Throughout history, woman has faced the oftentimes unpleasant choice of giving her total self to save either a principle or a loved one. Perhaps the first such recorded incident, other than various quoted incidents in the bible, was the sacrifice the young princess of Egypt, Cleopatra, made to her Roman captors. Many love stories have been written around the relationship of Julius Caesar, Marc Anthony, and the hapless princess, but it is fairly well documented today that her love was not for her conquerors but for her people, whom she attempted to save by the use of her womanly charms from their hated conquerors.
In Mr. McElroy's novel, he has applied this situation to a not too unusual modern-day circumstance. He has placed the heroine, an innocent young housewife, in a position where she must make a historical Cleopatran choice. That is, the choice between the safety and well-being of a loved one or the prostitution of her own body and soul. Her task, unfortunately, is not made easier by her ambitions but irrational young husband. He becomes, in effect, an unwitting instrument in his wife's own moral destruction.
We, the publishers, do not wish to make a decision as to the justification of our heroine's action but will leave this to you, the reader. In saving her husband from his own avaricious greed for the material things of life, we can only hope that it shall raise a question, and consequently lead to serious thought by you, the reader, on this entire field of moral justification.
-The Publishers
Chapter One
The staccato roar of a huge, particularly noisy Diesel truck rig on the freeway, not more than fifty feet away from her bedroom window brought Rhoda fully awake, again from a restless sleep, having gone back to bed after Phil had left for work. It was nine o'clock, already, she noted as she flipped on the radio on a shelf of the headboard. She had become accustomed to the almost constant, speeding hum of the automobile traffic, but the trucks still frightened her. She had a recurring vision of the horror of a rending, splintering crash as one of the behemoths lost control and came off the freeway, slicing into their apartment and . . . ! She shook the thought from her mind, but she found it would not leave her ... Her father had been a truck driver; she had not seen him for over sixteen years, and what if. . . ! With a tremendous surge of willpower, she switched off that trend of thought. It was only a big What If, she told herself.
It's my over-active imagination. . . but I do wonder sometimes. . . whatever happened to my Daddy . . . That's natural. . . I think. . .
Unfortunately, her husband, Phil was not sympathetic with her fears.
He had told her, Rhoda, more people die from accidents in their bathrooms! The possibility of a truck coming through here is pretty slim . . . Read the statistics ..."
That's just his scientific, analytical mind working! I swear. . .he's got an explanation for everything!
She stretched under the sheet and looked languidly around their bedroom, seeing it for the thousandth time and not being able to do anything about it . . . its cramped dimensions, barely able to contain the double bed and the dresser, the small closet, jammed to overflowing with their clothing and boxes of belongings that remained unpacked because there was no place to put them in the small, one-bedroom apartment and, off in one corner, on a small table, the mess that Phil had left from his work of the evening before . . . she saw it all, and shivered with revulsion. She could not understand why Phil insisted it was cheaper to buy electronic kits and put them together himself. He was always making a mess. The array of wires, switches, transistors, resistors, his soldering gun and other small tools strewn haphazardly over the table offended her natural desire for order and tidiness, especially in the bedroom. His orders to her were specific: DON'T TOUCH! She had to admit, though, the radio he had built worked well, and his present project, a stereo record player, would be a welcome addition to their drab apartment, affording them many hours of inexpensive entertainment.
I just wish Phil wouldn't leave his things in such a mess.. . ! For a scientist. . . somebody who's supposed to be neat and orderly . . . he's the messiest guy I know.
Then, she remembered how impressed she had been when she had visited his laboratory, during an open-house affair for the families of employees. His working space had been extremely clean, neat and orderly; everything was in its place and there was a place for everything. She had decided that he was a Jekyll-Hyde character - one way at his work, another, opposite way at home with his hobby.
Her eyes moved on around the dreary room, taking in the cheap drapes at the window, through a gap of which she could see that there was another smoggy day in store for her. The Greater Seattle area was solidly smogged over for the day. Then, her disgust with the color of the paint on the walls hit her, again, as it had every day of the nine months they had lived in this run-down apartment.
Beige! I hate it! Can't apartment owners think of any other color? I get so tired of looking at these blah walls I could scream!. . . not that it would do any good. . .
A couple of weeks ago, Phil had finally become tired of listening to Rhoda's complaints and had asked the owner if he could re-paint the apartment, himself. .. even offering to furnish the paint. He had been given a definite NO for an answer. There would be no amateurish painting done by the tenants!
The sounds of small children playing in the courts and in the alley drifted up to her, their treble voices fussing, whining, laughing, arguing and crying reminded her that she still did not have a child of her own, yet. There was nothing she wanted more than a cuddly baby, the fruit of her own womb, to care for, to love, giving her own life direction and meaning in the complete involvement of a mother with a helpless, dependent infant, but Phil adamantly refused to start their family, as long as they didn't have some of the other things they wanted, first. She agreed with him that their present location was not a good place to raise children; they should have their own home in a pleasant neighborhood, close to schools and shopping center.
But, Dear Lord, I've got to have something. . . something more than this! We barely get along on Phil's salary . . . How are we ever going to save enough money for the down payment on a house . . . and closing costs.. ..and insurance... and I don't know what all else? It almost seems we're in a blind alley . . . trapped!
"Damn!" she said aloud, allowing herself the luxury of the expletive to express her profound frustrations.
She kicked off the sheet, sat up, stuffed her feet into worn, once fluffy, bedroom slippers and padded into the bathroom with its aging, greying fixtures. Try as she might she had never been able to get them clean, having tried several cleansers and bleaches on them, but it was a hopeless task that forced her, finally, to give up in disgust. Now, she only cleaned the ceramic and porcelain surfaces for sanitary reasons, knowing only in her mind that her bathroom was sparkling clean, even if she couldn't see it because of the drab greyness of the horribly antiquated fixtures.
Pulling the nightgown over her head, she stuffed it into the dirty clothes hamper, noting that she would have to do the washing, today, in the coin-operated machines located in the room just below, and that reminded her of another annoyance - the sounds of the machines came to her constantly through the thin walls. It seemed to her that someone was always washing there, day or night. She told herself that some people never considered the time they chose to wash, knowing full well the noisy machines were a disturbance, especially late at night.
It'll be the happiest day of my life. . . when we can move out of this dump!
Ruefully, then, she remembered that they had moved three times before, but this apartment complex was really no better than the others in which they had to live. Maybe this one was a little newer . . . not quite so run-down .. . the clientele not quite so poor, but it was still not very desirable. No one could convince her otherwise.
Rhoda busied herself preparing for her cleansing douche. It was a ritual - always the same with her - drawing the hot water, washing the attachments, again - even though they were already clean when she put them away - filling the bag with the hot water, adding the antiseptic powder, lowering herself into the bathtub to insert the curved fountain syringe into her tight, blonde-hair-lined vaginal opening, feeling the relaxing warmth of the hot water in the coral-lined depths of her femaleness, cleansing her of the sticky seminal maleness Phil had deposited there, giving her a sense of virginal cleanliness as she watched the long strings of whitish sperm being flushed from her and ridding her of the aftermath their love-making left; she watched with relief as it was slowly sucked down the bathtub drain, almost putting the life-giving fluid in the same category, in her mind, as the coffee grounds from the last evening's dinner.
As she ran the water into the tub, this morning, waiting for it to get hot, the reflection of her nude figure in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door caught her attention. She didn't often look at her own nakedness.
