XXE-253  The Ravished Teacher
[aka 'The Gang Ravished Teacher']
(Wilhelm Mauser)


TO THE READER 

 While fictional in nature, this book has, besides entertainment, the 
purpose of acquainting the reader with manners of sexual activity at times 
practiced within contemporary society. 

 The Editor 


Foreword 

"There is a really low class here that is a lulu," says Henry Dotson in 
August B. Hollingshead's ELMTOWN'S YOUTH. "It is made up of families who are 
not worth ... a damn, and they don't give a damn. They're not immoral; 
they're not unmoral; they're plain amoral ... They have animal urges and 
respond to them. They're like a bunch of ... rabbits." 

Some people would go so far as to argue that what Dotson said about the 
lower class of Elmtown could be applied today to the lower class found in 
many large American cities; could be applied to many people who live in 
decrepit slums and find their few pleasures whenever and wherever they can; 
could be applied to the students in the following story- the students at 
Westhaven High School. For the students at Westhaven, like those described 
by Allison Davis, University of Chicago sociologist, in Vance Packard's THE 
STATUS SEEKERS, are young kids who spend their days and nights in sexual 
exploration, constantly seeking out "visceral, genital, and emotional 
gratification." 

What happens when there is thrust into just such an environment a woman, an 
attractive teacher, subconsciously drawn to the decidedly masculine, virile, 
vigorous, potent, and rugged aura exuded by some of these slum-bred boys? 
What's more, what happens when these students are sexually drawn to her? 

How does Melinda Caine, raised in comfortable upper-middle-class 
surroundings, cope with impulses, desires, and needs, which go against 
everything she has been brought up to accept as decent, upstanding, and 
moral? How does she successfully rationalize the sometimes brutal and savage 
means by which her students-stripped as they are of all civilized 
veneering-blackmail and scheme to lay claim to her very being? 

Read the following story of this attractive young schoolteacher intricately 
caught up in the maze of conflicting lifestyles. See for yourself how she 
arises from her baptism in fire to become a woman more thoroughly cognizant 
of herself and the world around her. 

-The Publishers 

 Chapter One 

At four o'clock Tuesday morning, Melinda Caine decided she would go on 
living after all. She knew the time exactly, because she glanced at the pale 
green illuminated dials of the clock on the table by her bed. 

By four-ten, Melinda was throwing back the blankets and crawling free of her 
covers. 

Melinda walked through the bedroom. She paused just inside of the bathroom 
door long enough to turn on the light. 

Melinda went directly to the shower, turning on its water. She avoided the 
mirror. She could well imagine what any reflecting surface would play back 
to her: tear-stained cheeks, blood-shot eyes, uncombed hair. 

She was still wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing Friday. Her skirt 
and blouse were wrinkled, the latter stained with perspiration. 

Melinda wrinkled her pert nose, realizing she had a stale, slightly sour 
smell. But what could she expect? She'd been in bed since Friday night, 
having gotten out only long enough to go to the bathroom and open a couple 
of cans of soup. 

Melinda took off her clothes. Her creamy white skin was marked with 
puckering red lines caused by the elastic on her brassiere and panties. No 
permanent damage done. She'd live. There would be no scars except in her 
mind. 

She reached through the open shower door to adjust the water temperature. 
She then stepped in. 

After she was in the water, Melinda didn't move. She just stood there, 
letting the flushing liquid claim her. At the moment, she was aware of no 
erotic quality to the water flowing over her breasts and down between her 
shapely legs. Really, her mind wasn't on her body at all. 

Melinda was thinking about Roberto. She'd been thinking of Roberto for the 
past three days and four nights. She tried to picture him as he'd been in 
her English class at Westhaven (the teachers called it Pesthaven) High 
School, not as he'd looked in the emergency room of Our Lady of the Holy 
Cross Hospital. 

Roberto had had the doctors call Melinda. Not his mother. Not his sister. 
But Melinda. He'd wanted Melinda to be there with him when he died. And 
Melinda had gotten there too late. 

"Oh ... Roberto," Melinda said, accompanying with a little groan and a shake 
so violent it splattered water to the shower tiles. 

Melinda reached for the soap. She rolled the oval bar between her long 
fingers. Her hands turned white with the lather. 

Melinda stepped slightly out of the spray, turning her back to the force of 
the water. She absently spread the soap suds over her face and neck, down 
over her large nipple-tipped breasts, over her flat stomach, into the silky 
blonde curls that covered her pubic vee. 

Again and again, Melinda's mind kept returning to Roberto: as he'd been 
alive, as he'd looked dead. 

"What a fucking ... goddamned ... loss!" Melinda said aloud, surprised by 
the foulness of her own language. Obviously, her environment was finally 
beginning to rub off on her-as she should have known it eventually would. 
When you heard such language spouted as everyday speech, you were bound to 
be seduced into using it yourself. 

Melinda rinsed, soaped up a brush and scrubbed her back, deriving a definite 
masochistic enjoyment in the rough feel of the stiff bristles against her 
tender skin. 

She washed her long blonde hair, then washed it again. By the time she was 
working the thick conditioner into her water-drenched strands, she was 
almost back to feeling human. 

By the time she was out of the shower, dried, and contemplating a look in 
the now steam-hazed mirror, she began to accept the fact that life, her life 
at least, went on. 

She wiped the mirror free of its condensation, taking a good look at what 
was revealed. Actually, she was surprised. She'd been expecting some 
Auschwitz-like specter staring back at her: someone made gaunt by suffering. 
What she saw was the same Melinda Caine she'd seen time and time again. Oh, 
maybe she was a little thinner because of her small food intake; but, her 
weight loose had only emphasized Melinda's good looks. 

Melinda looked at herself harder, feeling guilty that there wasn't something 
more visible from her period of grief. There should have been something. 

Her blonde hair, already partially dry, framed her attractive face. Her 
eyebrows and lashes were darker than her hair, saving them from that 
bleached-outlook had by many light-complected people. Her eyed were large 
and slightly almond-shaped. Her pupils were dark blue-violet. Her nose was 
pert, neither too large nor too small for her face. Her lips were full, 
sensuous, naturally pink. She had a dimple in her left cheek which showed 
even when she didn't smile. 

Melinda wasn't smiling now. 

Her body had made her the envy of every girl classmate she'd ever had in 
school. Her breasts were firm and unsagging, despite her nearing thirty 
years of age. Her nipples were dollar-size, brown punctuation marks on her 
smooth ballooned alabaster orbs. Her belly was tight across her hipbones, 
actually concaving slightly from want of a more substantial diet than 
Melinda had recently been allowing it. Her navel was slightly indented, 
surrounded by a sparse growth of corn-silk pubic hair. 

Melinda's legs were long and shapely, flowing upward to her firm buttocks 
and her hair-covered mons. 

She reached for her robe which was hung on the hook on one wall. She wrapped 
the terry cloth material around her, tying it with its sash. She walked out 
into the bedroom to check the time. 

It was almost five. She couldn't believe she'd been in the shower quite so 
long. She'd been making a habit lately of losing track of time. She was 
going to have to snap out of it. That's all there was to it. 

She decided Charles would be up by now. She sat on the edge of the bed, 
deciding to call him. He'd drive her to school. He'd called several times 
during her "sickness" to offer a ride. But Melinda had told him no. Up until 
today, she hadn't thought herself up to battling with her students. And 
battles they were: daily battles, teacher against students, students against 
teacher. Melinda, more often than not, wondered why most of the kids 
bothered even coming to school. She's been brought to the verge of tears on 
more occasions than she cared to remember. She'd twice almost thrown in her 
towel, both times tempted to take offers from private schools. Each time, 
she'd stayed because of Roberto. Now Roberto was dead: the victim of some 
drunk hit-and-run driver. 

Charles Bankoff answered his phone. He sounded fresh from his own shower. 

"Charles ... Melinda." 

"My God, are you back from the dead?" Charles asked. He'd begun to wonder. 
How long had it been? Three days. Of course, the Rodriguez kid had been one 
of Melinda's favorites, but surely his death couldn't have been so 
surprising. Charles knew, like everyone else at Pesthaven High knew, that 
all of these kids ended up dead sooner or later. If they didn't kill each 
other off with zip guns and switchblade knives, then they'd get it from the 
police while trying to rob some liquor store down on Broad Street. 

"Could you give me a lift to school?" Melinda asked, running her damp towel 
through her hair once more. "I'm afraid I came away leaving my car in the 
hospital parking lot." 

"You pretty much gotten over the trauma time?" Charles asked. He fully 
believed that he and Melinda were both too good for Pesthaven. What in God's 
name was a beautiful woman like Melinda doing teaching in a neighborhood 
like this city ghetto? She had to be crazy. Charles was frankly surprised 
Melinda still wasn't a rape victim after her first year. Charles gave no 
small amount of credit to his own offered protection. He was kind of sweet 
on Melinda. He thought she was sweet on him, too; although, sometimes she 
wasn't quite as affectionate as Charles would have liked. Not that he 
expected her to be as loose as some of those sluts around the school yard, 
but it would have been nice if she'd put just a bit more feeling into her 
kisses sometimes. 

"I suppose I've made myself the talk of the school," Melinda said, wondering 
if anyone yet knew the real reason she'd been upset about Roberto's death. 
She was sure they didn't. If they had, she would have heard about it by 
now-and probably have been given her walking papers. 

"Everyone at that school has gone through what you've gone through these 
last few days ... " 

And Melinda doubted that. 

" ... and we know you'll become jaded to the frequent wasting of young lives 
as much as we have over the months." 

And Melinda doubted that, too. 

"Cronnley," that was Paul Cronnley, the school principal, "is going to be 
glad to get you back." 

"My kids gave him a lot of trouble?" 

"The kids always give him trouble," Charles answered with a laugh. "He 
farmed most of your monsters off on me and Mary Witlow. And neither Mary nor 
I is half as pretty as you-know-who." 

"The truth is, then, that you're happy to see me back on my feet for no 
other reason than that you won't have any of my kids to put up with any 
longer." 

"The truth is, that's certainly part of it," Charles said, giving a low 
chuckle. "But not all of it by a long ways." 

"See you in about an hour?" 

"Give or take a few minutes," Charles answered, wondering once again why 
Melinda didn't just throw up this crusade of hers to educate the 
poverty-level kids. It would have been different if she wasn't wanted 
elsewhere. Hell, half the people at Pesthaven were washouts. But Melinda had 
damned good credentials. 

"Thanks, Charles," Melinda said, knowing what Charles was probably thinking. 
Everyone at Westhaven had thought it about Melinda at one time or another. 

Melinda hung up the phone. She went to the closet, taking out a fresh change 
of clothes. She then went back into the bathroom to hot-curl her hair into 
some presentable shape before putting on her makeup. 

Three quarters of an hour later, Melinda was dressed and ready to go. She 
sat in a chair, waiting impatiently for Charles' arrival. Melinda didn't 
want any time to think. Thinking only brought back more memories of Roberto. 

The intercom buzzer on the wall sounded loudly, bringing Melinda out of her 
reverie with a start. 

"Thank God," Melinda sighed, getting up to press the small black button. 
"Charles?" 

"Want me to come up and carry you down?" Charles voice sounded, much like 
that of a very small man caught in an echo chamber. 

"No, I can make it," Melinda said, trying for a genuine laugh but failing 
abysmally. 

"Over and out, then," Charles said. 

Melinda grabbed her raincoat and took the stairs down to the lobby. 

"You certainly don't look any the worse for wear," Charles commented after 
he and Melinda had met and were walking down the steps to Charles' car. 

Charles Bankoff was twenty-seven. He'd been through college, had served two 
years in the Army (only because, according to his father, "no Bankoff had 
ever shirked his duty to country"), and he had been teaching for two years 
(both of those years at Pesthaven). In one more year-if Charles lasted- he'd 
be able to get out of this pesthole; and, unlike Melinda, Charles would have 
no qualms at all about leaving. He was here only-ONLY-because his father had 
made it a condition for entering the family business. Charles' father had 
pulled himself up by his bootstraps (not out of Pesthaven but from a very 
similar ghetto area), and Baling Bankoff felt he owed an opportunity to the 
downtrodden to get out of their misery like he did. Baling had been inspired 
by a schoolteacher in his youth; and Charles was, therefore, supposed to be 
out inspiring the vermin to rise above their environment. 

As far as Charles was concerned, his father's philosophy was a bunch of 
bullshit. You either had the drive and the luck, or you didn't. It was as 
simple as that. There was no way Charles, in his role of mathematics teacher 
at Pesthaven High School, was going to make any of these kids pick up and 
move on out to bigger and better things. 

Charles and Melinda reached the car. Charles unlocked the door and let 
Melinda in on the passenger side. He then headed around the front to slip 
into the front seat beside her. 

Melinda was surprised to find that summer had somehow arrived without her 
even knowing it. It had been cold the night Roberto had died. Melinda 
distinctly remembered having seen her breath on that horrible evening. But 
now, even though night wasn't all that far gone, it was already warm and 
even a bit muggy. 

"I don't think you're going to need that raincoat today," Charles said, 
reading Melinda's thoughts. 

"No, I guess not," Melinda quickly agreed. 

Melinda watched Charles as he moved the car out into the thin trickle of 
traffic. Melinda decided, as she had often decided in the past, that Charles 
was quite attractive. 

Charles had brown hair, cut short but not militarily. His hair banged 
attractively over his forehead, giving Charles one of those "dry" and not 
"wet" looks the commercials were always babbling about on television. He had 
clear blue eyes, a cleft in his chin, a dimple that creased his whole left 
cheek when he smiled. He had firm, square jaws, a sensuously full-lipped 
mouth that, when amused, would draw back over a line of even white teeth. 

Yes, Charles was handsome. In fact he was very handsome. So, why couldn't 
Melinda get all that interested? Charles had certainly sent out vibes that 
he would like to get closer. Probably it was because Charles reminded 
Melinda too much of the boys she'd grown up with. That she'd found Charles 
here, teaching in the ghetto, had been unusual, but that didn't change the 
fact that Charles was Charles. Melinda knew his story, knew that he was down 
in this neighborhood only because his father was twisting his arm. If Baling 
Backoff had said tomorrow, "Son, let's forget this whole asinine idea," 
Charles would have sighed a long breath of relief and gone back uptown 
without even packing. 

"Penny for your thoughts," Charles said, easing the car into a left turn to 
make a corner. 

"I'm afraid my mind was just wandering," Melinda said. She was quite certain 
Charles wouldn't have been in the least bit interested in hearing the 
somewhat unflattering character analysis she had been making of him. "I 
really wasn't focused in on much of anything." 

The two drove on in comparative silence. Charles somehow correctly sensed 
that Melinda wasn't in a mood for idle chatter; so, he obliged by keeping 
his mouth shut. He did, however, allow himself carte blanche with his eyes. 

Charles was especially attracted to Melinda's corn-blonde hair and milky 
complexion. Melinda's Scandinavian good-looks were a welcome relief from the 
blacks, Puerto Rican's, Cuban's, and other minorities that clogged Charles' 
classroom and all the other classroom at Pesthaven High. 

There was also an innocent aura that surrounded Melinda that Charles found 
irresistible. How Melinda managed to retain even an illusion of sweet 
innocence while working the cesspool she did was a miracle of the first 
magnitude. 

For Charles, Melinda existed at the far end of a spectrum. At the other end, 
there existed those girls who filled the seats of Pesthaven High. Any of 
those young sluts were about as far away from natural innocence as you were 
ever going to find anywhere, anytime. 

Disgusting! That's what it was. Charles, used to a more refined surrounding, 
had been initially shocked at what he'd found at Pesthaven. Not even when 
he'd been in Viet Nam had he found girls so blatantly out to exhibit their 
wares. Quite frankly, he hadn't sufficiently recovered from the initial 
shock yet. 

Charles, being as attractive as he was, was constantly being subjected to 
lewd displays. Breasts, it seemed, were never held by brassieres any more. 
Hell no! Nipples were always pressing out of girl's sweaters like two 
additional buttons. Some girls were always bending down so that their 
breasts were almost spilling free of their blouses. Or, they were crossing 
their legs so that their skirts were hiked up past their cheeky buttocks. 

Take just the other day. Hell, take any school day for that matter; and, 
something similar would happen. That girl ... what was her name? ... oh, 
yes, Rosalie Paranchuchu or something equally unpronounceable. She'd come 
into the class poured into a blouse and a skirt like jello was poured into a 
mold. Although she couldn't have been over eighteen, she looked twenty-five 
if she looked a day. 

Charles gave a quick glance in Melinda's direction, glad that she was too 
occupied with her own thoughts to notice the stirrings of Charles' erecting 
cock within the crotch of his trousers. 

Charles thoughts went back to Rosalie, disgusted with himself for being able 
to so readily recall the incident and get a hard-on because of it. 

Rosalie had sat down in her front seat, licking obscenely at her red, red 
lips to make them even more glossy. Her tongue had been pink and lewdly 
long. She didn't keep her mouth shut, but she let it form a kind of 
seductive oval. Her eyes, big black ones, focused right on Charles' blue 
ones, and seemingly offered a challenge: "Come on, stud, bring that big, fat 
cock of yours on over here, and let's see what Rosalie's experienced mouth 
and tongue can do for it." 

And Charles hadn't been imagining things. Why else had several kids giggled? 
It had been just too fucking obvious that the girl had been flagrantly 
propositioning her teacher for a blow-job right then and there. 

And what did the bitch expect Charles to do? Unzip his fly? Pull out his 
blood-engorged cock? Plug his lust-bloated prick to its balls up her hot-wet 
throat? Fuck her face to climax while everyone stood around yelling: "Fuck 
her, teach! Fuck little Rosalie's hot mouth 'til that big, monstrous cock of 
yours floods her with rich-warm cum!" 

Well, the whole group had something else coming if they thought Charles was 
susceptible to any disgusting displays they came up with. He'd kept his 
cool, even if he'd had to adjust the lay of his swollen cock in his pants 
before coming out from behind his desk. He'd pretended complete ignorance of 
what was going on. Just as he'd feigned disinterest when Rosalie's knees had 
slowly come open, giving Charles a telescopic view right up her dress. 

She'd been wearing no underpants. None! She'd been as naked as the day she 
was born underneath that skirt of hers. And she'd given Charles a bird's-eye 
view all the way up to her shaved pussy. Yes, by God, Charles could even 
tell that her cunt had been shaved. Its hairless slit was there for the 
looking, offering its invitation just as readily as Rosalie's mouth had been 
doing before it. 

Shameless! Goddamned shameless! 

And Charles, who counted himself among the most civilized of men, had 
certainly had his mettle tested that particular day, hadn't he? He would 
have felt more in control if his cock hadn't stayed hard during the whole 
period. His meaty cock had drooled so much preseminal juices that Charles 
had felt the rest of the day as if he'd wet his pants. 

And if Rosalie's wanton display hadn't been enough during class, she had 
conveniently managed to stick around after the bell, fumbling over her books 
until the classroom was empty except for Charles and herself. Then she'd 
gathered up her school supplies and had walked up to Charles at the 
blackboard (which was really a green board), swinging her ass as if it had a 
for sale sign pinned right on it. 

"You want to lock the door and fuck me, Mr. Bankoff?" Rosalie 
what's-her-name had said, plain as the nose on her makeup-clogged face. 

Charles hadn't believed it. He'd simply stood there, his mouth probably 
dropped open like some virgin propositioned for a first fuck. 

"I give good head," Rosalie said, her snaky tongue at work, glossing her 
lips. "My boyfriend says I give the best cock-licking of any girl he's ever 
had swinging on his monster meat." 

"I have no doubts but that you're an expert at your calling," Charles said, 
or something like that: it was damned hard remembering specifics. "But I'm 
afraid I'm going to have to pass up the offer." 

"You aren't queer, are you?" Rosalie asked, her eyes zooming right in on 
Charles' crotch just in time to see a spasmodic jerking of Charles' cock 
inside of his pants crotch. "Naw, you aren't queer by a long shot. Not with 
a swollen piece of meat like you've got there in your pants." 

"I don't fuck boys, Rosalie," Charles had answered, picking up an eraser and 
beginning to clear the board of chalk math problems. "But that certainly 
doesn't mean I'm up to fucking dogs, either." 

She'd laughed. She'd actually laughed. Those kids were simply beyond being 
shocked by anything. They'd heard it all. They'd seen it all. They'd done it 
all. 

Charles had been more shocked, at the time, by Rosalie's blas reaction to 
his words than by his own exercise in filthy speech. It had only been after 
Rosalie had left the room, wiggling her ass in yet a third invitation to 
perverted sex, that Charles realized what he had said. He had to be damned 
careful, or he was liable to find himself down to their level before he 
could successfully make his escape from the cesspool. 

"A dollar for your thoughts," Melinda said, bringing Charles back from his 
reverie. 

"A whole dollar, huh?" Charles asked, trying to squelch his embarrassment in 
having been caught in the midst of his lewd remembrances. 

"Somehow I just got the impression they might be worth more than mine," 
Melinda said. Charles had certainly been off in never-never land. She hadn't 
even been sure that the sound of her voice was going to bring him back. 

"I was just thinking how nice it was to be driving along with such an 
attractive young woman by my side," Charles said, recovering sufficiently to 
be gallant. 

