper. "Good morning, Susan."

"Good morning, Father."

"My dear, you're looking radiant this morning."

Susan blushed at the compliment. "Am I?" She laughed. "I'm rather excited, I suppose."

Mr. Blake laid his paper aside and stared at Susan quizzically. "Any special reason?" he demanded.

"Well, yes. Bennett's found a house, and I'm to see it this morning."

"Well, that is good news, isn't it? Coffee, my dear?" Susan nodded. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Two," Susan said. She stirred the muddy liquid, then set the spoon on the saucer with a faint, metallic click. "It sounds just perfect," she went on.

A puzzled look crossed Mr. Blake's face. "The coffee?"

Susan laughed again. "No, of course not. The house."

"Oh, yes. The house. And when are you seeing this perfect-sounding house?" Mr. Blake wanted to know.

"This morning, Father. There's a real estate agent coming for me later. A Mr. Curtis, I think Bennett said."

Mr. Blake pushed his chair back and rose from the table. "I hope the house is exactly what you want," he said. He gave Susan's cheek a peck, then turned and left the room. "Good-bye," he called back over his shoulder.

Mrs. Blake followed him from the breakfast room, while Susan poured herself another cup of coffee. She sipped it idly, then picked up the newspaper. It was folded back to the obituary page, and Susan scanned the columns briefly. On the Society page she noticed that an old schoolmate of hers had announced her engagement; another was to pour at a charity tea.

It was only then that Susan unfolded the paper, turning back to the front page. The headline, as usual, concerned the war in Viet Nam. Susan's eye skimmed the rest of the page, looking for some report of the trial of the members of the Free Men's Movement. It came to rest on the head, in bold, black letters: FREE MEN'S MOVEMENT LEADERS FOUND GUILTY. Under it, in smaller letters were the words: HEAVY SENTENCES IMPOSED.

"Four men and a woman were sentenced in State Court yesterday to long prison terms," said the story that followed. "They were earlier convicted of rioting and arson.

"The members of the group, which professes idealistic aims, are considered by many to be dangerous militants. Even so, spectators were surprised by the harshness of the sentences. The accused had all pleaded "not guilty" and protested their innocence as they were led, handcuffed, from the courtroom. The sentences were considered especially severe in the light of contradictory testimony from several witnesses which seemed to cast some doubts on the credibility of government witnesses.

"A scuffle between members and supporters of the Free Men's Movement and a group of their opponents broke out outside the courthouse yesterday, just after the verdict was announced."

There were other stories on inner pages of the paper, and even an editorial about the trial. Susan read them all avidly, then put the paper down with a sigh. No wonder Bennett had looked so tired, she thought. She remembered how distracted he had seemed at dinner. Well, that was to be expected under the circumstances.

She poured another cup of coffee and glanced again at the paper which lay before her on the table. With a start, she recognized Bennett's picture, which for some inexplicable reason she had overlooked. Picking up the paper again, she read the caption "Threats made against judge." Susan thought she screamed-she couldn't be sure-as she sat staring at the paper. The words sank deeper into her consciousness and Susan must have screamed again. At least, she realized, her mouth was open and long-ever so long after she remembered opening it-a shrill cry of sheer terror split the air.

There was silence after that, broken only by the steady, muffled ticking of the small gold clock on the mahogany sideboard. Then Susan heard another sound, a faint knocking. She tore her eyes from the headline and stared at her hand. With a start of surprise, she saw that she was still holding her coffee cup. Her hand shook and the muddy liquid sloshed over the edge of the cup and dribble down into the saucer, making a little polluted pool there.

Susan set the cup down and gripped the edge of the table. After a while, it dawned on her that she had not yet read the story under the frightening headline. She forced herself to pick up the paper again, to focus her eyes on it, even to try to comprehend the meaning of the few brief paragraphs. Even so it was impossible for her to make out the details. She could only understand that somehow, somewhere, someday, the members of the Free Men's Movement would avenge themselves for the sentences Bennett had imposed the day before. Somehow, someway, somewhere, Bennett would be harmed.

The newspaper fluttered to the floor from Susan's trembling fingers. She left it lying there, too disconsolate to pick it up. She sat then for a long time, staring straight ahead with blank, unseeing eyes.

The jingling of the telephone roused Susan at last. She knew, in some strange way, that it had been ringing for a long time. Struggling to her feet, she moved as if in a trance to the instrument on the desk in the next room. She slumped into a chair there and picked it up and Bennett's voice came over the wire. "Susan? Oh, Susan! I've been ringing and ringing."

"I'm sorry, Bennett. I didn't hear." Her voice was weak, almost a whisper.

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

"Yes, Bennett. I'm all right." Susan's voice faded away, and then there was silence.

"Susan?"

"Oh, Bennett! Bennett!" Now the words tumbled forth in a torrent. "It's in the paper this morning. About you, I mean. Did you see it? Have you seen the morning paper?" Without waiting for an answer, Susan rushed on. "It says they're going to hurt you. They're going to do something to you, Bennett. Something terrible. They're going to hurt you. Maybe even kill you. Those awful people, Bennett. Those people in that Free Men's thing- that Movement-whatever it's called."

"Free Men's Movement," Bennett said in a calm voice. It startled Susan that there was no trace of agitation in it. "Free Men's Movement, Susan. And there's absolutely no reason to be upset either about what you read in the paper or about what these people say."

"But they're going to k-k-kill you," Susan stammered.

"They are not going to kill me, Susan," Bennett assured her. "They are neither going to kill me nor harm me in any way."

"But Bennett, how can you know that?" Susan asked, her voice rising in a wail.

"Because I've been assigned a police guard, my dear. Oh, I thought-a lot of us thought-these madmen might try something. We have no illusions about them. We know them for what they are. We weren't in the least surprised by their threats. We even anticipated them. And so we were prepared."

"Then you're all right?" Susan gave" a long, drawn out sigh. Tears of relief welled in her eyes and she blinked them back happily. The dull fear that had spread from the center of her being, that had been a heavy, crushing burden, melted away like mist before the sun. The tears welled up again, and this time Susan let them flow. "Oh, Bennett," she sobbed. "Oh, Bennett."

"Now, now my dear," Bennett soothed from the other end of the wire. "You mustn't cry. There's nothing to cry about."

"But I'm so happy, Bennett. So relieved."

"Well, my dear, in that case you just dry your tears and go on doing everything you'd planned to do. There's nothing whatever to worry about, my dear. In fact, the only worry I have is whether or not you'll find the house suitable."

"The house, Bennett?"

"Yes, Susan."

"Oh, Bennett!" Susan burst out laughing. "I was so frightened, I forgot all about the house."

Now Bennett laughed. "It's a good thing I reminded you of it, isn't it?" he asked. "And now, my dear, you'd better get ready for Mr. Curtis. He should be there any minute."

"I think he's here, now," Susan said, quietly happy. "The door bell is ringing." She cradled the phone and went to the door.

A young man stood there, peeling off his gloves. "Oh, Mr. Curtis," Susan welcomed him. "Won't you come in? I won't be a minute." She hurried off to get a coat, which she threw over her shoulders. She picked up her handbag, checking it to see that she had her keys, her make-up, and a clean hand- kerchief. At the door she called "Good-by" to Mrs. Blake. Then she followed the young man to the car that stood at the curb with the motor still running.

As they drove off, Susan glanced at the man, sizing him up. His short cut blond hair set off a deep tan and idly Susan wondered whether he'd just come back from Florida. His features were good, she thought. Strong mouth, firm chin, a straight nose that seemed to give character to his face. He's like those clean-cut kids in the soft drink ads, she thought, and she wondered what kind of life he led. Married or single? Children, maybe? Where did he live? How long had he been a real estate agent?

She began to chatter brightly to him, plying him with questions about the house. His answers were disconcertingly vague: "I'm not sure how many baths it has, Miss Blake. Yes, I think there's a library, but I can't be certain." Well, he can't have been a real estate agent long, Susan thought, answering her own question.

Since he obviously wasn't inclined to talk about the house, Susan hoped he'd find some other topic of conversation. When he didn't, she herself, brought up the weather. But the subject was soon exhausted, and the young man drove on in silence while Susan stared out the window.

Rows of shops slid past, a couple of gas stations, a large garage. They were in the center of town now passing the department stores with their brightly lit windows, the expensive restaurants with their discreet neon signs, a few equally expensive bars and cocktail lounges. Next came the business section, with its massive steel and concrete office buildings. The court house was over there, Susan thought. And down that narrow alley was the jail where the men Bennett had sentenced the day before were still being held. She shuddered at the thought of them; then wondered if Mr. Curtis had noticed.

She wondered, too, if he knew about the trial, and if so what he thought about it. And did he know of the threats to Bennett? She decided not to ask.

The center of town was behind them and Susan's mind wandered to the house she was about to see. They reached the few old sprawling homes that had once been the homes of the town's foremost families, including the Blakes and the Aliens. Susan could herself remember visiting a grandmother in one of them, sitting on the veranda on a warm summer day, sipping lemonade and rocking back and forth as she clutched a favorite doll.

As the house disappeared behind them, it crossed Susan's mind that Mr. Curtis was following a strange route. Hadn't Bennett told her the house was off the highway to the east? That was hardly the direction in which the car was headed.

She cleared her throat to attract the young man's attention. When he turned towards her she smiled. "I understood the house was out towards Hartley," she said.

The man looked at her in confusion. "Hartley," he repeated.

"Yes," Susan said firmly. "Hartley."

The young man hesitated. "Well, yes," he said at last. "Yes, it's out near Hartley."

"Well, we're not going in the direction of Hartley," Susan said.

"Oh? Aren't we?"

"No, we're not," Susan told him.

"Which way are we going then?"

"We're headed towards Lakeside."

The young man made no attempt to turn off into one of the side streets that would carry them in the right direction, or even to slow the car. They had reached another residential section now, one where brick and wood and stucco houses were separated only by small, well-manicured lawns.

Susan cleared her throat again. "Mr. Curtis," she said, plucking at his sleeve. "Mr. Curtis! You're going in the wrong direction. Hartley is back that way!"

The young man ignored her and leaned forward to switch on the radio. He twisted the knobs until he found a station playing rock'n roll. The blare of the band filled the small car and beat on Susan's ears. "Mr. Curtis!" Susan shouted, trying to make herself heard over the music. "Mr. Curtis!"

The young man turned towards Susan. There was a glimmer of contempt in his blue eyes, a faint touch of scorn in his tight smile. He shook his head, then turned away, concentrating on the road that wound ahead.

They were leaving the town behind and the houses were far apart now. Susan's hands were clammy; there was a sinking sensation at the pit of her stomach, and little fingers of fear began to claw at her. Something was wrong; something was terribly wrong.

Controlling herself, Susan shouted again, this time at the top of her lungs. "Mr. Curtis! Mr. Curtis? Will you listen to me?" She doubled up her tiny fists and pounded on his arm.

He turned towards her again, saying nothing. Then brusquely, almost brutally, he brushed her hands away.

Susan pounded on his arm again. "You're going the wrong way," she shouted. "YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY."

The young man brushed her hands away again, shoving her angrily. He turned to her with a cruel, mocking grin. He switched off the radio, then said coolly, "I know where I'm going."

"But Hartley is that way," Susan said, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder.

"That's right."

"But we're going in the opposite direction," Susan argued. "That's right."

"Then you've got to stop the car. You've simply got to stop the car." A touch of panic had crept into Susan's voice. What was the matter with this man? Was he mad? If Hartley behind them, why was he going ahead? Why didn't he listen?

Susan closed her eyes for a few seconds; it seemed an eternity. Behind her fragile lids, the world whirled in a flaming jumble. Susan took a deep breath, fighting back the growing fear that had begun to gnaw at her.

There must be some reason for all this, she told herself. Perhaps the young man wanted to show her another house first. Real estate agents sometimes did that, didn't they? They showed you a house you'd never buy in a million years, a house that really turned you off. Then, when you saw something even a little bit better, you snapped at it Oh, yes, that's what real estate agents did. And that, surely, was what Mr. Curtis had in mind.

Well, Susan had no time for such little tricks. Mr. Curtis would simply have to turn around and take her back to see the house in Hartley. Either that, or he would have to take her home.

She cleared her throat to get the young man's attention. When she spoke, her voice was firm and controlled. "Mr. Curtis. I want either to go to Hartley or to go back home."

His lips curled in the same mocking grin Susan had seen before. "Oh, you do, do you?"

"Yes, I do," Susan said, beginning to lose her temper. "I insist on it."

The man let out a harsh laugh that grated on Susan's nerves. He was a horrible creature, she thought. Why hadn't she noticed it before? His eyes were shifty and filled with hate instead of soft. The jaw that had seemed firm before now seemed vicious. The fingers that gripped the steering wheel were blunt and insensitive. Susan could imagine them curled around the neck of a kitten, twisting it with vicious pleasure.

She began to tremble. She was shivering with cold, yet her forehead was covered with beads of perspiration. The fear that had only flickered before settled, lead like, at the very center of her being and ached there.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry, her lips parched. Futilely, she ran her tongue over them. In the silence she heard the wild beating of her heart. Had the young man heard it too?

He was staring at her now, his eyes screwed into narrow slits, his evil face contorted. With a blush of shame, Susan saw that her skirt had ridden up over her thigh, showing the firm white flesh above the top of her stocking. Furiously she smoothed it down. So that was it! This revolting little man was driving her to some wooded spot, where he would ask her to get out of the car, to sit beside him on the blanket he would spread on the ground. She could almost feel those grubby paws of his crawling up her thighs, parting the sparse little patch of pubic down between her legs, trying to stroke her defenseless little clitoris, trying desperately to force their way between the moist pink lips of her vagina!

She leaned back against the car seat, her head lolling to the side. She was vaguely aware that they were driving on, that they had passed through a village, or at least a cluster of houses, flanked by a general store and a gas station. There were people living in those houses, children playing out in front. A little further on, a man raked leaves. He would help her if he knew what was going on! If Susan could attract his attention, could call to him, he would help her.

She tried to scream, but was too frightened, and no sound came. When she tried to scream again, they had gone beyond the man and it was too late. Susan, limp as a rag doll, slumped back against the seat. The young man glanced her way again. "Something wrong?" he mocked.

Susan sat silent, staring straight ahead. "Something wrong?" he demanded again, nudging her with his elbow.

He leaned over, his face close to hers, his foul breath hot on her neck. His eyes held malice as he waited for an answer. She has seen such malice on the faces of nasty little boys years before as they tore the wings off flies or pinned struggling beetles or butterflies to a board, reveling as they squirmed and struggled to break free. They'd enjoyed the sight of suffering, just as Mr. Curtis-if that was his name-enjoyed hers. Oh, God! She buried her face in her hands. Oh, God! "Well?" he demanded.

"There's nothing wrong," Susan said icily. "Except that I'd like to know where we're going. Perhaps you'd be good enough to tell me."

"Nope!"

"Why not?"

"Sorry, Miss Blake. I'm not allowed to do that."

"And just who is it who won't allow you to?" Susan asked.

"Sorry, Miss Blake. I'm not allowed to tell you."

"Well," Susan went on, "just what are you allowed to do?"

Curtis laughed again. "Just what I'm doing," he said. "Pick you up at your place and drive you to where you're going."

They came to a crossroads and slowed, to take a left turn that led to a narrow country lane. At a weather-beaten farmhouse, they turned again, this time on to a dirt road.

It was then that Susan broke. Sheer terror took possession of her, draining her of what little strength she still had. She slumped forward, her head against the dashboard, and began to sob uncontrollably.

Angrily the man jerked her head back. "Stop that," he spat at her. Susan gasped as his hand slashed out, stinging across her face. Instinctively she covered it with her hands, trying to protect herself. God! The man was nothing but a beast, Susan thought, terrified of what was to come. She had to get away from him. SHE HAD TO!

She peeked through her fingers to glance out the window. The ground was rough and rocky. If she jumped, she was sure to break an ankle. Yet she felt she had to try it. She inched towards the door slowly, hoping the man wouldn't notice.

Suddenly his hand shot out, and he grabbed Susan brutally, by the shoulder, pinning her back against the seat. "Don't try anything," he warned, slapping her again. He jerked the car to a halt then and pulled a small bottle from his pocket. Uncorking it, he held it under Susan's nose. She struggled, trying desperately to free herself from the evil smelling fumes that she breathed, making her eyes water, causing her to cough and gag. She felt dizzy and the world around her whirled; the young man's face became blurred and fuzzy, and then everything went dark.


CHAPTER FOUR

It was still dark when Susan awoke and she had no idea where she was. She only knew that she was lying on a narrow cot in what seemed to be a small room. Her head ached and her mouth was dry; her stomach churned and when she tried to turn over she found she had no strength to do so.

She tried to remember what had happened to her, but the hours immediately past were a complete blank and the hours before that were a blur. She wondered how long she had been in this room, and how she got here. But the effort of thinking exhausted her, and she closed her eyes and fell asleep again.

It was much later when she awoke, and, although the room was dark, she made out a shadowy figure standing by her bed. Susan took it to be a man, and wondered what he wanted. Suddenly, the fears she'd felt in the car rushed back to clutch at her, sending a shiver and chill through her whole body. Shuddering she reached for a coat, a jacket with which to cover herself, and with a little shock of horror saw that she had been partially stripped. Her jacket had disappeared, her blouse had been removed along with her skirt. Her legs were bare, although she had worn stockings when she left home. Now she wore nothing but her thin nylon panties, an equally thin petticoat and the wisp of a white lacy bra.

Where were her clothes? Who had removed them? And why?

A cry of pure terror welled up in Susan's throat, only to be strangled there. Where were her clothes?

That man-that Curtis-that evil, filthy brute who had driven her out into the woods, had overpowered her and drugged her and brought her here -that Curtis must have unbuttoned her jacket, wrenched it from her limp form, and flung it away somewhere. That horrible, base, inhuman creature must have ripped her blouse open, sending the tiny pearl buttons sailing out in all directions, while he lunged at her, pawing her soft flesh with his huge hairy hands. And her skirt? He must have torn it from her body as he clawed at her. And then?

Oh, God! Oh, my God! Had he touched her, ravaged her poor, defenseless body, forced her to submit to his lewd, indecent acts. No! Oh, dear God! NO! Susan clenched her teeth, holding back her screams of fear, of horror that wracked her body like a fever.

And what was going to happen to her now? Was she to be attacked, assaulted viciously, her helpless virginity plundered and invaded by this figure standing before her? Was she to be raped again by this man-this Curtis? She shuddered violently, and then, with no control left at all she began a wild screaming. "No! For God's sake, no! NO! PLEASE DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The figure moved, and Susan cringed and flung her arm over her face as she waited for his obscene touch on her trembling body. Then she heard footsteps from a far off part of the house. People seemed to be running, coming nearer and nearer. Suddenly the door to her room was thrown open, and an electric bulb hanging over her head switched on.

Susan peeped through her fingers. In the pale beam of light that pierced the gloom, she saw two men burst into the room. She scanned their faces fearfully. Mr. Curtis? No, both men were strangers, and Susan gave a deep, heartfelt sigh of relief. She glanced at the figure by the bed which had frightened her so, a few seconds earlier. Good God! It was a woman. What in Heaven's name was she doing here? And where was Mr. Curtis?

The voice of one of the men, loud and sudden as a rifle shot, startled her. "What the Hell's going on here, Anna?" he barked.

The woman shook her head. "She's hysterical, Jake."

"Well, for Christ's sake! Can't you do something? Make her stop screaming somehow? She's going to attract attention."

"Oh, come on, Jake. Who is there to hear her except us? There isn't another house around for miles."

"Look, Anna. It would be just our luck to have some son of a bitch out there shooting rabbits or picking daisies or taking a leak in the woods right now. Suppose there is and he hears her. You know as well as I do what will happen to us!" He drew a stubby finger across his throat to make what would happen clear. "So keep her quiet. That's an order."

"How am I supposed to keep her quiet?"

"Slap her face. That should do it."

"I'm under orders not to touch her. You know that," Anna protested. "You want me to break those orders?"

"A little slap across the face isn't going to hurt her." Jake's voice rose and he shook his fist at Anna. "Look," he bellowed, "I don't care what you do, as long as you keep her quiet. Understand? Things are going to be tough enough around here, without having her squealing like a stuck pig."

Anna shrugged and walked away. And for the first time, the second man spoke up. "What the Hell's she yelling about, anyway?"

"She's got some kooky notion that Chuck tried to rape her when he brought her here."

"Chuck!" The man let out a howl of laughter. "Hey, Jake!" he yelled. "Didya hear that? She thinks Chuck tried to rape her!"

A broad grin spread across Jake's face. "Christ," he said. "We send the only faggot in the whole outfit to pick her up, and she thinks he's raped her!"

"She must really be hard up for it," Al said with another loud laugh. He walked over to the bed on which Susan lay trembling, and stared at her lecherously. "What's the matter, Kiddo?" he asked. "That boy friend of yours not slipping you any meat?"

Jake snickered and turned to stare at Susan, too, a lewd gleam in his shifty eyes. "You know, Al, I'd say from looking at her that there must be something the matter with Bennett, wouldn't you? Having a luscious little number like this just hankering to get laid-just hankering for it-and probably not doing a damn thing about it."

"You ain't just a-whistlin' Dixie, son," Al said. "Something's sure wrong with oP Bennett, not get-tin' a piece of this when it's his for the asking."

Susan writhed in shame at the obscene joking, struggling to cover herself in some way, pulling her petticoat down over her warm white thighs, crossing her arms over the rounded globes of her breasts, pressing her legs together in a futile attempt at modesty. God, how foul these men were! Base, depraved men who would rape a woman as casually as they would smoke a cigarette, would force her into unimaginable indecencies to satisfy their vile cravings. And they dared to talk that way about Bennett-fine, decent, wonderful Bennett! Oh, she loved him now more than ever! She truly did.