Somehow, her own flesh repulsed her. Her beautiful body had brought her nothing but agony; it was too perfect, too desirable, and she could not understand why this beauty of hers had not brought happiness into her life.
On this morning, though, she felt constrained to study her body, critically, in the mirror.
She was a petite five feet five inches tall, perfectly proportioned from the top of her golden blonde hair to the tips of her carefully manicured toenails. Her small but full and firm young breasts, marbled just underneath the milky white skin with faint bluish veins, giving them a translucent quality of depth, jutted out proudly from her rounded chest, the tiny, pink nipples rising from their darker aureola, their tips turned up, slightly, and the smooth, white skin of the globular tits drawing taut as she raised her arms over her head, posing provocatively, sexily, the way Phil was always wanting her to pose for him. I don't see why he's always wanting me to parade around in front of him. . . naked like this. I almost died the time he wanted to take some pictures of me! What does he want something like that for. . . ? After all, he's got me. . . in the flesh. I'd die. . . simply die, if anybody else ever saw a nude picture of me! And, Phil seemed so hurt when I told him I'd never allow it. Worse than that, though. . . I don't know what I'd do if another man ever saw me. . . actually saw me stark naked! It - It was hard enough to get used to having Phil look at me. . . and he's my husband!
Now, her eyes ran down over her smooth flat stomach, the navel hidden in its deep, circular recess, a line of short, silky and fine, almost indiscernible golden, blonde hair pointing like an arrow to the triangle of softly curling, golden blonde hirsute adornment nestling, pristinely, atop her somewhat prominent pubic mound, the pink lips of her slit just above the enshrined clitoris peeping shyly through the light, sparse hair, her tiny waist swelling into softly rounded, feminine curving hips leading to tapering thighs, her knees linking them to the gentle curve of calf and small, trim ankle. Her feet were tiny and narrow with high, strong arches.
She turned to view the globoid protuberances of her smoothly drawn and formed buttocks, the gluteal muscles rippling under the satiny white skin as she moved about to see better, as she hollowed and dimpled prettily and her eyes were drawn to the twin hollows on either side of her spine and just above the swell of her behind.
Well. . . I certainly don't have a classic figure... I think my rump's a little too heavy. . . maybe. . . and my breasts are on the small side. Phil seems to make so much over me. . . I just can 7 understand why he goes so wild. . . telling me how beautiful I am . . . then tearing, mauling and biting at me. . . and. . . and ramming his hard penis in me! God! He's so huge. . . so long and hard! Sometimes, I think he - he wants to . . . destroy me with it! I'll never understand how I take all of him up inside of me. . .
The water coming into the bathtub was steaming hot now she noticed, finally, and went about the ritual chore of preparing her douche; then, lowering herself into the bathtub, spreading her thighs and inserting the surgically clean syringe, carefully, into her tight little vaginal orifice, and discovering in the process that she was sore and irritated in and around the tender female opening down there between her legs. Allowing the water to drain from her, she probed in and around the coral moistness with her finger to determine the extent of the havoc Phil had wrought upon her in his frenzied sexual assault of last night. In her own mind, she could think of their lovemaking, last night, in no other terms. She had been ravished!
OOOoooh! Oh! That hurts! Why did I let him do it. . . ? I should have stopped him . . . made him wait. . . like I have to do . . . sometimes. He can be so mean. . . and cruel, at times. . . And, I just don't know how to handle him . . . Things seem to get so mixed-up. . . I don't know what to do!
Probing deeper into the smooth-walled warmth of herself, she pushed against her cervix and winced with pain, again.
Oh God! Phil really did it to me, this time! I don't know when I've been so sore. . . except when we were first married. He almost split me in two, last night. . . from the way it feels! If he hadn't stopped off on the way home and had those drinks. . . he might have been more gentle with me. Dear God! Please! I wouldn't want him to start drinking. . . all the time. . . possibly become a drunk. . . I-like my Daddy was! I don't think I could ever take that!
The memories flooded back to her, and she remembered . . . remembered too much, seeing it, again, in the eyes and mind of the little girl she was, without understanding . .. without perspective.
There it was! All of it there, with its rawness and crudity rampant, and the adult, married woman could not, indeed, would not allow herself to believe that what had happened then, in her childhood, should not affect her actions and reactions, should not shape her attitudes and color her emotional life in the living present; the mature adult comes to realize this sooner or later and is happier for it when he can begin to live a new life, for himself; however, little Rhoda, a tiny girl just past five years old, was mother to the woman who was now in her twenty-first year, and the tragedy of Rhoda, the wife, was that those memories of long-ago, ingrained into the mind and neuro-reflexes of Rhoda, the moppet, were in control of the sex-life of Mrs. Phil Grey.
Phil, her husband, had hurt her, last night; he had given her pain and discomfort. .. and he had done it with that monstrous thing between his legs. . . that thing that was a punishing bludgeon... a veritable truncheon! God! Oh, God! No!
Suddenly, Rhoda hated her husband! He was a beast ... a beast of a man .. . just like little Rhoda's Daddy!
The girl-child, Rhoda, had been awakened from her fitful slumbers, again, by the sounds of loud voices, yelling and screaming, punctuated by vulgar curses and the slap of flesh on flesh. It was her Mommy and Daddy in the next room - the bedroom - and Daddy must not be feeling very good, again. Her Daddy was sick; at least, that's what her mother had told her.
Poor Daddy, she thought. Maybe he needs his medicine.
She had climbed out of her bed, groping in the darkness for her favorite dolly, finding it, finally, and clasping it to her thin, little breast, her heart banging at trip-hammer speed against her ribs, for she had been told not to get out of bed for any reason! If she needed something she was to call for Mommy or Daddy to get it for her . . . but Daddy was sick . . . her Mommy was crying.
Poor, poor Mommy . . . crying because Daddy is so sick. . .
The linoleum covered floor was cold on her tiny feet, and she crawled back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged and hugging her nice dolly to her. She was torn between two forces; she wanted to help, to love her father and mother, cuddle with them in their bed to make her Daddy feel better and her Mommy would stop crying; on the other hand, there was the fear of what would happen to her if she disobeyed. More than once her father's big hand had been applied to her tiny, round bottom for minor infractions of the strict rules he had laid down for her. Humming a little tune and rocking back and forth to the rhythm, she cooed, soothingly, to her ragamuffin doll. She could take care of her dolly and be an awfully good mother to her, for mother was a magical word to the little girl who was Rhoda Steel. If the truth were known, to her, at that time, father was just a little lower than the sun, moon and stars, for such is the worship of the girl-child for her father . . . when she is five.
There had been few sounds from her parents' bedroom for some moments, and her eyes became heavy with sleep, again, the darkened room, the lullaby she was singing to her dolly had mesmerized her. She snuggled back into the warmth of her bed, pulling the blankets to her chin and not forgetting to cover her dolly, too.
Suddenly, the still night was shattered by a loud, cracking sound . .. the sound of an open hand on bare flesh, and her mother screamed!
"Oh, God! Ray! Please . .. please, don't hit me, again!" she pleaded, her voice awful in its desperation.
Rhoda jerked, sat up wide-eyed, awake, terrified and clasped her dolly close to her. It was Mommy . . . and Daddy was hitting her!
And Daddy hits awful hard, too!
"Open your legs . . . you goddamned bitch!" her father roared.
"No!" her mother's voice, sobbing but determined.