Melinda smiled. Charles was nice. Charles was very nice. Perhaps that was 
his problem. Maybe he was just too nice to be all that exciting. 

 Chapter Two 

Carla Rodriguez shouldn't have been surprised. But she was. She hadn't 
expected anything to happen inside the school. But that's where it happened. 
Right at the lunch break. Right when everyone else was off in the cafeteria 
or outside smoking on the stoop, that's when it happened. Of course, Carla 
had played right into Morgan's hands. She'd held back, avoiding the crowds, 
thinking to sneak off somewhere and eat her sandwich by herself. If she'd 
gone into the cafeteria with everyone else, she might have been confronted 
by Morgan, but at least there would have been teachers around. Now there was 
no one. 

"Get your fucking black paws off of me!" Carla commanded, giving a backward 
kick of her right foot in hopes of contacting a shin. She didn't succeed. 

"What are you fighting for, baby?" Morgan Jenning asked the struggling girl, 
his breath blowing hot on Carla's ear. "I just want a little talk." 

"You want to talk, you come on by the house like everybody else," Carla 
said. She succeeded in breaking free; but, realizing Morgan was blocking her 
escape, she strutted defiantly deeper into the room. 

The room was an unused classroom on the first floor, now utilized for 
storage of old dilapidated equipment. If the stuff was completely worthless 
it was usually piled in here; because, anything even remotely usable was 
used. 

Morgan had been waiting behind the door, leaping out as soon as Carla had 
walked by. He'd then pulled her inside and shut the door behind him. He'd 
obviously been planning what he'd done for quite some time; which meant, 
although Carla hadn't seen much of him, he'd been paying attention to her 
daily routine. 

"I wouldn't want to disturb your dear momma at home," Morgan said, flashing 
Carla a wide smile. His thick lips pulled back along large white teeth. "I 
hear she's pretty upset about poor Roberto's accident." 

"We're all upset about it," Carla said. 

"That's why you've been avoiding me since I've become Chief of the Bulls?" 
Morgan asked. 

Morgan was almost six feet of ebony flesh stretched over rock-like muscle. 
Carla doubted if there was an ounce of fat on Morgan's body, although the 
girl had never seen the black naked. Morgan just looked solid, the way his 
clothes molded his young body. Carla could see the way his pectorals pressed 
domes out against his T-shirt. She could see the small bumps of his charcoal 
nipples. She could see the way his long, black cock snaked its bulge down 
along Morgan's left thigh. 

Morgan had been Chief Lieutenant of the Bulls before Roberto died. Now 
Morgan had assumed command of the gang. It was the way things went. The 
Bulls was one of several gangs that divided the high school population. The 
gang was called Bulls because most of the members were from a Mexican or 
Spanish ancestry. Morgan had a Mexican mother; although, you would have 
never known it just by looking at him. He was so black from his daddy's side 
of the family that he looked as if he'd just stepped off an African slave 
ship. 

"My brother was killed by some fucking drunk driver; and, I don't need you 
laying any of your shit on me right this minute," Carla said, folding both 
arms across her full breasts. 

"These decisions can't be put off forever," Morgan answered. He was still 
smiling. He hadn't stopped smiling since he'd yanked Carla into this 
cluttered storeroom. "After all, you're a pretty little piece of Spanish 
pussy, aren't you?" 

"You always did have such a way with words," Carla said sarcastically. "You 
learn such fine English in Miss Caine's English class?" 

"Yea, maybe I did," Morgan said, his mind suddenly flashing an image of 
Melinda Caine. Nice piece, that one. Very, very nice piece. 

"Well, go fuck her and leave me alone," Carla said. 

Would that Morgan could fuck Melinda Caine. Wouldn't that have been 
something he would have just loved to do? He'd heard about white pussy. He'd 
never had any, unless Kathy Winlock could be called white. Kathy's mother 
swore up and down it had been a white sailor who had gotten her pregnant. 
Kathy didn't look white, though. She looked just as black, if not blacker 
than Morgan. 

Oh, had Roberto been the lucky bastard, if all those little rumors were 
true. 

"Yea, since the last Bull Chief was fucking Miss Caine's cunt, I guess I 
should get a chance at her, too, huh?" 

"You're more fucked up than I thought," Carla said, mustering up her most 
disgusted look, "if you think my brother was putting it to Miss Caine." 

Carla had heard the rumors, too. But Carla really could neither verify nor 
dispute them. Roberto had never confided everything to his sister, that was 
sure. If he was off fucking Miss Caine on all those nights he'd turned up 
missing, he'd never dropped a clue of it to Carla. Of course, there was the 
crucifix, the gold one even then hanging around Carla's neck. And what about 
the initials engraved on its back? 

"Quite a few rumors still going around about that," Morgan said, wondering 
if Carla really knew or was just as in the dark as the rest of them. "I 
always heard there was fire where there was smoke." 

"Yea, well if I believed everything I heard, I'd have to believe you were 
impotent just because you quit screwing Kathy Winlock." 

"That bitch been spreading it around that I can't get it up, and I'll fix 
her rocker good!" Morgan said with determination that said as much as his 
words did that he wasn't kidding. 

Yes, it would have been just like Kathy to go dropping little snide hints 
here and there that Morgan couldn't get his big cock up anymore, just 
because Morgan had dropped the little cunt by the wayside. Morgan was Chief 
now, wasn't he? He certainly couldn't hang around with the likes of Kathy. 
She was okay for a Lieutenant's woman; but, she wasn't okay for a Chief. 
Poor, dumb Kathy could never understand that. Carla did, though, didn't she? 

"What in the hell do you want, Morgan?" Carla asked, already knowing what he 
wanted. 

"I want to protect you, baby," Morgan said, temporarily forgetting Kathy 
Winlock and what she was or was not whispering behind his back. "Now that 
your brother isn't around, some of the flakes around this school might be 
getting some pretty funny ideas about what they might like to be doing to 
his unprotected sister." 

"I can protect myself," Carla said with a bit more confidence than she was 
really feeling. Actually, she'd been trying to think of some solution to her 
problem ever since Roberto had died. So far, she'd not come up with much. 

The truth was, a girl in this neighborhood was fair game for anyone if she 
didn't have someone to protect her. It was far better to open your legs for 
one guy instead of for every hard-cocked bastard that waylaid you coming and 
going from school. As long as Roberto had been alive, there'd been no 
problem. Roberto had always made no bones about what would happen to anyone 
who laid a hand or a cock on his sister. But Roberto was dead; and, Carla 
was vulnerable as a result. 

The question was, did Carla want to be Morgan's girl? And that was a pretty 
big question. Despite the fact that Morgan was now head of the Bulls, he was 
also part Negro. Did the fact that Morgan was Chief of the Bulls balance off 
the stigma of his being half black? That was the question. Morgan would 
certainly be enhancing his own reputation by having Carla for his girl; but, 
what would happen to Carla's reputation? If she let Morgan at her pussy on a 
regular basis, would any decent Mexican give her a second look if anything 
ever happened to Morgan? A girl had to think out these things. 

"You're going to need somebody to watch over you, baby. You're just too 
prime to be walking the streets for long without somebody getting brave and 
taking a free sample, especially now that Roberto isn't around to flaunt a 
little muscle. Now, I've put out the word that it's hands off for the 
moment, but ... " 

"What do you mean you put out the word?" Carla asked. She didn't know why 
she was feigning being so ignorant. She had certainly expected as much since 
she hadn't had to use her switchblade on any horny stud since Roberto's 
death. "Who in the hell gave you the right to do anything?" 

"You think you'd like getting gang-banged by about ten guys in a row?" 
Morgan asked, giving her another of his wide smiles. "Because the minute I 
let it be known I couldn't give a shit what happens to you, then that's when 
it's going to happen. And after every boy on the block has had your tight 
little pussy, you're going to find it pretty hard to find anyone of them to 
put up a fuss whenever a stud with a hard cock decides to get it off inside 
you." 

Which was true. But, the facts be known, Carla had her eye on Teddy Rowales. 
Teddy was Chief of a rival Mexican gang called the Padres. Teddy's girl had 
recently gotten a botched abortion and was near death in the welfare ward of 
some hospital. Teddy wasn't as good-looking as Morgan, that was sure. But 
Teddy was all Mexican. The trouble was, Teddy hadn't given Carla more than a 
passing glance. However, that didn't prove he didn't like her. If only Carla 
had a bit more time. 

"You don't have too much time," Morgan told her, verbally echoing Carla's 
own thoughts. "And, I'm not planning on waiting around forever. A Chief has 
got to have a girl." 

"I don't recall asking you to wait," Carla said. She just wished she'd had a 
few more days to bring Teddy around. Things like that weren't accomplished 
overnight, especially since there had always been bad blood between the 
Bulls and the Padres. 

"I know how your little mind is working, Carla," Morgan said, his arms 
folding over his large chest. His biceps and triceps bulged as he did so. 
"And you're going to be one disappointed female if you're counting on little 
Teddy Rowales to give you a tumble. I hear he was really hung up on that 
girl he got pregnant and sent to the meat chopper. Little Teddy won't be 
coming out of mourning in time to help you." 

"If that's what you've pulled me in here to say, then consider it said," 
Carla told him, making her move for the door. She had all intentions of 
bluffing her way by him if he'd just let her. 

Morgan, though, had no intentions of letting her go. 

"I've decided to help you make your decision," Morgan said, moving to block 
her. He put out his large right hand, clamping his fingers into Carla's left 
arm. 

"Well, then, I've made my decision. It's no!" Carla said. She was furious 
that Morgan had the audacity to try and bully her into anything. If Roberto 
had been alive, this big-ass bastard wouldn't have been here going through 
his macho number, that much was for sure. 

"You may say that now; but, tell me again in about ten minutes from now." 

"What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Carla asked, trying to pull her 
arm away but not succeeding. 

"It means, I'm sure you're going to feel a little different about all of 
this once you've had your cunt plugged chock full of my big, black Negro 
goodness." 

"You mean you're going to rape me?" Carla asked, flabbergasted. 

"It doesn't have to be rape, honey," Morgan said. "I don't know what you've 
heard, but it has been very few girls who have come away dissatisfied after 
having been stuck on my cock." 

"You'd better get your black ass out of my way before I let out a scream 
that'll bring this school house down." 

"I'd have you knocked unconscious before you got your mouth halfway open," 
Morgan told her, his voice almost daring her to give his dexterity a try. 
"And I wouldn't let the fact that you were unconscious stop me from fucking 
you. I might even take it as a good opportunity to roll you over and fuck 
your ass." 

"You wouldn't dare!" 

"Wouldn't I?" Morgan asked, tightening his grip on Carla's arm. He dropped 
his left hand to his crotch, his fingers outlining the bulge his cock was 
making in his pants. "I need myself a permanent cunt to fuck. And the way I 
see it, it's going to be yours." 

"And I have nothing to say about it, I suppose?" 

"You're just having a little trouble deciding," Morgan said. "Actually I 
think you're a little prejudiced about the color of my skin, huh? Although a 
bigoted Mexican is a bit ludicrous, don't you think? Ludicrous, by the way, 
is one of those big words from Miss Caine's English class." 

"Listen, Morgan," Carla said, thinking she might yet use her wits to get out 
of this. "Why don't we get together and talk about this later, huh? Maybe 
tonight. I'll cook dinner for momma and then come and meet you somewhere." 

"Nope," Morgan said. He might have been willing to talk at one time, but not 
now. Carla had miffed her chances for talk. If she'd wanted to talk, she 
shouldn't have been avoiding Morgan these past few days. 

Morgan pulled Carla over to the far wall where an old desk sat with its 
broken legs propped up on cement blocks. 

"Now, take off your panties-if you're even wearing any," Morgan said, 
releasing Carla's arm while watching to make sure she didn't make any sudden 
breaks for it. "And then hoist up that skirt of yours." 

"You're crazy!" Carla spit, resenting Morgan for having rushed her into 
making a decision in his favor. Hell, if only the bastard had waited a few 
more days, he would have probably had her agreeing to be his girl 
anyway-willingly. But forcing himself on her now, no matter what Morgan 
thought, was not about to get their relationship off to a good start. 

"Meanwhile, I'll pull out my cock," Morgan said, "before it gets too stiff 
to pry free." 

Morgan unzipped the fly of his faded jeans. He pushed his fingers into the 
breach, his thumb and forefinger hooking around the neck of his stiffened 
cock head. 

"If I don't see some accommodating action from you by the time my cock is 
out, I'm going to yank your clothes off for you." 

"You black bastard!" Carla answered. She mentally calculated her 
alternatives. Scream? Even if Morgan didn't knock her silly before Carla got 
her scream out, who would hear her? Everybody was outside or still in the 
cafeteria. And if they did hear her, what then? Around this school, people 
were always screaming about something; and, it didn't always mean there was 
a rape in progress. Run, then? Morgan would be on her in no time. And there 
was no doubt in Carla's mind that Morgan would have no problem overpowering 
her. Morgan was big and powerful. There'd been some debate-before Roberto 
had been killed-as to whether Morgan could have seized the top position in 
the Bulls if he'd really wanted it. Roberto and Morgan had always been good 
friends. 

So, what it looked like was that Carla was going to have to undergo the 
indignation of being raped ... right here ... right now ... by a Negro. 
Well, by God, raped she might be, but it would be just that. No way was she 
going to give Morgan the impression that she held anything but contempt for 
him and his big, black penis. 

Morgan had pried his cock free of his pants and was waiting to see if Carla 
was going to drop her panties. Carla pulled up her skirt, hooking her thumbs 
in her panties waistband. She pulled down, dragging her nylon shorts over 
her hips, her ass, and her black-haired cunt. All the while, she kept her 
eyes helplessly glued to the turgid monster Morgan had released from his 
trousers. 

Morgan's cock was big, as big as most people mistakenly imagined all Negro 
cocks were big. It was almost eleven inches of rigid, hard, black meat, so 
fat that even Morgan's large right hand only barely succeeded in completely 
encircling his cock girth. His penis was uncircumcised; although, its head 
was presently pushed out from beneath its usually cowling foreskin. His 
prepuce was a turtle necking of bulky skin pulled back around his cock neck 
just below the hearty flaring of his cock glands. His cock meatus was deep 
and long, perfectly cleaving his cock head into two identical sections. The 
small sexual mouth was wet with oozing juices. 

"That's better," Morgan said, watching Carla step out of first one panty leg 
and then the other. Carla could have left her panties hung around one ankle, 
but there was no point in getting them dirty. 

"I hope you've got it through that monkey skull of yours that I'm not doing 
this of my own free will," Carla said. 

"Sure, baby," Morgan said, flashing Carla another smile. He gave the long 
neck of his cock a stroke, coaxing more liquid out of his bloated cock. With 
the flat of his thumb, he spread his preseminal juices to a sticky veneering 
over his cock glands. "You keep telling yourself that while you beg me to 
stick you harder and faster." 

"You'd never get away with this if Roberto were alive," Carla said, still 
hoping against hope that she was going to get out of this yet. 

"If Roberto were alive, I wouldn't have to be here," Morgan said. "You'd 
have your brother to protect you and wouldn't need yourself a man." 

"If it's a man I'm needing, why is a boy like you applying for the job?" 

"You're not going to talk your way out of this, baby," Morgan said, giving 
his cock another masturbatory stroke, "so you might as well quit trying." 

"I figured talking was what you did best," Carla said, fascinated, despite 
herself, with the dark run of vein that formed a meandering edge along the 
length of Morgan's cock. The vein formed at the knotted roots of Morgan's 
cock shaft and disappeared into the ring of foreskin that hugged the rim of 
Morgan's cock glands. 

"Pull up your dress, baby; and, I'll show you I can do a hell of a lot more 
than just talk." 

Carla reluctantly pulled up her skirt, slowly revealing the black haired vee 
between her thighs. Within the black pubic triangle was a thin slicing that 
betrayed the entrance to Carla's tight pussy. At first glance, it looked 
doubtful that what Morgan had between his legs could possibly go into what 
Carla had between hers. 

"Lovely ... lovely ... cunt," Morgan said, giving an appreciative inhalation 
of breath. There was nothing Morgan liked better than the sight of a 
beautiful young pussy. One day soon, when Carla had gotten over this silly 
notion that she was too good for black meat, Morgan would take his tongue to 
her cunt and really show her what a mouth was made for-besides just talking. 
But that would have to wait. Carla still thought she was better than he was. 
Silly bitch! How could one minority group be any better than another? 

Morgan released the hold his hand had on his cock. He scooped his fingers 
back into his trousers, bringing out his two large nuts inside their flaccid 
sac of black-haired flesh. He released his scrotum, letting it fall down 
between his thighs. His cum-filled balls dropped under their own weight, 
brought up short by their containing bag, much like two rubber balls 
suspended on rubber strings. 

Carla watched the continued movement of Morgan's balls. The Negro's black 
wiry hair rolled on the scrotal flesh like buoys on a shifting sea of crude 
oil. Simultaneously, Carla felt a moisture gathering inside her pussy. A 
cool draft, rushing in beneath the far door, was stirring Carla's dark pussy 
hair. 

Morgan put his hands on Carla's slim waist. He lifted, sitting Carla on the 
desk top. As he did so, his freed penis brushed its head against the mouth 
of Carla's cunt. Carla shivered at the touch, once again contemplating 
giving out a scream for help. 

"Please don't," Carla said, knowing that after Morgan had fucked her there 
was little hope of ever trapping Teddy Rowales. "You're too damned big." 

Morgan laughed: a sounding of genuine amusement. 

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Morgan said. His right hand once again 
fisted his black sexual truncheon, pulling it down so that his rubbery cock 
corona was chafing on Carla's black pussy bush. 

Carla jumped at the feel of Morgan's pulpy glands. Her ass stirred the dust 
on the desk top. 

"Please, Morgan ... please." 

"You begging for it already, baby?" Morgan asked. He slowly moved his 
fist-size cock head up and down along the length of Carla's cunt slit. He 
watched the immediate glassiness that came into Carla's deep black eyes. 

Yes, by God, Morgan could tell someone who wanted his cock when he saw her. 

Morgan had placed his hips in between Carla's thighs. He now moved even 
closer into her opened legs, his rubbery cock glands held on position. 

"Ohhhhhhhh, Morgan ... don't," Carla pleaded. She put her hands flat against 
Morgan's chest, pushing, hoping to counteract the pressure his stiff cock 
was putting to the mouth of Carla's pussy. "Please ... don't." 

Anyone not knowing differently would have thought Carla was a virgin. She 
wasn't. No girl who lived in the neighborhood remained a virgin very long 
past puberty. Usually they were forced to surrender their virginity to 
brothers, fathers, stepfathers, strange boys on the street, before they 
could physically even be considered women. 

Carla had been luckier than most. Her father, while he had lived, would have 
no longer thought of molesting his own daughter than of flying to the moon. 
Carla's brother had always been handy to fight off anyone with funny ideas, 
or to threaten the cutting off of a few balls. And Roberto had been 
attractive enough so that he'd had women after him way before he even had 
the cum in his balls to give them. He hadn't needed to force his attentions 
on anyone, including his sister. 

But even in the ghetto, there was such a thing as love-or, more likely, 
infatuation-and Carla hadn't been immune. She'd thought herself in love 
twice. Once with Jose Calendez. He disappeared one day and never turned up 
again. That often happened. Carla had been heartbroken. Jose's cock, after 
all, had been the one that had split Carla's hymen. A girl always held a 
soft spot in her heart for that "first" cock inside of her juicy pussy. 

Then there had been Martin Dominguez. He'd been Roberto's Chief Lieutenant 
before Morgan had challenged him for the position. Carla didn't even like to 
think about how silly she'd been to give her cunt to Martin. Martin had 
turned out to be a coward. The night of his proposed challenge fight with 
Morgan, Martin hadn't even showed up. He, too, had disappeared; although, 
everyone knew he'd left under his own chicken power. 

At least no one could call Morgan a coward. He'd successfully defended his 
title more than once and come out the victor, leaving a few broken bones in 
his wake. There'd been no one to dispute his assumption of Roberto's 
position once it was known that Roberto was dead. 

"OOOOOOOOeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiii!" Carla squealed. Her cuntal lips had been forced 
open to admit the first section of Morgan's turgid cock head. 

Looking down between her breasts and Morgan's chest, Carla could see the 
black bridge Morgan's cock formed between them. She also noticed, for the 
first time, that Morgan's cock wasn't perfectly cylindrical. It was actually 
flat across its back. 

"Just relax, baby," Morgan told her. His cock now sufficiently anchored 
between Carla's legs, Morgan put both of his hands back on Carla's narrow 
waist. "It just looks big." 

"Ohhhhh ... sweet ... Jesssssssssus," Carla said, her voice strained and 
slightly breathless. She felt the lubricating glands inside of her cunt as 
they wept a new mess of juice to sop Morgan's entering cock glands. 

Carla increased her pushing pressure against Morgan's chest. Even through 
the material of Morgan's T-shirt, Carla could feel Morgan's quarter-size 
nipples going hard against her palms. 

Morgan wasn't destined to long be content with just a piece of his cock 
planted between Carla's gripping pussy doors. Because if it felt good with 
just a small fraction of his penis through the breach, what was it going to 
feel like once he got all of his thick meat up Carla's sizzling little 
cleft? 