The men's eyes roved over her body again, and Susan shrank back as if they actually touched her. She winced as Jake nudged Al with his elbow and asked, "Hey, Al, you think she's been saving her snooty little cherry for him?"

Al shook his head. "Doubt it," he said. "Not a hot looking little bitch like her." He took a step towards Susan, sending another shock of terror through her. "Think she'd give us some, if we asked her 'pretty please'?"

Anna whirled on the two of them. In a shrill, rasping voice she ordered, "O.K. boys. Cut the clowning."

O.K." Al said with a sigh. "But I was kinda hoping... "

"Shut up!" Anna rasped. "And leave her alone. You know what the orders are."

Al sighed again. "Yeah, I know. But honest, Anna, I can't keep my eyes off that tight little ass of hers."

"Well, keep your hands off," Anna snapped. She pulled a wooden rocking chair across the room and sat down on it. "What's going on downstairs?" she asked.

"Not a damn thing," Jake said, suddenly sober. "And Marty and the boss are pretty worried."

"They sent the ransom note, didn't they?" Anna asked. "And they've been in contact with those people at the radio station, haven't they? The ones who are supposed to be go-betweens?"

"Yeah," Jake said, nodding. "That part's O.K. But there hasn't been any answer, and Marty and the boss are worried, like I said." He turned and went towards the door. "Come on, Al," he called.

Anna followed them half way across the room. "Let me know what's going on, will you?" she asked. "I'm ready to climb walls, up here, all alone with her" she nodded at Susan.

"Any time you want to change places," Jake began, but Anna silenced him with a withering look. "We'll let you know what's going on," he said contritely. Then, with a final unmistakable leer at Susan, he went out, slamming the door behind him.

Anna went slowly back to the bed. "Scared?" she asked Susan.

Susan moved, turning her face to the wall. "How could they talk like that!" she wailed. "How could they! They're crude and vulgar and-oh, God! They're awful!"

"Sure they're crude and vulgar," Anna admitted cheerfully. "But then they never went to fancy schools, the way you did. Makes a difference, you know." She sat down by Susan's bed. Anyway, she went on, "they probably won't bother you. It would mean too much trouble later, with the boss, if they did. So you can relax, see?" Susan sat up on the bed, swinging her legs over the edge of it. "Who are you?" she demanded. "And who's your 'boss'?"

"My name's Anna; you know that. The boss is named Joe."

"That tells me absolutely nothing," Susan said. Anna shrugged. "It tells you all you'll learn about us."

"But who are you?" Susan persisted. "And why am I here? And where are my clothes-who took my clothes, and why? And what's going to happen to me?"

"Look, Sue," Anna said. "You don't mind if I call you Sue, do you?" Without waiting for an answer she hurried on. "You know that your boyfriend Bennett sent a lot of our members up for long terms, yesterday, don't you? People in the Free Men's Movement. Well, we warned him not to; we told him that we wouldn't let him get away with it. That's why you're here."

Susan sat on the edge of the bed, trying to focus her attention on what Anna was telling her. It didn't seem to make sense. Nothing did. Here she was, in a strange house out God alone knew where with a whole gang of awful people who had taken her clothes, with her head throbbing and aching and whirling from whatever it was that had been in that bottle-chloroform, maybe?-so that she couldn't seem to grasp anything she was told, and when she asked, this woman who said her name was Anna just talked about Bennett and that wretched case he'd heard. She hadn't asked Anna about Bennett, she thought angrily. She'd asked about herself. And now she felt tired, too tired to think, to figure things out for herself. At last she shook her head in confusion and said, "I don't understand."

Patiently, as if she were talking to a small child, or, Susan thought, to the village idiot, Anna began to explain. "You were brought here as a hostage," she said.

"You mean I've been kidnapped?" Susan whispered the words.

"If you want to call it that," Anna said. We of the Free Men's Movement don't think of it that way. We just feel that you-your side-has taken something that belongs to us-our members-the ones Judge Allen sent to prison yesterday. Understand?" Susan nodded. "Now," Anna said, "we're not going to get those people back just by asking for them, are we?"

Susan shook her head. "No," she said.

"That's right, we're not. We're only going to get them back if we have something valuable to trade for them. That's you!"

As Susan thought about Anna's words, they began to make sense, even to her still chloroform fogged mind. But that was no reason to take her clothes, was it? She looked at the luxurious curves of her half-clad body, revealed in all its voluptuousness through the wispy petticoat, the bits of lace and nylon left to her, and felt the full humiliation of her position. Anna followed Susan's glance. "Your clothes?" she said. "We sent them to your family, as proof that we had you. That was when we sent the letter with our demands."

Susan stared thoughtfully at the floor. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

"That depends on what your friends do," Anna said. "If our people are released, you'll be released. If not... well... " Susan gasped. "If not, what?"

Anna smiled coldly. "Well, let's just hope that our people are released," she said.

Susan looked up from the floor at last. "Please," she whimpered, "don't hurt me."

"We aren't planning to," Anna said. "We don't believe in harming anyone. Not even you people who would shoot us down like dogs if you could. Or the ones who convicted our people, without a real shred of evidence." And then, in a cold, bitter voice she added, "Not even the judge who sentenced them. We don't believe in harming people, and we don't do it-unless, of course, we have to."

Anna's last, quiet words chilled Susan to the marrow. What did she mean "... unless, of course, we have to?" And if they "had to" what would they do? She wanted to ask Anna, to force her to tell her what she meant, but before she could speak, there was a knock at the door, and then Jake came in. His mouth was set in a hard grim line and he brushed his hand nervously through the shock of red hair that fell over his forehead. "Anna," he called abruptly.

"What's up?"

"We've just had a message. They've called in the police."

Anna's face fell. "That's bad," she said, whistling softly. "That's very bad."

"You're damned right. And it's the very thing we warned them against doing. I think it means trouble. For them, and for us, too." He took out a package of cigarettes, shook one loose and offered it to Anna. He offered another to Susan, who took it gratefully. He took one himself, and jammed the crumpled pack back into his pocket. He fumbled for a match, found one and struck it. He held it to each of the women in turn, then lit his own cigarette from it. The match burned his ringers, and he dropped it. "My God," he suddenly exclaimed. "You see what I did? Three on a match!" There was a look of horror on his face as he turned and went out.

Susan lay down again and tried to sleep. She managed to doze from time to time, tossing fitfully on the bed. Once Anna awakened her to bring her a sandwich and a bowl of soup, insisting that she eat, and Susan was surprised to find how hungry she was. Another time, Anna scrounged cigarettes for her, and even found a small, half-filled bottle of Scotch which she offered to Susan.

Susan awoke again to see Al and Jake in the room, deep in discussion with Anna. She strained her ears to hear what they were saying, and, although their words escaped her, she knew by the solemn tones of their voices that they had had further bad news. When Susan slept again, the events of the last few days passed before her in a confused, distorted dream, like some weird, surrealist movie. It was a dream in which good became evil, and the vile became pure and in -which Bennett kidnapped her, drove her to a lonely spot and brutally raped her just as she has imagined Chuck Curtis doing.

By morning, Susan had a sense of impending doom. A heavy pall of gloom hung over the house and all its inhabitants. Anna sat by Susan's bed wrapped in deep thought from which she stirred occasionally to pace nervously back and forth like a caged tiger. Once in a while one of the others-Al or Jake or the one they called Marty-opened the door a crack, poked his head in and beckoned Anna, holding whispered, mysterious conversations with her.

As the day dragged on, Susan's nerves began to give way. The slam of a door sent her diving for shelter under the blanket that had covered her sleeping form. With trembling fingers, she lit one cigarette after another, snuffing them out half-smoked. Like Anna, she paced back and forth incessantly until Anna, driven to distraction, snapped at her to sit down.

She tried to read the books Anna brought her, books which set forth the philosophy of the Free Men's Movement, but the words seemed to jump about on the page until Susan thought she would go out of her mind.

Towards evening, after another hurried, whispered conversation, Susan was led from the small room she had been kept in to another room, much larger, at the back of the house. The windows here were smaller, and covered by heavy black curtains and Susan wondered if there were bars behind them. She knew, instinctively, that she had been moved here as a matter of security. There was trouble brewing, and when it came, she would be safer here than in the small room.

Susan's fears and suspicions were confirmed, a short while later, when a heavy-set young man-Susan judged him to be about twenty-five-with biceps bulging under his thin shirt and muscles rippling across his chest, was brought to take Anna's place in guarding her. "This is Hank Hansen," Anna said, going out. "You'll be safer with him than with me."


CHAPTER FIVE

Hank Hansen sat in the battered rocking chair that he'd pulled close to Susan's bed and stared at her sleeping form. Christ but the innocent little bitch was built! Just looking at her was enough to make his balls ache and his thick cock stiffen and jerk inside his pants. Especially the way she was lying now, her magnificently rounded breasts just bursting out of the wisp of black lace of the bra that set off their snowy whiteness, the soft pink flesh of her marvelously curved thighs displayed to him below the petticoat that had ridden up practically to her waist. Best of all was the glimpse he was getting of the narrow crotch band of soft white nylon between her limply open legs that had parted slightly in her sleep. God, it didn't even cover completely her pink little pussy, and Hank stared with lewd pleasure at the thin golden patch of pubic fleece there.

Even the way Susan's hair curled down against her cheek, the way one smooth arm that might have been carved from ivory lay across her forehead sent a dull pounding ache coursing the length of Hank's rigid penis. God but he'd like to have it up in her right now, ram it deep inside her time after time while she moaned and thrashed and bucked under him. And begged for more, too. By God, that would be half the fun, to hear this stuck-up little bitch-Judge Bennett Allen's fiance - actually begging Hank Hansen, His Honor's sworn enemy, for more.

But the rule, Hank reflected morosely, was strictly hands off. When she went home, it had to be the way she came in. No damaged goods. That was the rule and Hank was going to obey it, just because he knew what was good for him. Still, he sighed at the golden opportunity denied him, then consoled himself with the knowledge that such abstinence, such chastity was in a good cause. He would gladly give his life for the Free Men's Movement, but he wished to hell they didn't tempt him so.

Susan stirred and opened her eyes. She wasn't sure of where she was at first, or who was sitting there by her bed. But his intentions were unmistakable. His lecherous eyes crawled over her like dirty little insects-they might have been cockroaches or lice or fleas-and Susan, crushed and humiliated, tried to brush them away. What was wrong with these people. What? Were they all perverts? Voyeurs, rapists, child-molesters? Susan saw with disgust the bulge under the young man's trousers, and turned away in revulsion.

With an angry gesture, she pulled her thin petticoat down over her naked thighs, then shot Hank a withering look. "Do you have to sit there and ogle at me like that?" she spat at him. She got up and crossed the room, while Hank stared lewdly at her lusciously rounded ass cheeks, quivering provocatively - lovely as she walked. He sucked in his breath with an obscene panting sound, then let out a long, low whistle.

Susan spun around and glared at him. "Well, do you have to?"

Hank grinned and licked his thick lips repulsively. "Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Don't have to. Just want to."

A cry that was half rage, half shame escaped Susan's tightly pursed lips. "You're just rotten, aren't you? Just rotten. You and your Free Men's Movement." He started to speak, but she cut him off. "What are you, anyway, but a bunch of thugs and criminals... " her voice became shrill, turned to a scream of fury, "... kidnappers... Rapists!" Hank leapt to his feet and strode across the room. He seized Susan by her shoulders and his nails dug cruelly into the soft, tender flesh as he shook her savagely. Susan squirmed and writhed, trying to escape his powerful hands, but Hank held her tight. She threw her head back, with a hysterical laugh. "Oh, you're big and strong and brave, aren't you?" she taunted him. "Just like all the others with your fancy speeches about peace and justice and equality. But do you really give a damn for the poor, the downtrodden, the wretched of the earth? Oh, no," she sneered, her mouth twisted in contempt. "You only care about yourselves. You want what you want and you just go out and take Susan stopped, panting for breath, and Hank pushed her away from him, holding her at arms length. When he spoke his voice was cold and cruel. "O.K. Miss High-and-Mighty. Had your say?"

Susan tossed her head defiantly. "O.K. Maybe you're right. Maybe we're a bunch of selfish bastards spouting a lot of slogans we don't believe in, Just sons of bitches who take what we want when we want it. And if we are-well then, that's just what I'm going to do."

"What do you mean?" Susan asked with a sudden fear that she had overstepped her bounds.

Hank held her, motionless, at arm's length, and stared insolently into her small frightened face. "I mean I want you. Now. And I'm going to have you, Now." He gave her a shove that sent her reeling across the room. She stumbled and fell against the bed. With one gigantic stride, Hank was beside her, clutching her by the shoulder again, pulling her to her feet. "I'm going to fuck you, Miss Susan Blake," he said, "like you've never been fucked before." He gave a short laugh, his mouth curled back evilly over his cruel, sharp, fox-like teeth, "If," he added, "you've ever been fucked before."

His hand shot out, seizing the fragile nylon material of her panties and her petticoat at the same time. With one swift motion, he ripped the clothes from her, letting them fall to the floor. His hand shot out again; this time he tore the frail fabric of her bra from her heaving breasts, wadded it into a ball and tossed it across the room.

Holding the shock-frozen Susan by one hand now, he struggled out of his own clothes. His shirt came first, joining Susan's bra in the middle of the floor. Quickly, deftly, he unbuckled his belt, then unzipped his pants, easing them and his cotton undershorts down over his hips. His thick, rock-hard cock sprang free, stiff as a pole, its bulbously swollen head oozing tiny drops of excited lubricating fluid. Susan gasped in terror. Good Lord, it was huge! Would he really try? Oh, no. He couldn't. He would kill her, she thought, ripping her tender flesh to bits the way he'd ripped her clothes.

Hank followed her glance downward as she stood, mesmerized by his jutting penis. "What's the matter?" he asked with an arrogant sneer. "Never even seen one before?"

Susan stiffened as Hank's hand slid down over her stomach to the gentle mound of her pelvis, then slipped between her legs to crawl with lust-provoking slowness along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She gasped, struggling to free herself from his lecherous, stroking fingers; even so, a tiny warming spark of unwanted pleasure burst forth in between her legs. Oh, God! What if Bennett should find out! Huge wet tears rose to her eyes and cascaded down her face. Even if dear, good Bennett never knew of this debauchery, Susan would never be able to face him again, with this guilty secret on her conscience.

She began to plead pitifully with Hank. "Don't do this to me, Hank. Please. I'll do anything... ANYTHING... if only you'll let me go. I won't tell anyone... I won't... " she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "Oh, my God! Please, let me go!"

Hank gave her a look of withering contempt as he forced her naked body back to the bed, then down upon it. In a moment he was on his knees, over her defenseless form, his cruel eyes filled with lust, his mouth twisted sadistically.

"I'll do anything," Susan whimpered. "... any- thing... " her voice trailed off as the utter hopelessness of her situation sank in. There was nothing she could do, she knew, and tears, fresh and abundant, flowed down her pale cheeks now.

Hank bent his head to Susan's and fixed his lips wetly on her tightly closed mouth. Brutally, viciously, he forced his tongue between her futilely resisting lips, flicked it in and out, then pressed it deep into her throat.

Susan struggled against him until the last ounce of her strength had died away, then submitted weakly. She lay beneath him, sobbing softly as his hands roamed at will over her helpless body, stroking her neck, her throat, the soft, naked flesh of her smooth white shoulders. They moved down and he cupped a ripe young breast in the huge palm of each hand, kneading and squeezing. His hot hungry lips explored her face again, his tongue sank deep into her mouth once more, teasing and tantalizing. Then he ran it down the narrow valley between her milk-white breasts. With a lewd, savage cry, he fastened his teeth harshly into the small bud of her nipple while Susan recoiled in pain. She began to struggle feebly once again, her naked flesh squirming up against the hard lean body that pinned her down, vainly seeking to push him away.

With a quick movement, Hank caught her small wrists in his powerful hands, crushing them until she winced with pain. He lifted his head and with an infuriating growl, snapped, "You little bitch. What did you do that for?"

Susan suppressed a sob, then began to plead. "I want you to stop, oh God, please stop!"

"Like Hell you do, baby. Deep down inside that puritanical little mind of yours you love it!"

"Oh, no. NO!" But even as she denied it, Susan felt a lewd twirling in her stomach, a low, involuntary groan of pleasure rising in her throat.

"You do love it, baby" Hank mocked again. "And in a few minutes you're going to love it even more." He bent his head again, and now his thick lips roamed moistly over the snowy whiteness of her heaving breasts, teasing the nipples into taut little cherries. At the same time, his two hands slid down the quivering flesh of her belly, roved over the soft, sensitive curves of her hips, slipped under the twin half moons of her smoothly rounded young buttocks.

His touch again sent little quivers of unwanted passion tingling through Susan and against her will she found herself responding to his teasing touch. She made no effort to stop his hand that sought the thin, softly resilient curls of her puhis, the fingers that parted the silken strands of hair there and slipped slowly, deliciously into the narrow sensitive slit of her vagina, searching teasingly between the warmth of her inner thighs until he found the tiny bud of her clitoris and stroked it into throbbing erection.

Then, as suddenly as he had begun, Hank slipped his fingers from Susan's helplessly quivering cunt and reared up over her again. "Loved that, didn't you?" he asked, and his harsh tone brought Susan's mind back to the reality of her situation with horrible abruptness. She thought of Bennett again, and of the utter contempt he would have for her, for giving in this way to her basest passion. With a little cry of fear, she clamped her thighs together against the man's vile degrading of her naked virginity.

Roughly Hank pulled her thighs apart, then hunched over her, his head just above her loins. As she realized what he planned to do, she let out another horrified cry. She'd been right all along! The man was a horrible pervert, going to perform obscene immoral acts on her defenseless body as she lay pinned beneath him. She wouldn't let him, though! Somehow, she would fight him off!

She thrashed about, flailing her arms until she was exhausted, while Hank's superior strength held her with a mocking grin. When she lay back at last, limp and unresisting, he fixed his eyes on the thin tight slit up between her trembling legs, already moist with unwanted desire.

Hank rested the palms of his hands on her soft inner thighs, while his thumbs sought out the fleshy edges of her cunt. Then with a slow, teasing outward movement with them that brought a low cry of shame from Susan, he pressed the softly hair-fringed lips apart, exposing the pink, glistening little hole of her pussy completely to his gaze. He uttered a low appreciative grunt, then slipped himself forward and buried his face in the vee of her openly spread loins. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, running over his parted lips with lascivious expectation. Then, darting forth lizard-like, it slipped deep up inside her wetly throbbing pussy.

"Ooooooooh, God, God. Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"

Susan cried out at the lewd, delicious sensation that raced through her whole body, making it tingle against its will with a mad all-consuming desire. Convulsively, against every effort of her will, her legs jerked wide apart now, splaying out obscenely, hanging over the edges of the bed as though they belonged to a limply spread doll.

Hank ran his tongue up and down the thin, virginal furrow, probing and exploring until he found the tiny bud of her clitoris again, and, once again, with maddening spiraling motion of his tongue licked the quivering little mound to trembling erection. Susan whined with agonized pleasure, torn between the exquisite feelings that the man's insistent laving to her heretofore jealously guarded vagina aroused in her, and the shame and humiliation at the wicked delight her traitorous young body was experiencing. At last Hank's mouth closed over the hardened flesh that strained against his flicking tongue, and breathing heavily with his insane passion, he began to suck it as if it were a grape, a plum, a berry-some piece of succulent fruit from which he must extract the last exquisite drop of sweetness. Satiated at last, he gave the tiny tender pulsating protuberance a sharp, cruel nip with his teeth while Susan cried out with a tortured cry of pain that mingled with the intense rapture she felt, too.

She arched backwards, struggling one more time to free herself from the monster who ravaged her so obscenely. Then with a mingled groan of despair and desire, she slumped back against the bed while the young man began again the maddening licking of her cuntal lips. He slithered his tongue in and out of her passion and saliva drenched pussy, flicked at the soft folds of throbbing pink flesh there, then withdrew to push her legs up and lick downwards at the narrow crevice between the smooth twin mounds of her nakedly upturned buttocks.

Christ but she was a hot little bitch! Ready to fuck now, just aching for it. Well, Hank Hansen was the one to give her what she wanted, he thought maliciously, eyeing her with a triumphal gleam in his heavy-lidded eyes. He took his thick rigid cock in one hand and kneeling up between her widespread thighs guided it to the tiny vertical little mouth between her legs, pushing forward insistently until the thick, rubbery head slipped through the long golden strands of her pubic hair towards the tightly giving lips of her visibly pulsating pussy.

Susan gasped and held her breath as feelings of irrepressible desire mixed and mingled with those of agonizing guilt within her. She fought against the delicious quivering that wracked her body, while the thought of the disgrace of this vile plundering of her defenselessly open pussy wracked her mind. Then, as the blood-swollen tip of Hank's enormous penis slipped into and penetrated slightly the tightly clenched opening of her naked vagina, she seemed to see Bennett standing before her, dressed in the flowing black robes of his office. Bennett Allen-Judge Bennett Allen-judging her, Susan Blake! The searing contact of Hank's huge fleshy cockhead with her vulnerable young cuntal lips sent her into sharp little spasms of pain and pleasure and she began to scream. "Oh, don't," she begged. "For God's sake! Hank! HANK!"

But then, with a sudden thrust, he flicked his hips forward and thrust his lancing cock deep into the narrow tight vaginal passage, spearing into her without mercy. "Hank" she'd called him, and a feeling of elation warmed his whole being. "Hank!" Well, now he was a person to her-a human being -a man. It was up to him, Hank Hansen, to show her how much of a man he was, too, and that was just what he intended to do. In no time at all, he would have her completely broken to his will, subjugated like the lowest of whores.