CRACK!
"You bastard!" her mother screamed. CRACK! CRACK!
Her father's voice, gratingly, again, "bitch!"
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"OOOOooooohhhh! Ray!" wailingly, from her mother.
Then, the mother sobbed, uncontrollably, the heart-rending sounds of defeat coming clearly to the little girl huddled in her bed, helpless, too young to understand, too little to be exposed to the sordidness in the next room; she could only absorb like a sponge, the cruel words knifing into her child's mind as she sat and stared into the darkness, fear gripping her, holding her fast, not even allowing her to cry out. . . cries that might attract attention to herself. Rhoda might then feel her father's wrath, his hand smacking her bottom until it was red and smarting. The great fear in her caused her to gasp back her own sobs.
Her mother's voice came to her again, in agony, "Please, Ray ... please ... You're hurting me!"
The child could stand no more! Terror in her, blood racing, Rhoda climbed from her bed; she had to go to her Mommy.
My Mommy's hurting, she told her doll. Daddy's hurting Mommy. . . and Daddy needs his medicine! Mommy said! 'cause Daddy's sick!
Creeping from her room to the entrance of her parents' bedroom, the little girl hugged her dolly to her scrawny chest and pushed at the slightly opened door. It swung inward, silently, revealing the scene to her childish gaze. A small bedside lamp glowed, dimly, casting enough light so that she could see quite well.
She stopped, staring, her machine-gun pulse hammering in her, and she could not understand it. Daddy was on top of Mommy!
Her father was cradled between her mother's long, tapering, white legs, pinning them wide apart, cruelly, her Daddy's pee-pee, huge, thick and long was pressed hard up against the lightly hair-lined thighs. The narrow, coral-tinged slit glistened dully in the dim light, and the mouth-shaped, slightly purplish lips of her vagina were stretched nakedly open, allowing Rhoda to gaze with terror into that secret place where Mommy sometimes had blood and had to wear a bandage to make it all well, again.
Rhoda looked and looked but she could see no blood; there was no place she could see where Daddy had hit her Mommy ... no red hand marks on her smoothly rounded bottom.
Daddy didn't spank Mommy. Why was Mommy crying so hard?
Now, her attention was drawn to her father's penis. She had only seen it once of twice before, dangling and flopping loosely as he had stood in the bathroom toweling himself, vigorously, and she, little-girl-like, had wandered into his presence, only to be sent screechingly on her way as he roughly ejected her with a chastising swat. Now, her Daddy's pee-pee lay huge and wooden in the softly pink-edged slit of her mother's hair-lined crotch, the two egg-shaped testicles hanging down in their wrinkled sac, below, the foreskin sliding back, smoothly, and the bulbous blood-filled head, shining with moisture on its satiny smooth skin, snaked out, bursting forth like some primeval monster crawling out of its evil lair. It was huge. Rhoda's eyes widened in disbelief. Fresh terror sliced into her. This was not the part of Daddy she had seen in the bathroom.
Rhoda had stood still, transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away from the horrifying spectacle. She watched, terror and fear clutching her, as her father's hand reached down to between them, his ringers curling around the long, hard shaft of lust-filled maleness and raised his slimy muscled behind high in the air, aiming the great cock straight at her mother's soft, naked and defenseless cunt, its length jerking in his hand, a small tear of clear, viscous liquid weeping from its hardened tip, as he paused there, momentarily, before the brutal assault. Then, she saw his muscles tense, heavily, his buttocks hollow, and he plunged forcefully with all his strength, stabbingly, driving the tumescent phallus deep into the tight, now moistly ready channel waiting naked and vulnerable there between her mother's milky white thighs. He had sunk his long, thick, lust-inflated cock into her as far as it would go. His balls slapped dully against her upturned bottom as pelvic bones smacked into each other with a resounding whap.
Her Mommy had moaned, chokingly, up into Daddy's face as though she had been stabbed, her knees jerking up, involuntarily, as she screwed her hips back and down into the soft mattress to escape the cruel impalement, her toes curling inward to the soles of her slim feet with the agony of it.
Rhoda didn't understand what she had just seen, but her mother's moan of anguish told her Mommy was hurting again.
Daddy will make Mommy bleed, again. Daddy's hurting Mommy there!
Then, her father had withdrawn, slightly, the thick, fleshy column sliding out for several inches before he thrust it forward and in, again, and her mother moaned, loudly, incessantly. Once more he came out of the widely spread channel, until the underside of the blood-engorged head showed redly in the moistness of her mother's coral-lined pussy. Unexplainably, then, her mother's long, full, softly tapering white legs had wrapped, suddenly, the twin-cheeked tautness of his sinewy-muscled buttocks, straining to pull the great length and breadth of him back inside her. The cords on the inside of her marble-white thighs flexed, tautly, as she shoved her golden, down-covered crotch back up over his whitely glistening prick trying to swallow the whole of it, again, her moist-walled, cuntal mouth climbed straight up his vibrating shaft, her hollowing buttocks lifting several inches off the bed as she struggled, desperately, to reabsorb, in its entirety, the thick, lusty cock her hungry cunt now demanded.
A wet, viscous sound drifted across the bedroom to the ears of the watching, listening girl-child, who stared, wide-eyed, transfixed at a segment of the adult world she could not fathom. She was too terrified to move a muscle or utter a whimper.
As she had watched, her Mommy's flexing hips began to beat, rhythmically, up and down the smooth, fleshy pole imbedded in her softly clasping love channel, the hair-covered sac of her Daddy's balls slapping in time against the tiny, faintly puckered anus below. Then, her mother was speaking, her voice choked, almost incoherent with her mounting passion.
"Goddamn it, Ray! Fuck me! That's what you want... isn't it? Come on! Fuck me . . . hard!" her mother moaned.
Rhoda had never heard the word before. It meant nothing to her.
Rhoda's Daddy on top of her Mommy had said nothing. His breath came in panting gasps, his mouth open and jaw asag.
Snake-like, her father's hand curled down under her Mommy's wildly pumping buttocks, and the tip of his middle finger began to encircle, tantalizingly, the rubbery, flexing nether ring of the tightly puckered anus nestled between the full-mounded hemispheres of her ass that slaved away so assiduously. His finger played there for a long moment, teasingly, suddenly bringing a high-pitched wail of pain from her mother's lips as it disappeared inside, her tortured body twisting and turning to escape the unnatural ravishment of her anal passage.
"OOOoooohhh! Ray! Ray! You bastard! You're hurting me! OOOoooh!" she screamed.
Her legs had kicked out as she squealed, again, in pain and torment, toes curling, and then her legs had locked tightly around him, drawing him into her, her wildly gyrating hips, uncontrollably, pumping viciously against both probing instruments ravishing her loins.
The frantic, entangled limbs of her parents on the bed commenced to move faster and faster, her father's huge, thick, fleshy rod flashing whitely in glistening dully with viscous moistness, their naked loins smashing together with a harsh, slapping sound. Now, her father's hand with its probing finger came out of her with a faint, popping sound, and he supported himself on both hands, his hips moving ever faster and more powerfully, as he drove his giant cock deeper and deeper into the female softness of her mother's loins, punishingly.
Again, her mother screamed, in agony, but the sound of it was somehow different. The watching child, of course, could not interpret it, could not tell how it was different. She knew only that her mother was screaming.