"Take it, baby!" Morgan groaned, his hips accompanying with a forward 
thrusting. 

"EEEeeeeeeeeeiiiiiii ... ugh ... ugh!" Carla squealed and then grunted. Her 
cunt mouth had yawned open, suddenly accepting half of Morgan's swollen cock 
meat. 

Morgan went up on his toes, shoving another two inches of his hard cock 
shaft up Carla's hair-fringed cunt. 

"Oh ... oh ... noooooooo!" Carla growled automatically. Morgan's cock back 
had touched her clitoris and then dragged against it. 

Carla's legs reflexively jerked upward, the girl's thighs clamping Morgan's 
hips, her heels hooking into the small of Morgan's back. 

"Like it, don't you, baby? Don't you?" Morgan asked. At that moment, Morgan 
didn't much care whether Carla liked it or not. He liked it, and that was 
all that counted. And he liked it very, very much. 

"Noooooooooo!" Carla protested, wondering who she was trying so hard to 
convince of her displeasure: herself or Morgan. 

"You're lying, Carla," Morgan said, knowingly. "You're lying. Because I know 
you love it. I know you do." 

Morgan's hips gave a final forward bounce. The rest of Morgan's blue veined 
penis slid into place. The metal teeth of Morgan's opened pants zipper 
burrowed into Carla's black pubic hair. Morgan's knotted cock roots were 
gummed by Carla's gripping cunt mouth. Morgan's black balls swung forward, 
slapping hard against Carla's ass cheeks and against the edge of the desk. 

"Ohhhhhh, baby!" Morgan said, his voice a guttural moaning caused partly 
from the pleasure of his complete insertion and partly from the dull ache 
arising from his bruised testicles. 

Carla's mouth opened, shut, opened again, giving up no sounds. 

Carla's guts felt stuffed. She frankly couldn't believe Morgan had 
successfully put all of his turgid stiffness inside of her so quickly. Had 
Morgan damaged her? Could Morgan's huge piece of hard male meat possibly 
have reached its present position without ripping something vital inside of 
her? 

"No ... no ... no," Carla grunted, finally finding her voice. She tried once 
again to push Morgan away. Simultaneously, though, Carla didn't unhook her 
legs. She left them tightly gripping Morgan's lower body, her inner thighs 
chafing on Morgan's jeans. Carla wanted and didn't want what Morgan had fed 
her pussy. 

"Yes ... yes ... yes," Morgan countered. 

Now that Morgan had Carla stuck on his phallic skewer, there was no way he 
was going to pull out until he'd fed Carla's pussy something more than just 
his hard cock. Morgan wanted desperately to spurt his hot cream up Carla's 
vagina, stringing her pink and exotic cunt folds with his rich, wet-warm 
Negro juices. Yes, he wanted that. He wanted that badly. And while he did 
that, he wanted to feel more of Carla's luscious body than just the moist 
inner flesh of her cunt. 

Leaving his cock firmly locked inside of Carla's body, Morgan freed his 
hands from Carla's waist. He pulled the tail of his T-shirt out of his 
pants, rolling it up in front to reveal his wash boarded abdominals and his 
domed, nipple-punctuated pectorals. He secured the stretched T-shirt 
material across the top of his chest. 

His chest and belly partially naked, Morgan moved to bare Carla's full-blown 
breasts. He took a handful of Carla's sweater, tugging it out of her skirt. 

"Oh ... Morgan ... it hurts ... it hurts," Carla said, wondering if that 
were quite true. It wasn't exactly hurt she was feeling, was it? That 
sensation alive inside of her wasn't really pain, was it? What was it, then? 
Carla refused to believe it was pleasure. 

Carla knew that Morgan was trying to bare her breasts. She wanted to stop 
him. She didn't quite know how. Along with the feel of Morgan's rigid cock 
stuffed into her, Carla's mind had undergone a strange kind of 
disorientation. She was finding it harder and harder to realize who she was, 
who Morgan was, where they were, what they were doing here, now, together. 

Carla wasn't wearing a brassiere. None of the girls at Westhaven wore 
brassieres, mainly because their men, their boyfriends, their lovers, their 
potential lovers, liked the way unbound breasts jiggled beneath a containing 
blouse or sweater. 

Morgan shifted Carla's sweater up over her luscious breasts, revealing 
Carla's dark nipples and the gold crucifix nestled within Carla's deep 
cleavage. 

Morgan wrapped his arms around Carla's body. He pulled his naked chest 
against Carla's naked breasts. His hard nipples collided with the taut buds 
centering Carla's teats. 

"Oh, baby, baby ... it will be good," Morgan mumbled in promise. He put his 
lips to the crease formed by Carla's neck and her right shoulder. His mouth 
moved against the warmth of Carla's skin. "Oh ... it ... will ... be ... 
good." 

Carla didn't want it to be good. She didn't appreciate the pleasure even 
then taking root inside of her. This Negro stud had grabbed her like some 
caveman grabbing a convenient monkey for a screw. He'd taken her without a 
by-your-leave, raped her over her protestations. There should certainly have 
been no enjoyment. Carla refused to admit that there was; even though that 
denial was becoming more and more difficult. 

"Oh, get it over with, you bastard!" Carla grunted, wondering why her words 
sounded strange and almost undecipherable to her own ears. 

Morgan pulled back his hips, dragging his cock inches back out of Carla's 
cunt. The pleasure of Morgan's cock shaft exiting sensuously through the 
lubricant-slicked mouth of Carla's cunt was almost too exquisite for Morgan 
to believe. 

Morgan was frankly surprised at the extent of his present pleasure. He, 
after all, was no more a virgin at this type of fun and games than Carla 
was. Morgan, like Carla had been initiated early into what-went-where and 
how. He'd fucked his first cunt when he was twelve. That pussy had belonged 
to an older girl in the same tenement building. She had seen the big bulge 
Morgan's cock had made in his pants, and she'd wondered if it could be made 
to go hard. It had gotten hard all right. It had also shot an almost endless 
load of cream up that hot bitch's spasming pussy. Morgan had thought he was 
going to die. 

Even that first time, Morgan hadn't had a premature ejaculation. He'd fucked 
the girl into a frenzy before he'd let her have it. So, why was he so 
excited now? What was there about having Carla in this school storage room, 
her ass propped up on a dusty desk top, her cunt wrapped tightly around his 
now-moving cock, that made Morgan think he was going to blast his hot 
spermal load before he'd even shown Carla what he could do by way of 
fucking? 

Morgan drew his cock outward until only his barbed cock-head remained stuck 
within Carla's cunt. His cock glands was washed in the same warm juices 
which Morgan's emerging cock neck had vacuumed out of Carla's hair-fringed 
fissure. 

Morgan's scrotum, once flaccid and low-hanging, had begun to contract, 
pulling upward to form a massive prune-like ball at the base of Morgan's 
penis. Inside his hirsute bag of skin, Morgan's gonads were swelling even 
larger with unexploded cum. 

"EEEEEeeeeeeeeiiiii!" Carla squealed as Morgan rammed his massive cock back 
inside of her fleshy-lipped cleft. Carla's ass gave a reflexive bounce, 
jiggling Morgan's impaling thickness deep inside of Carla's 
friction-reddened vagina. 

Morgan pulled his cock out again, screwed it in, drew it out. Carla's erect 
clitoris chafed on Morgan's moving stiffness, the result being a washing of 
electric-like waves throughout Carla's body. 

Carla wrapped her arms around Morgan's neck. Her thighs vised harder around 
Morgan's waist. Her cunt clamped down tighter around Morgan's filling meat. 

Morgan's hips took up a faster fucking cadence. As much as the big black 
stud would have liked to fuck steady for thirty minutes before drowning 
Carla's pussy with his hot male cream, it just wasn't in him-not today 
anyway. Morgan's bloated balls were just too clogged with thick cum waiting 
to be free. Morgan's guts were just too knotted with pleasure. Morgan's 
desperate needs for a releasing orgasm were just too great inside of him. 

Morgan fucked. Each time his pelvis banged against Carla's cunt, Morgan's 
cock was lost completely up the girl's hungry pussy. 

He was hot! Goddamn, he was hot! 

"Ohhhhh ... Morgan," Carla groaned. Her own will to resist was hastily 
fading as Morgan's cock churned deep-SO FUCKING DEEP-inside of Carla's body. 

Suddenly, Carla felt all of her resistance disappear, having been beaten 
away by Morgan's pumping ... pumping ... pumping cock. 

Carla's cunt was all juiced and buttery, turning hot from the constant 
friction of Morgan's battering meat against Carla's tender cuntal membranes. 

"Baby ... baby ... baby," Morgan chanted, punctuating with forward thrusts 
of his hips into the saddle formed by Carla's gripping thighs. 

The world collapsed in around them, shrinking to include only the two of 
them. Nothing else was of any importance. All else was ignored-even the 
distinct sounding of the door opening. 

Carla and Morgan were just too caught up in the wonders of the moment. Their 
pleasure took hold of them, commanding them to ride with it. Their ecstasy 
was suddenly bigger than the both of them. Their swelling enjoyment was 
something beyond their control. 

"Oh ... Jesus ... fuck me!" Carla begged, un-ashamedly making her request 
into the sweat-glossed flesh of Morgan's black neck. There was just no way 
Carla could any longer deny-even to herself-that she wanted what Morgan was 
giving her. "Deeper ... harder ... faster." 

"Hot ... baby ... hot," Morgan mumbled, hardly knowing what he was saying. 
All he was really aware of was the sudden click that went off loudly in his 
head, of the sudden explosion somewhere in the vicinity of his lower belly. 

"Pump me, stud ... pump me!" Carla pleaded. Her ass was gyrating on top of 
the desk, her ass-cheeks turning dirty in the dust. 

"Ohhhhhhhhh ... sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!" Morgan bellowed loudly. 

Morgan's rich, creamy-thick sperm began to spurt from the pouting meatus of 
his penis. The young Negro buried his exploding turgidness one final time 
into Carla's cock-hungry cavity and left it there. 

Carla's eyes went wide. Her mouth dropped open. She felt her pussy filling 
with Morgan's scalding cream. It felt as if a fire hose had been jammed up 
her cunt and then turned on. 

Something went off inside of Carla's brain. All she suddenly knew was that 
Morgan had managed to fuck her to climax. 

The bastard! The lovely, fucking, black-cocked bastard! 

"AaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuRRRRRgggghhhhhh! I'M CUMMMMMMMMMMING!" Carla Rodriguez 
brayed as her luscious body bounced helplessly out of control over the 
phallic stake Morgan had buried to its black balls up Carla's cunt. 
"GODDAMN, FUCK ME ... FUCK ME GOOD WITH THAT BLACK MONSTER COCK, YOU BLACK 
SONOFABITCH'N STUD!" 

 Chapter Three 

Animals! Nothing but animals! 

So, why had Melinda waited until the two young students were heaving their 
last before she pulled her head out of the crack and shut the door? Whatever 
the reason, she refused to believe she'd been made excited by what she'd so 
innocently stumbled in on. 

Melinda stood outside the storeroom door, disturbed that she was visibly 
trembling. She also felt some of her hot, buttery pussy juices leaking from 
her cleft and beginning a slow trailing down the inside of her creamy left 
thigh. 

Behind the door, Morgan and Carla had finally stopped their animalistic 
gruntings. 

Yes, animalistic gruntings: that's what they'd sounded like. 

Melinda had thought someone was dying behind that door. Little had she knew 
what she'd find once she opened it. Certainly not some Negro student fucking 
his girl friend. Jesus, no! Not in a million years had Melinda expected to 
see that! 

Melinda still didn't know for sure who the students were. The Negro youth's 
back had been turned toward the door, the girl's face had been hidden behind 
the black's chest. Melinda didn't want to know, either. She wished to hell 
she had never been walking down this hallway. 

It was getting more and more difficult for Melinda to convince herself that 
the kids she taught were actually human beings. Did human beings go around 
using "fuck" as every other word? Did human beings have fart contests in the 
classroom, or jack-off in the back seats, or make lewd comments every time 
their teacher turned her back? 

Did human beings fuck in school storerooms? 

Melinda tried to pull herself together. She knew she had to get out of 
there. It was going to take those kids only a few minutes to wipe up their 
mess and come back into the hallway. Melinda certainly didn't want to be 
standing there when they emerged with their silly-ass grins of contentment 
on their faces. 

Melinda headed off down the hall, consciously aware of the loud click, 
click, click of her heels on the linoleum. 

Should she have gone rushing in, pulled that black boy's hard cock out of 
that girl's pussy, and taken them both up to the principal's office? Yes, 
that's probably what she should have done. Except that was easier said than 
done. 

When Melinda had been a little girl, her small dog, Puffy, had gotten out of 
the yard. Melinda had gone after her. Poor Puffy had been attacked by some 
mongrel dog twice as big as Puffy was. Melinda still remembered how 
impossible it had been to get the two dogs apart until they'd finished what 
they'd started. 

Who knew how that young Negro would have reacted to being pulled out before 
he'd completed his obscene rutting. 

Melinda began to run over in her mind the black boys she had in her classes, 
but she stopped herself quickly. She didn't want to make some sudden 
connection between one of her students and the black boy in that room. She 
simply did not want to know who that animal was. She ... simply ... did ... 
not ... want ... to ... know. 

Melinda stopped at the girls rest room. She pushed the door open and went 
inside, thoroughly expecting to find four or five girls sitting on the sinks 
and puffing marijuana cigarettes. 

The rest room was empty. 

Melinda walked over to the row of white porcelain sinks, peering into a 
cracked mirror that hung over one of them. 

How could she see no change in her reflection? Just how was that possible? 

With each new horror Melinda was subjected to, she thought for sure there 
had to be an immediate new wrinkle appearing on her face. So, where was this 
latest one? And if it wasn't there, why wasn't it? How could Melinda 
continue to look the same outside but be so changed inside? 

Melinda was suddenly convinced she should have stayed in her own classroom 
over the lunch break. Next time she would. Any of the teachers would have 
told her it wasn't wise to be wandering around by herself-even inside the 
school building. Teachers, especially the female teachers, were always being 
reminded to go every place in twos. 

Melinda turned from the mirror. Maybe she shouldn't even be teaching at 
Westhaven after all. Maybe she should start making queries for acceptance to 
one of those safe but dull private schools that would have loved getting her 
to teach all those bright, young sweethearts who resembled Melinda in her 
girlhood. Yes, maybe Melinda should do just that. Because, despite all of 
her good intentions, she was seriously beginning to believe that no 
one-certainly not her-could teach these kids anything about survival in a 
world they could hardly even begin to conceive and would probably never see. 
Even the ones like poor Roberto, ones who might have had a chance for 
survival if given a chance, were killed on the streets before they could 
make it. 

"Oh, shit!"Melinda said aloud, simultaneously promising herself that she was 
going to have to watch her language. One "shit" or one "fuck" uttered on a 
visit back home would have brought the house down around her ears. Her 
mother would have been hurt. Her father would have been furious. Melinda was 
furious with herself. And yet, it was easier to sink down to the level of 
these kids than to bring them up to her own. 

Melinda walked to one of the empty toilet stalls and pushed open its door. 
She stepped inside the booth and locked the door behind her. She sat down. 

She wanted privacy. She wanted to think. This was just as good a place as 
any-at least at the moment. Charles would never find her here. 

It was because of Charles that Melinda hadn't just stayed in her own 
assigned classroom over lunch break. She'd just known that Charles would 
come looking for her the minute she hadn't shown up in the faculty dining 
area in the basement cafeteria. And Melinda didn't want to talk to Charles. 
She didn't want to hear him tell her one more time that she should get out 
of this school. She didn't want to hear him, because Melinda thought herself 
presently too vulnerable to Charles' arguments. 

How easy it would have been to just pack up and move out. And her parents 
would have been kind: not telling her their, "I told you so." But, they'd be 
thinking just that. And they'd be elated that Melinda had finally come to 
her senses. A girl of her background and upbringing certainly wasn't meant 
to be wasting the best years of her life in a neighborhood the rats would 
have deserted if they'd only been given half a chance. 

Leaving, though, would have been a cop-out. Of that, Melinda was quite sure. 
And there had been some good things about teaching at Westhaven. Really, 
there had. Roberto had been good. And there had also been that daily 
excitement, that strange sensual stirring Melinda always got in her loins 
when she saw one of those cocky, unpolished boys walking into her classroom. 

Melinda blushed. Damn it, any sensual feelings-even if she did feel 
them-certainly shouldn't have had anything to do with why she stayed or 
didn't stay at Westhaven. Those feelings were what had gotten her involved 
with Roberto in the first place. And, one of the first rules a teacher was 
suppose to follow-whether at Westhaven or in the snobbiest private 
school-was to refrain from any sexual involvements with her students. 

Melinda had violated one of teacher-dom's golden rules. And, God, even now 
she was being punished for having done so. 

So, why was she stopping to consider how her cunt was made juicy by the very 
sight of some of these uncouth schoolboys while males like Charles Bankoff, 
who were of her own social class, always seemed to be so painfully dull? 

If anything, Melinda's obvious penchant for these slum animals over men of 
her own class and breeding should have been a point for leaving instead of 
staying. She was playing a dangerous, perverted game with herself. She was, 
after all, a good girl. She was a clean girl. She was a wholesome girl. Oh, 
she might not be a virgin-who was a virgin in this day and age-but she 
wasn't a common slut that would pull down her panties and let herself be 
fucked in a school storeroom, either. 

Melinda's mind went helplessly back to that scene she'd stumbled in on. Why 
had she opened that door? Why? And since she had opened it, why had she done 
so carefully? Why had she opened it just a wee crack, just far enough so 
that she could spy inside? Why hadn't she just thrown the door wide and gone 
bursting in, scaring the shit out of those two animals? The shock of that 
kind of arrival would have had that Negro bastard's cock yanked out of that 
bitch's gripping pussy fast enough. 

Had Melinda, then, recognized those groans and mewls for just what they were 
before she'd even opened the door? 

No, damn it! No! No decent young woman, fully aware of her responsibilities 
as teacher in this school, would have willingly played Peeping Tom (Peeping 
Jane?). Never in a million years! And that was that! 

Melinda had merely been concerned, a bit curious. She hadn't really been 
able to immediately place those sounds, and that was why she had approached 
so cautiously. Of course, after she had finally mentally registered what she 
heard with what she saw, then she had simply been too shocked to do much 
about it. Yes, that was how it had gone. 

Damn, but she had to get hold of herself! 

Melinda stood, lifted her dress, dropped her silk panties down around her 
shapely legs. The crotch of her panties was wet. Why? Why had her cunt 
started drooling like sixty when Melinda had watched that black young man's 
buttocks pushing and pulling ... pushing and pulling ... pushing and 
pulling. 

"Stop this, stop this, stop this!" Melinda chanted to herself like some yoga 
chanting his mantra. 

What was she doing? What in the hell was wrong with her? 

She didn't have to go to the bathroom. So why was she in here? To think? 
Well, that was good for as long as it held water. But if she just wanted to 
think, and if she didn't have to go to the bathroom, then why was her silk 
pink panties hanging down around her ankles? 

Melinda sat back down. She leaned back against the back of the toilet. She 
shut her eyes. In spite of all her efforts, her mind kept returning to that 
room and that lurid display of animal sexuality she'd seen there. 

It had all been so lewd. So obscene. So filthy. 

So, why had her cunt leaked in response? Why was her pussy all buttery now, 
oozing clear juices into the tangle of blonde pubic hair growing along her 
cunt slit? Why was her right hand moving up her dress, gliding along her 
milky inner thigh? Why was her finger moving out to touch ... 

"OOOOOOooooo," Melinda moaned, her sounds coming low in her throat. Her 
finger had touched her pussy lips, shooting intense pleasure through her 
whole body. Clear lubricating juices slicked her probing fingertip. 

She shouldn't be here! Not in this school. Certainly not in this bathroom. 
Certainly not with her hand playing with her excited pussy. Certainly not 
thinking of how that black young man was pumping his cock up that young 
girl's clutching cunt. Certainly not remembering how that girl had been 
begging that black man to feed her even more of his meaty inches. 

So, why was she here? So, why couldn't she stop herself? So, why was her 
finger delving deeper between her legs, searching out the small clitoris 
that was already erected beyond the soft velvety folds of flesh that usually 
concealed it? 

"Sweet ... sweet ... Jesus," Melinda gargled, her clitoris touched. 
Electric-like shocks shook her, making her throat ache and her legs tremble. 

Melinda continued fondling her clitoris, basking in the incredibly exciting 
delight that tingled her being and sent more lubricant seeping into her 
buttery vagina. 

Melinda brought her other hand to position between her legs, sticking its 
middle finger through her moist cunt lips and into the depths of her 
clutchingly wet pussy folds. 

Melinda found herself wishing her fuck-finger were bigger, were thicker, 
were longer. Although she hadn't seen that black boy's cock, she bet it had 
been big, thick, long. Or, was that merely wishful thinking? Every book 
Melinda had ever read on the subject had said that the Negro male's erection 
was no bigger than his Caucasian counterpart. Had all of those books, 
Melinda wondered, been written by white doctors? 