He thrust his hips forward again, plunging on and on until Susan felt as if his huge fleshy shaft had exploded up inside her to fill the very center of her being, sending forbidden waves of painful ecstasy crashing through her. Vainly she sought to save herself from this ultimate humiliation, struggling once more against the young man's cruel invasion of her womb's tender hidden recesses.

She lay still and exhausted beneath him at last, impaled on the iron-stiff cock that filled every part of her insides, pressing against the soft, ridged flesh of her cunt, inflaming it, turning it into a searing sheath of fire. Hank lay still, too, then suddenly arched back, raising himself above Susan to stare contemptuously into her face. "You love it don't you, baby?" he asked with a mocking leer.

Susan's lips trembled and she stifled another sob, refusing to answer his imperious question.

Hank flicked forward, fucking deep into her trembling belly once again, and now Susan let out a long wail of pain. He partially withdrew once more, again raised himself, again demanded arrogantly, "Love it, don't you?" His tone had become brutal, his manner cruel and menacing. Susan, terrified again, at last found her voice and gasped, "Y-yes!"

"Yes, what?" Hank's voice left no doubt that he knew he had her in his power.

"Yes, Hank," Susan whimpered. "I... I... I... love it."

"What some more cock?" Hank grinned with lewd delight at Susan's meek submission to him.

"Oh... no . o . o...!" Susan wailed.

"No?" There was a threat of retribution in Hank's voice.

"Y-yes. Yes, Hank, I d-do!" Susan hurriedly amended as, even through her pain, she caught his tone of displeasure.

"Then ask for it!" Hank ordered.

"Please, Hank... "

"Not like that. Beg, you God damned snob!"

Susan sucked in her breath. "Do it," she pleased with Hank. "Do it!"

"Say 'Fuck me! Fuck me with your cock!" And make it sound like you mean it!"

Susan's head lolled to one side in abject humiliation and shame as she submitted even more completely to his degrading demands. With tears streaming down her face, she pleaded, "Oh, Hank, fuck me. Please fuck me. That's what I want you to do. For God's sake, fuck me with your cock!"

Hank's mouth twisted scornfully. "You don't sound very sincere, baby!" he said. "Still, I'll be magnanimous and do it."

He slipped his hands beneath the smoothly rounded young cheeks of her buttocks as he began the slow rhythmic but frenzied thrust which would soon build to climax. He slaved above her, fucking in and out of her tightly clenched pussy in long, smooth strokes, sending his cock deep into her moist vagina that clasped and released it, clasped and released it of its own accord, then withdrew to plunge deep again, withdraw again. Then, as though wishing to press the ultimate humiliation upon her helpless young genitals, the tip of his outstretched finger invaded the tiny puckered opening of her anus, and Susan groaned in unexpected pain. But moments later, the groans turned to soft, mewling sounds of pleasure, as he slowly wormed it deeper and the rubberily stretching little rectal passage slowly grew used to the unaccustomed presence there.

Hank fucked in and out of her cunt wildly now-in and out-quickening his stroke until Susan felt she was on fire with exquisite tongues of flame searing her loins, her quivering belly, shooting high up through her body to lick at her tender, sensitive breasts. She seemed possessed by an insane passion that blotted out all but the ecstatic pleasure of the young man's hard driving penis, his skewering finger deep inside her rectum.

As he thrust again and again, his rod like a piston ramming deep inside her, Hank felt Susan jerk and lurch beneath him. A wet sticky fluid gushed forth from the walls of her hotly clinging vagina and then, unbelievably to them both, as she writhed and churned wildly beneath him, Susan began her weird, rhythmical incantation. "Ooooooh, God! I'm cumming. I'm cumming... oh, my God! I'm cumming...!"

Hank felt his own lust tormented cock expand in an agonizing spasm, the inside of his testicles seemed to explode and split wide open. The hot white liquid churning there raced the full length of his rock-like prick, and then he spewed it forth into the depths of Susan's hotly contracting young belly. It mingled momentarily there with her own excitedly flooding juices, then overflowed back out her tightly locked cunt lips to trickle in thin lewd rivulets of surrender down the soft whiteness of her thighs. With a loud sigh, Hank collapsed on her voluptuously curved young body, already gone limp and exhausted beneath him... her legs spread lewdly open in utter and total defeat...


CHAPTER SIX

The telephone rang, and Bennett snatched it from its cradle. "Yes! Yes, this is Judge Allen," he said impatiently. "No, I am Judge Allen." He turned to the man hovering anxiously beside him. "It's police headquarters, Malcolm," he said. "They've made some contact with the kidnappers again."

Malcolm James picked up the extension and listened as the sergeant on duty at the desk filled Bennett in on the details. "I'm sorry, Your Honor," but I haven't much to tell you," he began.

"But you have heard?" Bennett asked.

"Oh, yes, sir! We've heard. But what we've heard isn't very good."

"Well, for Heaven's sake, what have you heard!" Bennett asked between angrily clenched teeth. "At least let me know!"

"Yes, Your Honor!" The sergeant's voice was apologetic.

"Well!"

"Well, Sir, we've definitely established the fact that the kidnappers are members of the Free Men's Movement. There's no doubt about that."

"You knew that all along, didn't you?" Bennett snapped.

"Well, we thought so, Sir! We certainly thought so!"

"And now you know," Bennett said sarcastically.

"Yes, sir! And now we know!"

That's great, Bennett thought. Just great. "And what else do you know?" he asked, his voice even sharper.

"Well, sir," the sergeant said, "we have definite proof now that the kidnappers-the Free Men's Movement-that they're holding Miss Blake."

"You just told me that," Bennett barked.

"Oh, no Sir! I just told you that we knew that the people who sent the note were the members of the Free Men's Movement. And what I'm telling you now is that we know that the members of the Free Men's Movement-the ones who sent the note-really are hiding Miss Blake. You see, sir, it's not the same thing at all... " The sergeant went on talking, as Bennett's hand went slack and the telephone dangled precariously above the leather-covered desk in his chambers. It teetered for a moment, and then, just as it fell from his hand, Malcolm grabbed it. He handed it to the ashen-faced Bennett, and then spoke into the instrument he himself held. "And just what proof do you have," he asked, "that the ones who sent the note-oh, for God's sake! How do you know whatever it is you say is true?"

The sergeant on the other end of the wire spoke clearly and precisely. "We have Miss Blake's clothes, sir!"

Bennett's hand trembled violently, and then, as he dropped it, the telephone crashed against the top of the desk. Malcolm James turned with a start, to see Bennett lower his head, and cradle it on his arms which were across the top of the desk.

The sergeant's voice came over the wire again. "We have Miss Blake's clothes, sir."

Bennett groaned, and the sergeant said, "I beg your pardon, sir!"

"It's nothing," Malcolm said quickly. "Nothing at all."

"I thought Judge Allen said something," the sergeant said, puzzled.

Bennett raised his head. "We had her clothes!" he told Malcolm.

"Judge Allen says we've had Miss Blake's clothes," Malcolm said into the moutlipiece.

"Oh, yes sir," the sergeant agreed. "You've had her jacket and skirt, sir, and I dare say even her blouse. Isn't that so, sir?"

"That's right," Malcolm snapped. "For God's sake, what is it you're trying to say?"

"Well, sir," the sergeant said, "they have just sent us some other articles of clothing which belong to Miss Blake. We have, sir, what seems to be, sir... " Bennett looked up again. "What the Hell is the matter with that fool!"

"Judge Allen wants to know exactly what it is you have," Malcolm said.

"We have her panties, sir."

There was a stifled cry from Bennett. "You have what?"

"And her bra, sir," the sergeant went on, calmly.

There was another groan from Bennett. Malcolm spoke rapidly into the telephone. "I'll call you back in a few minutes, sergeant," he said. "I can't talk to you just now."

He cradled the telephone and turned to Bennett, leaning back, weak and shaken against the straight, stiff back of the desk chair. "Need some help?" he asked.

Bennett shook his head. "I'm O.K." he said.

Malcolm slipped his arm around his shoulder and helped him to his feet, then guided him across the room to the comfortable leather easy chair near the window, easing him into it. "I'll see if I can get you some brandy," he said.

He left, and Bennett slumped forward, his hand to his forehead, his eyes closed. So now they'd even sent Susan's panties and bra. That meant that Susan was running around in, well, in nothing. No, he thought. God, no! Not Susan! She'd maintain her decency and modesty, even now.

So O.K., he thought, gripping the leather arms of the chair, his nails clawing into it, leaving ridges and scratches the length of it. O.K. So Susan's pulled a towel around her. He closed his eyes, imagining what his voluptuous future young bride looked like. The towel would just cover her lovely, large breasts, and the slim, luscious swelling of her belly, would be slung low in back, to reach, almost, but not quite, to the bottom of the rounded cheeks of her firmly rounded young buttocks. The furrow between the spheres would be exposed, and some lewd, evil character would be staring at Susan's undulating buttocks as she walked across the room.

no time at all, the guy's prick would jerk and lurch inside his pants, hardening into a blunt instrument that would ache unbearably.

And how long, then, would it be before the guy had his pants open, before his grubby hand encircled his stiff rod and maneuvered it out into the open, massaged and stroked it, drew the foreskin back and forth, back and forth, while drops of thick fluid oozed from the tip as his lust mounted? How long would it be before his other hand was on one of Susan's round white breasts, before he'd taken one small budding nipple between his fingers, rolling and squeezing it, manipulating it into a taut, hard point, while Susan squirmed under the ever increasing pressure, finally screaming in pain... and possibly in unavoidable pleasure, too?

Because she would, Bennett knew. She would find pleasure in the obscene act of this foul, filthy creature. Oh, she'd fight against it. Bennett would give her credit for that. She'd be shocked and horrified and revolted by such degradation. She would fight like a wild cat. But that, Bennett thought bitterly, would be at the beginning. Later, after she'd been forced back onto a bed, as she lay there stripped completely naked with her legs open and the thin, hair-lined slit of her virginal young vagina exposed to the sadistic gaze, the plundering fingers of this crazed rapist, helpless little thrills of perverted pleasure would rip through her sensuously quivering body.

My God! Oh, my God! As this beast entered her, his thick, rigid cock plowing into her narrow little vaginal passage, already passion drenched, already steaming and hot, Susan would begin to moan and mewl ecstatically, thrashing about under his heaving, bucking body, rising to meet his thrusts, falling back, rising again, responding to his every move. And then... and then...

Bennett closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead. It was drenched with sweat, and wiped away the perspiration with the back of one hand, wishing that he could wipe away this nightmare at the same time. He wiped his forehead again, and gasped for breath. Oh, God! Susan would submit! She would resist at first, but Susan-his Susan- his lovely, beautiful, charming, intelligent, well-bred Susan-would submit like a common prostitute, begging in the most obscene manner, the most obscene words, to be taken like a street slut. And then, God help her! She would lose herself in wild abandon, spreading her legs wider in welcome, coming to a climax with unearthly screams of joy.

Bennett wiped his forehead again, then looked over his shoulder. He was surprised to see Malcolm standing beside him, a look of shock on his face. "Good Lord! Bennett!" Malcolm said, offering him a glass of brandy, "you look as if you'd seen a ghost!"

Bennett shook his head and took the glass between trembling fingers. He held it to his lips, and a drop or so sloshed over the side, dribbling down his chin. He set the glass down, took out a handkerchief, and wiped away the brandy, then mopped the beads of perspiration from his brow. He took a deep breath, glanced at Malcolm again, then sipped the liquor slowly until he had drained the glass. Malcolm took it from Bennett, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Look, Bennett," he said quietly, "you've got to get control of yourself. For your own sake, of course. But for Susan's sake too.

Bennett stared moodily into space, while Malcolm James' words echoed through his tortured brain. Control! That was what Susan lacked, not he. Susan had never been able to control herself, he thought. He remembered the way she had practically offered herself to him just a few days before, inviting him to take whatever liberties with her that he wished to, although they would not be married for several months. Mrs. Blake would never have done such a thing, Bennett knew very well. Nor would anyone in the Allen family. There was an unexplainable touch of the, well... the tramp, in Susan, he was forced to conclude, in spite of all the advantages she'd had. He'd hoped that marriage to him would somehow extinguish this lascivious spark in the otherwise lovely girl, the otherwise wonderful woman he wanted for his wife. If only someone could wipe out this wanton streak in her, could break Susan's will, she would be an asset to him in his career.

Bennett closed his eyes, seeing the Susan who had drawn him to her like a magnet. He thought of her as a gracious hostess, a pleasant, even charming companion. She would take her place in the community the way the Aliens and the Blakes always had, as a social leader, a patron of the arts, a benefactress of charitable causes. She would be as respected as he was; the two would be a model couple.

They would have a happy and adequate sex life, too; Bennett was no prude, he told himself, and sex between a man and his wife was normal and even desirable. But Susan, he reflected, was given to excesses, and that he could never permit.

And now she was alone with these sex-fiends, these monsters! He remembered the girl in the courtroom, as young as Susan, even resembling Susan in some ways, and shuddered. Susan might have been like that, he thought. And Susan might yet be like that, shedding all her inhibitions, letting herself go in the throes of passion. Dear God! How could he stand it! They would rape Susan's helplessly naked young virginity. He had no doubt of that. And that itself was enough to kill a man.

But to think of Susan's enjoying it! Oh, God! There was no Hell worse than that, nothing more cruel than the knowledge of what could happen to her mind if she were exposed to raw animal sex. Nothing, Bennett thought; Nothing at all! He sat still and pale with shock, staring blankly at the wall until Malcolm's voice brought him back with a start. "Look, Bennett," he said. "Let me get you another brandy, right off. Because I know what a shock all this is to you. That will help to steady your nerves. After that, Inspector Hughes is coming over with the chief of police. A couple of other people are coming, too... " Bennett looked up wearily. "Who?" he asked.

"Well," Malcolm said, "I thought it might be a good idea to discuss this thing with your old law partners, so I rang them... " Bennett cleared his throat as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it. "I hope you don't mind," Malcolm said, anxiously.

"No. No, I don't mind," Bennett said in a voice so low it was almost inaudible.

Malcolm disappeared for a moment. When he came back, he had another glass of brandy in his hand. "Here, Bennett," he ordered. "Drink this. And for God's sake, buck up! Things aren't as bad as they seem!" He caught Bennett's mocking glance and shrugged. "Well," he said, "usually they aren't."

There was a knock at the door just then and Malcolm went to open it. His voice brightened as he said, "Hello, Lou... " then led the police chief into the room. There was a second knock, and a group of men appeared, and then, a few minutes later, several others straggled in.

Malcolm waited until all were assembled before he turned to the Chief of Police. "Well, Lou," he began. "Maybe you'd better brief us all. And you know, we all want you to give it to us straight."

Chief Miller cleared his throat and looked around for attention. "Well, there isn't much to tell you that you don't already know," he said. "We've got a few facts-I think Sergeant Philips gave you those." He gave Malcolm a quizzical look, and when Malcolm nodded, hurried on. "That's about all we have, in the way of hard facts. We know that Miss Blake has been kidnapped, and we know... in a very vague way, of course... who the kidnappers are. And we know what their demands are, too." He paused and looked straight at Bennett. No one spoke for what seemed a very long time. Outside, the wind whistled through an elm tree, sending swirls of leaves scratching against the high, dusty window. Bennett bent his head, listening to the ghoulish sound, wishing to God it would stop, wishing the clouds would lift and the sun would shine. When he looked up, he saw that a cluster oi heavy raindrops had spattered across the window, and were trickling down it, forming tiny, dirty rivers on the glass.

All eyes were on Bennett as he spoke at last. "They want the release of the six members of the Movement I sentenced the other day. That's their demand, of course."

"That's their demand," Lou Miller said.

Bennett shook his head. "You know I could never agree to that."

It was Chief Miller who answered Bennett, who met his tortured eyes with a clear, level glance. "We know how you feel, Bennett. You believe in law and order, and have, all your life. But now it's Susan who's at stake. Susan's life. You see that, don't you?"

"That only makes it more impossible," Bennett said. "Since I'm the one who's involved... and Susan, of course... I have no alternative. I can't go around preaching law and order for everyone else, then I cave in when my interests are at stake, now can I?"

"Everyone would understand," Malcolm assured him.

"I wouldn't," Bennett said.

"But, Bennett! It's Susan's life!"

"And it's my honor," Bennett said coldly. What on earth was the matter with these people, he asked himself. Couldn't they see that right was right? Couldn't they see that wrong was wrong?

e world was divided into two parts. One was good and one was bad. And Bennett was pleased to think that he was on the side of everything good. Others, he well knew, had slight imperfections. Even Susan, fine and strong and courageous as she was, would cave in a crisis. Again the thought of Susan being raped flashed through Bennett's brain, and he seemed to see her in all her degradation, lying beneath some utterly depraved creature, writhing lewdly back and forth on some dirty bed in a wild, ecstatic climax. Susan, he was sure, had dishonored her own name; and he was afraid at that moment that some day she might dishonor his! But he, Bennett Allen, would never budge an inch.

"It's my honor," Bennett repeated. "I'm sorry, but I cannot, under any circumstances, give in to any demands."

Lou Miller sighed and shrugged. "What do you want us to do, then, Bennett?" he asked.

Bennett's mouth was drawn up in a tight, narrow line. "Do your duty," he snapped. "I thought that was understood."

"You're asking us to track down the kidnappers and try to rescue Susan, then?"

"That's exactly what I'm asking."

"Bennett, have you stopped to think what this might mean? That Susan might be killed? That some of our officers might lose their lives? That we may never even find the kidnappers?"

"Your job is to find them," Bennett announced, as cold and rigid as he was when he handed down a decision or pronounced sentence. "My job is to see that justice is carried out," he added. "I think I've done my job, and I shall most certainly continue to do it. Now I must insist that you do yours."

He stared icily at Lou Miller, who stared back, trying to play the same game. But Lou was no match for Bennett, and at last he gave in, admitting defeat. "Okay," he said with a shrug. "We'll do the best we can. But we can't be sure of anything from now on."

Arthur Hastings, who had been sitting quietly in a corner, spoke up. "I think you're wrong, Bennett," he said. "I've known you a long time, and I know how you feel. And I certainly respect you for those feelings. But now I think it's time to compromise, for the good of everyone."

Bennett whirled around, to give the old man a glance of utter contempt. "I always thought more of you, Arthur," he said in a withering voice. He turned away quickly, and pulled a pad of yellow, lined paper from his desk drawer, unscrewed the cap of his fountain pen and quickly sketched a rough map of the area. "We're here," he said, "pointing to a cross. "And these are the possible roads the kidnappers could take. Any guess as to where they went, Lou?"

"That's hard to say, Bennett."

"No clues at all?"

"Nothing very good."

"But you do have some clues-one clue-something to go on?" Bennett pressed the question.

"Let's just say I have a hunch," the Chief said, with a faint attempt at a smile.

"Well," Bennett snapped, "that's better than nothing." He handed his pen to the Chief, who began to draw a series of arrows on the map, shading in a section here, extending a line there, scattering symbols across the face of it. "We haven't much to go on," he said. "Still...!"

"Yes?" Bennett stared at Lou again. "I'm planning to send a couple of men out this way. Then we'll send others along this road. If they're hiding near here... " he pointed again to the map, "... we'll send in more men from this direction, and surround them. I'll call out everyone available, get the State police, too. If it's humanly possible to save Susan, we'll do it, Bennett." He patted Bennett on the shoulder, then picked up the telephone, dialed a number and began to bark orders. Bennett listened, but heard nothing. His mind was on Susan once again, and on the possible humiliations she was being subjected to at that very moment.


CHAPTER SEVEN

Susan lay on the narrow bed, her ravished young body aching under the thin blanket someone-was it Al or Jake or Marty?-had given her. She was clad in an ill-fitting blouse and a loose skirt. Under that outfit she wore a pair of thin, flimsy panties, much too big for her slim figure, but nothing else, and the blouse gaped open, showing the round smooth, snowy mounds of her breasts as she tossed on the bed.

Her head throbbed and pounded with a tortured, tormenting rhythm that recalled the terrifying events of the night before to her; the pulsing sawing into her now widely stretched vaginal passage, the piston-like thrusting of the young man called Hank's huge, rigid penis grinding hotly up into her helplessly quivering vaginal passage. Tears welled up in her eyes, flowed over, and straggled down her cheeks. Oh, it was unbearable that she, Susan Blake, shortly to be a respected judge's wife, had been debased and defiled in the most humiliating way by an oaf like Hank Hansen. Hank Hansen! When Bennett, to whom she was engaged, Bennett, whose wife she was to have been, had respected her virtue, had demanded nothing of her that she was not willing to give-had, in fact, demanded even less than she would have given. And now she had suffered the depths of degradation at the hands of nothing more than a common criminal, as Bennett had called him.

She could never face Bennett again, of course. He would need only to look at her face to know the terrible guilty secret she harbored in her heart. And Bennett, of all people, would never be able to forgive.

And why should he? He would know, as Susan herself knew, that despite the terror she had felt, despite the physical struggle she had put up, she had in the end submitted willingly, almost blissfully. She knew herself to be loathesome, vile, and yet her gratification had been so intense that she regretted nothing; her overwhelming sense of shame was over her acceptance of such illicit pleasure, over the knowledge that she herself was gripped with such obscene, carnal lust. She was not fit, she knew now, to be the wife of a fine man like Bennett, to be the mother of his children. No decent man would ever want her now that her belly had been filled with a total stranger's hotly spurting semen. She turned her face to the wall, sobbing quietly to herself.