"AAAAAaaaagggghhh! Ray! OOOOoooh, Ray! I'm just.. . about ready ... to cum! It's sooooOOOoo goooood! OOOOoooOOOhhh! Ray! AAAAAAAAAaaaaggghhh!"
Her Mommy squealed out her orgasmic release, and the girl-child, Rhoda, could stand it no longer. She had to do something to help her mother. Her mother was hurting bad!
Rhoda screamed, "Stop! Stop hurting my Mommy!"
She climbed up on her parents' bed, her tiny fists beating an ineffectual tatoo against her Daddy's back.
"Son-of-a-bitch! How did the brat get in here?" her father roared, as he rolled away to his side, his hardened cock pulling from his wife, spewingly, his hot, white sperm hosing from him in forceful jets, arching to puddle on her mother's thigh and running thickly down to the bedsheet.
He sat up, grabbed Rhoda and shook her, her head flopping as he yelled at her, incoherently, his quick anger raging out of control.
"Rhoda! Goddamn you! What the hell... busting in here like this! What do you think you're doing . . . brat? Busting in ... ruining everything! I'm going to bust you!" he trumpeted.
His big hand smacked her on her tiny bottom, again and again, the pain causing her to scream ever louder and louder, but he would not stop at two or three of the powerful, flat-handed blows to her buttocks; insanely, he pounded on and on, roaring out his rage and frustration.
"This'll teach you . .. you little brat!" he yelled.
"Ray! Please, Ray! For Christ's sake! Stop! She's only a baby!" her mother pleaded with him.
"Stay the hell out of this, Clara!" he grunted.
Her mother sat up to restrain his hand, grabbing his sinewy forearm and hanging on, tightly, but he shook her off, his hard fist coming up short and fast to catch her flush on the jaw. She dropped back on the bed without a sound, unconscious, her head lolling back, forearms thrown over her face, instinctively, hair awry and her legs splayed obscenely apart. Then, he threw the child from him, giving her a violent shove out the bedroom door.
"Now, get back in bed! And, don't you ever come in our bedroom ... at night... again!" her father ground out at her.
Rhoda fell violently in the hallway, picked herself up and ran sobbing into her own room, crawling into the safety of her bed and covering herself up. Then, she remembered her dolly. She had dropped it in her parents' bedroom.
Pitifully, so sobbed out her loss, "I-I.. . want. .. m-my d-d-dolly!"
Her father had come into her room, then, the doll in his big hand. He hurled it with force toward her bed, its plastic head shattering into a thousand pieces against the wall, and he had turned and strode, naked and terrible from her life.
The following afternoon she cowered in her mother's protective arms, as she watched her Daddy put suitcases and cardboard boxes in his car and drive away without a word. She had never seen him again.
Mrs. Rhoda Grey of the here and now finished, quickly, the disagreeable business of the douche, washed down the bathtub, carefully, and drew herself a warm, luxurious bath. She soaked for a long time, trying to make her mind a blank, perhaps, symbolically, trying to wash away the stains on her mind; the emotional trauma of re-living the horrible scene of her childhood had been too much for her. She had learned, over the years, however, to blot out unpleasant memories, such as this one, at least for a time, but they always recurred. She had not learned that it was necessary for her peace of mind to rearrange her thinking .. . not letting the past affect her life. The actions of her parents in the dead past should have had no meaning for her in the living present. She had not begun to live her own life, yet; she was a half-living mirror reflecting too well a shadowy sordid past.
As she was dressing, after her relaxing bath, the telephone rang. She dashed to the living room to answer the insistent ring.
An impersonal female voice on the wire, said, "Mrs. Grey? Seattle City Schools, personnel office . . . We have scheduled an appointment for a personal interview at 1:30 this afternoon. Will you be able to keep the appointment?"
"Yes ... why yes, I can. I'll be there!" Rhoda bubbled.
She had almost forgotten that she had filled out an application form, on the spur of the moment, one day last week, thinking that if she were to go to work, the extra income would help her and Phil to realize some of their dreams and plans all the sooner. Teaching had not been foremost in her mind when she had taken her degree in Fine Arts; she had envisioned a professional career for herself in commercial art. Marriage had changed her plans. Phil had not wanted her to work. Now, she saw her potential employment as a way out of their financial dead-end.
She had not taken any education courses, but she had been assured by the secretary who had taken her application that it was possible to take those courses while she, herself, was teaching. The prospect was enticing to her.
Returning to the bedroom, she rummaged in her purse searching for bus-fare money. She found enough loose change for the bus and for lunch, deciding that she could pick up a hot dog and an orange drink at one of the small lunch stands near the downtown office of the school district.
She looked at the pitifully small amount of money in her hands and decided that the clothes washing she needed to do would just have to wait. There wasn't enough money for both; of course, the trip to the school office was the more important.
Rhoda dressed, carefully, her hair and make-up tasteful, heightening her natural beauty with understatement, and she was soon ready to leave. She felt buoyant and at ease. Happily, she thought she could very well have some good news for Phil, this evening, if the interview went well with the school people. She felt confident she could change Phil's mind about her not working. If she already had the job, he'd have to concede; she would be holding the winning ace .. . wouldn't she .. . ?
Suddenly, her train of thought was interrupted by a more urgent, annoying thought. She checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom to make sure. She needed to buy more birth-control pills, but if she took this trip downtown to see about a teaching position there wouldn't be enough money for this all-important purchase. Oh, well, she'd ask Phil for the money and get them, tonight, before the drugstore closed. Remembering the coin bank they kept in the book case, one of the type of saver-banks that looked like a book, she checked it, shaking it vigorously. It was empty! Phil must have taken all the coins in it, she decided .. . But for what?
Damn! That's that! Ill just have to wait until tonight! If I don't get them ... Phill'll just have to wait. . . for his sex!
Her trip downtown was uneventful. The personnel office was crowded with applicants. She had to wait a long time, but her interview was short. The school district was interested in hiring her; there were several art positions open in various of the high school, and she could work with a provisional credential while she garnered the necessary credits in education. One thing Rhoda had not counted on: There was a fifteen dollar fee she would have to pay out for an evaluation of her college credits. She had to send for official transcripts relating to her degree work and send her application along with the fifteen dollars to the State Department of Education at Olympia. She hadn't realized there would be so much red tape, as she came away from the office, her head full of verbal instructions and her hands full of brochures and forms. She just had to have the money for this purpose, but the only way she could get it was to ask Phil for it. She'd ask him, tonight, she resolved; after all, she was just as good as hired, already.
Imagine! Me!. .. Rhoda Grey is going to be a teacher! I'll probably be more scared of the kids than they will be of me. .. Especially, those big high school boys!
Returning to the apartment, she went over to the brochures, studying salary schedules and employment benefits and filling out as much of the application forms as she could.
Turning to her housework, she did up the necessary chores, quickly, and at 5:30 she began to prepare a simple but nutritious meal for them; Phil was usually home by 6:00, if he didn't get caught in a freeway traffic jam.
However, Phil was not home by 6:30, and she put the food aside to warm up, again, when he would arrive. He was still not home at 8:00. Rhoda was really worried, now.
By 8:30 she was almost hysterical. Visions of flaming accidents on the freeway, of muggings or riots ... any number of violent things she imagined that could have happened to Phil passed, in succession, through her active mind. Finally, at 9:04 she heard his car as he parked it in the covered space beneath their apartment.
Rhoda met him at the door, flinging herself with tears of relief into his arms.