Melinda didn't care what the books said. She would have bet a week's salary 
that in this case that Negro boy's cock had been a huge one. Only a really 
monstrous cock could have set that young bitch to groaning like she'd been 
groaning while the boy had fucked her cunt. And the girl had been begging 
for more, hadn't she? Or, was Melinda only imagining that, too? 

"Deeper ... deeper ... harder ... harder!" Melinda hissed through her 
clenched teeth. She moved her finger in and out of her sucking cuntal 
membranes. Her fingers played with her clitoris. Her cheeky buttocks 
revolved on the supporting toilet seat. 

Melinda rode her hands to a gut-shattering orgasm, all the time thinking of 
that lewd scene from the storeroom, all the time knowing that what she was 
doing was sick ... was obscene ... was filthy ... was shameful. 

Yet, even knowing how it was all of those things, why ... in ... the hell 
... couldn't she ... stop ... herself? 

"Aaaaagh ... agghrrrr ... oh ... oh ... AaaaagggghhhRRRReeeeiii!" 

 Chapter Four 

The small basement room was filled with smoke and milling young people. 
Carla pushed herself away from the wall and walked over to Morgan who was 
playing poker around a card table that insisted on wiggling whenever anyone 
put an elbow or arm on it. 

Carla leaned over and gave Morgan a peck on his cheek. 

"I've got to head home, Morgan. Momma still gets upset if I don't get home a 
little early. She thinks I'm out laying under every drunk driver's car, just 
waiting for him to run me over." 

"Oh, hell, and I was winning," Morgan said, checking his hand and wondering 
if two pair had a chance of winning the pot. 

"You don't have to come along, honey," Carla said, the endearment thrown in 
as a sarcastic afterthought. She had to play at being his girl; but, by God, 
it was going to be awhile before she gave him what he wanted without letting 
him know that he was only fucking her because she had run out of 
alternatives. "I know my way." 

"There've been those skirmishes with the Padres lately," Morgan said. The 
last thing he wanted was Carla running into Teddy Rowales on some dark 
street. Teddy just might suddenly realize what Morgan had snatched out from 
under his grubby Mexican nose. And Carla would probably be encouraging, 
willingly opening up her legs for Teddy's uncircumcised cock just to show 
him what could still be his. 

It wasn't so much that Morgan feared Teddy Rowales. Morgan figured he had 
the best of the Padres Chief in all areas; but, there was no sense in taking 
chances. 

"Kenny," Morgan called across the room, singling out a muscular young 
Mexican sitting with a small group in one corner, "walk Carla home, will 
you? I don't want her getting gang-banged by any stray Padres." 

Kenny Hernandez pushed himself up from the upended crate he'd been sitting 
on. He moved like a cat through the group of young men and women, coming to 
join Morgan and Carla at the card table. 

Morgan had picked Kenny mainly because he liked to put the kid in his place 
ever so often, letting Kenny know that Morgan was the headman now that 
Roberto was dead and buried. Kenny sometimes tended to forget who he was. 
Under Roberto's leadership, Kenny had been looking forward to being promoted 
to a lieutenant. Now that Roberto was dead and Morgan held the reins, Morgan 
wasn't too sure he was going to give Kenny the upgrade. Morgan was seriously 
thinking of bringing in some of the pure-blood Negroes off the streets to 
join the club. He had long thought the Bulls could use a little new blood. 

Then again, maybe Morgan would give Kenny the promotion. Kenny, as quiet as 
he sometimes seemed, wasn't a guy to get aggravated. Kenny had broken a few 
heads in his time; and, Morgan would rather have had Kenny for him than 
against him-even if Morgan was positive he could handle even Kenny in a fair 
fight. 

There was yet another reason why Morgan thought he might move Kenny into a 
lieutenant slot. That was the fact that several of the Spanish-Mexican 
members hadn't seemed too happy about the fact that Roberto's sister had 
become Morgan's special girl; although, they hadn't gone so far as to say as 
much in front of Morgan. The fact that Carla wasn't acting too thrilled over 
the arrangement had caused even more hard feelings among some of the gang; 
anyway, that was the way Morgan saw it. 

Of course, there was always a certain amount of friction that revolved 
naturally around any change in the power structure. Nothing showed up a 
chiefs real merit more than how fast he could patch up friction in his 
newly-acquired organization. Making Kenny a lieutenant just might pacify 
some hostilities. 

Morgan began to have second thoughts about having asked Kenny to take Carla 
home. There were a few other lackeys who would have been more suited to the 
task. Not that seeing to the safety of the Chief's girl was a very small 
duty. It was just that the threat of anyone attacking Carla on the 
streets-even Teddy Rowales and the Padres-was really pretty minor now that 
the word was officially out that Carla belonged to Morgan. It would have 
been one silly bastard who would have messed with Carla even in jest. 

"If you're busy, I could get Pepe to take her home," Morgan said, attempting 
to soothe any of Kenny's ruffled feathers. 

"Naw, I'm not busy," Kenny said. "I'll take her." 

Morgan went back to playing cards. Carla headed for the door. Kenny followed 
on Carla's heels. 

Carla was frankly glad that Morgan had chosen Kenny as her escort. Carla 
knew an upward mover when she saw one-and Kenny was it. If Kenny had been 
more established in the gang hierarchy, Carla would have had serious 
thoughts about going after Kenny instead of Teddy Rowales. 

Even though Carla had ended up with Morgan, that didn't mean that she had 
stopped worrying about her welfare. If Roberto could get killed by some 
drunkard in a car, then Morgan could just as easily end up dead in some 
gutter. Whether that happened or not, Carla had to prepare for just such an 
eventuality. She had to cement friendships, make allies, make sure there 
were people around to support her if and when she finally needed them. Kenny 
would have made a valuable ally in any game of gang politics-especially if 
Morgan promoted him to lieutenant as everyone thought he was soon going to. 

It was warm outside. The summer had turned muggy early, beginning a few days 
after Roberto's death and continuing. 

Carla and Kenny had come out into an alley. Carla kicked a stray can and 
waited for Kenny to catch up. When he did, Carla started off walking. 

The two proceeded in silence for quite some time, neither beginning a 
conversation. 

"You think I did wrong?" Carla asked finally. She knew what Kenny and some 
of the other Spanish-Mexican group thought. If she wanted to get them on her 
side, she had to assure them that she had teamed up with Morgan not because 
she was hot for his cock but because she had very little choice in the 
matter. 

"Well?" Carla persisted when Kenny wasn't forthcoming with any affirmation 
or denial of Carla's previous question. She stopped, moving into the shadows 
offered by a deserted storefront. She leaned her back against the 
paint-peeling wood. 

"You tell me," Kenny said, stopping a few steps in front of her. 

"I would have been fair game without someone after Roberto got killed; and, 
you know it," Carla said. "You think any girl would choose getting 
gang-banged to opening her legs for Morgan Jenning?" 

"He's part Negro," Kenny said lowly, his voice inflection telling Carla just 
how much Morgan's mixed blood rankled Kenny's craw. "As good friends as 
Morgan and your brother were, Roberto would be turning over in his grave if 
he knew that black's big cock was getting stuffed up his sister's cunt." 

"Morgan would cut off your balls if he heard you'd said that," Carla said, 
feeling a shiver run the length of her spine. Maybe even she had 
underestimated just how much resentment the Spanish-Mexican faction had 
against Morgan. Maybe she had made one hell of a mistake in becoming 
Morgan's girl. 

"You going to tell him?" Kenny asked, his smile portraying anything but 
genuine amusement. "You, the poor little girl who has gone into a black 
man's bed just because you needed protection-you going to tell him? Huh?" 

"You think I let him fuck me because I'm all hot for his black bod?" Carla 
asked. She didn't know why, but she'd gotten that definite impression. 

"You certainly don't look as if taking black cock has been as distasteful to 
you as it has been to some of the men who have to stand around and watch you 
take it." 

"Men?" Carla laughed, giving a shrill, high-pitched laugh that dripped with 
sarcasm. "Men wouldn't have stood around and watched it to begin with, would 
they? Not real men anyway. So, what men are you talking about? Some new ones 
arrived on the scene?" 

Kenny didn't answer. He shifted from one foot to the other and then back 
again. He didn't look at Carla but over her head, tracing some crack in the 
splitting, rotting wood behind her. 

"Got nothing to say to that, have you, bastard?" Carla asked vindictively. 
She knew she'd just made a point and was prepared to shove it home. "If 
there had been any of my countrymen with guts enough to challenge Morgan for 
Roberto's leadership, I'd now be able to be in that man's bed instead of in 
Morgan's." 

Kenny turned and started walking off down the sidewalk by himself. But Carla 
wasn't about to let him go. If any gang members thought she had crawled up 
in Morgan's hard cock of her own free will, she had to set them straight-and 
damned fast. She also knew the advantages to be had in laying her 
predicament right on the doorstep of her macho countrymen. She had to 
convince them that she had prostrated her body to a half-Negro buck only 
because no one had had the guts to save her from it. 

"Listen to me, you shit!" Carla said, taking hold of Kenny's large arm and 
giving a hearty tug that made even Kenny's muscular body go slightly off 
balance. "I'm stuck on that bastard's stiff black cock only because you and 
your friends didn't have guts enough to take your chance when you had it!" 

"You love the black bastard!" Kenny accused loudly, not willing to accept 
something which could very well have been true. "You love his big Negro 
cock!" 

"I'll show you how much I love his Negro cock," Carla said, moving into 
Kenny's path so that she was directly facing him. "I'll show you just how 
much I think of that half-caste shithead." 

She dropped to her knees in front of an astonished Kenny. She took hold of 
the zipper tab at his crotch and pulled it down. 

"What in the fuck do you think you're doing?" Kenny asked, looking nervously 
around. Luckily, the streets were deserted; but, that didn't mean there 
weren't eyes out there watching, or ears out there listening. 

"I'm going to sacrifice everything just to prove a point to you and any 
other of your smug-ass bastard friends who think I'm all that hot for Morgan 
Jenning's black cock. I'm going to pull your cock out right here and suck it 
in plain view of anyone who cares to walk by and watch. And then I'm going 
to scream to high heaven as to how much better your thick, turgid inches are 
than Morgan's rubbery meat." 

"Don't be an ass!" Kenny said. He bent down, took hold of Carla's left arm 
with one of his hamlike hands and yanked the girl violently to her feet. His 
other hand quickly located his zipper tab and pulled it back up, sealing off 
his naked crotch. 

"Afraid?" Carla asked. "You are afraid; and yet you wonder why I did what I 
had to do?" 

"Let's get you home," Kenny said, starting off and giving Carla a tug to 
make her come with him. 

"Big man!" Carla said, giving one of her cutting, humorless laughs. "Afraid 
you couldn't take care of Morgan-afraid your friends couldn't handle Morgan 
when he came after you for stealing his girl?" 

"There's a right time for everything," Kenny said. "There'll be a right time 
to take care of Morgan. But that time isn't now. So, don't bother trying to 
botch up my plans with your silly theatrics." 

"So, what did you expect me to do while you sit around on your ass waiting 
for the right time, huh?" Carla asked. "You expect me to put out for every 
hard cock on the street until you get around to displacing Morgan? You 
goddamn, fucking hypocrite!" 

The two walked on in silence, Kenny's hand still tight on Carla's arm. 

"So, maybe we made a mistake about you," Kenny said finally. "Maybe I made a 
mistake." 

"What do you mean, maybe?" 

"Just that," Kenny said, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk ahead of him. "How 
do I know your big scene back there wasn't just that-a scene? How do I know 
you would have gone through with sucking my cock if I hadn't stopped you?" 

"How?" Carla asked, stopping in her tracks. Kenny's continued momentum 
pulled Carla forward a few steps before they both came to a halt. "I'll show 
you how." 

Carla headed for the mouth of the alley that opened onto the sidewalk. She 
pulled Kenny behind her; although, she wouldn't have been able to budge his 
muscular frame if he hadn't wanted to come. 

Swallowed by the darkness, Carla again went to her knees in front of Kenny. 
She reached up and unzipped his trousers. She fished her fingers into his 
open fly and found his cock. His turgid penis was naked. Kenny wasn't 
wearing any underwear. 

Carla fisted Kenny's thick penis neck. She tugged his cock out through the 
opening she'd made for it. 

"You wouldn't dare," Kenny said. Up until then he'd made no move to stop 
Carla, almost as if he'd been calling her bluff, expecting her to come out 
of her little act at any minute. 

"You think not?" Carla asked, rubbing her right cheek along the rubbery head 
of Kenny's hard cock, Kenny's preseminal leakage trailing Carla's skin with 
translucent strings. 

Carla opened her mouth, swallowing Kenny's long cock in one massive 
gulpings. 

"Oh ... dear ... God!" Kenny moaned, not believing even yet that this was 
actually happening to him. 

Carla sucked, proving to Kenny by loving his blue-veined cock that she hated 
Morgan Jenning's guts. 

 Chapter Five 

Morgan. Morgan Jenning. Melinda knew who the black young man was the minute 
he came into her classroom after Melinda's last class for the day had 
vacated it. Since Melinda had witnessed that disgusting display of animal 
lust in the school storeroom, she had been singling out each and every Negro 
in her classes and affixing their proper names to them. She had found 
herself trying to match their backs with the back she had seen there in that 
storeroom. She'd had anything but positive results, since every kid in 
school wore a T-shirt and faded jeans. Still, if Melinda remembered 
correctly, she had once thought this particular Negro youth-Morgan 
Jenning-looked very much from the back like the student Melinda had seen 
fucking in the storeroom. 

And Melinda. was pretty sure Morgan was just the type who would grab a quick 
fuck (nooners as such swift bouts of sexual intercourse were called), over 
his lunch break. 

Morgan was the leader of one of the school gangs, wasn't he? Melinda thought 
Charles had told her that. Although how Charles would have such a fact was 
quite beyond Melinda. Melinda couldn't sort out the Bulls from the Padres 
from the Snakes from the Brass Knuckles, ad infinitum ad nauseam. 

"Morgan Jenning, isn't it?" Melinda asked, giving a nervous glance around 
the room. She always felt a little uneasy when she was alone with one of her 
students-one of her male students. Fear? Melinda tried to tell herself it 
was fear. She even convinced herself that was it. 

"That's my name," Morgan said. He then flashed Melinda a bright smile in 
order to cover up his own uneasiness. 

Goddamn, Melinda Caine was a beauty! Morgan got a stiff cock just standing 
this close to her. 

"Well, Mr. Morgan Jenning, what can I do for you?" Melinda asked. She 
refused to let her eyes go where they were drawn. Why, anyway, should she 
even want to look at this boy's crotch? Probably because Morgan's pants were 
so tight his genitals made a lump so large as to be literally obscene. 

Morgan was surprised Melinda knew his name. She had hardly ever called on 
him since those first few times when he'd given her some wise-ass answers 
that had had nothing whatsoever to do with the questions asked. 

"Well, I suppose I must guess?" Melinda said, getting to her feet. She felt 
more in control on her feet. Some of her students-Morgan Jenning included- 
were bigger than she was. Sitting down only made Melinda seem even smaller. 
"Certainly it can't be anything about your English. You've got all that down 
perfectly, don't you?." 

Melinda didn't know what she was doing. Her attempts at sarcasm were 
probably going completely over this boy's head. Now that she had told him he 
had his English down perfectly, he would probably expect her to give him an 
"A" on his report card. 

Morgan felt a little ill at ease. And that made him angry. He wasn't used to 
feeling ill at ease. 

"Come now, Mr. Jenning, don't be shy," Melinda said, hoping Charles would 
come in and abort this little confrontation. Melinda tried to remember if 
this was the day Charles had agreed to take over some after-school coaching 
for the ailing Mr. Tipp's. If not, Charles would be along shortly. 

Morgan just stood there, trying to remember how he'd been going to go about 
this. He'd even rehearsed in his room last night, going over it again ... 
and again ... and again. So, what with all that practice, why was he 
tongue-tied now? 

Morgan decided it was because Melinda Caine was something special. And 
Morgan had known that from the very first day he'd seen her. She was real 
class-real class. Not anything like frumpy Miss Hearthrow, or even pretty 
but hard-as-nails Miss Thethonton. 

"I'm all out of guesses, Morgan Jenning," Melinda said finally. 

What did this boy want? Melinda didn't know if she should be frightened or 
amused. 

Morgan decided he was going to have to snap out of it. Damn it, he was the 
Bull Chief. He'd fucked countless women in his time and had taken control 
over all of them. And classy or not, Melinda Caine was just another broad. 
And if Morgan was right in his assumptions, Melinda had been fooling around 
with Roberto Rodriguez. If that was the case, Melinda Caine was just another 
bitch with hot pants. That thought made Morgan regain a bit of his 
temporarily lost confidence. 

"I've got something for you, Miss Caine," Morgan said. 

Melinda sat on a corner of her desk, folding her arms across her breasts. 
She glanced once again at the clock over the door. Charles hadn't showed up 
yet. Obviously, it was his night for coaching football. 

Melinda turned her attention back on Morgan. Was he the young man who had 
fucked that girl in the storeroom? Was it Morgan's obviously big cock that 
had been plowing that girl's cunt, making her beg for more? 

Melinda shook her head to clear it. She had let that one episode somehow 
affect her way too much. She had lately taken to even dreaming about it. She 
was simply going to have to put it in its proper perspective. 

What was this boy doing? Nothing. He was just standing there doing nothing. 
That's what he'd been doing since he'd come in. 

"What do you have for me?" Melinda asked. She hoped it wasn't what he'd had 
for that poor girl-if Morgan had been the one sticking her. That thought 
made Melinda smile in embarrassment. 

She didn't remain smiling for long. 

Morgan knew he'd hit on something just by the expression Melinda got on her 
face when she saw the gold crucifix he pulled out from beneath his T-shirt. 
Of course just because Melinda recognized the gold cross didn't mean she'd 
been sitting on Roberto's cock. On the other hand, the gold cross was a 
mighty expensive gift for a teacher to have given a student if she hadn't 
been getting something from him in return. 

"Where did you get that?" Melinda asked, trying to be calm, be cool, be 
collected. She did not feel calm, cool or collected. 

"You do recognize it, then?" Morgan asked, feeling more confident by the 
minute. 

"Should I?" Melinda asked. What was this black boy doing with Roberto's 
crucifix and chain? 

"If it's not yours, then I guess I'll just have to keep it," Morgan said 
with a shrug. "I thought maybe you'd like to get it back as kind of a 
keepsake." 

"I see," Melinda said. It was important that she handle this properly. She 
had to find out what Morgan Jenning was out to prove before she committed 
herself to anything. This could turn out to be something very simple and 
innocent. Or, it could possibly turn out to be something complicated and a 
bit nasty. 

Why did Melinda already think the worst? 

"It is yours, then?" Morgan persisted. 

"You haven't yet told me where you got it," Melinda said, avoiding any 
direct admissions. Still, if it was going to be floating around, Melinda 
would have preferred having the cross in her possession. Actually, she had 
been a fool to buy it in the first place. She had been a bigger fool to have 
both of their initials engraved on it. Still, she had wanted to give Roberto 
something at the time. 

"It once belonged to a friend of mine," Morgan said. 

There was no way Morgan was going to tell Melinda that he'd commandeered the 
crucifix and chain from Carla's neck. Morgan had noticed the cross nestled 
on Carla's big breasts every time he'd fucked her; and, it had never even 
rung a bell until a few nights ago. Then Morgan had recognized the cross as 
the same one Roberto had taken to wearing a couple of months prior to his 
death. Morgan had noticed Roberto wearing it one day in the shower after gym 
class. It had looked like real gold even then. Roberto had simply said he'd 
bought it; but, Morgan had always wondered where Roberto had gotten the 
cash. However, Morgan hadn't risked giving Roberto the third-degree. 

But as it had turned out, Roberto hadn't bought the cross. M.C. had bought 
the cross. Anyway, that's the way it would seem if anybody checked the 
engraving on the back of the crucifix: R.R. LOVE M.C. 

"If it belonged to a friend, what are you doing with it?" Melinda asked, 
wondering what she could offer to get the crucifix back right here, right 
now. Maybe if she offered him a few dollars. 

"My friend is dead," Morgan said. "He kind of left this to me." 

Carla hadn't been any too happy when Morgan had made her part with the cross 
and chain. Morgan had had to give her a couple of hard slaps across the face 
before Carla had surrendered her prize. Then Morgan had fucked Carla in her 
unlubricated ass hole. She would be a little sore for a few days more; but, 
next time she would know better than to say no when Morgan asked her for 
something. 

"I'm afraid you've lost me," Melinda said, clearing her throat in the hopes 
of making her voice sound more normal. "If it was your friend's, and if it's 
now yours, then what makes you think I should be interested in it?" 

"Why don't you let me clear it up for you," Morgan said. Just talking to 
this classy bitch had given Morgan one hell of a hard-on. He dropped his 
right hand to his groin in order to move his swollen inches to a more 
comfortable position in the crotch of his pants. Did Melinda, or didn't she, 
glance down to see Morgan's fingers shifting the ridge of his large penis? 