When Susan heard the door open softly, she shuddered, waiting for Hank's ribald laugh, his rough voice uttering some filthy phrase. Instead, she heard Anna asking quietly, "Is there anything I can do?"

Susan shifted in the bed, her body aching agonizingly as she pulled herself to a painful sitting position. She squinted in the bright light of day as Anna came close and held out a glass to her. "I brought you some whiskey," she said. "I thought you might need it."

Susan took the glass and drained it. It was warn and soothing going down, and she smiled gratefully at Anna. When the girl suggested a second glass, Susan accepted it at once. When she had finished it, her mind dazed slightly, Anna seated herself on the side of Susan's bed, putting an arm around her. Slowly, tenderly, she began to stroke Susan's shoulder as she talked, lulling the broken young girl into a soft, dreamy, sleep-like state.

"That bastard, Hank!" she began after a few minutes of the slow, hypnotic caressing. "He's been bragging to me and some of the boys about the way he spread your legs and fucked you. Said you were a damned hot little number, and that he had you begging for it!" She half-whispered, offering Susan her sympathy, and her fingers slipped under the loose blouse Susan wore, and eased the fabric down, slipping the blouse partially off, fully exposing one firm, lush breast. "All men are alike," she crooned into Susan's ear, as she began to stroke the lovely rounded semi-sphere, with a soft, tantalizing movement. "You can't trust them. Ever."

With her other hand, Anna unbuttoned Susan's blouse, drew it off her and dropped it on the floor. "Now women are different. A woman gives you something, gives you warmth and tenderness-makes you happy. Men... " there was venom in Anna's tone "... men don't give a damn about anything but themselves. Isn't that so, Sue?"

Susan mumbled, too surprised, too weakened by the alcohol and her earlier ordeal to speak, as Anna's fingers trailed lightly over first one breast and then the other, gently teased the nipples into a taut erection, then slipped lightly down over the smooth white skin of Susan's belly, hinting at what was yet to come. Susan instinctively crossed her legs, pressing her thighs tight together to prevent any new invasion of her ravished vagina. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she saw that Anna was stripping her own clothes off, working awkwardly with one hand while she continued to caress Susan, teasing her nipples once again into hard little knobs.

"It's different, isn't it, Sue?" she murmured softly, her breath excited and heavy with passion. Without waiting for an answer, she drew the young girl to her, pressing her own nude body next to Susan's. Her pointed breasts crushed against Susan's, their nipples meeting, as Anna's hand moved down the soft, firm flesh of Susan's stomach underneath the elastic waistband of her panties to the luxuriously tangled triangle of silken strands that graced her pubic mound. "Oh, Sue," she murmured, "you're so beautiful. And I want to take care of you. I can, you know. Not like them-" again, Anna's voice was filled with venom. "Not like them, but the way someone should."

Susan's head seemed to swim in helpless confusion, and she let it fall on the girl's shoulder, resting it in the hollows of her neck, letting Anna cradle it between her shoulders and her chin. She had only the slightest idea of what was going on. Once she had read in a book about one woman doing this sort of thing to another woman, but it had all seemed so strange she had put it down to a weird fantasy of the writer. But now it was happening to her, and Susan felt strangely relaxed and peaceful, as if she were a small child, cradled in the arms of a loving mother, and at the same time, she felt like the most desirable woman in the world, responding to a strong, virile man.

With a strong but gentle hand, Anna cupped Susan's chin and raised her face to the level of her own. Her full lips brushed Susan's as if in passing, then returned, pressing them close. Her tongue darted out, expertly parting Susan's lips, easing between them, searching, then finding the young woman's tongue, while Susan let out little gasps of shocked delight. She was aware of Anna's hands roaming over her body, aware that the girl was toying in some way with the clothes she still wore, and then, as she felt the thin wisp of the nylon panties drawn slowly down over her hips and thighs and a cool breeze waft across her body, she realized that she lay beside Anna, completely nude.

She closed her eyes again, as Anna held her tight, her own body rubbing against Susan's, her thighs curled around Susan's body, clasping it to hers while she moved slowly down on Susan until her dark curly thatch of pubic hair mingled with Susan's silk-soft golden strands. Susan felt a tiny thrill of pleasure rip through her, even as her alcohol dimmed mind flickered warning lights of slight revulsion at the perverted assault against her naked flesh. With a shudder, she realized that Anna's hand was caressing her buttocks, gently at first, then, still slowly but with determination, parting the softness of the twin mounds until her fingertip teased into the tiny puckered mouth of her anus, shocking her again, yet oddly delighting her, too.

She moaned faintly, then collapsed back quiescent as Anna suddenly twisted around, moving her head sideways and down to the trembling white flesh of Susan's thighs. Anna began to kiss the tender skin there, making the sensitive nerve ends quiver with that strange, wonderful excitement Susan had felt so recently, under Hank Hansen's forced attack. As Susan moaned again, her legs falling slackly open, Anna's lips wandered to the tingling little triangle between her thighs, moved down to it, searching out the fleshy lips, the soft hair-lined slit of Susan's vagina. Her pink, pointed tongue parted the cuntal lips, licked slowly and hotly at the moist pulsating orifice, then explored the narrow passage until it found the tiny pink bud of her clitoris enclosed therein.

The tantalizing touch of Anna's tongue sent new waves of ecstasy crashing through Susan's receptive body, while her brain reeled with a dull horror at what was happening. Good God, but it was wonderful! Susan thought, and yet she found herself longing to fight off this further obscenity, this further assault against her once pure body. Yet she was powerless under the delicious ravishment of her loins, and could only mewl with pleasure as she submitted, once more, to an overpowering sexual stimulation.

Susan, through her involuntarily rising passion, was dimly aware of agitated noises somewhere off in the other rooms, in other parts of the crumbling old house. Sometimes she heard an excited voice, shouting orders to one person or another; some- times she heard obscene words hurled on the air. At other times, she heard the blare of a loudspeaker, as the transistor radio was turned up, reporting the hourly news.

It concerned her and it concerned Bennett, she was sure. Words like "kidnappers" and "abducted" flitted across the surface of her mind, leaving only the barest impression. She heard phrases, too, hardly more meaningful in her state of sensual abandon, about police and State Troopers. Once she roused herself enough from the wildly pleasurable sensations that engulfed her down between her open thighs to comprehend the fact that the police were actually closing in on the hideout; that they were armed, and ready for a shoot-out. But the importance of the news faded before the erotic sensations that fanned through her body, wrapping her in a lapping tongue of insane pleasure.

She lay still again, thrilling to the crescendo of excitement that rose almost to the bursting point in her now drenched, hotly pulsing pussy. So intent was she that the sound of Hank, calling from outside the door, made no impression at all. It was only when the door burst open and Hank's voice broke the unnatural silence that Susan remembered where she was and how she came to be there. His usually gruff tone soared with a tinge of panic as he began to explain the latest developments. Another radio broadcast had been picked up; there was no doubt now that the police were on the right trail. It was only a matter of time before the hideout would be discovered, and when it was... his words stopped brusquely as he gazed in amazement at the sight before him. "My God!" he exclaimed at last. "I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

Anna raised her head from the soft curling triangle of Susan's slowly grinding little pussy, recognizing Hank with a cry of anger. "What the Hell do you want?" she blasted at him.

A lewd, lecherous grin spread across Hank's face. "Just what you're getting," he said coolly, striding briskly across the room to the bed. With a cruel, vicious gesture, he yanked Anna from her position above Susan's trembling, prostrate body, tossing her to the floor as if she were a crumpled handkerchief, a bit of Kleenex to be discarded.

"My turn," Hank said, with a short, coarse laugh that sent shivers shooting up Susan's spine.

In an instant Anna was on her feet. "Leave her alone, Hank," she spat at him. "You know the rules."

"Sure," Hank said laconically. "So do you."

"That's different," Anna said. "She wanted it."

Hank shot a contemptuous glance Anna's way. "Yeah?" he asked. "I suppose she's a dyke, too?"

A groan of protest escaped Susan's loosely pursed lips. "No, I'm not," she howled. "I'm... I'm... " Hank grinned at her maliciously. "Then let's really find out, baby," he said with an arrogant sneer.

Susan noticed with a shock of renewed fear the bulge in Hank's pants, knew, somehow, that he had been watching her own lascivious performance with Anna for a long time, that it had excited him beyond endurance, and that he now would force her to submit to being fucked by him right before Anna, who crouched whimpering in a corner. He stood over her, the sneer still twisting his mouth, enjoying her anguish while Susan cowered her nakedness down against the mattress, as if she might somehow burrow into it and hide herself. She closed her eyes and felt the scalding tear that oozed from under her eyelid and coursed down her cheek. Blinded, she groped for the blanket that had covered her before. Oh, God! Where was it! Where were the clothes-the baggy blouse, the worn white panties, that Anna had stripped from her! They must be here somewhere! If she could only find them, cover herself, shield her trembling body from Hank's lust-filled eyes that bored into her like bits of tempered steel.

A sudden movement startled her, and her eyelids fluttered open. She uttered a shrill, half-muffled cry as she saw Hank standing only inches from her pillowed head. He gave a brief, short laugh, then with a sudden movement jerked his zipped fly open. A second later he had reached it to bring the fleshy, rigid rod close to Susan's mouth. "Ever sucked cock, baby?" he demanded lewdly, while the young naked woman cringed at the crude words he had uttered as if she had been struck with a closed fist.

Wide-eyed, paralyzed with fear, she watched him straddle her naked breasts, pinning her arms to her sides with his knees and saw the blood-fattened head of Hank's penis thrust forward and press wetly against her tightly clenched lips.

"Come on, Miss Rich Bitch. It wants to spit on those ten carat little tonsils of yours!" He grinned lewdly and with his thumb and forefinger reached down and pinched the nostrils of her finely chiseled little nose tightly together until she couldn't breathe.

"Mmmmph! Mmmmmmmmph!" Susan groaned desperately, trying to hold her breath as long as she could so she wouldn't be forced to open her mouth.

"Come on, baby, open up and get a little fresh air... and a big bite of cock!" he laughed cruelly, watching her desperately twisting face slowly turning a bright crimson from the desperate struggle not to breathe.

And finally, her lungs searing from lack of oxygen, her lips popped open wide, sucking in great gulps of the long-denied air.

"Oh ho, now baby wants to milk a little cock!" he mocked above her and then he shoved it into her helplessly gasping mouth, ramming it down deep inside, until it seemed to brush all the way back against her open throat. Susan gagged and fought wildly to expel the rock-hard member that filled her mouth so cruelly, so unnaturally. She moved her head from side to side, struggling helplessly, gasping for breath. My God! She would suffocate... she couldn't breathe... she would die!

Viciously, Hank grasped Susan's head in both hands and pulled it forward, as Susan broke free just long enough to suck in more of the cool fresh air, filling her lungs, panting with relief. Then the triumphantly grinning young boy's lust-hardened pole sank deep into her mouth again... in... in up to the hilt... and the short, wiry hair around his organ grazed and tickled Susan's lips, while his sperm-filled balls slapped lewdly down against her chin. Now he began to fuck in and out of her- widely ovaled mouth with long, quick strokes, and strangely, partly due to the alcohol, and partly due to a rising tide of masochistic acceptance of the lewd, debasing act she was being forced to perform, Susan began to feel a whirling tide of unwanted passion again rising in her that took possession of her body, leaving her helpless to fight against this obscene defiling of her cock stretched lips. Without looking, she knew that the girl, Anna, was watching her, despising her and Hank, too, and the thought added a new fillip of perverted pleasure to the ravishment of her now willingly open mouth. Chills of excitement whipped up and down her spine, little sparks of ecstatic joy seemed to explode, fluttering like butterflies in her blood. With a terrible shame, and yet with undeniable pride, she felt the sticky moistness seeping more fluidly between her now wide-spread legs, felt the warmth of it suddenly hotly flooding her pulsing pussy, felt the ache and throb of desire down there between her legs. Oh, God! How wonderful horrible it was! Wicked and evil though it might be-and it was, Susan hastened to add to herself- wicked and evil though it was, it was wonderful, too, and now she, with a moan, abandoned herself to the wanton delight of the lewd, cocksucking act she was performing, running her tongue shamelessly back and forth over the sensitive surface of Hansen's huge prick, teasing the tiny slit in its tip, licking the drops of sticky fluid that oozed from it, tasting it, savoring it as he jerked his hips forward and fucked deep down inside the saliva-filled cavern of her mouth, throbbed there like a heartbeat in its hotly clasping liquid warmth a moment, withdrew, plunged in again.

Now Susan's passion-distorted brain brushed aside all rational thought, all conscious knowledge of her slavish acceptance of her lewd position, and gave herself up completely to the ecstasy of being fucked in the mouth, of actually sucking a man off. No! No, she'd never sucked cock before, she thought hazily, remembering Hank's question a few short minutes before. Never! And now it seemed she could never get enough of the stabbing of his excitedly swollen penis deep into her throat, as if she could not bear to wait for him to shoot forth his cream-white sperm, filling her mouth with the searingly pungent male liquid, pouring it down her throat, letting it flood out over her lips, dribbling down her chin while she moaned and thrashed in erotic bliss below him.

Madly, insanely now, she sucked on and on, her cheeks of their own volition, contracting, tightening around the fleshy staff that moved in and out between her tight, pursed lips like a well-oiled piston. And then, suddenly, Hank's body above her was seized with a violent, wild spasm, and his abruptly jerking testicles sent the eagerly welcomed stream of thin, milky sperm gushing warmly into her tightly locked mouth, welling up and over her fully pursed young lips like a cascading fountain of half whipped cream. Susan gulped to swallow every precious drop, her throat constricting and relaxing alternately, hungrily, like a famished child sucking at its mother's breast. Close to satiation, her brain deranged with passion, she licked and swished her tongue hotly around the now slow- ly deflating penis, clinging possessively to it with her elastically ovaled lips in a last desperate effort to prolong the joy for yet another instant. At last the young man pulled away from her mouth with a wet, sucking sound, and reeled backwards, a thin, glistening strand of his sperm following him away and across the firmly rounded mounds of her naked breasts as Susan's exhausted head sank heavily down onto the pillow once more. Just before she closed her eyes, she caught sight of Anna edging towards the door, her face a mask of fury at Susan's betrayal of her. Susan smiled to herself, vindictively. "A dyke!" Well, Anna certainly knew better than that by now.

She was just drifting off to sleep, deeply satisfied, when a piercing shout from downstairs jerked her back to her senses. Over the shouts and commotion, she heard the level tones of a radio announcer, reading out the latest news bulletins. She strained her ears, and once or twice caught her own name. She heard Bennett's name, too, and several references to the Free Men's Movement.

Struggling to her feet, she crept to the door and put her ear to it. The broadcast message was being repeated, she realized. She began to put the scattered phrases, the disjointed words together, assembling them like bits of a jig-saw puzzle, until at last a picture of what was happening emerged.

The police, the newscaster explained in his clipped would-be-British voice, had definitely picked up the trail in the Susan Blake kidnapping. Troopers were moving in from all sides. It was only a matter of time before Susan Blake would be rescued, her terrifying ordeal ended.

police, the newscaster went on, were being led by Miss Blake's fiancee, Judge Bennett Allen, who had helped plan the operation and was accompanying the officers. It was an act of rare and incredible courage, he added, and had earned even added respect for the distinguished judge.

Susan clapped her hands over her ears! Bennett! In her lewd, new-found sexual pleasure, as she responded to the man called Hank's perverted assault, she had forgotten him completely. Now she dared not think of him, think of how he would react were he ever to find out what had just transpired. Dear God! What had possessed her? What evil demon had taken control of her body and soul, leading her to such unexplainable depths of degradation? What? And why?

With a suppressed sob of complete despair, she collapsed back on the bed again, burying her face in the pillow. Images of Bennett, proud and stern, passed before her eyes, along with an arrogantly-leering Hank Hansen and a cruel, hateful Anna. They whirled in Susan's tormented brain, chasing one another until at last everything dissolved in a blur of exploding confusion and Susan fell into a light, troubled sleep.


CHAPTER EIGHT

The long black car moved slowly through the night, the wheels turning silently, the motor humming in the lowest possible key. A sprinkle of rain drops splattered the windshield, trickled down to the hood of the car, while the pair of wipers moved back and forth with a soft, rhythmic swish, regularly clearing the window.

In a short while, the shower was over and a tiny sliver of moon peeped from behind a cloud, casting the merest beam of light on the earth below. In the car, Judge Bennett Allen wiped the vapor from the side window of the back seat where he sat with his friend Malcolm James, and stared out into the dark forest surrounding them.

Malcolm watched Bennett in silence, then cleared his throat and asked. "Recognize anything?"

"We're in the Woods," Bennett said. "I'm not sure where, though."

Malcolm strained his eyes, peering out. Like Bennett, he saw nothing he knew, nothing he could identify. He tried to think of something to say to Bennett, some few words of comfort to ease his friend's tortured mind. But nothing could, he knew, and he was merely grateful that his presence here at Bennett's side helped him to shoulder his terrible burden. Lake Bennett, he wondered what chance they had of finding the hideout. The police officer driving the two men had been hopeful, at least. "We're on the trail, Your Honor!" he had said, helping Bennett in and closing the door after him.

But he had said no more, given no hint of what they might find when-and if-they at last reached the secret hideaway where Susan was held against her will. Perhaps! No! Malcolm brushed the thought from his mind. They would never dare kill Susan! She was useful to them only if she were alive and well, and surely they knew that any leniency they might later expect would depend on that. If they so much as harmed a hair of her head, he had heard Bennett vow, they would die for it. No, the kidnappers would not harm Susan-not willfully.

He wondered idly what these men were like who had snatched Susan from her own home and had held her now for the days which seemed like an eternity. Were they all men? Were there women, too? How did they behave, cooped up as they must be? Malcolm knew from hints Bennett had dropped that he feared some sort of sexual attack on the girl. Malcolm, himself, was inclined to doubt such a thing. The men in the Free Men's Movement were certainly fanatics, but that didn't make them indiscriminate rapists.

Still, he reflected, thinking of Susan's lovely, voluptuous young body, they were only human, too. He was ashamed to admit that he had himself thought sexually about the wife-to-be of his best friend, that day he had seen her at the club pool. She was wearing a brief blue bikini that made her bronzing skin glow like burnished gold, and Malcolm had caught his breath at the svelte curve of the long legs, the smoothly rounded thighs, the large, lush breasts hidden behind the tiny band of blue cloth. On any other woman, he'd thought, an outfit like that would have been an open invitation to a pass, at least.

It was no briefer than those that others wore, he admitted; still, it was no larger. Yet Susan wore it with her customary grace, as if it were a ball gown or a smartly tailored suit. And breathtakingly beautiful though she was, there wasn't the slightest hint of vulgarity, let alone obscenity. Susan had waved to him, then pulled herself to her feet, to kiss him lightly on the forehead.

"Oh, Malcolm," she had said, smiling brightly, "I'm so glad you're here! I'll go see if Bennett's at the bar!" She'd run off, moving as lightly as a gazelle, her smooth, round buttocks swaying enchantingly as she sped along the blistering sun-baked tiles. Malcolm had stared after her, his loins aching with desire, wanting her sexually more than he'd ever wanted a woman in his life, yet knowing she belonged to his best friend and that he could never have her.

If she had been marrying anyone else but Bennett, he had reflected-crazy feelings of lust and self-loathing mingling inside him-he might have forgotten that most important commandment. But one never committed adultery with a man like Judge Bennett Allen's wife. And so he had fought back his impulses, controlling himself with a vast exertion of will power. And thinking of that day, he convinced himself that Susan would be safe, even now. No one would dare to touch her.

The car slowed and the wheels ground to a halt. Bennett leaned forward, touching the police officer, who was sitting at the wheel, on the shoulder. "Why are we stopping?" he demanded.

The officer turned around. "There's another car ahead, sir. I think it must be Inspector Hughes!" He switched off the lights of the patrol car, and a blanket of blackness enveloped them. "I think it's the Inspector, sir, but I'm not taking any chances!" He opened the car door, poked his head out cautiously, then, with a wave to Bennett and Malcolm in the back seat, slipped out, closing the car door softly behind him. "Good luck!" Bennett called under his breath, watching the bulky figure disappear into the stillness of the night.

Everything was silent then, with only the occasional snapping of a twig, the patter of a drop of moisture on a leaf to break the stillness. Bennett cleared his throat, as if to speak, then, having nothing to say, fell silent. Once Malcolm leaned over, giving Bennett a reassuring pat on the back. Christ, he thought, if I only had a drink.

Bennett must have sensed his wishes; at any rate he broke the long silence with the announcement: "I've got a flask of brandy somewhere here! Want some?"

"I certainly could use it!"

There was a rustling sound as Bennett searched his pockets, a muffled exclamation as he found the flask at last and drew it forth, and then Bennett was groping in the dark for Malcolm's hand, putting the opened flask into it, clasping his fingers around it. Malcolm swallowed with a loud gulp. "Good stuff!" he said, handing the flask back to Bennett.

There was the sound of Bennett swallowing, then a silence again for a long time. Occasionally a gust of wind made the branches whisper in a melancholy sigh. It sounded like mourners at a funeral, Malcolm thought, and with a shudder Malcolm thought of Susan's innocent young body shrouded, lying in a casket.

He stifled a gasp and slid back against the cushions. He heard the beating of his own heart and the ticking of the car's clock and thought absurdly of an advertisement he had once seen for a car-was it a Rolls-Royce? "The only sound you'll hear is the ticking of the clock." It was so ridiculous that he laughed aloud, until Bennett's harsh oath stopped him abruptly. He lapsed again into silence, which once more seemed interminable. Finally there was a faint noise, far off, eerie as the sound of children wailing. It grew louder, and Malcolm at last recognized it as the baying of dogs.