"Phil! Oh, Phil! I was so worried about you!" she sobbed, hysterically.
He held her close, the fumes of the alcohol on his breath drifting strongly to her. Phil had been drinking; his words were slurred, slightly as he spoke.
"Sorry .. . Rhoda . . . Stopped to have a couple o' drinks on th' way home . . . some o' th' fellas ..." he mumbled.
She heaved a sigh of relief. His drinking was rare and irregular - although this was the second night in a row he had arrived home inebriated - and Rhoda didn't like for him to drink; however, she felt that having him home safe but drunk was infinitely so much better than any one of those horrible things her imagination had conjured up while she was waiting so alone and lonely for him to come home.
Leaning into his arms, trembling, she sought there the solace she needed from her own mind-fright of the past several hours.
"I-I wish you had called me..." she started.
His reaction was different than she had expected; to her, her question was a typical, innocent female demand.
"Why the hell should I?" he bristled. "You checkin' up on me . . . all the time?"
"No . . . I-I just didn't know . . . where you were, Phil. .. and I-I..." she half-apologized stopping when she saw his dark look, not wanting to provoke an argument... then, rushing on with a happier thought, "I've got some good news..."
"Well, get the hell off my back!" he flared, cutting her off.
The cruel words stung her. She put her arms tightly around him, grinding her loins into him, feeling the instant hardness of him, there, as she tried to show him that she was concerned, really concerned for him, because she loved him.
"I-I love you .. . Phil! It's because I love you ... so much! Don't you understand .. . that?" she said, desperation in her voice.
Then, his mouth was on hers, hungrily, his tongue lashing into her mouth, probingly, his passion rising, quickly, fiercely, within him, his penis jerking in his pants, as he captured her in his arms, pressing her to him and his hands moving to her buttocks to pull her in closely, roughly to him.
"Let's go to bed, doll!" he said, huskily, into her mouth, his hands busy on her body.
"Now . . . Phil? I've fixed dinner for you . . . don't you want to eat . . . first . . . ? she asked.
"No . . . All I want's you . . . right now! Come on!" he rasped, as he grabbed her hand to lead her to the bedroom.
She resisted, pulling back from him. "Not now, darling . .. let's wait..." she persisted.
Animal sounds came from his throat. His hand shot out, flat and true to catch her on the cheek with a resounding slap.
"I said, now! Goddamn it!" he roared at her.
Rhoda cringed back and away from him, shock and terror in her eyes. Her free hand went to her smarting cheek.
"OOOOoooh! Phil!" she sobbed, her heart breaking within her as she stared at him without comprehension.
Her voice was as remote to him as if she were speaking from another world. Roughly, he jerked her by the hand, pulled her into the bedroom and shoved her sprawling to the bed.
"Bitch!" he gritted. "I'm tired of this crap . .. ! Always tryin' to put me off.. . when I want it! I want to fuck you, now!"
Phil reached for her, his fingers like talons, "You going to get those clothes off... or do I rip 'em off?!" he threatened.
Dully, dutifully, she obeyed, removing her clothing, mechanically, disbelief surging through her; it was impossible that Phil - her own husband - was acting like this . . . like an animal... forcing her to have sex with him . .. actually raping her. Yes, that's what it was . .. Phil was raping her.
Oh, Dear God! Does it have to be like this. . . ? Do I have to go through the same thing my Mommy did? I can't believe it! Phil! Oh, Phil! I love you! Please. .. please, Dear Lord. . . don't let my husband treat me like this! Sweet Jesus! I need your help . .. !
Her clothes off, now, she sat, nakedly dejected on the edge of the bed. Phil, meanwhile, had thrown off his own clothing and stood by the bed, his cock erect, standing up, proudly, like a truncheon against his hairy abdomen; then, he was on her, clamping her to the bed with one heavily muscled arm, while the other hand moved, rapaciously, over the tender, supple contours of her rigid yet unresisting young body, squeezing and kneading, fiercely, savagely, at her pure, white, fully rounded breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at the tiny, coral nipples, until they stood out firm and erect. Then, his mouth dropped, greedily, to feed, upon them, chewing hungrily at their tips, until he felt his teeth break the tender skin of them; the resilient flesh gave way before his savage onslaught and there was, suddenly, the taste of her warm, salty-sweet blood oozing into his mouth and spreading over his lashing tongue.
"OOOOOoooooh! No! NOOOOooooo! Phil. .. please . . . not like this! You're hurting me!" she moaned, pleadingly, but her words fell on deaf ears.
He held her desperate, straining body helplessly pinioned to the bed, imprisoning her with his superior weight and strength, his heavy, tensed chest weighing down upon her like a great stone. Her long, blonde hair began to thrash, as she flailed her head from side to side in agony, her lovely face twisted into a grotesque grimace of fright and terror.
The horrified disbelief registered in her eyes and face, but Phil ignored it; he was intent upon one thing only ... his own sexual satisfaction. He wanted to fuck this lovely too-sweet wife of his, now! Nothing else mattered! He was going to fuck her silly, by God!
Turning a deaf ear to her groaning, incoherent cries of pain, he bounced on top of her, his drunken mind reeling as he forced his trim hips brutally between her long, slim legs, wedging himself, heavily, between her thighs, splaying them out, cruelly, and securing her jerking, hollowing buttocks to the soft mattress, securely. She was trapped.
The soft, golden down of her crotch brushed teasingly against his hard throbbing cock, enticing him to utter unintelligible babblings of frantic, uncontrolled lust.
"I'm going to fuck you to hell and back . . . fuck you until you can't stand up . . . Goddamn, you goodie, goodie girl!" he croaked.
Rhoda moaned, not daring to speak for fear he would hit her again; she had visions of her lovely face scarred and mutilated, and the fear in her stilled her tongue.
Her husband spread her thighs even farther apart with his knees and ground his pelvis hard into her squirming, defenseless and naked loins. The hollows of her buttocks jerked, spasmodically, attempting to escape him, as he reached down between them to grasp his spasming prick and worked the blood-inflated head of it up and down in her moist, tight slit, the red cowl moving in her narrow hair-lined furrow until he found the snug portal to the velvet-lined, fleshy passage between her legs and rammed it in hard, with all his strength of back and legs, the length of him going into her with one long, agonizing plunge.
She wilted before his attack, wailing in pain, her tormented body thrashing on the bed, her hips jerking back into the soft mattress, but she was impaled on his hardened rod of flesh ... impaled like a biologist's specimen on a display card, her legs flailing out wildly in her crazed effort to escape.. . but there was no escape.
His rock-hard shaft of lust-filled maleness battered deeper into her warm, yielding flesh until his hairy pelvis crashed into hers with a resoundingly painful slap. Only a little stretch of his cock showed above her cuntal lips, as he held it there, rigidly completely submerged in the secret recesses of her quivering belly, the warm, wet walls of her unwilling cunt clasped tightly around the great length and breath of his phallus.
Phil didn't stop. He couldn't stop, then, moreover, he didn't even give her a chance to adjust to the presence of his giant cock buried so deeply, to the hilt, in her pussy. He just began to fuck, drubbing in and out of her cunt like some feral, rutting animal, his one lustful thought to shoot his hot, sticky load of waiting semen deep up inside her soft, white belly, where it belonged. After all, she was his wife!
Pounding on and on, he came to his climax, swiftly and completely, filling her with the hot, viscous fluids of his demanding loins. He collapsed, groaning, on top of her as the last pumping sensations milking his testicles of their load were gradually subsiding.