Melinda's eyes had followed Morgan's hand movement. She had seen the bulged 
evidence of the young boy's cock down there nestled between his legs. She 
was embarrassed by what Morgan had done; she was embarrassed for having 
watched. She had suddenly had quite enough of Morgan's game playing. 

"Yes, why don't you clear it up for me," Melinda said as if she were still 
in the complete dark about everything. 

"It belonged to Roberto Rodriguez," Morgan said, deciding to lay it all out 
on the line. "You remember Roberto, don't you? You and he used to get 
together for ... ah, how should I say it?" 

Melinda shrugged. She wasn't about to give Morgan Jenning any help. Despite 
herself, she was curious to see just how long it would take Morgan to get 
out whatever it was he was trying to say. 

"I don't really know what a classy young woman like you would call it. Where 
I come from, we call it fucking." 

Melinda's mouth dropped open. Her jaw just fell. She knew she must look 
ridiculous, but she simply couldn't help it. 

The audacity! The utter audacity of this bastard! Just who did he think he 
was using that filthy language in front of: one of his hot-pantsed sluts? 

"I think this conversation has just run its course," Melinda said. She 
pushed herself off the edge of the desk, turning to gather up her books and 
papers. She had no place she wanted to take those books and papers, but she 
had this sudden urge to be doing something. Maybe if she kept busy long 
enough, Morgan Jenning would disappear in a puff of black smoke. 

"Look, Miss Caine," Morgan said, moving in close behind her. "I thought 
maybe you might like to buy it. You know, some people just might get the 
wrong idea if they found out about it." 

"Are you threatening me?" Melinda asked, turning back to face him. Morgan 
had moved in so close, his T-shirt got brushed by Melinda's breasts when the 
woman turned. 

Morgan didn't step back. He had a sudden whiff of the perfume Melinda was 
wearing. It was a light, fresh, and summery fragrance. It lingered in 
Morgan's nostrils. Morgan's cock gave a sudden jerking and then drooled a 
mess of clear and sticky juice to the inside of his trouser fly. 

"No, I'm not threatening you at all, pretty lady," Morgan said, wanting to 
reach out and touch Melinda's flowing blonde hair, wanting to touch 
Melinda's soft white skin, wanting to bury his face in Melinda's lusciously 
ballooned breasts. I'm merely asking the question: Do you or don't you want 
Roberto's crucifix?" 

Melinda felt trapped between the desk and Morgan's muscular body. She wanted 
to run but knew that would have looked ridiculous. Morgan hadn't physically 
threatened her, had he? 

"All right, so you need some money, right?" Melinda asked, leaning as far 
away from Morgan as possible. Her buttocks pressed hard against the desk 
top. If she sat on top of the desk and opened her thighs ... if Morgan 
stepped in a little closer and pulled out his big cock ... 

What in God's name was she thinking? 

"How much do you want for it?" Melinda asked, mentally computing how much 
cash she had in her purse. Unfortunately, it wasn't much: just enough so 
there was something to give any kid who stuck a switchblade in her ribs and 
asked for her pocket book. Still, there would be no problem getting more 
money. 

"I don't want your dough, if that's what you think," Morgan said. What if he 
just reached out and took hold of her, felt her body, kissed her lips? 

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Melinda said. And, this time, she wasn't 
kidding. She knew all about communications problems, and she definitely 
believed the two of them were having one. "You've come to sell a piece of 
jewelry that isn't even yours, but you don't want money for it. That, in 
case you don't know it, is known in the English language as being a bit 
incongruous." 

"All it means is that I'm willing to give you this," Morgan said, fingering 
the gold cross, "but not for money." 

"For what then?" 

Morgan's hand-the one on the cross-moved slowly down along his chest, over 
his belly, down between his legs. 

Melinda's eyes, helplessly captured by the movement, had followed Morgan's 
hand as it went. Melinda saw as Morgan's fingers pressed the worn and faded 
jean material at his crotch, molding more distinctly the outline of his cock 
which was hidden beneath the material. 

"You're crazy!" Melinda hissed. "You filthy-minded little bastard. You want 
that kind of animal rutting, then you go off and do it with one of your girl 
friends in a storeroom." 

Melinda could tell immediately, without Morgan even saying a word-she could 
tell just by the expression on his face-THAT IT HAD BEEN MORGAN DOWN THERE 
FUCKING THAT GIRL. 

Morgan's mind raced. How did Miss Caine know about that? How? Had there been 
someone at the door? Carla had said afterwards that she vaguely remembered 
having thought the door had opened. And shut? 

"Did you like what you saw, Miss Caine?" Morgan asked, momentarily grabbing 
at straws. He didn't know Melinda had been there that day. He didn't even 
know for sure that the door had opened and shut. If it had, Morgan certainly 
hadn't heard it. But was it only coincidence that had made Melinda say what 
she had just said? "I can give you a little of what I gave Carla, Miss 
Caine. For you I can even make it better." 

Carla? Carla who? Carla Rodriguez: Roberto's sister? Surely not. But that 
might explain how Morgan got his hands on the crucifix. That might explain 
how Morgan knew about Roberto and Melinda. Had Carla known? Had she told 
Morgan? Or, had Morgan found out some other way? Roberto had belonged to a 
gang. What gang? The Bulls? The Padres? One of those Mexican ones. What gang 
did Morgan belong to? Surely not a Spanish one. Morgan was a Negro, wasn't 
he? Wasn't he? Or, had someone once told Melinda-Roberto? Charles?-that one 
of the school Negroes had a Mexican mother and a Negro father? Melinda 
should have paid more attention. But there were so many kids. It was hard to 
care about all those who didn't show any interest in school or learning. 
What was the point? 

"I think you had better leave," Melinda said. "Or, I'm going to have to call 
in a male member of the faculty to physically remove you." 

"Look, what if you just touched me down there between my legs? Just touched 
me. That would be small enough payment for this cross, wouldn't it? Think of 
all the bother you could get out of the way just by touching my cock. Just 
by touching it." 

"You ... are ... a foul-minded young man," Melinda said. Why were her legs 
going weak? Why was her cunt getting wet? Fear? Yes, it had to be simple 
fear. 

"I'll admit that," Morgan said. "I'm a regular bastard. I'm a real 
sonofabitch for wanting what I want; but, what's the big deal? You trying to 
tell me a pretty white woman like you has never touched a guy's hard cock 
before. Never?" 

"I ... will ... not ... touch ... your ... your ... anything!" Melinda 
hissed. "Why should I? If you think that thing around your neck means any 
kind of a threat to me, you are sadly misinformed." 

"What about the engraving?" Morgan asked. "R.R. LOVE M.C." 

"What about the engraving?" Melinda replied haughtily. "There must be 
hundreds of people walking around the streets with those particular 
initials. How you happened to fantasize them into meaning myself and Roberto 
Rodriguez is completely beyond my realm of comprehension." 

"It's an expensive crucifix," Morgan said. "I got a friend who's a 
pawnbroker. And he told me. He says there's probably only three or four fine 
jewelry stores in this town that would sell this type of thing. A little 
checking, and someone just might find someone who remembered who bought it 
and had it engraved on the back." 

"Who would want to go to all of that bother on hearsay?" Melinda asked, 
wondering if the clerk would remember her. Melinda couldn't even remember 
what the clerk looked like. Would anyone-the school principal?-really go to 
the bother of checking out a mere rumor? Probably not. Still, what if-JUST 
IF-someone did decide to check? Did it naturally follow that if Melinda had 
bought an expensive piece of jewelry for a student that she had then gone to 
bed with him? 

How easy it would be to just give this black boy what he wanted. Melinda had 
touched cock before. Never, though, Negro cock. 

Melinda tentatively reached out a hand. Her extended forefinger actually 
touched the swollen ridge grown downward along Morgan's left thigh. 

God, what was she doing? 

"There," Melinda said. "Now give it to me." 

"That's hardly fair, is it?" Morgan asked, pouting slightly. He'd almost 
jumped out of his pants when Melinda had touched him. His black cock had 
leaked so much preseminal juice that the sopped spot was beginning to 
readily show through the material of his trousers. "There's no one down in 
the boiler room now. We could go there for a minute-just a quick minute. 
That's all it would take. A few seconds even. A few touches. I'm so hot, I'd 
be creaming before you even gave my cock one full stroke." 

"You're mad!" Melinda told him. "Absolutely, completely mad!" 

"Come on," Morgan cajoled. "It'll only take that minute. I promise." 

Melinda started to make a move to escape but had second thoughts. 

Was she actually considering going to the boiler room? Was she? Was she? And 
what if she did go with him? What if he went babbling it all over the school 
that he'd gotten to Miss Caine in the boiler room? Would anyone, students or 
faculty, believe him? Could sweet little Melinda Caine ever be thought to 
have masturbated some black stud in the school boiler room? It was just too 
fantastic a story to be believed. Even Melinda thought it sounded 
preposterous. And it was impossible! 

"You go, and I'll follow," Melinda said. It was a good way to get rid of 
him. He could go, and then Melinda could get away, escape to the safety of 
her apartment. Morgan could wait down in the boiler room until his balls 
turned blue. 

"You come with me," Morgan said. He risked putting a hand on Melinda's 
creamy arm. 

"No!" Melinda said, automatically jerking her arm free. The very feel of his 
black fingers had sent a rushing of electricity down her arm and directly 
into her cunt. "What possible excuse could I ever have for walking around 
the halls with you?" 

Morgan knew she was right. Yet, he was reluctant to believe she would follow 
him. Oh, she had touched him already-for a brief fraction of a second; but, 
a tentative feel now, a small touching of his jean-shielded cock, was quite 
different than actually fondling the real and naked thing. 

"You go," Melinda insisted. "You go now before I have second thoughts about 
this little game of blackmail you're playing." 

"Black male blackmail?" Morgan suggested, wondering if Melinda would smile 
at his little pun. 

Melinda didn't smile. If anything, she frowned. 

Morgan left. He went to the boiler room. He leaned against a cool wall, 
trying to control an impulse to cream in his pants. He kept glancing at his 
watch. The minutes kept ticking by. 

"She's not coming ... she's not coming!" Morgan exclaimed under his breath, 
banging a fisted right hand hard against the cement wall. "The fucking bitch 
isn't coming." 

But, then, the door to the boiler room opened and shut. And Melinda was 
standing there. 

God, she was beautiful ... God, she was beautiful ... God she was beautiful! 

Morgan's penis oozed a new deluge of preseminal leakage that further soiled 
his already drenched trouser crotch. 

 Chapter Six 

This whole business was disgustingly sordid! So, what was Melinda doing 
here, seeing Morgan's eyes going wide with animalistic excitement? Just look 
at that bastard! Just look at him. He was obviously more animal than human. 
That grotesque cock-that lewdly obscene bulging in his pants-wasn't to be 
believed. Melinda didn't know how she was ever-EVER-going to bring herself 
to touch what that bulging concealed. 

"Don't be afraid, Miss Caine," Morgan encouraged. Goddamn, his cock was 
hard! 

Sure, don't be afraid. That was easy for him to say, wasn't it? This 
situation was fraught with all kinds of danger to Melinda. What if 
somebody-anybody-walked in now and caught her here with this hard-cocked 
Negro boy? Yes, what then, indeed? What was the point of trying to get hold 
of a gold crucifix to cover up her tracks on one hand when being here now 
could have more immediately dire consequences? 

"I really think I've changed my mind, Morgan," Melinda said, letting her 
second thoughts get the best of her. "There's just no way I can risk being 
caught down here with you." 

"Lock the door," Morgan said. Damn, but she couldn't leave! She couldn't. If 
it came to that, he wouldn't let her go. 

"That will only lock us in as well an anyone else out," Melinda answered, 
wondering at how practical her mind could be even under pressure. "We would 
have to come out eventually, wouldn't we?" 

"There's another way out," Morgan said. He'd chosen the boiler room for very 
good reasons. "It locks only from the inside. If we hear anyone trying to 
get in this door, we'll beat shit out the other door." 

"Even so, Morgan," Melinda said, giving a long sigh, "I just don't think I 
can possibly do what you ask me. It simply goes against my delicate 
sensibilities." 

"Come on, Miss Caine," Morgan said, as if Melinda was trying to lay a line 
of bullshit on him that he just wasn't about to swallow. "There's no way 
that a beautiful lady like you has gone through her life without having had 
some first-hand exposure to a guy's body." 

"You forget, Morgan," Melinda said, objecting strenuously to the Negro boy's 
smug insinuations that Melinda could in no way be the innocent virgin she 
was trying to play, "I wasn't raised under the same sort of circumstances as 
those girls you're used to." 

"And I'm telling you that a pretty girl gets fucked whether she's Miss Rich 
Bitch or Little Miss Slum Child." 

"What could you possibly know?" Melinda asked, speaking a little too loudly 
than she would have liked to. She told herself to be calm, to ... just ... 
calm ... down. "How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?" 

"Nineteen," Morgan said, flashing a wide smile. "I kind of got held back a 
time or two by teachers who didn't like Mexican Negroes." 

Well, that answered one of Melinda's questions. This was the boy she had 
heard about with the Mexican mother and the Negro father. That also meant 
Morgan was probably in the same gang Roberto had been in. It probably had 
been Carla Rodriguez that Morgan had been fucking in that storeroom. 

"That your problem, Miss Caine? You hate black niggers?" 

"I have nothing whatsoever against blacks," Melinda said. My God, wasn't it 
obvious she had very few-if any-racial prejudices? She was at Westhaven 
under her own volition wasn't she? 

"Then lock that door behind you, and show it," Morgan said. "You've proved 
your point anyway. You don't want to touch my cock. I'll accept that. Still, 
we all have to do things we don't like, don't we? Think of what you're going 
to do that way. For a few brief moments of revolting body contact with my 
cock, you're going to get yourself an expensive gold crucifix. Dollar value 
for dollar value, you're probably getting paid more for what you're going to 
do in a few minutes than a professional prostitute gets for putting out on 
her back all night long." 

"Remind me to have you talk to the class on the subject of 'More Picturesque 
Speech,'" Melinda said sarcastically, wrinkling up her nose. 

Melinda then surprised herself by turning and locking the door. Still, she 
wasn't about to do anything-ANYTHING-until she was sure this place was safe. 
A horny Negro buck was liable to lie through his teeth to get what he wanted 
from a white woman. 

"Where's this escape route you've been talking about, Morgan?" 

"Right on down that hallway," Morgan answered, nodding off toward the right 
and stepping back against the wall in an open invitation for Melinda to 
check it out for herself. 

Melinda squinted to penetrate the shadows of the hallway, finally deciding 
that there was, indeed, a door at its end. But a door to where? That was the 
question. A quick mental rundown of the school layout told her that such a 
door could possibly lead out to a loading platform. Then again- 

"It's not that I think you're lying, Morgan," Melinda said, taking a few 
tentative steps forward, "it's just that I'd feel a little safer if I knew 
for sure there was a way out besides by the door I just came through." 

"Fair enough," Morgan said. He headed away from Melinda and walked into the 
shadows of the hallway. He was so black, Melinda soon lost sight of him 
completely. His voice, though, came at her from the shadows: "Well?" 

Melinda cautiously headed after him, finally catching sight of him down the 
hallway by the door. 

Melinda's legs were strangely weak as she walked on them. She, also, had a 
tight feeling in the pit of her belly. She'd felt like this the first time 
she'd been alone with Roberto, the first time Roberto had taken her hand and 
placed it on the hard and swollen bulge at the young man's pants crotch. Had 
Roberto told Morgan about that time? Was that why Morgan wanted Melinda to 
touch his cock now? 

Melinda shivered. There was just no way things here and now could ever be 
compared to that other time with Roberto. Melinda had been attracted to 
Roberto Rodriguez from the beginning. Even she had admitted to that. She 
certainly wasn't even vaguely attracted to Morgan Jenning. The truth was, 
she was possibly prejudiced because of Morgan's color. He was also a sordid 
blackmailer who could only coerce her into giving him what he wanted. Where, 
with Roberto, Melinda had always given-given more than the touch of her 
fingers-more than willingly. 

"Shall I open it?" Morgan asked. His hand on the dead bolt, he pulled it to 
one side to free the door for opening. 

"Please," Melinda said. "But just a crack. There's no sense in making more 
noise than we have to make." 

Morgan opened the door far enough so that Melinda could see that it did 
allow access to the loading platform outside. Seeing that, Melinda was 
satisfied. Morgan shut the door and threw the bolt. He then headed back 
toward the boiler room, walking past Melinda as he did so. He stopped 
suddenly, though, and turned to face Melinda who had just begun to follow. 

"Now, what do you say we get down to business?" Morgan said. 

Melinda had difficulty making out Morgan's features in the darkness. All she 
could really see at the moment was this huge silhouette blocking her escape 
route. Should she turn, run back to the door, try to release the heavy bolt? 
Morgan would be on her before she did that. No, it was best just to pretend 
that she was in perfect control of the situation, Morgan not scaring her one 
iota. 

The problem was, Morgan did scare her. And wasn't that silly? She was a 
grown woman. He was a child. He didn't look like a child, though. He looked 
very much like a man. He looked like a man who was used to getting his own 
way-whether he wanted a hand on his cock or something more. 

Morgan studied Melinda there in the darkness, reading the fear in her eyes 
and being made stronger because of it. He was consciously aware of the 
entrapped blood throbbing painfully in his large cock shaft, as well as the 
clear preseminal fluid coating his cock-head and beading in his kinky pubic 
hair. 

Morgan began to open the fly of his jeans. 

Melinda seemed to grow a good two inches in fright. Her right hand went 
nervously to her mouth. Her eyes went even wider than they already were. 

Still letting his cock remain hidden inside of his pants, Morgan massaged 
his thick wealth of black cock meat. He drew his bulky foreskin back and 
forth over the rubbery bulb of his cock glands. Then, when Melinda dropped 
her gaze to the floor in seemingly shameful horror at what Morgan was about, 
Morgan yanked his hard, thick cock out through the flaps of his trousers. 

"I, oh, please, Morgan ... I ... don't ... really ... I just can't ... I'm 
sorry ... but, I just can't." 

Melinda hadn't actually looked up yet, even though she sensed intuitively 
that Morgan's prick was freed for her viewing. She kept her eyes focused on 
a crack in the floor, telling herself she mustn't look at it at any cost. 
She must stay right like she was until Morgan took his horrendous black cock 
and left her alone. 

Morgan's erect penis was a lewdly menacing mass of meat as it jutted upward 
from his open pants fly. His nuts, which the boy had scooped out to join his 
hard cock, were enclosed in their black bag of flesh and were hung from 
Morgan's massive cock roots. 

Something deep inside of Melinda told her to run, told her to get the hell 
out of here as quickly as possible. There was no way she should have been 
here to begin with, down in this boiler room, alone with this Negro, being 
subjected to such an indecent display of vulgar carnality. 

But Melinda couldn't run, and not just because she knew for a fact Morgan 
would have her captured before she got two steps. She was simply paralyzed, 
her feet rooted to the floor as if they'd been sealed in the original 
concrete of the building foundation. 

Melinda still couldn't look up at Morgan's penis poling out from the young 
Negro's gaping trouser fly. This was all so crazy, so insane, so hideously 
sinful! 

"Why don't you just relax, Miss Caine," Morgan said, licking his lips. He 
used his right hand to give his solid inches a lengthy masturbatory stroke. 
Pleasures rippled outward and upward from Morgan's groin, shooting into the 
rest of his body. Goddamn, he was horny! 

Melinda took a deep breath and then another. She'd gotten herself into this 
mess. Now, she had to get herself out of it. She would only make things 
worse by standing here and doing nothing. Far better to touch Morgan's 
obscene cock and get this whole revolting mess over with. 

Melinda looked up finally, seeing Morgan's up-jutting penis. She couldn't 
hold back her gasp of surprise. My God, that thing couldn't be real! 

Morgan's black eyes glinted with pleased amusement as he noted the stunned 
expression on Melinda's beautiful face. Morgan took the few steps necessary 
to close the distance that separated him from Melinda. He released his hold 
on his cock, letting his prick sway back and forth in front of his belly 
like a giant metronome. He reached out his hands, cupping them over 
Melinda's large, trembling breasts. He felt nipples that were hard beneath 
the soft cloth of Melinda's dress. 

"Don't!" Melinda cried out in a quick rush of courage. She jerked back to 
break all contact with Morgan. "You said touch it. You said nothing 
whatsoever about you touching me." 

"So, touch it then," Morgan said, finding it difficult not to grab this sexy 
blonde and crush her against his muscular young body. He reached out and 
grabbed hold of Melinda's right wrist, pulling her hand over to his crotch. 
"Go ahead, then, bitch, and touch it!" 

"Noooooooooo!" Melinda groaned, simultaneously feeling the velvety hardness 
of Morgan's hard meat against her fingers. "Oh, please ... please ... 
noooooooooooooooo." 

"It's not going to bite you, baby," Morgan said. His voice was strained and 
breathless. His fingers moved Melinda's resisting fingers up and down along 
the length of his cock, getting the young woman's fingers wet with the ooze 
that flowed unceasingly from Morgan's blue-veined cock head. 

Melinda shut her eyes. Oh, this was just too, too horrible! What had made 
her be so foolish as to come down here? What had made her even let this 
black boy think she would ever condescend willingly to touch his massive 
cock. 