It mingled with the ticking of the clock-and with, Malcolm thought, the beating of his heart-in a strange, modern symphony, and then lights began to flicker in the darkness, tiny points that shone briefly, were extinguished, lit again further on. Ironically, Malcolm thought of some new multi-media show.

"They've got the dogs out," Bennett said, speaking for the first time since the baying had begun. "I wonder if they've picked up anything!" He stared into the darkness, then uncorked the flask again, offered it to Malcolm, and drank once more himself. The pin-points of light were more frequent now, coming nearer, and Malcolm, with a laugh, recognized them. The officer who had gone off to join the Inspector was on his way back to the car, striking matches to light his way!

Now, though, he switched on a small flashlight, and the dim beam cut the darkness, making a narrow path from him to the car. As he approached, Bennett rolled the window down, gesticulating wildly, calling. out, "What's happening? What's happening?"

The Officer picked his way over the pebbles and twigs that were strewn along the path, moving slowly through the thick mud which held him back, mired him down as if it were taffy. He moved as slowly as a man on the moon, raising one foot with difficulty, putting it down again, until at last he reached the car. He clung to it, making his way around it to the back door. He leaned his head in the window which Bennett had rolled down. "It's Inspector Hughes, all right," he said. "You'd better come along."

He opened the door for Bennett, who slid out, followed by Malcolm. Like the officer, they sank into the deep mud, moving only with difficulty. The sounds of the dogs was nearer now, a shrill cry that echoed on the air. Soon they heard their sharp barks, and then, in the dim light of the same small flashlight, they saw them, straining at a leash.

Inspector Hughes strode forward then, moving through the sticky mud as fast as he could. He shook hands quickly with Malcolm, then grasped both of Bennett's in his own. "I think we may have something here," he said. "Would you come with me?"

Bennett and Malcolm followed him along the deep ruts of the trail until they reached a clearing. The low-hanging branches of the trees were broken, there, the underbrush trampled down. Inspector Hughes squatted over a blurred footprint, sprinkling it with some strange white powder, pouring another powder onto it, dusting the whole. At first it seemed to Malcolm like some peculiar pagan rite; later he realized the inspector was making a plaster cast of the print.

As he pulled himself clumsily to his feet, he spoke again to Bennett. "Definite foot prints here, Your Honor. And it looks as if there's been some sort of scuffle!" He pointed at the trees, then at the deep ruts and tire tracks in the mud. "We've traced the Car as far as this point," he said. "That's the end of the line for it. Then there are the foot prints. We've found plenty of those. Trouble is, they don't seem to go anywhere. Just sort of prints of people milling around. Or maybe fighting. We don't know. That's why we've called out the dogs."

Another officer appeared, just visible in the dim light. He held two enormous dogs on a tight leash, dragged along by the pair. He followed them off into the deep underbrush, then suddenly called the Inspector. Hughes brushed Bennett aside and began to push his way through the thicket, to the spot where the officer stood, holding back the straining dogs. "We've picked up a new trail here," he announced. "A car stopped back there; we know that. And another car left from over there. We know that, too. Apparently Susan was carried from one spot to another. That probably meant she was unconscious at the time... " Bennett's voice quavered. "Unconscious? Why?"

"We don't know yet," Inspector Hughes answered, hoping to soothe Bennett by his calm tone.

Bennett began to question him again, but the Inspector hardly heard. He was busy barking orders, calling officers to him, sending them off in all directions. From time to time he spoke into a small transmitter, informing police headquarters of developments, requesting reinforcements, ordering officers posted at strategic points. Preoccupied, he ignored Bennett and Malcolm while he planned his strategy; then, as if in surprise, noticed them again. He put his hand on Bennett's arm and began leading him back to the car.

Part way back he stopped, and picking up a stick while an officer shone a light on the ground, drew a circle in the soft earth. "It looks as if the hideout is somewhere around here," he said, making a mark in the center of the circle. "We're here," he added, digging the stick into a point on the edge of the circle. "Now I've got men moving in here and here and here... " again he jabbed the earth at points on the circle, "... and others coming from this direction... " he waved the stick to the side. "Now we're setting up roadblocks along Route 24 and Route 13. We're shutting the crossroads at the junction of the State Highway and the country road to all traffic. We're clearing the whole area of all but police. State troopers, too, of course. But no one else." He dropped the stick, took Bennett by the elbow and steered him towards the waiting police car. "That means you, too, Your Honor," he said with a rueful smile. "And your friend, too."

Bennett stiffened. "Absolutely not," he said. "I'm going with you. I don't know how Mr. James feels about it, but I'm going with you."

The Inspector shook his head. "It isn't safe, Judge. God only knows what's going to happen, once we close in on these people. They're certain to have guns... " he patted his own holster, "... and we're all armed. It can be a damned bloody mess, you know."

"I know," Bennett said, and Malcolm was impressed by his cool courage, "I know. And that's why I'm going." He turned to Malcolm, then. "You'd better stay behind," he suggested.

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm going with you, Bennett."

Inspector Hughes shook his head, started to protest, then thought better of it. "Okay. But I'm not taking any responsibility for what happens."

"We don't ask you to," Bennett said. "We only ask you to let us go along."

"Okay. Get back in the car then." The two men climbed in, while Hughes spoke briefly to the driver. He started the motor, swung the car around, drove off the way he'd come, then, at the merest trace of a road, swung off, inched along, veering between trees, avoided huge rocks that almost crumpled the fenders, swerved around deep, rain-filled pits. Once the car got stuck in the mud, and the three men got out to push it, Bennett and Malcolm taking off their jackets and rolling up their shirtsleeves. Another time they came to what seemed a dead end; the police officer got out then, and striking matches as he had before, searched the ground, looking for the tracks he was to follow. And then they were on their way again, moving tortuously at a snail's pace across the rough, rocky ground. Bennett peered through the window; there was nothing to be seen but the low-hanging branches of the trees that swept across the windows of the car with a ghoulish sound. At long last, they caught sight of a huge dark mass in the distance. "That's it!" the police sergeant said quietly, drawing a deep breath. "It's the end of the line." Bennett wondered just exactly what he meant.

* * *

Inside the house, Marty, Jake, Al and a couple of others sat in a small, blacked out room, listening to the radio they had set on an orange crate standing in the center. It sputtered and cackled, and occasionally went silent. More often, though, it spat out official commands: "Car 67, Car 67! Proceed with caution along Route 24. Car 114, Car 114- Proceed with caution. These men may be armed!"

With a loud curse, Marty switched off the radio and buried his face in his hands. The world seemed to whirl around him, and he shook his head as he tried to sort things out. Cooler, calmer, he considered the situation he faced. He had vowed, once, to die for the cause of the Free Men's movement, if that were necessary. And now it looked as if it might be just that-necessary. He wiped the sweat from his forehead: "Christ," he thought, "I don't want to die just yet."

He tried to think of some way out. He could turn Susan over to the police, maybe, and save his skin that way. But it wouldn't be for long; the Free Men's Movement had its own executioners-and they wouldn't be as considerate as the police were, if it came to the crunch. Marty wiped his forehead again, then pulled out a soiled handkerchief and blew his nose loudly.

Or he could surrender to the police, himself- throw himself on their mercy. No, that was out, too. Maybe he didn't want to be a martyr-maybe? He sure as Hell didn't-but he wasn't a lily-livered bastard, either. Anyway, he knew damned well he'd spend the rest of his life in jail if the pigs got their paws on him. It wasn't much of a choice, he thought grimly, but he'd really rather die than go behind the bars.

As for getting out of here-Jesus! None of them had a snowball's chance in Hell of slipping through the police lines. Not with all the men they were deploying around here. He wondered vaguely just how many troops there would be-and how soon the house itself would be surrounded. In any case, Marty knew it was too late to try to make any sort of getaway. Which meant there was nothing left to do but stay and fight. And if that was the way it was, well, they'd better all get busy!

He blew his nose and stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. Then he switched the radio on again, turning it low. He listened for a moment or so, but the transmitter seemed to have gone dead. He switched it off again.

"Look," he said, clearing his throat, and speaking slowly and gravely. "You know what's going on, and you know it's not good. But I know I can count on you!" That's a load of bull, he thought to himself. They're just as likely to chicken out as anyone else. Even so, he repeated what he had said: "I know I can count on everyone of you!"

There was a general murmur of assent, and then an expectant silence. "Okay," Marty went on. "Let's get busy, then. Jake, there's a case of guns in the cellar. Anna has the key. I want you to get it open, and hand them around. Check every gun, too; make sure they're all loaded, and in working condition. Clean, you know. Because that's what's going to make the difference between life and death, for us, anyway!"

Jake granted and pushed his chair back, scratching it against the floor with the spine-chilling sound of chalk on a blackboard. He padded heavily across the room, groping for the door, letting it slam behind him as he went out. Marty struck a match, peering around in the tiny flame it gave off; he recognized Al sitting across from him, and snapped out an order to him. "You're to bring all the supplies upstairs," he said. "Food, water, blankets." He paused, wondering whether they would need them, then added, "bandages, too. Everything we might need. It might be a long siege, you know." As Al went out, he called, "And send the others in here."

They trooped in, one by one, and Marty had instructions for each. They were to take up posts at each of the windows on the top floor, making sure they had their guns with them, and plenty of ammunition handy. They were to stand back from the windows, too-if the pigs wanted to use someone for target practice, it would be Susan!

And that reminded Marty! Where was she? What was she doing? Above all, how was she? "For Christ's sake!" he snapped at a dim figure moving through the dark room, "see that nothing happens to that girl!" He had another thought. "Better get Anna down here!"

Marty was alone when Anna came in. "How is she?" he asked without any preliminaries.

"Who?"

"Who! For Christ's sake! "Who!" Marty bellowed. "The judge's girlfriend, that's who!"

"You don't have to snap my head off!" Anna yelled back. "Get a grip on yourself."

"Got anything to drink?" Marty asked.

"I'll get something," Anna said. She hurried off, and was back in a few minutes, carrying a whiskey bottle. "Here, this ought to help," she said, unscrewing the top and offering it to the second in command.

He gulped some down, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "It does help," he said with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, but I'm a little on edge."

"Who isn't?" Anna asked.

"Is the girl?"

"Not too bad. She slept pretty well, considering. And I've been plying her with firewater, just in case," Anna took the bottle back from Marty, and swallowed a mouthful herself, before capping it again.

"Well, you'd better keep giving it to her," Marty said. "All we need around here is that high class bitch getting hysterical and setting everyone else off. It's going to be plenty tough as it is, you know."

"I sure do," Anna said with a sigh. She thought of the grim expressions on the faces of the others as she's passed them in the outer hallway; of the feeling of tension that was almost tangible, crawling over their flesh, and mounting every minute. Yes, it was going to be tough.

Anna offered Marty another drink, but he shook his head. "Got to keep a clear head," he told her. "You, too," he advised. She turned to go, but at the door he stopped her. "You know, Anna, if we want to play it safe, we have to keep that young bitch happy. Right?"

"And what makes people happy?" Marty answered his own question. "Hash," he said. "Pot. Grass. So you'd better roll some reefers and get her smoking them. Get her stoned, Anna. And keep her stoned."

"Sure. And what will you be doing, Marty?"

"Me and the boys," Marty said, "are going to turn this place into an armed fortress." From below there was the sound of some heavy object scraping the floor, of another slamming into a wall. "Hear that?" Marty asked triumphantly.

"I heard it."

"Well," Marty said, "they're all down there moving the furniture against the doors, and boarding up the windows!" He pushed his chair away from the table and snapped on the radio again. It buzzed and spluttered, and Marty snapped it off.

"Remember," he asked, "how we always used to talk about fighting behind the barricades?"

"Yes," Anna said.

"Well," Marty said. "Our boys are down there, right now, and they're building those barricades."


CHAPTER NINE

The rising sun caught the dull glint of the metal gun barrels, making them sparkle like a diamond necklace around the decaying, weatherbeaten house. Behind the guns were bags of sand piled haphazardly one upon another. They were all slightly askew, as if they were houses or churches built from blocks by young children, still experimenting with such adult, sophisticated feats.

Behind the sandbags were police officers. They lay on the ground, their stomachs digging deep holes in the ooze and mud and slime beneath them. The damp and cold crept through their heavy woolen uniforms, clinging to their clothes and to their bodies, penetrating to the bone, chilling them until their teeth chattered and, on the triggers of the machine guns which had been set up during -the night, their fingers shook. Their eyes were on the once-abandoned house, now, searching for any movement, any sign of life.

There was none. The windows were dark, covered with black cloth of some sort, which shut out any view into the rooms. It seemed that nothing stirred within or without; if it did, it would have been difficult, if not impossible, for the troops surrounding the house to have caught the movement quickly enough to have drawn a bead and to have fired.

And what if they did fire and hit the girl?

Behind the alerted police force, who lay behind the guns trained on the house, Bennett and Inspector Hughes paced back and forth. Bennett was impatient. Susan was in the house; the police-hordes of them-were outside. Why not storm the place, rescue her, carry her off to safety?

Once again, Inspector Hughes put a restraining hand on Bennett's elbow. "Suppose we started shooting?" he asked in a deceptively mild voice. "Just suppose?"

"We might wipe out all those s.o.b.'s" Bennett said grimly.

"Yes," Inspector Hughes agreed. "We might. But we might also hit Susan."

"So what should we do?"

"So I'm asking you!" Hughes said, planting his hands on his hips, waiting for Bennett's reply. "So we don't shoot."

"That's right. So we don't shoot," Hughes said.

Bennett walked away, scuffing his polished, hand-sewn shoes in the pebbles and small stones that lay on the ground. So we don't shoot. So what do we do?

"What do we do, then, Inspector?"

Inspector Hughes shrugged. "We wait and let them make a move."

The day wore on. The sun rose and beat down on the old house, on the police burrowing into the ground, on the shining barrels of the guns. Bennett and Malcolm sat under the sheltering branches of a pine tree, smoking one cigarette after another. Occasionally one of them arose to creep forward, and peer out at the house as if, somehow, that act would change things. But everything remained the same; nothing moved in the house, nothing moved outside. And always, whoever had strayed off came back to where he had been, weary, and disconsolate.

By noon the sun was blazing, broiling the officers hidden behind the leaves and branches that camouflaged their guns. Around the house, in the cleared area which had once been lawn and garden, the air itself shimmered with the heat. Sharp beams of sunlight slanted against the cracked glass of the window panes, bounced back, as if from mirrors, to blind the hidden watchers. Sometimes a bird fluttered from a tree top, chirping cheerfully to itself. More often, the others heard the lazy whir of insect wings, the buzz of bees and locusts.

Bennett was on his feet again, pacing back and forth in the safety of the sheltered woods. He'd taken off his jacket and dropped it on the ground: he'd torn his tie off, too, loosened his collar, and his shirt was now open at the neck. From time to time he crept out towards the edge of the woods, where the police had taken up their posts and were waiting, watching like hawks. Like them he crouched, well-hidden, staring at the house, alert to the slightest movement within. His body began to ache from the contorted position he held for such a long length of time, yet he could not force himself to return to the greater safety he had left. He looked at his watch; it seemed to have stopped. He shook it and held it to his ear, hearing regular, rhythmic, tick-tick-tick. After what seemed an eternity, he looked at his watch again; no more than five minutes had passed. He swore softly to himself, then crept back to find Inspector Hughes.

The Inspector was busy, consulting a couple of officers, making notes, transmitting messages back to police headquarters. He looked up as Bennett appeared, but went right on with what he was doing. When at last he had time to speak to Bennett, he admitted that he had nothing new to tell him. "There's nothing to do but wait," he said in a tired voice. "That's the Hell of a situation like this." He picked up a pencil and tapped it against his teeth. "I know how you feel, Judge! I feel the same way myself. If we could just do something-get out there and fight-rush the house-something! It's the waiting that drives everyone mad!"

"How long do you think it will be?" Bennett asked. "How long will we have to wait?"

"God only knows. It could be another day or so. All depends on what supplies they have-how long they can hold out."

Bennett wandered off, pondering on what Inspector Hughes had told him. He kicked at an ant heap on the ground and sent it flying, then wondered what had made him do such a thing. He picked up a bent stick, stripped the bark from it and threw it deep into the woods, listening for the thud as it fell to earth. The sound startled him, for some strange reason, and once again he sought out Inspector Hughes, who was now busy inspecting gun emplacements. "What if Susan isn't in the house?" Bennett asked when he at last attracted the Inspector's attention.

Hughes turned, giving Bennett a quick, piercing glance which implied that Bennett might have taken leave of his senses. He took a deep breath, blinked, then asked again, "What?"

"I wondered how you could be sure that Susan was in the house," Bennett said.

Inspector Hughes considered the question. "Where else could she be?" he asked at last.

"I don't know," Bennett said. "But that wasn't what I asked. I asked how you knew that she was in the house."

Inspector Hughes stroked his chin thoughtfully. "She must be," he said. "We've traced her here. We're sure this is where the kidnappers are holed up." He waved his hand helplessly, as if he hoped that Bennett would go away.

"Even if that's true," Bennett said-and his tone clearly gave the impression that it was open to doubt-"even if that's true, there's still no proof that Susan's in the house. Not now. Not at this very moment."

Inspector Hughes stared thoughtfully at the trunk of a tree. "No," he said at last, shaking his head. "I guess there isn't."

"Then why don't your men rush the place? If Susan isn't there, I should think you'd open up with all guns blazing," Bennett said.

Hughes picked up the pencil again, and again tapped his teeth with it. "But what if Susan is there?"

"Can't we find out?" Bennett asked.

Hughes turned the matter over in his mind. "Yes," he said at last. "We can insist on some proof that she is. They'll have to show us Miss Blake; if not, we'll storm the house." He patted Bennett's shoulder, walked off and conferred briefly with another officer. Then he picked up a bullhorn and held it to his mouth.

Inside the house, the members of the Free Men's Movement had taken up their posts, and Marty swelled with pride as he watched them. They had been trained well, he thought; moreover, they had been completely indoctrinated. Not one questioned what he was asked to do; not one shirked or complained or protested in any way. Each simply did as he was told, followed Marty's orders, and again Marty congratulated himself on the discipline of the Movement. How could such men and women help but win the great fight they were waging, he asked himself, remembering the words written by the founder of the Movement. His answer, like that of the founder, was: "Our Right is our Might!" and quite unconsciously he gave the Movement's salute.

All-even Anna-had pitched in to board up the windows on the lower floors of the house. They had moved the furniture, built their barricades as they had been ordered to. And now all clustered in the few rooms upstairs, where guns had been set up at the windows and the doors. The members took turns behind the weapons, fingers on the triggers, ready, waiting, and, Marty thought, willing to die if necessary. Others acted as look-outs, peering through the tiny openings left as peep-holes in the black-covered windows. And in one room, several of them, led by Anna, guarded Susan.

She sat in a rocking chair, legs curled under her, sweltering in the stifling heat. She wished that a window could be opened, to let in some air. That, others told her, was impossible, and so she ed back and forth, cooling herself as much as e could with the straw fan someone had brought . Occasionally, Hank or Al or Chuck brought her an icy drink, and she sipped it gratefully. Once they brought her a sandwich, but Susan had left it almost untouched on the paper plate.

It was Anna who later offered her the sweet-tasting cigarettes which she rolled herself and lit for Susan. As Susan inhaled deeply, letting the smoke swirl around her lungs as long as possible before blowing it out again, a strange feeling of peace and well-being came over her. She, oddly, was no longer frightened as she had been before, although it was obvious that she was in greater danger than ever. She was certain, though, through the drug she was unknowingly taking, that nothing could touch her, nothing could harm her, and she was just as certain that, if she were threatened, she would have no desire to protect herself.

She was happy, content simply to rock dreamily back and forth, staring at the faded roses of the wallpaper, which seemed to grow larger and clearer and brighter as she looked at them, to listen to the sound of the rocking chair, which became louder and louder, until it sounded like an approaching locomotive, or to chat with Anna and Hank, exchanging words which, under the influence of the drug, seemed infinitely wise and profound.

She heard her name called from somewhere outside, and although it was Inspector Hughes, it seemed to Susan the voice of the Angel Gabriel, inviting her to enter a paradise here on earth. She noticed Anna start at the sound of the voice; it seemed as loud, to Susan, as a cannon shot-and then cup her hand to her ear as it was repeated. Susan herself heard the words clearly, although they hardly registered. "Attention! Attention!" Inspector Hughes was bellowing. "You are surrounded by police. We will attack at once unless we are told the whereabouts of, and the state of health, of Susan Blake!"

Marty hurried into the room just then. "We'd better show the girl to them," he told Anna. He motioned to them to follow him, and led the limply smiling Susan to a window. Quickly he stripped the black cloth from it and then, shielded by Susan, raised the sash. "Here's Susan Blake!" he called out. "Wave to them," he whispered to Susan, and she raised a hand and waggled it back and forth. "Satisfied?" he called to Inspector Hughes.

"Okay," Hughes answered.

"Will you release our members, in return for the release of Susan Blake?" Marty called.

"We will withdraw our troops in return for her release!"

"That was not my question!"

"You have our answer!" Hughes called back. He watched as Susan waved feebly once more, before the black cloth was drawn across the window. He went back to Bennett then. "Well," he said, "they certainly have your fiancee in there, no doubt about it."

Bennett nodded. He felt slightly faint from the heat and the anxiety and the fear for Susan that gnawed at him now. All the thoughts he'd had before came flooding back to his mind. Had she been violated already by one of these wretched creatures? Would she be again?