Rhoda had not reacted .. . indeed, could not react, erotically to this loathsome rape of her genitals. She could not believe that it had happened. Her own husband had just raped her! She lay dry-eyed under him, her shock draining her of all feeling ... all emotion. She felt like a husk, thrown aside, after the succulent roasted corn has been eaten.
Finally, after long minutes, Phil stirred and rolled over from on top of her, his now tumescent prick pulling from her with a sucking, fluid sound. -He had come to his senses, partially, realizing what he had really done.
He tried to apologize. Desperately, he endeavored to get even the faintest response of forgiveness from her. He told her he was genuinely sorry for allowing his unbridled lust to overcome him. It was useless. Rhoda lay on the bed, unmoving, unseeing, unhealing ... and mute.
Phil arose from the bed overwhelmed with disgust for his actions, and he asked for a final time, "Rhoda . . . sweetheart... will you please forgive me ... ?" He was contrite.
Looking at him coldly, her words like the keen edge of a knife, she said, "If you're through using me for the night.. . would you mind covering me up?"
Gently, now, he complied with her request. He tried, again, "I-I'm sorry . .. Rhoda . .. You know ... I really do ... love you ..."
But she turned her back to him, as she coldly said, "Turn out the light as you leave!"
"I'm not going anywhere..." he said, puzzled.
Her voice was flat, dull, "You're not going to sleep with me!"
Gathering his clothes and a blanket, he turned to leave the room; again, he tried, "You won't change your mind. ..?"
"Goddamn it!" she screamed. "Leave me alone!"
Her husband left the bedroom to sleep on the couch; then, and only then, did she allow herself the luxury of tears.
Oh, God! My poor Mommy! Now, I know what it must have been like for her! Men! They're beasts... sex-crazy monsters! I hate him. .. right now! . . . But, God! I do love him ... so much! Phil! Phil. . . I love you .../þ/ want to be the right kind of wife! Please, Dear Lord, help me! Help me to be the right kind of' wife. .. a good wife for him!
The morbid past and the horrifying present crowded in upon her, suffocating her, paralyzing her will.. . and it was too much for her. Only the cleansing tears were left to her.
A final clutching thought came to her before she drifted off into a fitful, restless sleep ... a nightmare sleep ... and she could not tell the difference between the dream and reality. That thought raced through her mind and stabbed a new fear into her. She had not gotten the pills!
God! What if I get pregnant.. . ?! I wouldn't want a child begotten like this. . . in rape!.. . Even if the rapist is my husband!
Chapter Two
The following morning, Rhoda arose first, as usual, and fixed breakfast for them. She didn't feel much like eating; she just picked at her food. There was little conversation between them, the atmosphere being a little like an armed truce. Phil was very polite ... and, she thought, contrite, as he ate his breakfast, in silence, lost in thought, a worried frown on his handsome face. Rhoda noted, also, that his color wasn't good! He looked as though he might be ill. She decided that it was just a hangover from his drinking of the night before. Two or three times Phil started to say something to her, but he changed his mind just before broaching the subject... or he hadn't known what to say - or how to say what was on his mind.
After he was shaved, dressed and ready to leave for work, he came to where Rhoda still sat, at the breakfast table, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee. Sitting down opposite her, his face serious, drawn . . . worried, his brown eyes sorrowful, he reached out to cover her hand with his own big one.
"Rhoda," he began. "You know ... I really love you ..."
She raised hurt eyes to him, in turn, "Was that. . . love . . . last night. .. ?" she parried.
"No . . . that was something in me .. . something I couldn't control. .. I-I just flipped ... I guess ..." he stumbled.
"I won't be able to ... to keep on living with you . .. Phil... unless you can learn t-to ... be gentle with me . . . and teach me to respond ... to love . .. real love ..." she said.
"I'll try . . . Rhoda! Ill try ... " She had thought of it often before, but had not dared mention it to Phil. Now was the time. Phil was ready!
"We could get help... some marriage counseling sessions..." she suggested, not knowing what his reaction would be.
"Yeah . .. maybe that's an answer . . . but the cost. .. ?" he objected mildly.
Elation and hope came to her, once more; her despondency fled before the sunshine of his amiable agreement.
"There are agencies ..." she said, quickly. "Family Service . . . where you pay according to your income."
"Oh . ..?"
Persisting now, she went on, "Something like four or five dollars a session .. . Should we look into it. .. Phil?"
"Yeah . . . yeah, go ahead," he said absently. But, Rhoda, there's something I've got to tell you ... at least part of it before I go. You know my work... a lot of it is secret, top drawer, confidential stuff..."
"Yes, I know, Phil... But.. . Phil! Is something wrong?" She was confused, worried now.
"It could be serious... All I can tell you is . .. somebody's trying to get the data on my project! That's what's been bothering me .. . the reason why I got blotto, last night. . . and when I came home ... to you ... I just went off my rocker . . . and . . . Well, I'm sorry, Rhoda . .. but I wanted you to know .. . about this other thing ..." he struggled, trying to tell her of his all-consuming problem, his realization that he had treated her wrongly, all without, at the same time, telling her anything that would violate the plant security.
"Oh, Phil! I - I had no idea ..." Rhoda said, immediately understanding and sympathetic. "Do you know who's trying to ... to get the information on your project.. . ?"
"Yes, I know! But, they'll play hell getting it!" His voice was strident, emphatic.
"Darling . .. please, be careful," she cried. "You won't take any chances . . . risk getting hurt. .. ?"
She rose with him as he stood to his feet and came into his arms, offering him her lips. Phil kissed her tenderly, holding her close with gentle strength. "I'll be all right!"
Phil went on, "Rhoda ... I love you. Please give me a chance ... to work this out..."
Rhoda was ecstatic. "Yes, oh, yes, Phil.. . We'll work it out, together!" she bubbled. "And Phil . . . you know how much I love you .. . too!?"
He left for work, then, hurriedly, to get to the plant on time, his stride firm and confident on the stair, and Rhoda knew that part of his great burden had been lifted from him just in the telling of it to her.
Her whole being sang; her heart was lighter, her spirit more buoyant and there was deep hope in her heart that their marriage would not flounder. She watched him drive away and knew that now she could hardly wait for his return in the evening. She had so much to tell him.
Oh, My Dearest Phil! I didn't know he was facing something all that serious!... I know he'll tell me all about it. .. when he can. And, he agreed that we need some marriage counseling.. . That's a good sign. .. a healthy sign! Oh, God, I was so close to losing him!. . . I don't know how much longer I could have stood it. .. before I walked out on him. . . divorced him ... or cracked up, myself! I don't want any kind of "like mother. . . like daughter" situation in my life. ..
* * *
Rhoda went about her housework with vigor, and by ten had finished all of the daily chores, plus a few of the irregular ones; however, there was still the washing of the hamperful of dirty clothing, but she was unable to get that job done for the simple reason she still had no money for the coin-operated machines. She sorted through the mess of soiled garments and selected some she could do by hand in the bathroom sink. She had just started this hand washing when the doorbell sounded. Hastily wiping her hands she went to her door.
Standing on the covered landing she saw a sallow-faced man of medium height with greying hair; small, actually perceptive eyes and a thin straight gash for a mouth. He held a black attache case in his hand. Thinking, at first sight, that he was a salesman, she said, "I'm sorry ... I don't need anything, today."