"Grab hold of it, baby," Morgan said, rubbing the palm of Melinda's right 
hand over the pulpy knob of his large cock corona. "Please ... baby ... just 
... take ... hold." 

"No, no!" Melinda protested. This whole scene was too sickeningly obscene to 
be bearable. She just knew she was going to be ill: she just knew it. 

"It'll only take a minute," Morgan said, his voice an earnest entreaty. "I'm 
so hot, I'll be off in no time. Then it'll be over. You want it to be over, 
don't you, baby? That's what you want, isn't it?" 

Yes, oh, God, yes, Melinda did want it to be over. And if she had no other 
choice, then she had no other choice. But could she possibly bring herself 
to do what Morgan was asking? It was all so monstrously horrible: white 
woman, black boy; teacher, student. Oh, she wished she could die. 

"Please ... teach ... please," Morgan was begging. He was grinding his cock 
against Melinda's hand. His cock was smearing Melinda's fingers with a 
continual deluge of warm and sticky juices. "Take it ... hold it ... stroke 
it ... beat it ... whip it ... make it cream!" 

Melinda, her eyes still tightly shut, slowly closed her fingers. Whatever it 
was she was fisting at that moment-my God, could it actually be Morgan's 
blood-bloated penis?-it was larger than Melinda's hand could completely 
contain. 

Morgan's cock was warm. It was hard. It was wet. It ... had ... been ... up 
... Carla ... Rodriguez's cunt. My God, how? 

"Yes ... yes ... baby, yes," Morgan said. He pulled his hips back. His hard 
inner cock core slipped back through the loose outer cock skin Melinda's 
hand held to. Morgan pushed his hips forward. His cock slipped again, this 
time his charcoal-colored cock glands pushing out through the "U" formed by 
Melinda's thumb and her forefinger. 

"Ohhhhhhhhh," Melinda moaned, feeling the movement of Morgan's cock, knowing 
what he was doing, he ... was ... fucking ... her ... hand! 

Morgan couldn't believe his pleasure. He simply couldn't believe it. Why was 
fucking this white teacher's hand even better than fucking Carla's tight 
cunt? How could that be? How ... could ... that ... possibly ... be? 

And, she was doing it now all on her own, wasn't she? Yes, Morgan had turned 
her hand loose on his cock. He was no longer forcing Melinda's fingers to 
remain fisted to his blood-engorged stiffness. Melinda's hand held there all 
by itself, holding tightly, making a cunt of its fingers for Morgan's 
lust-ballooned inches to fuck. 

"Strip it ... strip it," Morgan moaned, feeling his testicles being jerked 
closer to the base of his cock, it wouldn't be long now. Just a few more 
beautiful ... beautiful ... pumps of his cock in Melinda's hand. 

"Oh, Jesus, this is madness!" Melinda screamed. She turned loose of Morgan's 
cock. Her feet started to move. Her body brushed Morgan's panting body as 
she rushed past him. 

She had to get out. She had to get away. She had to go somewhere and get 
this Negro boy's juices and smells washed free of her body. 

For a moment, there in the darkness, Morgan had had Melinda holding to his 
cock. And Melinda had actually begun to feel a kind of pleasure welling up 
in her guts, seeping into her very being. There had been something enjoyably 
hypnotic about the movement of Morgan's stiff meat inside of Melinda's hand. 
Juices had begun oozing into Melinda's cunt, warming her vagina and making 
it want a finger ... or a cock ... to churn inside of it. 

Melinda had panicked. Who wouldn't have panicked upon suddenly realizing 
that she was actually coming to the point of enjoying this lewd obscenity? 

"Bitch! You goddamned bitch!" Morgan screamed upon realizing that Melinda 
had indeed turned loose of his cock and was running away. Morgan had been so 
close-so fucking close. A few minutes more, a few seconds even, and he would 
have been there. Had that been too much to ask? Hell no, not for the cunt's 
precious crucifix. But she hadn't even been willing to give him that much. 
But, by God, she was going to wish that she had. Did she actually think she 
was going to beat his meat until he was hurting and then leave him to finish 
off himself? If she did, she was seriously mistaken. 

My God, the hallway was long! It hadn't been this long when Melinda had 
walked down it to that bolted door at its other end. How could it be so long 
coming back? Why wasn't she yet even in the main boiler room? She had so far 
to go, even after she once reached the main room. She had to cross that 
room, reach the door on the other side, unlock the door, get free. 

AND MORGAN WAS CHASING HER! 

Morgan's cock was so blood-engorged, made so heavy from stimulation, it-was 
like a weight at Morgan's belly. As Morgan ran, his massive erection weaved, 
threatening to break off from its anchorage at the boy's muscled belly. 
Morgan's balls, gathered in a prune-skinned bag at the roots of his cock, 
were sore, glutted with a reservoir of thick creamy cum that had been 
deprived of its race through Morgan's tubes for its jettisoning from 
Morgan's pulsing cock meatus. 

Morgan caught Melinda just as she reached the door, just before she could 
unlock it. He circled his arms around her, crossing his forearms over the 
resilient orbs of her heaving breasts. His erect cock pressed hard again 
Melinda's buttocks, leaving an eleven-inch strip of wetness on the cloth of 
Melinda's dress. 

Morgan pulled Melinda away from the door, dragging her back into the room. 
Melinda momentarily got away from him, heading back for the door. She 
slipped, ended up grabbing the leg of a work table to keep from falling. 

Morgan was at her again. Melinda heard him pant loudly in her ear. She felt 
his hands all over her body. She felt his inhumanly large cock jabbed 
against her. She heard the dirty, disgusting filth he kept spewing from his 
foul mouth. 

"Bitch ... cunt ... whore ... prick-teasing ... white ... pussy." 

"Noooooooooo!" Melinda screamed, sure that the noise would bring someone to 
her rescue. 

But Morgan hadn't chosen the boiler room just because of its two exits. He'd 
chosen it because he knew it was made virtually soundproof by the thick 
concrete walls. 

Still, all of the racket made Morgan uneasy. What if someone did hear? 

"You're going to make it worse, honey," Morgan said. He was trying to pull 
her free of the work table. 

Melinda refused to come unwrapped, holding on to the table leg for dear 
life. 

"You bring someone down here, and they're going to want to know what Miss 
Caine is doing here with one of her black students. And you know what I'm 
going to tell them? I'm going to tell them that you asked me down here, that 
you told me you were dying to sink your mouth around my big, black cock." 

"Pig!" Melinda grunted; although, it was no longer the scream it might once 
have been. "You lying Negro pig!" 

"You're a fool," Morgan told her. He used his body now not to pull but to 
push. He mashed Melinda against the work table, keeping her pinned there as 
his hands dropped down and then came up again under her dress. His thumbs 
skillfully hooked in the elastic waistband of Melinda's panties and pulled 
down. 

"No ... bastard ... noooooooooooo!" Melinda protested hopelessly. She felt 
her underpants being stripped off around her hips. She was afraid to let go 
of the table long enough to pull them up. She was afraid she would soon lose 
the only support she'd been able to find. But if she didn't turn loose, what 
was Morgan planning for her? Jesus, God, what was he planning to do? 

"All you had to do was get me off with your hand, bitch," Morgan said. His 
hands were now on Melinda's naked belly, dropping down between her milky 
legs. He felt the silky blonde hairs of her pubic vee. 

"God, nooooo!" Melinda yelled, feeling Morgan's fingers at her quivering 
cunt. 

Melinda let go of the work table, trying to get away. Her panties were down 
around her ankles, making it impossible for her to take anything but small 
steps. She tried to kick her panties off, but they'd somehow managed to get 
hung up on her shoes. Morgan hadn't let go of Melinda. He had even managed 
to hitch Melinda's dress upward so that her bare ass was suddenly exposed. 

"Please ... please ... please," Melinda begged, letting out a loud, guttural 
groan when Morgan's hips rammed forward, placing the length of his hard cock 
into the crease of Melinda's creamy ass-cheeks much like a large burnt hot 
dog would be laid between the cupping wedges of a freshly baked bun. 

"You should have jacked me off, teacher," Morgan grunted. "Now, you're going 
to get yourself a bit more than you bargained for." 

And, what in God's name did that mean? 

Morgan's left arm wrapped Melinda's middle. A quick squeeze took Melinda's 
breath away. For a moment, Melinda thought she would go unconscious. 

Morgan's right hand moved down between Melinda's buttocks and Morgan's 
belly. Morgan's hips swung back, releasing his cock length from its resting 
along Melinda's hairless ass-crack. He fisted his cock neck, yanking his 
turgid prick down to a position that paralleled the floor. 

Morgan's hips swung forward. His pulpy cock glands jammed in between 
Melinda's creamy white buttocks, missing her virgin anus and flattening 
against unyielding flesh. 

What was he doing? WHAT WAS HE DOING? 

Morgan's right hand moved his cock this way and that, sending his cock 
glands in search of Melinda's rectum which Morgan knew for a fact was 
located somewhere between the woman's alabaster ass-cheeks. 

HE WAS TRYING TO FUCK HER ASS! JESUS, HE WAS TRYING TO FUCK HER ASS! 

"Don't fight it, baby," Morgan growled into Melinda's ear. "You're going to 
get this big Negro cock rammed up your ass hole; and there's nothing on 
God's green earth you're going to be able to do about it." 

"Nooooo! Nooooo!" Melinda screamed, her voice once again as loud as it could 
go. She dug her fingernails into Morgan's wrapping left forearm, drawing 
blood. She arched her body, actually letting her feet come free of the 
floor. All to no avail ... 

Morgan's rubbery fist-size cock head found its target. Morgan knew 
immediately he was home when he felt Melinda's nether ring concaving instead 
of holding firm beneath the pressure of Morgan's prodding cock. 

Morgan's hips came forward with a vengeance. He gritted his teeth, enduring 
the pleasure and the pain inherent in ramming his lust bloated cock up 
Melinda's unlubricated asshole. 

"Oh, please stop, Morgan ... don't do it. Pleeeeze ... pleeeeeze ... 
pleeeeeze," Melinda pleaded, her body flooded with the pain. 

But Morgan was already doing it. His cock head and four inches of his cock 
neck were already stuffed up Melinda's anus. And there would soon be more. 
Morgan was determined there would ... soon ... be ... more. 

Morgan's eyes were nearly popping out with his pleasure as he shoved more of 
his massive cock up Melinda's tight anus. 

"AAAAgggghhhhHHHH ... OH GOD, STOP!" Melinda cried as another sheet of 
red-hot pain enveloped her. Desperately she tried to pull her imprisoned 
buttocks off the hard stake that was stuffing her. But escape was 
impossible. She was a slavish victim of Morgan's sodomistic raping. There 
was nothing she could do. There was nothing anybody could do. 

Melinda sobbed piteously as Morgan added more inches to Melinda's rectum. 
More pain exploded into Melinda's molested body. Melinda wished she could 
simply die or pass out. She simply couldn't bear the humiliation, the 
degradation of this wanton and animalistic sin against her body. 

"AAaaagh ... goddamn, you've got a tight ass," Morgan said, a bucking of his 
hips skewering his stiff manhood completely up Melinda's asshole. 

Melinda felt a sudden limpness take hold of her, as if every bone in her 
body had turned to jelly. She felt her torso slumping forward, her arms 
hanging down toward the floor, her ass lodged tightly against Morgan's lower 
belly. If it were physically possible, Melinda would have sincerely believed 
that Morgan's huge cock had penetrated all of the way through her stomach 
and into her throat. 

It wasn't only Melinda's sodomistically raped anus that hurt her. Her whole 
being was raging with the pain. Her cunt, empty as it was of cock or even 
fingers, felt as if it had been set on fire. Her eyes ached in their 
sockets. Her head throbbed with her agony. 

Morgan left his lust-bloated stiffness inside of Melinda's subjugated body, 
feeling strangely triumphant, ecstatically victorious, wondrously excited by 
the utter helplessness of this white school teacher pinned on his hard cock 
like an exotic butterfly pinned for display. 

Morgan had shown the bitch who was master, who was boss. He had shown her 
who was the man. He had punished her for teasing him, degraded her in a way 
she wasn't soon going to forget. 

Now, Morgan would fuck her, fuck her good, let her know that there could be 
pleasure even for the victim once she accepted her defeat, once she realized 
she was hopelessly in Morgan's power. 

Melinda, at that moment, would have been hard-pressed to believe there could 
ever come any pleasure out of Morgan's thick cock rammed up her anus. How 
could there ever be any enjoyment associated with an act so loathsomely 
vile? 

Morgan, though, knew differently. He had fucked enough assholes in his time 
to know that it wasn't just the guy who could enjoy it. Some girls he had 
fucked had been able to get off just with the slip and slide of his meat 
inside of their rectums. Hell, you would have thought their assholes were 
really their cunts for all the pleasure they got out of their butt-fucks. 

Morgan began to withdraw his long, hard cock. He eased it slowly out, 
leaving behind it a trailing of sticky preseminal juices that would make his 
cock reentry easier. 

With just his lust-bloated cock head remaining embedded within his teacher's 
tightly gripping sphincter ring, Morgan rammed forward again. More of his 
sexual secretions lubricated Melinda's clutching passageway. 

Her ass was getting fucked! Melinda knew that. The very idea made her shiver 
with revulsion. How could she live with herself after this ultimate 
humiliation? 

Melinda, at first, thought she had merely become accustomed to the presence 
of her pain. She truly believed it was still there inside of her, but she 
had merely somehow been able to anesthetize herself against it. After a few 
more minutes of Morgan's fucking of her ass, however, Melinda began to wish 
for a return of some of the more intense agony. The pain, when present, had 
been a vivid reminder that this thing happening to her was a revolting 
display of purely animalistic lust. And that was how Melinda wanted to look 
at it. 

So, why was the pain fading? How could it fade? And, what was that other 
feeling arising way down deep inside of her? It wasn't pain. But Melinda 
refused to believe it was pleasure. 

Morgan cupped his right arm around Melinda's waist. He then moved it upward 
to a position beneath Melinda's hanging breasts. He lifted, succeeding in 
bringing Melinda back to a modified standing stance. He hadn't interrupted 
his fucking cadence as he'd done so. In fact, his thrusts were becoming 
shorter and faster as his pleasure increased. 

"Not so bad, after all, is it, teach?" Morgan asked, his voice a gasping 
wheeze in Melinda's left ear. "Just see what you've been missing out on all 
these years." 

"Bastard!" Melinda answered, her voice weak and drained of all previous 
power. 

Morgan, now inside Melinda's ravaged asshole and pumping, would have loved 
to ride her tight ass forever. But he'd been just too hyped by the rape. 
He'd been so ready to cream when just Melinda's fingers had been on his big 
cock, it was frankly a miracle of sorts that he'd been able to come this far 
without blasting. Still, he would have liked to go on ... and on ... and on, 
knowing that the longer he could endure, the better it would be for him and 
for Melinda. 

Melinda's mind, though, had begun to flash danger signs. Her original pain 
was almost all gone now, replaced by that other "something" she refused to 
believe was pleasure. 

Melinda was frightened, not so much any longer of Morgan, but of something 
even more perverse than her rape. Morgan, in short, seemed to be trying to 
make Melinda enjoy this sodomistic ravagement of her person. He was trying; 
but, Melinda was suddenly determined that he wasn't going to succeed. 

SHE WOULD NOT LET MORGAN PULL HER DOWN INTO THE PERVERSE GUTTER WITH HIM! 
SHE WOULDN'T. SHE WOULDN'T! 

Melinda became frantic to get Morgan off inside of her asshole. She suddenly 
had to get him off fast; and, then he would pull out and go away, leaving 
her alone. 

Melinda began experimenting with the muscles in her rectum, using them to 
tighten the rubbery grip of her anus around Morgan's pumping cock. Melinda 
could tell when she was meeting with success, because Morgan would start 
moaning in her ear or go into a fit of heavy breathing. 

Morgan didn't know just when exactly it hit him as to what Melinda was 
doing. Whenever, it was already too late for him to do anything about 
it-even though he would have liked to. The stupid bitch was doing nothing 
more than cutting off her own nose to spite her face. If she had just 
waited, just enjoyed, just let everything go at its natural rate, she would 
have come out of the deal knowing she hadn't been quite the victim she had 
originally imagined herself to be. But, oh, no, not this baby. She didn't 
want to accept any of the pleasure Morgan was giving her. She wanted to come 
out of this the thoroughly wronged woman, the raped innocent, the lily-pure 
maiden who had been taken and abused by force and force alone. 

"You ... silly ... silly ... cunt!" Morgan accused, his hips humping out of 
control. His belly pounded hard against Melinda's naked and bruised ass. 

Too late! Too late! Too late! 

"Ugh ... ugh ... UUUUGHHHHEEEeeeeeee!" Morgan growled animalistically. His 
pumping cock went bigger up Melinda's ass hole. His lust-bloated testicles 
rolled inside of his scrotum. His sticky, opaque love-juices overflowed 
their reservoirs, jetted up and out of Morgan's friction-reddened penis. 

Morgan's hot sperm flooded Melinda's asshole, was streaked along her bowel 
by Morgan's cock as it kept on fucking even as it continued to ejaculate. 

The bastard! He had actually gone off up her anus! Finally! Well, thank God, 
it was over. Actually, it could have been much worse. It could have been 
much, much, much worse; although, Melinda would never let the Negro know 
that. 

Morgan gave one final heave. His cock was once more lost to its total length 
up Melinda's cum-sopped rectum. 

"Are ... you ... quite ... finished?" Melinda asked, slowly, clearly, 
calmly. Her voice still quivered slightly. She had a sudden urge to stick a 
finger up her cunt, see if she could feel Morgan's softening inches through 
the thin dividing membrane that separated her cunt from her asshole. 

Morgan didn't answer. He simply released his hold on Melinda's body, and he 
slowly pulled his cock out of her asshole. His cock came free with a lewdly 
loud plopping sound, sucking out a mess of Morgan's cum that stayed behind 
on Melinda's pucker. 

Morgan stuffed his cock back into his pants and then zipped up. 

Melinda-weak, very weak-bent over for her panties which were still around 
her ankles. She untangled the filmy pink material and pulled them up over 
her hips and battered ass cheeks. She dropped her dress, smoothing the 
wrinkles in it as best she could. She turned to see Morgan heading for the 
door. 

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Melinda called after him. 

Morgan looked back at her, giving her one of his widest grins. 

"Yea. Thank-you, m'am. That was one of the best ass fucks I think I've ever 
had the pleasure of performing." 

Melinda blushed red with a combination of rabid fury and embarrassment. 

"The crucifix," Melinda reminded, walking toward him, her right hand 
extended palm up. 

"Oh, yeah, the crucifix," Morgan said. "Well, the truth is, you were such a 
damned good fuck, I thought maybe I'd just hold onto Roberto's little gold 
cross. You know, just in case I might want to come around for seconds." 

"You black sonofabitch'n bastard!" 

"You learn that in Miss Caine's English class?" Morgan asked, accompanying 
with a low chuckle. 

Morgan opened the door and left, pulling it shut behind him. He found 
himself surprisingly weak, surprisingly drained of energy. Goddamn, but that 
ass had sucked him dry! 

Melinda went directly from the boiler room to the deserted ladies rest room. 
She locked herself in one of the stalls. There, Morgan's cum still leaked 
out of her sperm-flooded ass hole, Melinda finger-fucked her juicy cunt to 
orgasm, calling Morgan a lying black bastard over ... and over ... and over 
again. 

 Chapter Seven 

Charles eyed Melinda over the lip of his wine glass. He swallowed some of 
the white liquid and put his glass back on the table, his eyes still 
lingering on Melinda. 

It would have been obvious to anyone, let along to Charles-who thought he 
knew Melinda very well-that the attractive young blonde woman's mind was 
temporarily occupied elsewhere. Not on the food. Not on the wine. Certainly 
not on Charles. So, where in the hell was it? 

"Is that Jenning kid giving you any kind of trouble?" Charles asked 
suddenly. 

"Jenning?" Melinda asked, Charles' voice having brought her back from her 
reverie. She blushed; even though it was likely Charles had only made a 
lucky guess and hadn't known the truly obscene depths of those thoughts he'd 
just interrupted. 

"Yea, the Jenning kid. Morgan Jenning," Charles elucidated further. "The big 
Negro jock with the Mexican mother." 

"Oh," Melinda replied, trying to make it sound as if there was nothing 
further from her mind than Morgan Jenning. "No. Whatever gave you that 
idea?" 

"It just seems that every time I've seen you lately, you've been talking to 
that kid." 

Melinda told herself not to get flustered. She had expected Charles to bring 
up Morgan in their conversation sooner or later, hadn't she? She'd known 
that Charles couldn't possibly have missed the number of times Morgan had 
finagled to be somewhere at the same time Melinda was there. Damn it, she 
had told that black bastard he was going to set everyone's tongue to wagging 
if he wasn't just a little more careful. Morgan, though, had kept on showing 
up, appearing out of the woodwork every time Melinda turned another corner. 
He seemed to think that, if nothing else would get him back into Melinda's 
panties, his constant harassing would do the job. 