The whole sickening scene passed again in his imagination, like the thousandth re-play of an old movie-Susan lying naked, on a bed in that room in- that house before him, pure and lovely and beautiful as the painting by some past master. He saw one of those foul men approach her, begin to stroke that tender, milk-white skin, to run his huge, calloused hand with its dirt encrusted nails down the smooth, slender curve of her buttocks, her thighs, her legs, while his other hand squeezed and manipulated and, yes, mauled one of her snowy rounded breasts that was perfection itself. He saw the leer on the face of the man, the lips curled back obscenely, the glint of sheer lust in his evil eyes as one hand glided from her beautiful breast now to the lovely curve of her beUy, to the golden patch of silky hair that shielded her fleshy cuntal lips, then explored and probed and finally dropped between her legs and entered her!

"Hughes!" he snapped in a voice so filled with anguish that the Inspector instinctively reached for his gun, "Hughes!"

"Yes, Judge."

"You've got to get Susan out of there, Bennett ordered. "Now!"

Inspector Hughes walked slowly back to Bennett, and stood facing him. "There's only one sure way to do that," he said, swallowing hard, knowing his suggestion would bring forth Bennett's full fury. "And that's to release their people who are in jail."

Bennett turned pale and bit his lips. "You know that's the one thing I can't agree to," he said in a crisp, business-like voice.

"That's the one thing you'll have to do to be certain of saving Miss Blake," Inspector Hughes said.

Bennett shook his head, then beckoned to Malcolm who was standing nearby. He spoke to him briefly, then called the Inspector again. "I want you to send your men in," he said, and as Hughes looked at him with open-mouthed incredulity he added, "Yes. With guns blazing, if that's the way it has to be. I want you to take that house and rescue Susan."

"And what if the girl is killed?" Inspector Hughes asked quietly. "By our own bullets, maybe. Or by theirs?"

"There are worse things than death," Bennett said.

Hughes carefully plucked a bit of fluff from the sleeve of his dark blue uniform, and blew it from his fingers. He looked at Bennett, looked away, glanced at the sky, then at the ground beneath him. Then he whistled softly. "You may be right," he said. "There may be worse things than death. That depends, I guess, on where you're standing. And it depends on who you are. Like Miss Blake, for example. There might be, as you say, worse things than death as far as she is concerned. But that's for Miss Blake alone to decide."

Inspector Hughes looked at the sky again, at the ground, and then back at Bennett. "But there isn't anything worse than death for any of my men out there," he said. "Unless it's the living death of being maimed for life, crippled by a bullet in the spine, perhaps, or turned into a vegetable by a bullet in the brain." He thought of the women who might be left widows, the children who might be orphaned, then decided not to speak of them. "No, Your Honor. I'm afraid the attack on the house that you suggest is out of the question." He turned on his heel and walked away.

The day wore on. From time to time Susan was brought to the window again, where she smiled and waved happily, her mind whirling euphemistically from the drugs. Occasionally Inspector Hughes called in and demanded the release of the hostage, only to have Marty answer with a demand for the release of the imprisoned Free Men. Once a bullet winged the corner of the house, sending splinters flying; it was answered by a hail of bullets from an upper window, that crashed into the woods, stripping the leaves from the trees. After that, Hughes issued strict orders that there were to be no shots fired unless and until he himself gave the order.

His men were tired, and some he knew were trigger-happy. Reinforcements were on their way, fresh police troops to relieve those who had been on duty for long hours. But there would be-could be-no replacements for the men and women in the surrounded house. They, too, were tired, and possibly trigger-happy. Shooting might break out at any moment. It was a risky situation, Inspector Hughes knew, and getting more dangerous by the minute.

He went off in search of Bennett and found m and Malcolm together. "I wanted to talk to i, Your Honor," he said. As Malcolm started to walk away he added, "no, you stay too." He began to explain the situation to the two of them, emphasizing the peril to all. "Especially to Miss Blake, he pointed out. "What do you think we should do?" Bennett asked.

"You won't like what I'm going to tell you!"

"I won't know that until I hear it," Bennett snapped.

"I think you should agree to their demands, Hughes said.

"You must be mad!" Bennett shouted, his face purple with rage. "I've told you I never would. So don't ask again!"

Inspector Hughes shrugged. "That's the only ad vice I can give you," he said, walking away.

The sun was setting now, streaking the sky wit pink and purple splotches. The terrible heat of midday was gone and a fresh, cool breeze blew through the trees. In the gathering dusk men moved around, cautiously, half hidden, setting up flood lamps.

There seemed to be a general stirring outside Quietly, efficiently, the exhausted men who had lain in wait so long were withdrawn while others, fresh and cool, took their places, settling down behind the guns for the long vigil ahead. Well back behind the range of any guns that might be fired from the house, those who had spent the day gathered; dirty, mud-splashed, grey with fatigue, they gulped down the strong, hot coffee handed out to them, reviewing the events of the day, debating the strategy, arguing the outcome.

"Christ! We could stay here forever, the way things are going!"

"Those guys aren't going to give up! Not while they've got the girl!"

"Think they'll hurt her?"

"Who knows?"

An older, grey-haired officer pushed his cap back and scratched his head. "Naw," he said. "They're not going to hurt her. At least not deliberately. Why should they?" he shook his head, and a knowing grin spread across his face. "They're going to get their little fun with her, first," he said suggestively.

By the light of a flickering lamp, Bennett saw the lecherous, leering expression of the officer, just as the meaning of his words struck him, brutal as a slap across the mouth. Christ! he ought to kill that bastard! The dirty, foul-mouthed son-of-a-bitch! If that was the kind of officer Chief Miller was recruiting these days, it was no wonder the city- yes, the state, too, and the whole damned country was in the grip of a crime wave. Bennett sprang forward, his heart pounding, his breath coming short and fast. One hand shot out, missing the officer by inches, as Malcolm grabbed Bennett's shoulder with a firm, steady grip, pulling him back. "Christ!" he hissed at him. "The guy is twice your size! He'll make mincemeat out of you."

Bennett, trembling like a leaf, buried his face in his hands. Everyone was thinking that about Susan! Was it true? He shook his head. It must be, he thought. It must be! He wrenched free of Malcolm's grasp, and stumbled off, out of sight of the others.

The idea of Susan's being cruelly, heinously raped, and worse, possibly submitting to it without struggle, haunted Bennett as he wandered about. He sat down at last, his back against a tree, closing his eyes, trying to blot out all thought. But the darkness of the woods only made the idea more clear, more horrible. He got up and walked towards the edge of the woods, to where the guns had been set up, and where the lights now blazed in a fiery circle around the shabby old house. The sight did nothing to ease Bennett's mind. As if he didn't know what was going on behind those drawn blinds, those blacked-out windows-as if he couldn't see the lewd, disgusting performance as plain as the nose on his face!

Tortured, tormented, he looked for Inspector Hughes, and found him drinking coffee with the officer who had so offended Bennett a short while before. Bennett stalked off, muttering under his breath.

Later the Inspector went looking for Bennett He found him sitting alone on a large boulder, and brought him a mug of scalding coffee. Bennett took it gratefully, in return offering the Inspector the last of the brandy in the flask he still carried in his pocket. Neither spoke of Susan for a long time. When they did, it was Bennett who asked dully, "How does it look?"

He thought he saw Inspector Hughes shake his head, but in the darkness couldn't be sure. "How does it look?" he asked again.

"About the same," Hughes said, swallowing the last of the liquor, then getting up. He patted Bennett's shoulder sympathetically, then left him. But when the Inspector passed him later, on his way to give orders to one of his men, Bennett asked the same question, and this time Hughes answered gravely, "Not so good."

It was almost morning before Bennett made up his mind as to what he would do and went to find Inspector Hughes again. His face was ashen with worry and fatigue, his custom-made shirt grimy with dirt and sweat, his brain so numbed from the events that he spoke with difficulty. "We can't go on like this," he began. "I can't go on like this... knowing Susan is in there... knowing... " he shook his head; that wasn't what he meant to say. "... not knowing," he said, "what's happening to her." His voice broke, and he beat his fist against his forehead. "Oh, God! I can't stand any more of this. I can't stand it... sitting around helplessly, waiting for something to happen. And not being able to do a God damned thing about it." He stared at Hughes with blood-shot eyes, a man close to the breaking point. "I can't go on," he said.

Inspector Hughes stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Do you want to try negotiating with them?" he asked.

Bennett shook his head. But he said, "Yes." He corrected himself quickly. "No. Not really. I don't know... I just don't know!"

"Well," Hughes said, "what do you think you want?"

Bennett struggled to clear his mind, to form his thoughts. "You know I can't ever accept their terms. You know that, Hughes, don't you? I can't exchange their people for Susan. You know that," he repeated. "Don't you?"

"That's what they're demanding, though."

"Christ! As if I didn't know that!" Bennett groaned. "But I can't agree, Hughes! I can't ag Not even for Susan!" , "What would you agree to, then?"

"I was thinking," Bennett said, "that if I were i Susan's place... " He waited, hoping Hug would get the message. "What I mean is, they want a hostage... "

"Yes?" Inspector Hughes prompted.

"Why couldn't I be the hostage, instead Susan?" Bennett blurted.

Hughes picked up his pencil, toying with it, reflecting on Bennett's proposition. Why the Hell couldn't he make up his mind, Bennett wondered. Make up his mind before he, Bennett, went stark, staring mad? At last he put the pencil down, clipping it to the pages of his loose-leaf notebook with excruciating slowness. "I can't see any reason why you couldn't be the hostage," he said. "If the others are willing, of course. And we can't find that out without asking, now can we?"

He picked up his bull horn and strode towards the house. "Attention!" He shouted. "ATTENTION! We wish to make an offer to you. Do you hear us? Do you hear?"

Inside the house the four men posted at the windows whispered excitedly among themselves. "Go get Marty," one of them ordered. And as Marty appeared he asked, "Did you hear?"

"Yeah! I heard. But let's find out what the offer is before we go around crowing about it!" He opened the window a crack and called out between cupped hands: "We have heard! We have heard!" What is your offer?"

"We will exchange one hostage for another. We will exchange Judge Bennett Allen for Susan Blake! Do you accept? Do you accept?" Marty turned to the others, a broad grin on his face. "Well!" he said, "I guess we can accept that!" He bent his head to the window and bellowed, "We accept."

The sun had risen, a huge ball of flame suspended in the eastern sky, when Judge Bennett Allen edged out of the protection of the woods and walked slowly, steadily across the barren, sun-baked soil of the no-man's land between the police infested terrain and the weather-beaten, isolated farm house. He held his hands high, the gesture of the captured, the prisoner. All eyes were on him, both within the house and behind him, in the woods from which he emerged.

Reason told Bennett that he might be shot, out there in the open, the perfect target for the guns of those who hated him with all their guts. Reason told him, too, that shooting him-at least now- would be pointless. No, the members of the Free Men's Movement had promised to release Susan in return for his own surrender. They would not harm him... yet. After Susan had been released, it would be a different story, and Bennett wondered how many ways there were to die, and which was the most painful. He would probably find out, the thought ruefully. And soon. But at least he would save Susan.

He walked on, mechanically, lifting one foot after the other, putting it down again, lifting it. The short space seemed to stretch for miles and miles. The few minutes it took to cross it seemed light years. Halfway across he paused, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. Then he walked on once more, slowly, steadily. Susan would be waiting for him, just inside the door, he remembered. As he entered, she would be allowed to leave. He wished he might talk to her, spend at least a few minutes in her company. But that was against the agreement made between Marty and Inspector Hughes. Susan would be released at the moment he surrendered. Not before and not after. He sighed, wondering when and if he would be released.

He had reached the doorstep now and turned to take a last look before he entered the house. Then he threw his shoulders back and turned towards the frame building again. The door opened and Bennett stepped inside.

Everything was dark there; he glanced around, trying to make out a figure, a face. He caught the glint of the barrel of a gun, shining in the small beam of sunlight that slipped through the still open door. He looked for Susan, who was to pass him, who should be leaving, freed, at this very moment. He didn't see her anywhere and then the door banged shut behind him. Bennett's heart sank at the sound: he had been tricked! Susan had not been released; Susan would not be released! He, Judge Bennett Allen, had walked into a trap, and now the Free Men's Movement held two hostages!


CHAPTER TEN

Marty sat on a hard, straight-backed chair before an orange crate that served, once again, as a table, this time in one of the upstairs rooms. Several of the others-Hank, Al and Chuck-slouched on other chairs scattered around. One-a folding chair-was empty, and Hank glanced at it with a malicious grin. "For Judge Allen," he announced. "Our guest of honor."

A look-out, posted at the window, reported on Bennett's progress across the yard. "He's half-way here! Yes, he's got his hands up! No! Hell, no. He isn't armed!" He turned from the window to smirk at the others. "OP Bennett wouldn't know how to shoot, even if he was," he said. "You know... no lead in his pencil... and no bullet in his gun!"

Hank guffawed, thinking of young Susan Blake's luscious body, her wild, bottled-up passion being wasted on a cold fish like Bennett, and then, at Marty's glare, smothered the laugh. The others grinned wanly, and the lookout went back to his post. "He's almost here now. God damn it! He's stopping and turning around! You think he's going back?" Before any one could answer, the lookout resumed his monologue. "Nope, nope. He's coming right on. My God, he's at the door now." There was complete silence for a long moment. It was broken at last by the slam of the door downstairs. Marty heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. "Got him!" he exulted. Then he leaned back, his chair teetering precariously on two legs, while he awaited Bennett's arrival.

Bennett was shaking with fury when he was at last led into the room, his arms pinioned to his sides by the two men who had overpowered him below. "We should have known better than to trust bastards like you," he spluttered.

Marty nodded in complete agreement. "Yes," he said mildly. "You should have." He folded his hands together, leaning on them just as Bennett so often did in court. "You know Judge... it appalls me that people in your position know so little about human nature."

"You're nothing but a bunch of wild animals... worse than common criminals. At least they don't cloak their violence in self determined righteousness. Bennett paused, searching for more words. The men with him pushed him into the empty chair, guiding him onto it as neatly as if he were Raggedy Andy.

Marty smiled cockily across the rough top of the orange crate. "Flattery will get you nowhere," he admonished, while Bennett glowered at him. "On the other hand, if you're willing to cooperate, we might make some sort of arrangement. You understand, of course."

"I understand," Bennett spat at him. "It's out of the question."

"Unfortunate," Marty murmured. "Susan... Miss Blake... do you mind if I call her Susan... I feel I know her so well... Susan will be especially unhappy about this decision of yours."

"What do you mean?"

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

Bennett turned pale and clenched his fists. "You can't frighten me that way," he said.

"Not now, of course," Marty said. "But a little later-when you hear her screams-then, of course, you might become a little nervous." He smiled sadistically. "But as I said, we'll go easy, right at first." He looked around at the others for affirmation. "You know, begin with the fingernails, maybe. Just the pinky, first time around. And after we've pulled the nail out of her pinky... " Marty was cut off by a curse from Bennett. "You bastard!" he yelled.

Marty shook a warning finger at him. "You said we couldn't frighten you," he said, in feigned surprise. "But if you're going to scream when we only talk about pulling out her fingernails, what are you going to do later, when we start burning that luscious, tender skin of hers with cigarettes? Or matches?" Hank pulled out his Ronson, clicking it loudly, and a long flame leapt forth. "Or this," Marty said, nodding towards the lighter.

"Of course, if that doesn't work, we might have to go on to stronger measures." Marty drew a jack-knife out of his pocket and flicked it open. "Carve our initials in her belly, for example." Bennett leaped to his feet and took a step toward Marty.

Immediately Hank and Al pounced on him and wrestled him to the floor. "Were you going somewhere?" Marty inquired with exaggerated politeness, as Al and Hank forced Bennett back on his chair and pinned his arms behind the back of it.

"But you mustn't worry, Judge," Marty went on. "We'll only carve Susan up where it won't be generally seen. You know, on her private parts. An 'M' for example, on the lips of her lovely little cunt." Marty stopped, watching Bennett's grimace of sheer horror. "Of course, though," he said, reflecting on his own words, "from what I've seen of Susan, that might be pretty public. Her cunt, I mean," he said, elaborating on his statement.

This time, Bennett struggled free of his captors, knocked over the chair, charged across the room, threatening Marty with his clenched fists. Marty warded off the blow, then with the help of the others, seized Bennett's wrists, twisting them painfully. "Let's not play games," he said, "we're too old for that, aren't we?"

Bennett was forced back onto the hard, straight-backed chair. He tried to shut Marty's words out of his mind, tried to think of something else, concentrated on staring at the orange crate ahead of him, began to count the knot holes-oh, my God! he thought-knot holes! Like Susan's lovely little puckered anus would look, with its rubbery, brown-tinged ring-he'd never let himself think of that consciously-then thought of the beautiful, pink, hair-lined slit of her cunt that would open out to him like a flower. He tried to push the idea from his mind as he'd always done before and knew that now he couldn't and sat trembling, covered with cold sweat as Marty's words rolled on and on.

"In the end, you know, we might have to-well, I hate that word 'kill' don't you?-but we might have to do away with Susan. That would be a shame, you know. A real shame! Isn't that right? He looked to the other members of the Free Men's Movement-to Hank and Al and Chuck-for an answer. All of them nodded solemnly.

Marty clasped his hands, shaking his head. "But I can't think of anything else to do, can you?"

The others scratched their foreheads perplexedly. Hank chewed on his fingernails. At last he cleared his throat and spoke up, casting side-long glances at Bennett as he did so. "Marty," he said, "isn't there something worse than that? You know-a fate worse than death?"

Marty pretended to think about it. "Yes," he said at last. "I guess there is."

Hank wrinkled his brow, worrying the subject. When he spoke again, it was with the thick speech of a retarded child. "Marty," he said, playing the fool, acting like a village idiot, "Marty, if there's a fate worse than death, well-why don't we do that to her?"

"Do what?" Marty asked, playing straight man to the buffoon. "Whatever it is that's worse than death."

Marty pretended to think the suggestion over. "But who would do it?" he asked.

Hank licked his lips. "I would," he said. "You know, Marty... " playing the fool again, "you know I'd do anything for the Movement. You know that, don't you?" Marty nodded, and he went on. "So I guess I'd do this, too. For the cause of the Free Men's Movement!" he added, standing now and raising his hand in the group's salute.

Marty jumped up, saluting Hank in return "You're a brave man, Hank Hansen," he said, his tongue making a lump in his cheek. "You are a credit to the Movement. So go ahead."

Hank ran his tongue lasciviously around his lips and stared mockingly at Bennett. Then he pulled himself to his feet with a loud sigh, as if he dreaded the job that lay ahead. "She in there?" he asked waving his hand towards the next room. And when Marty nodded, he trudged off.

The rest, pushing Bennett along with them, followed. Hank opened the door to the other room Susan was sitting on the bed there, smoking another of the thin, brown cigarettes, while Anna sat on a chair across from her. Susan looked up at Hank and smiled, as she inhaled deeply on the sweet-smelling tobacco. It made everything seem so beautiful, she thought, so perfect. Nothing mattered except the warm, wonderful sensation of the moment.

She looked up with a start of pleasure when Hank entered the room, got up off the bed and went over to greet him. Hank was a beautiful young man, she thought, Anna was beautiful, life was beautiful, and she wouldn't for a moment have changed anything. "Hi," she said, grinning lopsidedly, her eyes squinting slightly to focus.

"Hi," Hank grunted, waving his hand.

Susan squinted dreamily at the others. Bennett was there, too, she saw. But how marvelous that was. Everything was wonderful! Hank-and in her confused, drugged state, the memory of Hank's hands on her naked body sent her soaring-Hank was here! And Bennett. And Anna. And everybody! She puffed the cigarette again, inhaling deeply. And when Hank moved forward, pulling her brutally to him, she responded with an unearthly thrill. Her entire body tingled with anticipation of the pleasure to come when Hank fucked her again as she knew he was going to do... yes, that was the word-fucked her-just the way he had before, her mouth... her vagina... everywhere...

Without a word of protest, she let Hank lead her across the room to stand beside the bed. He stood over her there, his hands easing themselves under the loose cloth of the blouse she was wearing, slipping it down, unbuttoning the front of it so that Susan stood there before all the world with the lovely rounded white mounds of her breasts thrust out like twin moons, hanging suspended in the open air. There was a burst of applause from the group standing at the door, mingled with a groan of fury and agony from Bennett, and then Hank's hand slid down across the tender, pointed breasts to Susan's slim waist, moving back and forth gently, caressing the pale skin. Then he slid his hands under the out-sized panties Susan wore, that grotesque, exaggerated garment that belonged on the bloated body of a circus clown, and not around Susan Blake's splendidly curved young thighs.

Slowly, patiently, he traced the deliciously rounded orbs of her buttocks under the rough cloth of the panties, sending tiny, electric thrills of pleasure coursing through Susan's body. One hand stroked her lightly, casually, and then the fingers found the smooth white cleft between her buttocks, traced the line of it-down, down-thrust forward between her legs, spreading them wide, found the petal-pink slit of her cuntal lips, and caressed them, too, before retreating at last.

Once again, Hank traced the thin, fuzz-lined furrow of Susan's buttocks, moved between the rounded cheeks of her ass. This time, though, he paused at the tiny puckered opening of her anus and smilingly wormed the tip of a finger in while Susan grunted softly in unexpected discomfort, then withdrew it quickly, with a dry little sucking sound. Bennett, watching a few feet away, let out a shriek that sounded like that of a wounded bull, and then made a final, desperate attempt to break away, to rescue Susan. A blow to the side of his face knocked him back reeling against the wall, a second blow sent him sprawling to the floor. He opened a swollen eye to see Marty standing over him, threatening him again. "Where you going?" he asked contemptuously as the others hauled Bennett to his feet, standing him against the wall to watch Susan's degradation.