She started to close the door, but Sallow-face pulled his mouth into a horrible grinning grimace, revealing long, tobacco stained teeth and said, "Mrs. Grey ... ? I'm Don Proctor, Chief Security Officer for Northern Chemical and Research. Your husband is employed with us there... and... " "Oh .. . ? Yes ... Phil is in Research ... at Northern ..."
"May I come in ..." he asked, politely.
"Phil!" she choked. "Something's wrong with Phil!?"
"No .. . your husband's perfectly all right, but there is a problem I've got to talk to you about. . . concerning him ..." He smiled that awful smile at her, again.
Heaving a quick sigh of relief, she said, "Why yes, of course ... please, come in ... " Rhoda led the way to seats in their small living room. Don Proctor sat on the couch, facing her across the small coffee table. His quick eyes took in everything, including a quick sweep of her voluptuous young figure.
A little nervously, she asked, "What is it... about Phil?"
The security guard looked at her, steadily, for a moment, his little, ferret-like eyes burning into her own, until she felt he was trying to see into her soul; finally he began to speak.
"Mrs. Grey ... as Chief Security for the plant it's my job to know everything that goes on . . . any and everything affecting the safety... or the security at N.C.&R. is my responsibility."
"Yes ... I understand that. .. but Phil's been cleared . .. for top security. After all, he's in research ... and ..." she said, trying to affirm Phil's position at the plant.
"There's no question of his clearance ... now," Don explained. "It's whether he can keep it... in the future."
Rhoda frowned. "Why .. . ? Has something changed ... Is there some new regulation ... ?"
"You didn't understand what I said, Mrs. Grey ... I said he may not be able to keep that top security clearance ... for long. You see ... I have some evidence here . . . evidence that seems to show your husband, Phil. . . may be a dangerous security risk at N.C.&R." the plant guard said, grimly, not smiling, now.
"Oh, My God! . . . What do you mean ... is there some kind of. .. ?" she started, then stopped herself, remembering what he had told her that morning: That someone was trying to get his research data. Had they been successful? Was this part of an investigation . . . the reason for the plant security man being here . . . ?
Oh, God! Phil's in some kind of trouble! Don't let it be so . . . please, Dear Lord!
Then, she caught his ferret-eyes as they swept over her appraisingly, a salacious smile parting his thin lips, giving him a strange, unreal look, as though he were the work of a Hollywood studio make-up artist getting him ready to step before the cameras to play the heavy in a grade B horror movie.
What is it about this man. . . that gives me the jitters. . . ? I should be able to trust him . . . I suppose, because he is from security . . . But, he's so . . . slimy looking. . . or something. Ugh! The awful way he looks at me makes my skin crawl!
"It's all right here, Mrs. Grey... I think maybe it'd be best if I just played the tape for you ... and you can judge for yourself . .. " Don Proctor said, his eyes never leaving her.
He picked up his attache case, laid it flat on the coffee table, opened it and removed a small, portable casette type tape recorder which he placed on the couch beside him. He went on, "I'm sure you'll recognize one of the voices on this tape . .. the other voice, I'm not at liberty to identify for you ... yet. But, he is very big in scientific research. Listen!"
Don set the machine for playback and started it. There was a few seconds of silent lead-in tape; after that there were several squeaks and squawks and the tail-end of a solid rock number, the buzz of voices, the clink of glasses, identifying the location as a bar, probably. Rhoda cocked her head, listening carefully, so she would miss nothing.
PHIL: (short laugh)
Yes. . . that's right . . . I did publish that article. .. It came out about October, last year. . .
VOICE: (a man's voice, baritone in quality) I try to keep up. . . read what I can.. . but I find it gets harder. .. since I'm more in the business end. . .
PHIL: I remember your work. . . especially the research with insecticides.
VOICE: Yes. . . very interesting, but it's too bad about this residual thing. That hurts. .. but it keeps us looking for something better. . . isn't that right?
PHIL: Yes.
(Silence. Background noises, but no conversation) PHIL: Well, thank you for the drink... I should be getting on home. . .
VOICE: Look, Phil ...I know you don't want to talk to me - and with good reason - after all... I am part of the competition. . . But that doesn't mean we can't have a drink or two on a social basis.. . does it?
Come on. . . have one more with me... ?
PHIL: All right... the same, then . . . thanks.
(Background noises, business of ordering drinks, scuffing and scraping sounds, clink of glasses, Rock band starts playing. . . then, dead silence for several seconds) VOICE: I'm glad that's over!
PHIL: What was it you started to say . . . ?
VOICE: There has to be something better than Teflon . . . just imagine... a material so tough that it could be used as cylinder in internal combustion engines... something that can be produced cheaply. .. cheap enough to line the inside of cross-country oil and gas pipe-lines... life-time bearings in machines. . . imagine, never having to replace the bearings in a generator ... or an automobile engine... Bearings that never have to be lubricated. . . and used in paints. .. you'd never have to polish a car, again . . . And, I could go on and on...
PHIL: You don't have to. . . I've already done a lot of day-dreaming about all the possible applications. . . if somebody could come up with such a material.. . Wow!
VOICE: Isn't it more than day-dreaming, Phil? You're the guy who knows how to make it!
PHIL: What makes you say that. . .?
VOICE: Because. . . I think that's what you 're working on.. . over at Northern . . . and that you can already write the formula for it!
PHIL: That's a laugh . . . If I knew that I'd be a rich man . . .
VOICE: You can be a rich man . . . ! Would fifty thousand dollars help?
PHIL: You bidding on something. .. ?
VOICE: If it's for sale ...The bid could go the seventy-five thousand route. ..
PHIL: And if I could produce. .. it might be worth one-hundred thousand. . . ?
VOICE: A workable formula might be worth another twenty-five... on top of that!
PHIL: It's very tempting. ..
Rhoda gasped, "No! I don't believe it!" Don Proctor hissingly commanded her to silence.
VOICE: Are you selling.. .
PHIL: I'll have to think about it.
VOICE: A hundred thousand and twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of money. .. you can do a lot with that. . .
PHIL: How do you plan to pay off. . . ?
VOICE: Numbered Swiss bank account. . . regular drafts to your bank.. . O.K.?
PHIL: Sounds good.
VOICE: Can you deliver?
PHIL: Yes.
VOICE: When?
PHIL: A week O.K.?
VOICE: Good! Let's drink to that!
Rhoda couldn't believe her ears! Phil had actually agreed to sell his secret formula to that other man. . . whoever he was! It was impossible! Phil! Phil was selling out. . . and, yet, he had told her just before he left this morning that he would never let them get hold of his research data. True, he had been offered a large sum of money, but Phil selling out his principles . . . it just didn't square up! She was in an agony of confusion and uncertainty; her quick, hot tears came, unbidden, as she dropped her face into her hands, the wracking ululation bursting from her in sniffling hoots and wails.
Reaching over to the tape recorder, Proctor pushed the stop button; there was not much more to hear, anyway. He watched her cry for a few moments, sadistically enjoying the spectacle of her emotional outburst. Her light house dress molded her superb, young, rounded contours, and the hem of her dress had ridden up her thighs, exposing a good deal of her naked charms to his shifty gaze. The exposed white, flesh of her thighs triggered his sex fantasies, the crawling, pulling sensation of his scrotum and the quick jerk of his penis telling him that it had been worthwhile, after all. The long hours spent in tailing Phil Grey, getting the conversation on tape and preparing it for today's premier . . . was going to pay-off now with an unexpected dividend ... a roll in the sack between Grey's young wife's lust, white legs.