"Oh, he's having English problems," Melinda replied, realizing Charles was 
still waiting for her to say something. She reached for her wine and almost 
spilled her water in the process. 

"You know if he is giving you problems, I'll have a little talk with him 
that'll set him straight fast enough." 

"It's nothing, Charles. Really, it is nothing," Melinda insisted, laughing 
nervously. Maybe it had been a good thing she had agreed to meet with Morgan 
one more time. She had to get that black bastard off her back. Melinda found 
herself shuddering at that particular turn of a phrase: off her back. She 
still had dreams about Morgan's black body hunched over hers like some 
raping gorilla in a primeval forest. 

"Well, something is definitely wrong," Charles said with the authority of 
someone who knew what he was talking about. "Ever since that Rodriguez kid 
bit the dust, you've been acting kind of funny." 

"Well, nothing is actually settled yet; but, I've given my notice at the 
school," Melinda said. "Maybe that's why I've been acting a bit strange." 

"You're kidding!" Charles said, genuinely surprised. He never thought he'd 
see the day when Melinda would be giving up on her crusade to save the 
Negroes, the Mexicans, the Puerto Rican's, and everyone else who seemed so 
desperately stuck in the ghetto. 

"I didn't want to say anything, because nothing is really final yet. I've 
applied for a position at Tattinger." 

"Hey!" Charles exclaimed with obvious delight. Tattinger was a private girls 
school just outside of Cranfield. When Charles finished his term of 
servitude at Westhaven, he was sure he could get his father to let him take 
over the Cranfield offices. Charles and Melinda would then be able to get 
together regularly. "This calls for a bit of a celebration, wouldn't you 
say?" 

"Let's hold off celebrating until things get more set, shall we?" Melinda 
suggested, giving what she hoped was a happy smile. 

Melinda had definitely decided it was time for her to leave Westhaven. 
Things just weren't the same there without Roberto. And they never would be. 
Melinda had simply lost some of that old spark, that old determination that 
told her she really could do something for these slum kids. She'd simply had 
a turn-around in her way of thinking. She's had her rebellious period, and 
it was time to get back into the mainstream of middle-America. If it wasn't 
Tattinger, then it would have to be some other "safe" school. Somewhere that 
had kids who were civilized even if they did masturbate in the rest rooms or 
smoke marijuana at parties. 

And Melinda's decision hadn't been perpetrated by that horror she had 
endured in the boiler room with Morgan. Anyway that's what she kept telling 
herself. If anything, that had only been the straw to break the proverbial 
camel's back. 

Oh, Melinda would go meet Morgan one more time as she had finally been made 
to promise him. But whether or not the lying bastard gave her the gold 
crucifix this time-as he'd promised-would make very little difference in 
affecting Melinda's decision. And if Melinda didn't get the crucifix from 
Morgan, as the black youth had sworn, then there would be no more meetings 
with him in the future. Melinda felt fairly safe in her assumption that she 
was now pretty well protected from any scandal even if Morgan did take the 
gold cross to the principal. Paul Cronnley would hardly go to all the bother 
of checking out any sordid rumors about a faculty member who was leaving 
shortly, especially not rumors about dear, sweet Miss Caine. 

And once at Tattinger, or wherever, Melinda hardly saw Morgan following 
after her, threatening his sordid blackmail. Morgan was a child of the 
gutter and would feel lost and ill at ease outside the ghetto atmosphere. 
But if he did follow, who would believe the rantings of a deranged Negro boy 
who could only produce a gold crucifix in evidence? Roberto, after all, was 
dead and wouldn't be around to point any accusing finger-something Roberto 
would never had done even if he were living. Roberto had had his own special 
brand of honor which certainly wouldn't have allowed his betraying his 
affair with Melinda. 

Still, if she could, Melinda would get the crucifix from Morgan, if just 
because it did have an exceptional sentimental value to her. Melinda had 
been genuinely fond of Roberto. She had found in that boy everything she had 
ever wanted in a man-at least as far as his performances between Melinda's 
opened thighs. 

"You know, dad has got company offices in Cranfield," Charles said. He had 
decided to order another bottle of wine anyway and had motioned for the 
waiter. 

"As a matter of fact, I did sort of have that in mind when I applied at 
Tattinger," Melinda answered, flashing another smile. And what she said was 
true. Tattinger would be a place where Charles could easily have access to 
her. And Charles was as "safe" as Tattinger was. He was someone Melinda's 
mother and father would approve of. He would be a good provider. What more 
could a girl ask for? 

The fact that Charles would probably never be a Roberto Rodriguez in bed 
surely was offset by all of his other good points. Wasn't it? 

If only Charles were a little more animal and not quite so civilized. Oh, 
not an animal in the sense that Morgan Jenning was an animal. MORGAN WAS ONE 
STEP BEYOND MERE ANIMAL. Melinda just wished Charles would be a little more 
assertive sexually. Charles seemed quite content to wait until after they 
were married before taking Melinda to bed. Charles would have been almost 
perfect if he would have just cast aside some of Melinda's weak protests 
some night, throw Melinda on the bed, and fuck her senseless like Roberto 
had done. 

My God, what was she thinking? 

"This night does indeed call for more wine," Charles said, watching as a new 
bottle in its silver ice bucket was being maneuvered to their table by the 
smiling waiter. 

 Chapter Eight 

Morgan was determined that both Carla and Kenny would pay dearly for their 
betrayal. They had both thought they were so very, very clever, hadn't they? 
Kenny had thought he would make the jump from newly-appointed Lieutenant to 
Chief in one quick maneuver. Well, Morgan had ended up proving he was their 
superior in intellect as well as in physical strength. They would think 
again before they tried to displace him as Chief of the Bulls. 

Morgan leaned against the brick wall, lighting up a cigarette and waiting. 
Everything was quiet, but Morgan knew he wasn't alone at this condemned 
building. They were all there inside: all of his men, even that bastard 
Kenny. And Kenny would be waiting for Morgan to make a mistake. Well, Morgan 
wasn't going to make any mistakes. 

In a way, Morgan felt guilty as hell about what was about to happen to 
Melinda. Morgan, after all, really liked his attractive blonde English 
teacher. If he could have seen any other way but this way, he would have 
taken it. However, Carla and Kenny had made any other way impossible. 

Carla and Kenny had gotten together several members of the gang and had told 
them how Morgan was fucking the young English teacher with no intentions of 
sharing her. Sharing was one of the rules. Oh, no man was required to share 
his official girl friend; but, any girl who wasn't officially a Bulls' 
woman-well, she was simply up for grabs. It was as simple as that. 
Therefore, when Carla and Kenny had gone to broadcasting that Morgan had 
stuck his cock up Melinda Caine, Morgan had been left with only three 
choices. One, he could cast Carla to one side and tell everyone Melinda was 
not officially his "girl". Two, he could have denied that he and Melinda 
were screwing. Three, he could have done just what he was now doing. 

Because, casting Carla aside at this moment (as much as he might have liked 
doing just that), would have been political suicide. The Mexican-Spanish 
members weren't too happy with the fact that Morgan had grabbed up Carla to 
begin with. Tossing Roberto's sister aside like an old shoe would have only 
ruffled more feathers. 

And no one was going to believe that Carla made up the whole thing just to 
get Morgan into trouble. 

What Morgan should have never done was go bragging to Carla that he'd gotten 
more pleasure out of Melinda's hand than he'd ever gotten out of Carla's 
cunt. And Melinda's ass hole? Well, Morgan had told Carla, there had been 
nothing around to compare it with. 

What had he expected Carla to do? She didn't particularly like him anyway. 
Had he really expected her to turn against him, though? Probably not, or he 
would have been a hell of a lot more careful than he had been. Carla, he now 
knew-and, thank God, he'd found out not too late-was a dangerous enemy. 
Morgan would have to take care of her in some special way later on-when 
Carla was least expecting a reprisal. 

Roberto, had he lived, would never have found himself in this situation. 
One, his sister would have never ratted on him. Two, even if she had, 
Roberto had had enough support on all sides to just tell the bitch to fuck 
off. Three, even if some of the guys had gotten upset about the rule 
regarding sharing, Roberto could have merely made Melinda Caine his official 
lady. Roberto never had had an official girl friend. He'd always played the 
field. 

Well, Morgan had been set up by Kenny and Carla. Morgan had a few powerful 
enemies, besides Kenny and Carla, who he hadn't successfully yet weeded out. 
Morgan had an official girl friend and had no apparent way of putting 
Melinda under his protection. 

Carla and Kenny, though, had miscalculated their moves on several fronts. To 
begin with, they had probably suspected there was no way Morgan would 
condescend to turn Melinda over to the wolves-the wolves in this case 
equaling the Bulls. Then, they had misinterpreted the nuances within the 
gang power structure. 

Despite what some people thought, not everyone wanted to be leader, head, 
master, el numero uno. Some people were quite content just to be followers. 
In fact, it was usually the majority who really never wanted to make waves 
or disturb the status quo, no matter how much they might have disliked the 
person in charge. That was especially true among the membership of the 
Bulls, since there was always too much fighting going on between gangs to 
safely risk civil war within the ranks. Besides, Morgan had been Roberto's 
Chief Lieutenant. He had been next in line to succeed to command. 

Carla and Kenny had counted too much on there being more like them in the 
gang, more guys and gals who were out to shake up the equilibrium. Well, 
they had been wrong. They had stirred up a wasp nest, all right, but not so 
badly that Morgan had lost control. Most everyone had been content to 
believe Morgan when he said he didn't give a damn who fucked Melinda Caine. 
He had an official girl friend, didn't he? He wasn't about to give Carla up, 
was he? Therefore if Melinda put out for him, it was only right that she 
should put out for his good amigos. Right? Right! 

Oh, Carla and Kenny had been right there to jump on that. They had seen 
pretty damned fast that they had tipped their hand a little too early in the 
game and had better save the day. They had screamed, they had shouted, they 
had maneuvered until Morgan had had to deliver Melinda Caine up on a silver 
platter. Well, Morgan would deliver Melinda up all right. And then when 
everyone was walking around agreeing what a good El Numero Uno Morgan 
was-well, that was when Kenny and Carla had better start watching out behind 
them. 

In a way, Morgan figured he should be thanking Carla and Kenny for giving 
him this early opportunity to cement himself securely into position as the 
Bulls' Chief. After this was all over, who was there going to be-besides 
Carla and Kenny-who would argue that Morgan didn't have the welfare of his 
gang always topmost in his mind? 

A car drove by. But it wasn't the car Morgan was waiting for. Morgan checked 
his wrist watch. Damn if the bitch wasn't late! 

What if she didn't turn up? 

Morgan got a sudden chill. He had had a hell of a time getting Melinda to 
agree to this meeting. Not that he could blame her. He had promised her the 
crucifix if she came to the boiler room, hadn't he? She had gotten his rocks 
off-if in a way she couldn't have originally imagined-hadn't she? And, 
Morgan had gone back on his word. The fact that he had gone back on his word 
rankled him even now. He didn't like the idea that he had given someone like 
Melinda Caine one more verification that his kind was uncivilized filth: 
"Meet you again, Morgan? Meet you again? Why should I meet you again? Even a 
common criminal has a code of honor. You don't even have that. Your word 
isn't worth the breath it's made of." 

Damn it, Morgan should have handed over the crucifix. But Melinda's asshole 
had been so deliciously tight, so fucking good; it had been just too hard to 
pass up the possibility of getting a rematch. Besides if he had given it 
back, how could he have ever gotten Melinda to agree to come here this 
evening? 

Fifteen minutes later, Morgan broken out in a cold sweat, Melinda's car 
pulled up to the curb and came to a slow stop. 

"Thank God ... thank God ... thank God," Morgan mumbled, heading for the 
car. He had been entertaining visions of being rushed by his fellow Bulls 
and being left de-balled on the rubble. 

Melinda, looking very young and vulnerable, opened the car door and got out. 
She was nervous. She was very nervous. 

What in the hell was she doing? What in the hell had ever possessed her to 
come here of all places? Morgan could rape her ass, knock her over the head; 
and, no one would ever find her until the big wrecking ball came to knock 
down these dilapidated buildings-maybe not even then. 

"You're late," Morgan said. He was so relieved to see her, he wasn't even 
angry. Actually, he was feeling paternal, almost protective. Then he began 
to feel guilty. Quickly he rationalized that a woman who could come out to a 
place like this, in the middle of the night, deserved everything she got. 
Maybe it would make her think again before she did it next time. 

"So, I'm late," Melinda said, feeling immediately on the defensive. She had 
almost apologized. Imagine that! Actually, Morgan was lucky she was there at 
all. Charles had come over to celebrate her acceptance at Tattinger; and, it 
had taken all of Melinda's wits to get rid of him. 

Melinda glanced nervously around her. There wasn't even a streetlight 
anywhere near. If it wasn't for a moon somewhere up there above the smog, 
there would have been no light at all. 

"Expecting the bogeyman?" Morgan asked, giving a nervous laugh. 

"Couldn't you have arranged this little meeting somewhere a little less out 
of it all?" Melinda asked. She bet these old condemned buildings were alive 
with rats. The thought made her shiver. 

"You wanted privacy, didn't you?" Morgan asked. "I would have willingly met 
you on an uptown street at rush hour." 

"So, enough of the small talk," Melinda said, deciding to get right down to 
business. The less time she stayed around here, the better. "You did bring 
the crucifix?" 

"Come here," Morgan said. He walked alongside Melinda's car, stopping near 
the rear fender. 

Melinda watched, wondering just what the bastard was up to now. She had 
asked a simple little question that required merely a yes or a no. And, what 
was she getting? 

"I said, come here!" Morgan persisted. 

Reluctantly, Melinda joined him. 

"Unlock your gas cap," Morgan instructed. 

"You're really not planning on siphoning out my gas, are you?" Melinda 
asked. She almost laughed, which was as good an indication as anything of 
her nervous state. 

"Just unlock it, damn it!" 

Melinda unlocked it, turning to see what came next. 

"I brought the crucifix," Morgan said. 

So, why in the hell hadn't he just said that in the first place? 

"See," Morgan said. He lifted his hands up behind his neck and unfastened 
the gold chain. He pulled the crucifix up along his chest so that it came 
out through the neck of his T-shirt. He handed the cross and chain to 
Melinda. "Go ahead, check it over. I don't want you telling me later that I 
came with the wrong one." 

Melinda checked it. It was the right one all right. But there was something 
funny going on here. She had been expecting a bit more bartering before 
Morgan turned over the merchandise. 

"Satisfied?" Morgan asked, smiling. Damn it, he was getting a hard-on! Oh, 
well, he'd simply have to stand in line this evening. 

"I haven't heard you mentioning a price," Melinda said suspiciously. 

"Drop it down the gas tank, and then we'll talk." 

"Drop it down the what?" 

"Drop ... it ... down ... the ... gas ... tank," Morgan repeated slowly. "No 
way am I going to be able to go back on my word once it's down in your gas 
tank, am I?" 

Melinda was tempted to tell him he could always steal her car, drain the 
tank, use some kind of mechanical can opener. 

"How do I get it out?" Melinda asked instead. 

"Go to a garage and have them do it," Morgan said. 

Melinda shrugged. She dropped the crucifix down the tank, listening to the 
tinkle of metal against metal and then the final metal against fluid. 

Morgan put the lid back on the tank. He took the keys from Melinda to engage 
the lock. 

Melinda extended her hand for the return of the keys. But Morgan apparently 
wasn't going to give them back. 

With his left hand, Morgan reached out and grabbed Melinda's extended wrist. 
He gave the woman a tug. 

"Come on!" Morgan commanded, literally dragging the reluctant Melinda behind 
him. 

Melinda resisted, but not as much as she might have. She had learned from 
bitter experience that Morgan was far stronger than she was. Besides, she 
had suspected something like this, hadn't she? It had been only too obvious 
that she was going to now pay for the merchandise deposited in the gas tank 
of her car. 

Melinda had a strange thrilling in her guts. Fear? Yes, fear. But again, 
there was that special "something" more. 

Morgan stopped at the brick wall of the old building. He dropped Melinda's 
car keys on the ground beside the wall. 

"Can you remember where your keys are?" Morgan asked. "Will you be able to 
find them again later?" 

Melinda, curious, fearful, excited, nodded yes. "Good," Morgan said, pulling 
her into the building entrance and the surrounding darkness. 

 Chapter Nine 

"Nooooooooooo!" Melinda screamed. "Oh, God ... no ... God ... no ... Jesus 
... Jesus ... NO!" 

What was happening? What was happening? 

"MORGAN?!" Melinda yelled frantically. 

Someone had her arms. Someone had her legs. There seemed to be a hundred 
hands on her body, touching her everywhere. 

"Morgan isn't the only one who can fuck, honey," someone said loudly in 
Melinda's right ear. 

Where was that bastard Morgan? Had he planned this? 

"The bitch bit me!" someone sounded loudly, shortly after Melinda had sunk 
her teeth into a hand that had tried to clamp across her open mouth. 

"I'd watch out, then, before you started sticking your fat cock in her 
mouth," someone else laughed. 

"Let me go! Let ... me ... go!" Melinda shouted. She continued to struggle, 
even more so when she felt those lewdly exploring hands beginning to pull 
off her blouse and skirt. 

"You'd think she didn't like cock by the way she's fighting," someone said. 

"Naw. She's just putting on a show." Who said that? Morgan? Morgan, that 
bastard ... bastard ... bastard! 

"Yea, feel these hard nipples!" 

"EEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiii!" Melinda cried out in pain, trying 
desperately to twist her body away from the fingers that were sadistically 
twisting her tender nipples. 

"Here. Put her down here!" 

"Put her down, hell. I'm going to fuck her standing up. Put her down later." 

"You're going to fuck her? Not before I get my hard cock shoved up her ass." 

"Noooooooooooo!" Melinda screamed, knowing there was no one around to hear 
her screams but her attackers. 

Melinda was now naked except for her panty hose. There was a hard cock at 
her cunt. There was a hard cock at her ass. Neither cock could get in: the 
nylon of her panty hose keeping Melinda's holes more safely protected than 
any natural hymen would have done. If her situation wasn't so desperate, she 
might have found it funny. 

"Damn it, I can't get in!" 

"Here, give me a try." 

"Try, hell. Wait your fucking turn!" 

"Jesus Christ! Oooooooooooooghhhrrrrrr!" 

"What the hell happened? That you, Karl?" 

Karl? Karl? Karl who? 

"Ohhhhhhh ... Christ ... she kicked my nuts ... she kneed my balls!" 

"You silly shits, she's still got her panty hose on. Don't you know anything 
about fucking?" 

"Well, where in the hell is the light? Why doesn't someone get it on so I 
can see what in the hell I'm doing?" 

"You get the lamp. I know what I'm doing." 

Someone knew. Someone was yanking down Melinda's panty hose, rolling the 
nylon down over her hips and ass. 

"Please ... please," Melinda begged, knowing there was no point in her 
begging. She intuitively knew that no one there was going to listen. 

"Goddamn, she's got lovely breasts!" A mouth was on Melinda's left nipple, 
sucking. Another hungry pair of lips were kissing her right breast. 
"MMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm." 

"AAaaaaghhrrr!" Melinda groaned as teeth bit at both of her nipples. 
"Pleeeeeeeeeeez." 

There was a rubbery cock head back trying to get into her anus. Twice that 
cock head tried to penetrate and failed. Twice Melinda had shifted, foiling 
any such entry. Melinda, though, was losing her strength. There were just 
too many of them ... just ... too ... too ... many. 

Something hot and wet splattered Melinda's alabaster buttocks, sticking like 
warm gum to her milky skin. 

"Damn it ... damn it ... damn it!" 

"What happened, Craig? She get your nuts, too?" 

"Fuck no. I just creamed without even getting it in." 

"Out of the way, novice! No way is my cock going to go off out in the cold." 

"Ohhhhhh," Melinda squealed, helplessly trapped with someone in front of her 
and someone behind. Another cock was now at her quivering buttocks, looking 
for her rubbery anus. And a cock was drooling its thick, clear juices in her 
curly blonde pubic hair. 

Hands were holding to her legs, anchoring her feet to the floor. Hands were 
holding her arms so she couldn't fight. 

Melinda was tired. God, she was tired! Her energy was going. Her resistance 
was about ended. But if she stopped resisting, what then? 

Oh, God, wouldn't anybody help her? 

"AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHRRrrrrr!" Melinda groaned animalistically. One cock had 
found its target, invading Melinda's unlubricated anus. 

Melinda's rectum was on fire, the friction caused by the battering cock 
burning all the way through to Melinda's empty cunt cavity. Melinda's body 
jerked on the sticking phallic shaft like a fish on a spear. 

"You in her, Kenny? You in her?" 

"Oh, God ... she's tight! Jesus ... is ... she ... tight." 

"Are you fucking her ass, Kenny? Are you fucking it?" 

"I'm fucking it," Kenny answered, his hips giving a bounce to sink his cock 
in to its balls. "Jesus, yes ... I'm fucking ... her ... asshole!" 

"Is someone in her cunt?" 

"Who is that? Manuel, is that you? 

"Get your cock out of here, man! Her cunt is all mine." 

"Well, you had better get your fat cock inside of her or go to the end of 
the line, you slow sonofabitch." 