Now Hank ripped at the cheap underwear Susan wore, tearing the thin elastic bands away from her panties, they tumbled to the floor, tangling around her ankles. Hank offered Susan his hand, in some mad parody of an ancient dance, and she took it, stepping from her clothes with all the grace of Marie-Antoinette stepping from her coach at Versailles.

Across the room, Marty sucked in his breath at the sight of Susan's nude body. My God, she was gorgeous. He'd never seen a woman with such delicacy, such sheer beauty. Her lovely arms might have been chiseled from fine Italian marble, smoothed by the hands of a master craftsman. Her legs were long, her thighs rich and full and heavy. Marty whistled in amazement. It was Hank's turn, now, he thought. But his turn would come soon. And so would Al's and all the others if this son-of-a-bitch, Bennett, didn't break soon.

He watched, spellbound, as Hank placed his hands on the young naked girl's ripe, full breasts, pressing his thumbs and forefingers against the tiny little buds of her nipples, rolling them into a tight, taut erection. He felt his prick jerk inside his pants as he anticipated the pleasure in store for him in such a short time.

Now Hank's hands roved down Susan's body, caressing the firm flesh of her gently swelling belly, moving on to explore the mass of golden, thickly curling pubic fleece between her legs. Susan stood transfixed in her drugged haze, a rising tide of passion surging through her at the delicious touch of the young man's fingers and the palm of his hand. Tingling with excitement, she stepped backwards and, mouth hanging open expectantly, seated herself on the edge of the bed. In an instant, Hank was on his knees beside her, stroking her thighs again, running his hands down the outside of them, over them, spreading them apart in a slow, methodical movement, running his hands up and down the tender pink flesh of her inner thighs, now.

Susan whimpered in ecstasy, and then drew her legs together in shocked surprise as the cool morn- ing air blew across the long, narrow vaginal slit. Again Hank spread her thighs wide, and now his hand slipped closer to her pinkly glistening pussy, gently parting the sensitive fleece-lined lips while Susan closed her eyes, head hanging backward, gasped with pleasure. She felt the surging desire flowing through her whole body, but converging there, a wild, throbbing sensation that was beyond her control, a desire that turned her narrow cuntal passage into a hot seeping tunnel of moistness. She groaned softly and lifted her feet up with heels far apart on the edge of the bed and presented the whole of her naked pussy to his lewdly gaping eyes.

Now Hank's finger wormed tenderly into the wetness of it, and Susan's entire being tingled. He probed deeper, fingering the fleshy lips, withdrew to find the hard, taut bud of her clitoris. He stroked that, too, gently, slowly, until Susan responded with a sudden little spasm of pure delight and sensuous grinding of her buttocks that was visible to all the onlookers.

She remembered them in some dim way, their faces merging with the bright colors and sweet sounds which were the setting for the marvelous sensations she felt, and turned her head to see Bennett.

She loved him so much, she knew. But he seemed angry. Now why would he be angry? Susan searched her befuddled brain for an answer and at last found one. The Aliens and the Blakes didn't believe in sex, she remembered. They thought it was nasty. Necessary, sometimes, but nasty.

But they couldn't have known what it was like, could they? They couldn't have known it was like this. Susan could understand, quite rationally, quite intellectually, that they thought what she was doing was wrong. Looking at it from their point of view, she almost agreed with them. But on the other hand, from her point of view, it was all so wonderful. And how could anything so wonderful be wrong? Susan brushed the question aside, lying back now, as Hank's finger eased gently into her hotly steaming little cunt, probing deeper and deeper into her moistly welcoming vaginal cavern. She moaned and tossed beneath him, then with a sudden movement threw her arms up around his neck, as she began to rotate her hips against his searching finger.

She caught sight of Bennett's face again, bright red now with fury, with hatred, with disgrace. I'll make it up to him, she promised herself. I'll explain. And he'll understand. Oh, yes, he'll understand. And we'll do this together and Bennett will know how wonderful it is and he'll understand, and he won't be angry with me any more, and he'll feel just the way I do... just the way I do, she thought through the dim haze of her hashish aroused passion.

She held Hank closer to her, but there was something wrong-something awfully wrong. She didn't know what it was at first and then it dawned on her that Hank's body, which should have been smooth and glistening and warm was for some reason rough and irritating. She felt it again. He was rough and irritating and somehow dry and uncomfortable. She focused her eyes on him, puzzled, and then it dawned on her that Hank was fully clothed, that he was wearing the scratchy shirt and stiff work pants he'd been wearing for, oh, Susan thought, ever so long.

He shouldn't be doing that, Susan was sure. It half-spoiled the fun. She began to rip the buttons of his shirt, but when her limp fingers slid around them, she reached for the zipper on his pants. That was easier, Susan found. She pulled and something snapped, and then she pulled again, her hand on the metal tab, and there was a rustling sound as the zipper slid down, and then Susan put her hand inside, maneuvering under Hank's jockey shorts to find the hidden, half hard length of his penile flesh.

Carefully, as if it were sacred... and wasn't it?... Susan clasped her fingers around the young man's blood-swollen surging rod, massaged it gently, moving the foreskin back and forth, back and forth, until Hank's prick grew strong and wiry, springing into a separate living thing, she thought in her drug dazed reverie. And then she drew it out, holding it in her hand. She gazed at it, admiring its gigantic size, its now rock-hard rigidity, staring unblinking, unwinking at the small hole that was like an eye, at the very tip of his penis, noticing with a flash of pleasure the drops of lubricating fluid that gathered there, oozing from it slowly.

"Ooooh!" she moaned, falling back on the bed, her legs spread wide, her heels splayed out over the sides of it, "Ooooh, Hank!"

With a quick twist of his wrist, he pulled his shirt off, unbuckled his belt, letting his pants slip down. He'd been kneeling, but now he stood, leaning over Susan lying limp and waiting on the hard mattress. "What do you want me to do, baby?" he asked coldly.

"Oooh," Susan moaned. "Ooooh... you know!"

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do!"

"Tell me," Hank ordered.

"I want you to fuck me," Susan said, all inhibitions wiped away by the exhilirating effect of the hashish. "I want you to fuck me, Hank."

Hank shot a quick, evil glance at Bennett, who watched the scene in complete and utter shock. "Say it again, Susan," he ordered her, twisting the emotional knife one more time. "Say it loud so your precious judge there hears."

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

She heard a scream that sounded as if it came from Bennett, but she couldn't understand why he would scream when she was doing what he wanted her to, and then the scream died away and she forgot about it as Hank, kneeling eagerly between her open thighs, used the thick, bulbous head of his penis to part the soft silken strands of her pubic hair, sweeping them away from the pale pink lips of her vagina, leaving the exciting little vertical mouth up between her legs completely open to him. And now he forced the lustfully throbbing head into her moist, pulsing pussy, thrusting inch by inch into the softly yielding walls of welcoming vagina. He settled his body upon Susan, grinding his hips between her open thighs, filling her to bursting, then withdrew momentarily, penetrated her again, deeper this time until the head beat rhythmically, relentlessly against her cervix.

"Ooooooooh God, darling, you fuck me good," she moaned and mouth open, moved her head from side to side.

He rotated his hips, and Susan moved against them, rotating hers in turn, while beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip. Hank reached down around her hips and cupped her naked buttocks to pull them up closer to his own surging loins, and Susan was filled with an insane pleasure, a bliss so intense she found it almost unbearable. Nothing was real, now, nothing existed except Hank's huge, impaling cock thrusting in and out, in and out, setting her quivering, quaking body on fire with pure passion.

"Oh oh oh oh, God!" she grunted softly as though speaking to herself beneath him.

His strokes quickened now, as Susan's cuntal lips grasped and sucked at his charging shaft hungrily, milking it crazily. His soft, hairless, sperm-filled balls slapped flatly against the naked cheeks of her upturned ass, and Susan shrieked in wild abandon as she gave herself up to the lewd, obscene act she was performing before the others, oblivious of all but the overwhelming ecstasy it brought her. She writhed beneath Hank's tough, muscular body, her legs jerking back spasmodically to wrap themselves around his torso, ankles locking behind his back, while he ground his fleshy, lust- hardened cock ever deeper into her greedily devouring young belly. And then, before Bennett's horrified eyes, Susan began to lurch from side to side, her face contorted, mouth open wide, in the mindless grip of her great passion. She gasped, panting hard, her breasts heaving, and her mewls of pleasure grew to a frenzied cry. "Ooooooh! OoOoooooooh!" she half-wailed, half-chanted.

Hank felt the warm, sticky fluid of Susan's beginning orgasm as it rose and spilled into her warm, tight vagina, oozed around his plunging shaft, bathing it hotly in its slippery wetness. Oh, my God, he thought. I said I'd do anything for the Free Men's Movement. And I never even knew they'd ask me to do this!

"Oh, God... Ooooooh! God! I'm cumming!" Susan wailed, and the satiated Hank thought, Christ, me too, and then he felt the boiling sperm in his inflated balls bubble up and spurt forward, mingling with Susan's own hot juices, felt it spray the inside of her pussy, felt the incredible tensions of the past few minutes dissolve and disappear in a wildly exploding moment of supreme joy.

He fell back, exhausted, beside Susan on the bed, and lay there next to her for a few moments, eyes closed, savoring the exquisite delight of the moment. Then he heard his name called, and recognized Marty's voice. "Okay, Hank. Let Jake have a crack at her now."

He rose dizzily, found his pants and shirt, pulled them on, moving away from Susan who lay back on the bed in an attitude of utter depravity. He caught a glimpse of Bennett's face, and at first found it hard to recognize him! The man was a tortured, maddened animal, snarling at the leash, ready to maim, to kill. Hank gave him wide berth as he moved across the room to sink onto a chair, too tired now to watch the fun and games Susan was now going to indulge in with the man named Jake.

She was lying on the bed when Jake approached, and she made no objection when he knelt between her legs at the foot of her mattress and gazed down hungrily at the sperm-glistening lips of her open vagina. Then, moments later when he ordered, "Put your legs up over my shoulders!" she did, and she felt a new thrill surge through her as he bent his head over her pulsing, still-moist pussy, and placed his hands on her cuntal lips. Carefully, deliberately, and as precisely and accurately as a skilled jeweler repairing a watch, he opened them, exposing the coral-colored flesh to his lust-filled eyes. As his hot breath blew across Susan's cunt, still dripping from Hank's sperm moments before, she writhed in delight, then curled her legs and wriggled her toes with the sudden, exquisite sensation. Jake bent his head still nearer, and then his tongue lashed out, finding the tiny, narrow slit, and began to tease back and forth insistently inside it.

It was so good, Susan thought again. How could this be bad, when it was so good? The idea puzzled her and so she dismissed it from her mind and lay back, opening her thighs wider to his face and enjoying what was happening to her. Jake slavered over her, his tongue and mouth worming into the warmly quivering little crevice between her thighs. It followed the narrow slit from one end to the other, savoring every delicious taste as it advanced. Then Jake retreated and began slowly, conscientiously, to lick the entire pubic curl fringed length once more. But he paused when he reached the tiny bud of Susan's clitoris, and devoted his entire attention to arousing it into a taut, explosive erection.

Susan thrashed and bucked under this lewdly exciting assault on her sensitive little cuntal mound, letting out sharp little screams of pleasure from time to time, that split the silent air like lightning flashes. Jake's tongue nicked in and out between her legs, faster and faster now, making a wet sluicing noise echo through the room as the young nakedly writhing woman's heart pounded like a hammer and her breath caught in her chest, then spurted out like a locomotive's steam.

Suddenly the delicious sucking of her warm, moist pussy stopped, and Susan uttered a tortured cry of mixed dismay and disappointment. "Don't stop! Oh, God, don't stop! Go on-lick it! Lick it, deeper!"

Oh, God! What had happened? What was happening? Why had Jake risen from above her, leaving her lying on the bed, her legs still spread wide, her hungrily churning cunt exposed and waiting for the marvelous licking and sucking of his rough-textured tongue. Susan turned, straining to see. Through the fog of drugs that clouded her mind, she somehow understood that everyone was looking at Bennett, over against the wall. Something had happened to him, she thought. He was white as a ghost, and now he'd slumped down against the wall, collapsing like a punctured tire tube.

Marty poked his inert body with his foot; Bennett didn't budge. Now he leaned over him, his head bent down, listening to his heart-beat. "He's okay," Marty said, straightening up. He grabbed Bennett by the tabs of his buttoned-down shirt and pulled him to his feet, giving him a brisk slap across the mouth that seemed to wake him up again. "Thought you said you weren't afraid," Marty sneered.

Bennett's head fell forward, onto his chest, and Marty jerked it up. "Not afraid?" he demanded.

Bennett mumbled something Susan couldn't catch, and then Marty slapped him again. This time Bennett lifted his head, threw his shoulders back, and gathered all his strength, all his energy as he confronted Marty, looking every inch the judge, dirty and disheveled though he was. "No," he said clearly. "I'm not afraid."

"And not ready to release our people?" Marty asked.

Bennett, with a supreme effort, answered coolly and calmly, fixing Marty with his stare. "I am not now or ever, ready to release your people."

Marty shrugged. "Well, I guess we haven't tried hard enough," he said. "But we will."

Bennett put his arm over his eyes, as if he could shut out forever what he had seen, and what he would yet see. Marty looked at him with contempt, then called Al.

"Up hers!" he ordered.

Al looked at Marty, scratching his head, pretending to be puzzled. "Up her what?" he asked. He shot an evil glance at Bennett, who covered his mouth to keep from screaming again.

"Fuck'er up the ass!"

Al scratched his head again, as if he understood only slowly. At last he pretended to sigh. Then he said, "Okay, Marty. Orders is orders!" Like Hank before, he gave a mock salute of the Free Men's Movement and strode off towards the bed on which Susan lay. With a quick, deft movement, he turned her over onto her stomach.

At first Susan made no effort to resist. Everything had been so beautiful, she thought. Not Bennett, of course. There was something wrong with Bennett; he didn't look well. Perhaps it was something he had eaten. Bennett wasn't really used to strange or exotic foods, she remembered. Like avocado. She loved avocado, especially when it was filled with crab meat. But Bennett never ordered it when they went out to dinner, and she never asked for it because Bennett didn't seem to like it-her mind wandered again and she seemed to taste the melting, buttery flesh of that strange alligator pear in her mouth, just as she felt her legs being spread wide, as she felt Al's tongue search out the tight, tiny hole of her puckered, brown-ringed anus. And then she understood what Marty had said, when was it? So long ago. So long ago as time was measured in this house where she seemed to have lived for all eternity.

"Up her ass!" That was what Marty had said.

And up her ass meant-Susan pondered the matter, trying to visualize it-up her ass meant sodomy! She was to be lewdly sodomized, right here in front of everybody, in front of Bennett. Susan's drug befuddled brain whirled again, and even through the haze bits and pieces of things she had heard or read came back to her. They couldn't do that to her. It wasn't legal. She'd seen that in one of Bennett's lawbooks, that she'd taken down from a top shelf where he'd thought she wouldn't find it. Sodomy wasn't legal anywhere, in any State of the Union, and now these people were planning to do it to her, right in front of Bennett, and Susan knew she could never permit that. Never. She believed in law and order, too, like Bennett, and she had to fight against such outrageous things because Bennett expected her to. And then she felt Al kissing the lovely rounded orbs of her buttocks, nipping at them, flicking his tongue against them. Furiously she kicked her legs, thrashing about to rid herself of this unwanted intrusion. But Al caught her ankles and pinned them to the bed, like a wrestler pinning his opponent to the mat. "Spread your legs," he ordered in a voice of steel. Susan did as she was told, opening them until she was afraid she would split in two. "Like that?" she gasped.

"Not like that," Al said, giving her a swift slap on her firmly rounded young buttocks, leaving a red, angry print of his hand on them. Susan winced in pain and then screamed aloud as Al took her by the thighs and forced her legs farther and farther apart. Susan screamed in agony, then gasped again as Al's finger teased at momentarily, then wormed its way deep into the little puckered orifice of her anus. In and out it ground, in and out, and Susan felt a terrible, searing pain that moments later when her rectal walls had adjusted turned to a dull, but strangely soothing pleasure, bringing an aching longing in her, a weird masochistic desire she knew in her heart to be wicked and evil. But she knew she could never resist, not when she felt such excitement and joy and sheer ecstasy in the act.

She groaned and wiggled her hips salaciously back up to trap more of it as Al's fingers prodded and probed inside her tightly clenched little anus, widening it, expanding it, bringing a delightful, pleasurable throb to it that made her gasp for breath. Then a second finger joined the first, forced in with a terrible urgency. Al began to work the two back and forth in the narrow passage, preparing it for the entrance of his already lust-swollen prick. He was almost ready, Susan knew; he was breathing hard, panting over her prone body, and his ringers thrust in and out as if he no longer had control of them, skewering Susan on the hard, digital protuberance. And now Al, like Hank before, was demanding that Susan beg him, implore him, to perform this perverted outrageous act. "Want it?" he asked coldly, cruelly, as if she were no more than an animal to be debased for his pleasure. Susan hesitated, frightened by the sadistic tone of his voice. Al spurred her to answer with another swift slap, and Susan cried in agony, then said, "Oooooh! Yes!"

"Yes, what?" Tell me! Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you," Al commanded. "I... I... " But Susan could not bring herself speak the vile words. "I can't," she wailed. "Like Hell you can't," Al said, giving her another slap. "Maybe you'd rather watch us when we cut Bennett's balls off. Maybe you'd rather see your boyfriend's cock slit up the center, then battered to a pulp. 'Cuz that's what we like to do, you know."

"No, you couldn't," Susan sobbed.

"Oh, but we could." Another slap. "Now beg!"

"PJ.e.a.s.e... " Susan whimpered, trying to hold back her tears. "Please fuck me up my ass. Please."

"Why?" Al asked, tormenting her still further.

"Because that's what I like," Susan said pitifully.

Al twisted around, leering obscenely, while Marty shrieked triumphantly, "Hear that, Bennett! That's what your precious fan-say likes!" He poked Bennett, who tried to cover his face with his hands, and now groaned with sheer horror. "Let that be a lesson to you," Marty went on. "If the two of you ever get out of here, and if you ever try to make it together... Think you can make it with her, Bennett?" he taunted. "Think you can get it up?" he grinned evilly at Bennett, poking him again. "Well, if you ever can, that's what your precious little bride-to-be goes for. She likes to be fucked in the ass!"

His attention turned once more to Susan, lying on the bed. Al pulled her naked young buttocks up to a kneeling position and mounted her as if he were a stallion, and now he took his thick, swollen shaft and wrapped Susan's tiny fingers around it. "Put it in," he ordered, guiding Susan's hand down toward the hairless, rubbery little circle of her rectum. Susan, too terrified to resist, and with an overwhelming desire to comply at the same time, placed the tip of the stiff, blunt instrument against the tiny opening of her backside. With a quick brutal thrust that this time brought a scream of pain from her, Al popped the blood-filled head just up inside the small, tightly cringing orifice, then slowly pressed forward and forced the elastically yielding walls further and further apart until he was sunk deep up in the tightness of her bowels.

He began to grind it back and forth, and the pain Susan had felt as he entered her suddenly blended with the intense humiliation she felt and slowly but surely turned to an oddly rising sexual stimulation. She moved experimentally back against him, arching her body, thrusting her buttocks up and outward, rotating them in tiny teasing circles, meeting Al's forward movements. Oh, God, she thought again, as a helpless ecstatic moan rose deep within her throat, this was horrible, horrible... but, at the same time, wickedly beautiful to be used and fucked in the ass like a common whore. There was agony and ecstasy, all whirled together in one great sensual moment, and Susan thought, in spite of her initial revulsion, that the last few hours had been just that, agony and ecstasy, and she had lived through the most sensuously exciting moments of her life while poor Bennett had endured the worst. Someday, she thought, she would explain to Bennett, and make everything up to him, and she would let him do just this to her back in her rectum and he would be happy as he had never been before, but she knew he was miserable, but there wasn't really anything she could do about it, was there?

The man's sperm-bloated balls smacked hard down against the slavishly kneeling Susan's cunt as his thick cock sank deep up inside her rectal passage, pushing almost to her pelvis. He was ready to cum, holding back for just a moment to enjoy even more the climax in store for him. He withdrew, pulling his penis out almost to the tip, then with a loud grunt he rammed it deep up into her belly again, as she moaned aloud with the exquisite joy she felt.

Then Al began to jerk in a wild spasm of intense pleasure as the white hot sperm spurted the length of his thrusting, pulsing rod, to gush forth in a delicious torrent into Susan's now openly accepting little rectum. The now half insane young woman half-moaned, half-screamed as the boiling white liquid surged hotly up through her waiting bowels and she thought oh, my God, I'm cumming again too! And then, mouth open wide, grunting heavily, she jerked her body backwards, bucking furiously to meet his rhythmic fucking movements and a great gush of pleasure filled her, filled her just as the man's thickly boiling seminal fluid was doing at the same time. Oh God, all her pleasure seemed to fill up and overflow out the hotly throbbing tip of her lewdly dancing breasts as Al's sperm overflowed up inside her body, and splashed back out again around his hard driving penis to run down the crevice of her wide-split buttocks to the sensitive open lips of her moistly throbbing pussy below.

She felt the man's final withdrawal as he pulled his now-limp penis from her rectum with a slight wet sucking noise that sounded as though a cork were being pulled, and then the two collapsed, completely spent; Al panting for breath as he lay by her side, Susan covered with sweat, but weak and happy and strangely satisfied.