"She's squirming like a fucking worm. Can't anybody hold her still?" 

"Get that cock in her, you bastard! Or, give her pussy to someone who knows 
what to do with it." 

"Ooooooh, I've got her ... I've got her ... I've got her." 

"Aghhhheeeii!" Melinda cried, feeling her cuntal lips being forced viciously 
apart as her pussy was being plugged with someone's fat male cock. Manuel's? 
Manuel who for Christ's sake? 

Melinda was sobbing. She could taste her tears in her mouth. She was weeping 
from the pain of her dual rape. She was crying because of her humiliation, 
because of her utter helplessness, because she was being used so ruthlessly 
by these unfeeling rapists. And, they couldn't even fuck her right. They had 
to fuck her ass, too. They couldn't leave her any dignity. There were all 
animals like Morgan was an animal. She should have never ... never ... never 
... 

"EEEEEEEiiii ... ugh ... ugh ... ugh!" Melinda grunted gutturally. The cock 
up her cunt had been shoved in all the way at the same time the cock up her 
ass was en-lodged to its healthy balls. The wide bellies of the two 
blood-engorged cocks had mated deep inside of Melinda's ravaged body, 
separated only by a thin partitioning membrane. 

"Put her down on the floor! I want to get my hard cock in her mouth." 

"Wait your turn, fucker! This little lady isn't going anywhere until she 
gets an ass load of my cream." 

"Damn it, where's the light?" 

"Here." 

Someone turned on a battery-run lantern off to one side. The resulting light 
didn't help Melissa identify her attackers. It only added a weird dancing to 
the shadows in the room. 

Jesus, she was in a madhouse! 

"Ohhhh ... ohhhhh ... ohhhhh!" Kenny was groaning heavy and hot in Melinda's 
ears. 

Melinda felt strong male loins jerking convulsively against the cushion of 
her bruised buttocks. Then she felt a jarring surge of hot, swirling sperm 
flooding deep into her rectum. 

Kenny gasped ... gasped again ... until, at last, he grunted one final moan 
of total release. He then collapsed against Melinda's sweaty back. 

A fat, blood-bloated cock was still working hard in Melinda's pussy. It was 
still moving in and out, in and out, churning up Melinda's guts. 

"Hurry it up, Manuel! This isn't a fucking endurance test. You can have 
seconds later." 

"Damn, you bastards, hurry up! I've got a cock on me that's so fucking hard 
it hurts." 

"Kenny, you shit, aren't you off yet?" 

"Christ, yes, I'm off. Have at her!" 

Kenny's cock came free of Melinda's clutching buttocks, dragging out a mess 
of its own exploded sperm. 

"I fed the bitch a good gallon," Kenny bragged. "I've got her ass hole all 
slicked up and ready to go for the next taker." 

"Fuck, I'm hot ... fuck, I'm hot!" 

Melinda shut her eyes, wondering if her horror was ever going to end. How 
much was she expected to endure? There was only so much a girl ... 

"Ugh!" Melinda grunted as another blue-veined hunk of male stiffness was 
buried up her ass. Surprisingly enough, the insertion of this second cock 
wasn't as painful as had been the first one. Would the third cock be even 
easier to take? And what about the fourth? The fifth? The sixth? 

"Get it off, damn it, Manuel, or we're going to pull you off her." 

"A minute ... a minute," Manuel was grunting. He had buried his face into 
Melinda's shoulder. He was biting as he fucked. He was so close now. So 
close. "Give me another ... fucking ... minute ... bastards." 

"The stupid shit has to pick now to prove he's a goddamn stud." 

Manuel's cock blasted up Melinda's ravaged pussy. It pulled out, though, 
before it had shot the last of its sperm to drape Melinda's raw-red pussy 
flesh. 

"Hey, you goddamned fuck-heads!" Manuel whimpered as his cock shot the last 
of its healthy load into the empty darkness. 

"You've hogged the best spot too fucking long!" 

"But, shit, I was cumming ... I was cummmming." 

"Well, now it's my goddamned turn to do some cuming." 

A new cock head nudged through the semen-sopped pubic hair of Melinda's 
pubic vee. That cock didn't waste any time. A thrust of young, powerful hips 
planted the cock quickly to its hair-furred balls. And this cock was even 
bigger than the last one. 

Melinda yelled and gasped. Thick guttural mewls of forbidden lust rose from 
somewhere deep inside of her as she remained nakedly stuck on two pumping 
cocks at once, helplessly sandwiched between two raping young men who were 
wickedly skewering her on their massive, throbbing cocks. 

The blood-engorged penis battering up Melinda's ass was humping her without 
mercy. It was fucking wildly, directed by a young man gone mad with his 
pleasure. 

Melinda's body endured the double-fucking thrusts. Occasionally, during an 
extra violent cock thrust, Melinda would gargle or moan with more pain. But, 
on the whole, her squeals of genuine agony were getting further and further 
apart. 

Because somewhere during the course of this wickedly animalistic attack on 
Melinda's ripe young body, something strange had happened. Like an audible 
clicking, the pain had begun to shut off inside of her brain, leaving first 
a general numbness. But the numbness was being replaced now with something 
else. 

Pleasure? Oh, Jesus, surely not pleasure! How ... could ... there ... be ... 
pleasure? 

As had happened when Melinda had begun to enjoy Morgan's ass fucking in the 
school boiler room, she now panicked at the horrible realization that she 
could actually be getting even one small modicum of pleasure out of a sexual 
attack upon her person. 

She had to get this over with. She had to make them finish, get their cream 
inside of her, leave her alone to her shame and utter degradation. 

Melinda tightened the muscles of her vagina and her rectum. Two young men, 
spearing Melinda's body, groaned their immediate approval. 

Melinda simply had to get them off ... get them all off. They wouldn't leave 
her alone until they had filled her body, emptying their cum-filled 
testicles. Let them, then, pull out their sex-depleted cocks and disappear 
back into the darkness. Melinda desperately needed to be alone with her 
shame while she was still able to think of it as shame. 

Melinda squeezed her muscles tight again. 

"Oh, Jeeeeezus!" the young boy belonging to the cock up Melinda's ass 
groaned. "Her cunt is eating me alive!" 

"Hurry it up, you shit; because, I've got an even bigger meal for this 
blonde's little pussy." 

Melinda felt suddenly incredibly powerful, knowing as she did that she could 
intensify the pleasure of these two bucking and writhing young men inside 
her. She also began to admit a certain deliciousness in being 
dominated-while not being dominated-by these young, hard bodies, and young, 
hard cocks. She had always had a certain attraction for this kind of 
unpolished young man, hadn't she? Her own boyfriends had always seemed so 
dull by comparison. Charles had been so dull, too. Hadn't Melinda wanted 
Charles to fuck her and rape her like these young men were fucking and 
raping her now? 

No! How could she ever even think such a wickedly sinful thing? 

Still, now that her pain was gone, now that that extra something was taking 
the pain's place, a multiple raping wasn't as bad as Melinda had first 
imagined. She had merely been hysterical in the beginning. She had merely 
been furious at Morgan's treachery. She had overreacted. Actually ... 
actually ... 

"Ooooooooh!" Melinda voiced breathlessly. The cock up her cunt had just slid 
its back against Melinda's distended clitoris. The result had been a 
definite thrilling, a definite enjoyment. 

She would show these bastards! She would show them! They got their 
precarious thrills raping women, did they? She had heard about such men, 
studs only able to get their bennies off by forcefully taking a helpless 
woman. Well, Melinda just might be able to deflate their sails-if just a 
little-now that she had gotten control of her own panic and didn't feel 
quite as helpless as she once had. 

"Oh, baby ... oh, baby." 

"Feel good, stud?" Melinda asked. "Want me to make it even better?" 

Melinda squeezed her cunt and ass muscles tighter. 

"Oh, Christ ... oh, sweet, sweet, Christ!" 

"Can't hold on, baby?" Melinda asked. "A real man could hold on. A real man 
could fuck me like a woman likes to be fucked. You guys are all rank 
amateurs." 

"Oh, Jesus ... oh, Jesus ... oh, Jesus." 

Melinda felt the sudden explosion of more male sperm up her cock-clogged 
vagina. 

Really, these kids were just babies. Getting them to pop their adolescent 
nuts was as easy as sticking pins in water-filled balloons. She would have 
them all off in no time. She would come out the winner yet in this little 
battle of the sexes. 

The cock pulled sloppily from Melinda's cunt. Before another one could take 
its place, someone had pulled Melinda's feet out from under her. She went 
down hard on her hands and knees, landing on a stained mattress on the 
floor. 

"What the fuck!" Melinda's lone rider voiced loudly as his cock was left 
fucking thin air. Obviously, though, his nuts had been on the verge of 
popping, because they went off without benefit of Melinda's cock-clutching 
anus. The cock meatus pulsed, shot out a comet-like stringing of wet-warm 
sperm. The cum showered Melinda's bare legs, her buttocks, her back. 

"Hey cunt, I'm going to ride you like a god!" 

Melinda felt the young male body dropped on top of her. She felt a hand 
grabbing one of her hanging breasts. She felt another rubbery cock head 
searching for the cum-smeared entrance to her rectum. 

"Think you're man enough to fuck this real woman's ass?" Melinda taunted. 

Why did her ass feel so empty without cock in it? Why was she actually 
anxious to have this newest cock exploring her bowel? Why was she wishing 
there was a cock buried up her cunt, a penis in her pussy to match any 
butt-strokes one to one? 

"You think you're woman enough to eat my cock, honey?" someone asked, taking 
a handful of Melinda's hair. 

Melinda's face was pulled upward. In the grotesque lighting supplied by the 
lone lantern left deserted in one corner of the room, Melinda was brought 
face to face with a monstrously large cock-a black one. She knew without 
looking any further that his cock belonged to Morgan Jenning. The black 
bastard had raped her ass and now he was going to rape her mouth and throat. 

"Ooooooh!" Melinda sighed automatically as the cock at her asshole found her 
sperm-slicked pucker and streamlined in on the pathway prepared for it by 
the raping cocks which had come before. 

Morgan took advantage of the opening Melinda's groaning gave him. His left 
hand holding Melinda by the hair, his right hand zooming his blood-hardened 
inches to the target, his hips swung forward. 

"Ughhhhhh ... ughhhhh ... ughhhhh!" Melinda choked helplessly on Morgan's 
rubbery cock corona which had first mashed against Melinda's bony palate and 
then slid through her tonsils into her throat. Morgan's large black scrotum 
flapped obscenely against Melinda's chin. Morgan's kinky black pubic hair 
ground into Melinda's pert nose. 

"Feels good ... feels good," Morgan muttered, luxuriating in those sensuous 
sensations derived from Melinda's gagging reflexes. 

"I wouldn't trust her with any cock of mine," Kenny said, standing against 
one wall, trying desperately to play his cock back to an erection so he 
could move in for sloppy seconds. 

"Oh, Miss Caine knows what will happen if she starts getting funny, don't 
you, Miss Caine?" Morgan asked, slowly beginning to draw his cock free. 

Melinda groaned, determined to get Morgan's big, fat cock off inside her 
mouth as quickly as possible. 

 Chapter Ten 

Charles should have gone for help. He'd had all intentions of going for 
help. So, what had stopped him? Maybe it was a lewd fascination to be had in 
seeing two men fucking Melinda at the same time. Or, maybe it was the 
intuitive realization that Melinda wasn't protesting all of that much. 
Actually, Melinda seemed to be enjoying what was happening to her. 

And, what had Melinda asked loudly? "Feel good, stud? Want me to make it 
even better?" 

And, then when she had been forced to her knees, that young man dropping on 
her ass and threatening to ride her ass like a dog, what had Melinda asked? 
"Think you're man enough?" 

Jesus, this couldn't be the Melinda Caine that Charles knew. It simply 
couldn't be. That Melinda Caine wouldn't even let Charles into her panties. 
This Melinda Caine was sucking cock and grinding her fucked ass like a 
professional whore. 

Charles stayed crouched in the darkness. He had followed Melinda all the way 
from her apartment, having been suspicious that something was wrong when 
Melinda had hurried him off with his bottle of champagne he had brought over 
to celebrate the young woman's acceptance as a teacher at Tattinger. Charles 
had gotten even more suspicious when he had parked his car and watched 
Melinda rendezvousing with that Jenning kid. 

There had been something funny about the way Morgan Jenning had been hanging 
around Melinda at school. 

And, what had been all that stuff going on at Melinda's car in front of this 
deserted building? It looked as if Morgan had been checking Melinda's gas 
tank. Strange! But no more strange than what Charles had found once he'd 
sneaked up one of the back stairs and followed Morgan Jenning and Melinda 
Caine into this condemned building. 

Charles had heard about women-bored housewives-who lived secret sex lives. 
But Melinda Caine? Charles couldn't believe it. He still couldn't believe 
it, and it was all being played out there before his own startled eyes. 

Charles, of course, had first thought Melinda was being gang-raped, Morgan 
Jenning having somehow lured Melinda into a trap. And, the only thing which 
had kept Charles from rushing immediately to Melinda's rescue had been the 
realization that one man against twenty husky young men would have been a 
one-sided battle. And if Charles had been overpowered, neither he nor 
Melinda would have had a chance to survive. 

So, Charles had held off, planning his strategy. He had stayed hidden. He 
had frankly been fascinated by the sexual spectacle, anyway. He'd then 
become even more enthralled by Melinda's active part in this lewd and 
sensuous orgy. 

Charles had suddenly found himself rooted to the spot, held the captive of 
his own voyeuristic excitement derived from viewing one sodomistic attack 
after another on Melinda's stripped and naked body, further derived from 
watching one cock after another being rammed up Melinda's-willing?-cunt. 

And now Melinda's ass was once again being ridden by a young fucker with his 
blood-bulged cock fucking ... fucking ... fucking ... Melinda's gyrating 
buttocks, while Melinda's mouth was obscenely wrapped around Morgan 
Jenning's massive Negro-Mexican cock. 

How easily Charles had found himself able to put himself in the place of 
those lucky fucking youths as they took charge of Melinda's body and forced 
her into doing every obscene act in the book. 

Even now, Charles' cock was rock hard in his pants as he fantasized his 
penis-and not Morgan's cock-being pushed and pulled within Melinda's 
salivating mouth. Simultaneously, he imagined it was his cock sodomistically 
ravaging the rubbering asshole running inward from the wrinkled cum-stained 
pucker nestled within the cheek-formed cleft of Melinda's creamy ass. 

For Charles, it was his cock that shuddered to its climax down Melinda's 
throat, his cum flushing out through Melinda's bruised lips like foam from 
the mouth of a rabid dog. It was Charles' hard inches spasming up Melinda's 
bowel while he ejaculated his mess of cum to join the deluge already flooded 
up Melinda's clutching, rubbery asshole. 

It was Charles that Melinda was asking for when she finally pulled her 
cum-smeared mouth free of Morgan's juice-slicked cock and called lewdly into 
the darkness: "Goddamn, somewhere in here there must be one real man to 
satisfy this woman!" 

 Chapter Eleven 

It was over. It was done. They were gone, having left nothing behind but 
their young and virile cum. That sticky sperm had been their going away 
presents; although, they hadn't realized that it was Melinda who was leaving 
Westhaven. 

Melinda stretched like a sensuous cat. Cum was leaking from her ass. Cum was 
oozing from her pussy. Melinda's hair was matted with sperm, her pubic hair 
dark with the sexual spillage. The taste of youthful sperm still lingered 
heavily on her tongue. 

Melinda ached. It was, surprisingly enough, a pleasant aching that extended 
from her cunt, to her ass, to her mouth. 

Some little bastard had even fucked the cleavage between Melinda's full 
breasts. When he had blasted off, he had laid strings of his creamy sex 
juices all over Melinda's neck and face. 

Had all those smug little boys gone home thinking they had subjugated pretty 
little Melinda Caine? Well if they had, they had another think coming. They 
hadn't beaten her down. She was a survivor. She had survived them all. And 
they would all be dead and buried-hit-and-runs, knifings, bullet holes, 
muggings-while Melinda was still fucking up a storm somewhere. 

Yes, by God, Melinda had outlasted them. She had exhausted the whole fucking 
bunch. She'd conquered the Bulls. Conquered Roberto's gang. Bulls, hell! 
They were more pussy than she was. She could take them all on again, right 
here, right now, and still wring their cocks dry, and still be ready and 
willing for more. 

If nothing else, this little experience had brought home some hard facts to 
Melinda Caine. For one, she could never be happy with Charles Bankoff. He 
was just too dull. And not only that, but he would have been scandalized if 
he only knew how Melinda had outlasted this macho street gang and ended up 
enjoying it. 

Oh, yes, Melinda had enjoyed it. There was no sense in denying that now. No 
point at all. Oh well, she would have had to face up to her inherent brand 
of sexuality eventually-gang-bang or no gang-bang. She had always been 
attracted to the rough, the macho, the butch male. Roberto had been one of 
those. Roberto had really turned her on in bed. Roberto should have been the 
all-important clue that Melinda needed a real man and not some milksop puppy 
dog like poor Charles. 

Yes, Melinda needed a real man. She needed a man to dominate her-or one who 
thought he could dominate her, like these rough boys off the street had 
thought they had dominated her. Only men like that could bring out the real 
sensuality of Melinda Caine. 

Wait a minute! One of the boys hadn't gone. One of them had stuck around for 
more. Jesus, he must have really been a stud if he could still get it up. 

"How do you want it, stud?" Melinda asked. She couldn't see which of the 
boys it was: someone had taken away the lantern. But the kid was naked. 
Melinda could see that much. And he was still hard. She could see that much, 
too. 

"You want it up Melinda's hungry mouth?" Melinda asked, licking her long 
pink tongue over her red and puffy lips. "You want it up Melinda's hungry 
cunt?" And she lifted her tired legs, letting her knees drop open so that 
her pussy pouted invitingly and leaked a combination of female lubricant and 
male love-juice. "Or, how about up my ass? You boys seem to go in for that 
kinkier kind of sex, don't you?" 

Melinda turned to her belly, elevating her hips slightly as she rolled her 
ass seductively in the stud's direction. 

Charles Bankoff, standing naked in front of Melinda, gave a low and throaty 
groan. His right hand gave an upward stroking that milked his cock neck of 
its preseminal juices. Charles smeared his meat with a veneering of his 
clear, natural lubricant. 

"Yea, I thought maybe you'd like that," Melinda said. She folded her arms 
beneath her right cheek, continuing to grind her ass in invitation. 

Charles moved through the shadows, his bare feet stepping in the spilled cum 
that had been left behind by those young Bulls who had already had at 
Melinda's luscious mouth, delicious cunt, and richly luxurious asshole. 

Charles knelt down over the back of Melinda's thighs. He used his left hand 
to pry open the cheeks of Melinda's bruised and battered buttocks. 

There it was: wrinkled, cum-covered, so thoroughly, thoroughly, thoroughly 
inviting. Had Charles ever-EVER-contemplated fucking any woman's asshole 
before? 

"Stick it in, baby," Melinda said. "Stick that monster in real deep and ride 
me until I'm begging you to give me more." 

And Charles did just that. He shoved his blood-stiffened member up Melinda 
Caine's asshole. He shoved it in deep. And once his cock was in there, 
Charles knew he would never be able to get enough of it. It was that good! 
It was so very, very good. It was better than anything Charles had ever 
known before. 

Charles fucked her. He fucked her like none of those snotty-nosed kids could 
have fucked her no matter how hard they'd tried to put over their macho 
numbers. They, after all, were just kids, weren't they? A man, a real man, 
knew more about fucking than any eighteen-year-old kid could possibly know. 

"Oh, you're good, honey," Melinda moaned, rolling her ass. And she figured 
she now had had enough cock up her asshole to be a good judge of any man's 
skill at ass-fucking. "You're really, really good. MMMmmmmmmmmmm." 

Charles fucked Melinda long and hard. He fucked her until she orgasmed on 
just the feel of his cock up her rubbery anus; and, then he kept on fucking 
her until they were both ready to let go. 

"Love it, don't you, bitch? Love man cock, don't you? Can't get enough of 
it, can you? Can You? CAN YOU?" 

"Fuck me!" Melinda commanded. "GODDAMN, YOU STUD, FUCK MY CUM-FILLED 
ASSHOLE!" 

There was no way-just no way-that Melinda could imagine submitting to 
Charles Bankoff's probably mediocre fucking now that she knew there were 
real men-real men like the one pumping hard and fast up her asshole-who 
could hump her until her guts turned to sensuously palpitating mush. 

"I'M CUMMMMMMMMMMING!" Melinda squealed helplessly, her belly and flopping 
breasts banging the mattress beneath her. She raised her ass back hard into 
Charles' grinding lower belly. 

"Oh ... baby ... baby ... baby ... " Charles moaned gutturally. 

Melinda's ass sucked up a good gallon of Charles' sperm, spasming to suck up 
even more. 

"Stud ... oh, stud ... oh, goddamn, stud," Melinda groaned, drooling spit 
that turned her supporting forearm wet. "That feels ... so ... so ... so 
good." 

For Melinda, this fuck had been better ... MUCH, MUCH BETTER ... than any of 
the fucks which had come before it. 

She should really get this particular stud's name! 


End