Susan would have liked to fall asleep-just to dose her eyes and sink into a sweet oblivion which would bring her back to strength and reality-but as she dozed off, a blood-curdling scream brought her back to the here and now. She raised her weary head and saw that it was poor Bennett who had uttered the horrendous cry. And now he had slumped forward again, all strength gone, a shadow of the former strong and proud man that Susan was engaged to. Again Susan wondered what had happened to Bennett, to make him behave this way. But she was too tired, too confused, to worry about it. She would sleep awhile, she told herself. And when she awoke, perhaps she would understand all that was going on around her...


CHAPTER ELEVEN

Bennett had slumped to the ground once again, lying in a pathetic heap like a pile of old clothes, a child's discarded toy. Marty looked at him with disgust. Wasn't that really what he was... Susan Blake's abandoned plaything? He chortled gleefully, then called several of the others-Al, Jake, Hank and Chuck-to his side. "Better get some cold water," he ordered, "or better yet, some smelling salts."

The men hurried off to do as they were told, then came rushing back with the means to revive Bennett. As he opened his eyes, blinking with the effort, he asked suddenly, "Where am I?"

"Stag show, Bennett," Marty said. "You know. Like at your private club. But there you only get to see movies, right?"

Bennett nodded, with a sudden shock. How did Marty know where he spent those evenings when he claimed to be hard at work, writing his decisions, or boning up on some abstruse legal problem. "Here," Marty went on, "you get a live show. And to make it even better, we've got your own hot-pussied little girl friend performing."

Bennett groaned, closing his eyes, and Marty passed the smelling salts beneath his nose once more. "Come on, Bennett," he said, "Don't konk out on us now. It's getting to be a bore, you know." Bennett turned white, and looked as if he might be sick. "We thought we were doing you a favor," Marty said.

Bennett shook his head, wondering what had happened to him and why. How had they prevailed on Susan to put on this obscene exhibition-and in front of him? He had feared all along that she could be provoked to outrageous sensuality. But this? It was beyond any nightmare he had ever envisaged, any horror he had imagined.

He felt his knees buckling under him and closed his eyes. If only he could shrivel up, melt away, disappear. God, why hadn't they killed him? Killed Susan, too? It would have been preferable to this utter degradation. He nodded, blinked, then shook his head. Marty was asking him a question again, and he strove to understand him. "Now will you, uh, co-operate, Judge?" Marty demanded.

Bennett's head spun. "Co-operate?" That was the word Marty had used earlier, wasn't it? Bennett hardly knew what it meant, now. He only knew that he could not give in, do whatever it was Marty asked. Clinging to the last shred of honor left to him he shook his head. "No," he said with quiet dignity. "I will not co-operate."

"Okay, boys?" Marty sang out. "Let's go." Hank was the first in line, unzipping his fly as he crossed the room. He bent over Susan and whispered, "Come on, kid, do your stuff," taking her hand and guiding it to the jerking protuberance still hidden by the stiff woolen cloth of his pants. "Take it out," he ordered, and Susan drew forth his massive cock, feeling it stiffen in her clutch. She began to manipulate the foreskin, easing it back over Hank's now swollen penis, pulling it forward again. She ran her fingernail along the rigid flesh, along the vein that stood out beneath it, her fingernails scratching gently along its surface to send shocks of rapture through Hank's tense, expectant body. His spasms set off her own, and Susan rocked back and forth, massaging Hank's erect penis, thrilling to Hank's pleasure, responding to his every motion. Oh, she thought as she had before, I'm making him so happy. I'm so happy. Everybody's happy but poor Bennett!

That made her want to cry; she loved Bennett so, and here she was, making everyone else happy and she couldn't do anything for her own dear husband-to-be. She continued to stroke Hank's penis with one hand, while she wiped a tear from her eye with the other. Someday, though, when Bennett was actually her husband, when they'd been married in the big church at the corner of Broadway and Elm, with Reverend Foster asking Bennett, "Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?" and asking her, Susan, to promise to "love, honor and obey," and when she had said "I do," just the way Bennett had, and they had left the church and the reception at the Club that her parents would arrange and had gone off to a small hotel where no one would know that he was Judge Bennett Allen, the Judge Bennett Allen and that she was the former Susan Samantha Blake, then she would make Bennett as happy as she was now making Hank.

And Al, too, she thought, looking up to see him standing beside her. Without waiting to be asked, she reached out and herself unzipped Al's fly, drawing his thick cock out just as she had drawn out Hank's. With ecstatic little mewls of pleasure, she caressed it, too, into a hard, erect mass of flesh.

She struggled to sit up, but Al pushed her back on the pillow, then knelt over her, his legs straddling her shoulders. "Take it in your mouth," he ordered, as she continued to stroke his rigidly pulsating hardness. "Come on, baby. Suck it!"

Without a murmur, Susan opened her lips to receive the tip of his stiff, swollen cock, closing her mouth around it, clasping it, sucking it in, her cheeks hollowing as she did so. She ran her tongue around the throbbing head, felt the tiny opening that capped it, licked it gently at first, then more roughly, as tiny droplets of a thick, viscous fluid dribbled out. Susan ran them over her tongue, savoring their acrid taste before she swallowed them. Now she ran her tongue along the ridge beneath the one named Al's wetly burning penis, and an electric shock seemed to go through his body, jolting him convulsively. God, this little bitch sucks cock good, he thought. She was the best!

He arched his back, withdrawing his thick, piston-like rod, then with a sharp, sudden motion, rammed it deep inside Susan's mouth, thrusting it back almost to her throat.

Susan gasped at the unexpected violence of the movement, then fought for breath. She caught it as Al withdrew again, beginning to fuck in and out of her roundly "O'd" lips, the short pubic hairs surrounding his loins grazing the tip of her nose, while his pendulous balls swung back and forth and smacked against her chin with a loud, resounding slap. Susan increased her mouthing of Al's cock, grinding down hard on the fleshy instrument that filled the hot, wet cavern of her mouth. One hand snaked around his hips, slipped beneath the top of his pants, and Susan uttered a little cry of disappointment. Why didn't he take his clothes off? She was lying there without a stitch on, her slim, luscious young body exposed completely to him and Hank and, yes, all the rest who watched from the Other side of the room. Why didn't Al do the same?

Without stopping her feathery fingering of Hank's penis, she devoted her other hand to the struggle to strip Al of his clothes. She wedged her free hand under his pants, wiggled them down as he rolled his hips to help. And then, as they slid low, she touched his bare skin, ran her hand lightly over it, slid it around to touch his balls, to tease them, cupping them, gently squeezing them. She slid her hand on, her fingernails tickling the base of his pulsing cock, running along the underside of his prick as he withdrew it on the backstroke while he continued all the while the rhythmic fucking of her open mouth.

Al could feel the boiling sperm building up in his scrotum, and a sideward glance at Hank's lust contorted face told him that his balls, too, were almost bursting, his loins aching with the excruciating excitement Susan's hand imparted to his ramming cock. She held it tighter and tighter, now, moving back and forth on it, manipulating it, milking it, drawing it down and releasing it, teasing, tantalizing with an expertness Hank would never have expected.

My God! He couldn't stand it any longer, he thought, giving out a weird, harsh cry. Susan felt his prick expand and contract in her hand, and then heard his helpless gasps of passion as the hot fluid spurted thickly and wetly in a wide arc, gushing like a boiling geyser onto her nakedly rippling stomach, then flowing down over the smoothness of her thighs, seeping hotly down between them like a searing stream of molten lava.

As Hank cried out, Al's own grating shriek mined with his voice, and his balls exploded, too, shooting their load of warm male semen into the soft, fleshy warmth of Susan's hungry, expectant mouth. The young woman moaned, her body contracting and heaving rhythmically as her own moist juices seeped wetly from the walls of her vagina again, flowing forth to flood her pink slitted pussy in her own cascading orgasmic juices.

Gulping desperately to keep from choking, she greedily sucked at and swallowed the churning liquid that seemed to flow endlessly into her mouth, mewling with pleasure as she did so, fighting to hold every succulent drop within her mouth, licking hungrily at the few drops which trickled lewdly from the comers of her lips. As Al's penis went limp and flaccid between her teeth, as Hank's collapsed within her hand, Susan lay back, sperm covered, still, satiated, her eyes closed, her nakedly glistening young body motionless.

From across the room, Bennett had stared at the whole scene with a disbelief so great it came close to blotting out his disgust. His eyes bulged from their sockets, his face was red and apoplectic. The world whirled around him, making him feel dizzy, sick, as if he were standing at some great height, looking down into an abyss miles below. His finger nails clawed into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists in agony and revulsion, and now he saw that they were dripping blood. He didn't care in the least; nothing physical could hurt him. His soul was scorched and withered by the sights he had been forced to endure. He no longer had reason to live, he told himself. He would be far better off dead.

When Marty sauntered insolently over to him, to stare into his blank, unseeing eyes, Bennett turned his head. No, he thought, he'd been wrong. He did have reason to live. Someday, somehow, he would take his vengeance on everyone of these vile, debased, inhuman creatures. Even now he longed to lash out against them with his doubled fists, smash into their faces, rip them, claw them-and yes, cut off their balls, castrate them, as they had threatened to do to him. Marty looked Bennett up and down, pleased with what he saw-the quaking shadow of a man-then asked in a brazen tone, "Had enough, Bennett?"

Bennett looked away, refusing to answer. Marty grabbed his shirt, tearing the soft, expensive cloth across the front. "I asked you a question," he snarled.

When Bennett still refused to answer, Marty flew into a rage. "Are you going to release our members?" he screamed.

Bennett turned his head. "No," he said.

Marty jumped up and down in fury. "Okay, Bennett," he howled. "From now on, anything goes."

Watching Marty, Bennett seemed to be in a state of shock, unable to move, unable to cry out, to protest. The leader of the Free Men's Movement crossed the room, unbuckling his belt as he did so, whipping down the zipper on his pants, pulling them down. He stood over the reclining Susan, leering obscenely at her. "My turn, kid," he announced.

And then he squatted down by Susan's bed, leaning over her, spreading her full, sperm drenched thighs apart with his rough, calloused hands. The pink slit of her vagina was exposed to full view, now, quivering and unbelievably coming to life again along its full, hair-fringed length. Marty drew his finger slowly, carefully, along the line of it, stroking it gently, searching out the tiny bud of her clitoris, coaxing it into a taut erection. Susan gasped in delight at the welcome pleasure that sent little feather-like twitches spinning through her crotch, and on into the blood that coursed like a re-kindled wildfire through every vein she had. Marty felt her response and looked up into her face. "Good, isn't it, sweety," he asked.

"Oooooh, yes!" Susan moaned, knowing nothing now but her mad desire for fulfillment.

"Well, kid, it's going to be better," Marty announced. He smirked over his shoulder at Bennett, sick with disgust in a corner, and then he plunged his forefinger deep inside Susan's warm, moistly palpitating cunt, worming it into the hilt, withdrawing, entering again. Oh, God, it felt good, Susan thought, it felt so good she wished something so wonderful could happen to everyone. To Bennett, for example. And then she looked up and it came over her beclouded mind that this was happening to Bennett.

While Marty's finger moved in and out of her tight little vagina, finger-fucking her, Anna was on her knees before the unresisting Bennett, unzipping his pants, inserting her hand inside them, feeling under his monogrammed silk shorts, and finally finding his soft, flaccid penis. She began to stroke it gently at first, then more vigorously, nursing it to life, until strength flowed mystically into it and it jerked upright.

Anna drew it out then, holding Bennett's cock in her hand, and then began to tease it, forcing the foreskin back, then running her finger along the tender underside of it. Susan saw her future husband's prick swell to enormous proportions-was that her strait-laced Bennett? she asked herself in amazement-then saw him begin to respond to Anna's ministrations, moving back and forth as she clasped him tight, just as Hank had done when Susan had held his organ in her own hand.

And now Anna was bending her head, taking Bennett's cock into her wide-open mouth, closing her lips around its tender flesh, sucking on it, her cheeks working madly as Bennett's shaft became rock-hard, and began to plunge in and out of Anna's widely ovaled mouth, shooting forward almost to her throat, retreating, entering again. The fear and anger combination he had felt such a short time before seemed to fade away, and Bennett began to feel nothing but the ecstatic joy that Anna brought to him. He shook his head, trying to sort things out for himself.

For a moment everything seemed clear; he, Bennett Allen was indulging in forbidden, perverted pleasures. And then it seemed that it was no longer forbidden, although no one could deny the pleasure of it, and Bennett relaxed and his pulsing cock moved in and out of the young girl's warm buttery mouth and he felt the churning in his loins, the dull, throbbing ache, and knew that this was the most important, the most exciting, the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.

He looked over at Susan, and saw that she was doing just what Anna was doing, sucking the desire-swollen cock of some man-Bennett had no idea who he was. At the same time, Bennett saw that the man called Marty was between Susan's legs now, his thick hard cock moving against her pussy, parting her softly curling pubic hairs, and then that Marty had taken his full hardened length in his hand and was guiding it forward, using the rubbery head to open wide the full fleshy lips of her cunt. Now the tip slipped through the tight, elastic opening, sliding along the smooth, moist vaginal passage, sinking in farther and farther, while Susan opened her legs as wide as she could and pulled her thighs back to take this marvelous virile hardness deep up inside her hungrily waiting belly.

Bennett plunged forward into Anna's mouth, withdrew, plunged in again, while shivers of ecstasy rippled through his whole body, and a strange, uninhibited wave of joy washed over him that he had never believed possible.

He glanced at Susan again, and saw that still a third man was kneeling beside her; he recognized him as the man they had called Tony. He saw, too, that Tony had inserted his finger deep into Susan's nakedly twitching anus, and that she was swiveling around it, her hips rotating, impaled like an insect with a pin on his thrusting digit. She groaned as he thrust a second finger into the soft, warm depths, and then, as she became accustomed to the intrusion, rammed his hardened cock into her rectum as she began to moan and mewl with insane sounding pleasure.

Bennett quickened his thrusts into Anna's all encompassing mouth, fucking into it hard and deep, his cock boring in to touch her throat, so that the girl choked and fought back, yet Bennett plunged on and on, aware that never in his life had he felt such thrills, such excitement. And Susan was as dazzled and delighted as he, moving against the three men who invaded her in such diverse ways, screwing back against their fingers, their cocks, their tongues. He saw her begin to sway and rock, in a wild, erotic abandon, saw that the others moved with her, and realized that he, too, was caught in the grip of the same mad passion, moving with the others, swaying to their rhythm in some formalized, classic dance.

The ache in his loins became unbearable, the throbbing the length of his rigid staff maddening beyond belief, and then, he heard Susan's wild groans of passion, her repeated shout, "I'm cumming... Oh God, I'm cuuuummmming!" heard the ecstatic moans from the three men, heard their panted, exhausted breathing as together they sent their hot, sticky semen spurting into all the openings of her hungrily accepting young body. As they did, Bennett could no longer hold back, no longer control himself. He, too, uttered a raucous, passion-filled cry, then sent his boiling white sperm spewing into Anna's open, sucking mouth.

It seemed that everyone went limp then, lying back, while the whole world whirred around them. Bennett was the first to rouse himself from the torpor, to look at the others, to evaluate the situation. It was difficult for him to define; he only knew that everything had changed. He stared at the others, his eyes roving over their slumped, inert bodies. They were still a bunch of pinko punks, he told himself, still a lot of lousy Leftists. Yet they had taught him something that they had known and that he hadn't. They had taught him that he need not be ashamed of his passion, need feel no guilt- that it was the most marvelous thing on earth to experience what he had just felt.

Bennett sensed that he owed these people something. They had, he knew already, changed the whole course of his life. They had shown him what life was all about, what happiness was, how he, Judge Bennett Allen, "uptight" as they would have said, could attain it. Yes, he owed them something.

Marty had rolled over and been lying beside Susan. Now he rose and walked over to Bennett. "Well?" he asked. There was no longer a real hatred between them like before, but something shared.

"I thought," Bennett said, "that I'd like to order the release of the prisoners."

Marty stared in astonishment. After all this, Bennett had at last come round. Well, he thought as he zipped up his pants, buckled his belt, he'd been right. He'd known how to bring Bennett to heel. He'd have to write a pamphlet about this, sometime. He could see it, even now, being hawked in Greenwich Village, in parts of Berkeley, at Ann Arbor, on every really radical campus in the country. Maybe it would be translated into French, and Italian, too. And Spanish. Those kids at the universities in Mexico and the ones in Cuba would really go for it. Yes, he'd definitely have to write a book.

But meanwhile, he had more important things to consider. Bennett was going to order the release of the prisoners. That had to be arranged. And then he had to help all those who had kidnapped Susan to escape, had to guarantee them free passage in some way. He held out his hand to Bennett. "Let's sit down," he said, motioning to the hard-backed chair drawn up close to the orange crate, and offering him a cigarette, "and discuss it."

"You know, of course, that they all probably will be killed in a matter of hours when the police track them down-yourselves included." Bennett said sadly, wishing there were some other way.

"Don't you worry, judge baby," the now arrogantly speaking Marty grinned, "I'm a hero, no matter what happens to the others."

"You really don't care, do you, Marty," Bennett looked at him coldly. "It's all for you, isn't it."

"You're damn right, it's all for me and whoever else can grab a little piece of it. Now let's stop yoking and give those cops outside a few instructions!"


CHAPTER TWELVE

Everything had been easily arranged. Bennett had called his orders to Inspector Hughes, and they had been faithfully carried out. The prisoners had been released; after that, the troops which surrounded the old house had been withdrawn, and Marty and Jake and Al and Hank-and all the rest-had been free to go. Now only Susan and Bennett were in the house.

Bennett had ripped the black cloth from the windows, and the sun streamed in. He stood, looking out, staring at the leafy trees across the yard, the holes in the sun-baked ground where the supports for the machine guns had rested. The pebbles and stones which had been placed at the base of the floodlights had been kicked aside, scattered about; there was little left, Bennett thought, to indicate the fears and tensions, the high drama which had been played out there such a short time before.

And now, he thought, there would be a new drama, one between him and Susan. He wondered what the outcome of it would be.

She had disappeared into the next room, utterly exhausted, collapsing on a couch there, falling asleep at once. But that had been hours ago, Bennett thought, looking at his watch. She should awaken at any minute. And then?

He walked to the door separating the room in which she slept from the one in which he stood. His hand was on the knob, about to turn it. But something held him back, and his hand fell to his side. He walked back to the window.

The sun was setting, leaving a streak of pink and purple and orange behind it that would have been corny on a calendar, and was just as corny in reality. But it brought Bennett a sense of peace, of well-being; everything would be all right.

The door opened, and Susan came in. Her hair was disheveled and she wore no make-up. Yet she looked more beautiful than ever, Bennett told himself. She had found an old dress that Anna had left behind, and big and baggy as it was, it still looked marvelous on her.

She took a step into the room, then stopped, frightened of Bennett, sure of what he would think of her. He had seen her debauched, degraded, subjected to the most vile outrages. Certainly he would want nothing more to do with her. Susan brushed a tear from her eyes, then lowered them, afraid to look at Bennett. He was so good, so fine, so decent; so far above base passion. And even though he had succumbed to Anna's blandishments, that had been only once-and surely a man was entitled to that. Whereas a woman never was, and certainly not to the extent that Susan had, indulging in every perversion, every excess known. Susan caught a sob in her throat, then edged against the wall, waiting for Bennett's denunciation.

He spoke to her quietly. "Susan!"

She glanced at him, under half-closed eye lids. Why was he acting like this? Surely he hated her. How could he help it, after what she had done? In anguish, she buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

"Susan?" Bennett's voice was gentle as the western wind, soft as the skin of a new-born babe.

"Yes?" He crossed the room and took her hands in his. "Everything's changed, Susan. Everything's different, now."

Susan could no longer suppress her sobs. "Yes," she said, fresh tears springing to her eyes. "Everything's different. I'm sorry, Bennett. I... " she wiped her tears away once more, and stifled another sob. "I... I... I... really loved you, Bennett. But you're right. Everything's different."

She caught another sob, and said, almost under her breath, "I still love you, Bennett. But I understand. You won't want anything to do with me. Not now."

She turned to leave, but Bennett caught her wrist. "Susan!"

"Yes, Bennett?"

"I don't know how to say this to you, how to explain. I feel I've been such an ass all my life, so, well, inhibited, so afraid to do what I really wanted to do."

"And what did you really want to do, Bennett?"

"I wanted to fuck you, Susan."

"All your life!" Susan said in genuine surprise at his use of the lewd four letter word.

Bennett blushed slightly and shook his head. "Only for the past two or three years," he said.

Susan's eyes opened wide, and she nodded her head slowly. "I didn't know that," she said.

"Are you shocked?"

"No."

She twisted the hem of the dress she wore, turning it about in her long, slim fingers. "Bennett."

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you did."

"Did what?"

"Wanted to... to... you know."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Susan," he said. "Say it. Say it to me. You did to the others. Now say it to me."

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

"In that case," Bennett said, "shall I?"

Susan's eyes opened wide again. Was this Bennett, the man she'd been engaged to for so long? If it was, she had never known him. And now she realized that she hadn't much liked the man she had known. But this was different. She would get along beautifully with this Bennett.

She averted her eyes once more, staring at the wall. At last she answered him. "Yes, Bennett," she said. "I think you should-should-fuck me."

"When?"

"Now."

"Where?"

"Here."

Bennett's hands slid under the top of her dress, moving down to caress her breasts. "I don't much like that dress you're wearing," he said.

"Then take it off!"

Bennett pushed her back towards the bed. With one swift stroke, he pulled the garment from her, tossing it across the room. Susan started to protest, but Bennett's tongue had forced itself into her half-opened mouth, was finding her own tongue, meeting it, caressing it.

And... Susan Blake would have been unable to speak at that moment, even if, she'd been able to think of something to say.


The End