This one's going to be a pushover! Damn, she's delectable! Look at those hips and thighs... just the way I like 'em! Not too thin. .. and not too meaty . . . and those tits. . . man! I'm really going to give it to her! I'll fuck her every way but sideways! God! I can hardly wait! Just watching her. . . my cock's getting so damned hard. . . it's starting to ache! If that bitchy, pill-popping wife of mine would only put out regularly . . . I wouldn't have to get it someplace else. . . but, shit! This is more fun . . . anyway! Little lady . . . you're going to get some fancy fucking. .. in just a little while!
"Well!" he snapped at her, his voice cutting through to her commandingly. "What do you want to do about it?"
Rhoda looked up at him, misery imprinted on her face, "D-do . . . w-what do you m-mean ..."
Looking at her with piercingly lewd, ferret-eyes, he said, "Your husband is about to sell out... you heard! For all we know he may have done it, already! It's all there ... on the tape! Do I make my report to the president of N. C. & R.... turn this tape over to him ... or do we make some kind of agreement. .. you and me... " Again, Rhoda was confused; she hadn't followed his meaning.
"Agreement..." she asked, perplexed.
"Yes! Would you like to have that tape?"
That's it! My God! I've got to get that horrible tape. . . and destroy it or Phil will never work again at the thing he loves most!
"My God! Yes!"
Don reached out a hand, blue veins standing out in ridges, covered with brownish liver spots, and placed it on her thigh, carelessly, just above her dimpling knee.
"You can have it . . . after you've gone to bed with me," he said, trying to make his voice seductive.
Her reaction was swift. "No!" she said, horror creeping in her eyes and sweeping his hand from her leg.
"Your husband could lose his job!"
"No! Damn it! No!" she blurted, unable to believe what this horrid little man was proposing.
"You could only see him on weekends ... if he's lucky... and they send him to Chino!" Don suggested.
"Prison! Oh, n-no! Oh, God! No!"
Quickly, she stood to her feet; she felt faint, the shock, the unreality of the situation bearing down on her. That horrible tape. . . Phil agreeing to sell his secret project - his company's property - to another firm; now, this caricature of a man suggesting that she go to bed with him ... let him make love to her ... in exchange for the tape was too much. She wanted to be alone... to think the thing through, rationally. She swayed, slightly, and Don Proctor was there to take her swiftly in his arms, capturing her mouth with his own and covering her lips, completely, engulfing them moistly, as his tongue darted out to snake itself between her lips and against her teeth, one hand coming up to her jaw, his fingers pressing, cruelly, into the jaw muscles at the hinges, forcing her mouth to open, and his tongue lashed inside probing and tasting at her delicious youth.
She resisted, trying to pull away from him, disgust and revulsion in her at his vile physical contact, but his strong arms held her close to him, his hands hot and moving, restlessly, as they pressed into the smooth, curvaceous outlines of her buttocks, smoothing and kneading them, his strength forcing her pelvis tight into him where the throbbing bulginess of his manhood pressed hard into the triangle of her loins. She knew what he wanted.
No! This is impossible! This foul man is . . . is trying to... to blackmail me! Wanting me to go to bed with him. . . in exchange for that awful tape. . . Phil. . . oh, Phil! I love him ... so much! But, if I let this. . . beast make love to me. . . I'd be an. . . a-adulteress! Oh. God, help me. . . yet, if Phil went to . . . prison . . . I'd die. . . I'd just die! Oh, it can't happen . . . but, isn't there any other way. . . but this? Oh, Lord. . . help me... I need you, now!
Pulling her face away from hid devouring lips, struggling to escape his imprisoning arms with all her strength, she grated out at him, "Let me go! Damn you! I'll never go to .. . b-bed with you!"
He released her. She sank down into her chair, sobbing with relief, tears streaming down her cheeks, unchecked. Don stood over her frowning his frustration.
"O.K., baby! You didn't buy the easy way out... so, I'll move along . . . start the old ball rolling. .. and I can guarantee you that your husband will be in a cell in less than two hours!" he threatened, as he stooped to return the portable tape recorder to his attache case. Rhoda didn't know what to do.
Watching him pack the machine away, close the lid and grasp the carrying handle as he straightened up, she knew that she could not let him leave the apartment until she had that incriminating tape in her possession. She knew what she had to do. Her only prayer was that it be gotten over and done with, quick. She looked up at him, as he turned to leave. "No. .. wait!"
Don Proctor came back to where she sat, a salacious grin of triumph distorting his already misshapen face.
"You get smart, fast, baby doll!" he chortled evilly
Chapter Three
Rhoda had made one of the most difficult decisions of her young life. It was a hard decision to make, and she knew it would be harder, much harder to carry out now that she had determined her course of action.
The security guard put down the case again and reached for her, claiming his prize; he took her by the wrist and moved her from the chair to the couch, his mouth, once again, avidly searching hers as a hand went to a full round breast, his fingers digging into the flesh through her clothing.
Oh Lord. . . I won't be able to stand it. . . ! How do I let a man make love to me. . . a man I don't love ... a stranger? It's wrong, wrong. .. wrong!
Momentarily she struggled against him, trying to escape his pillaging tongue, his rapacious hands moving on her body, and she knew that it was futile. She had made her bargain with this beast. Now she had to keep it.
I'm doing this for Phil! That's the only thing I have to remember.. . It's for Phil! If I just think about that. . . all the time he's. . . doing it to me. . . I might be able to get through it! Ugh! He's vile.
She groaned, but it was not a groan of sex or passion; the sound escaped from the very depths of her tortured soul. It signaled defeat, but Don Proctor heard and misinterpreted. He thought she had groaned in pleasure.
Take it easy, baby . . . there's plenty of time," he croaked as he shoved her back on the couch and began kissing her neck, his tongue laving her moistly, now poking into her ear, the tip running around the edges, giving her the shivers.
"You're a delectable little piece," he hissed down at her as the lay stretched at full length now on the couch, her thighs tightly clenched, dreading the time when he would want to touch her there ... on the private, secret place of her womanhood that had heretofore been touched only by her darling husband.
His hand roamed down across her flat belly on down the inside of a thigh to the hem of her dress then back up the smooth warm flesh to the juncture of her trembling thighs, pulling the dress up to expose her completely to his lustful gaze as his hand touched her soft silky pubic hair. He grinned and used a finger, smoothly inserting it into the crease at the top of her quivering vaginal slit and moving it in to find the tiny enshrined button of her clitoris, rubbing at it to instigate those vibrant sensations of wanton sexuality he knew resided there in every woman regardless of how haughty she might appear to be.
Rhoda cringed inwardly with each touch, her mind wrestling desperately with principles and value judgments, trying to rationalize for herself the what and why of what she was doing. She found no additional answers.
"Oh, please ... Mr. Proctor . .. don't!" she moaned as she felt his strong hands force her thighs apart and his fingers pulling and tugging at the thin band of nylon protectively covering her defensively cringing cuntal lips.
"Mr. Proctor!" he cackled. "God damn!
That's a good one! As close as we're going to be . . . you'd better start calling me Don .. . I'm the Don of Hearts!" He roared with laughter at his own punning joke then twisting his hand into the crotch band of her panties, he gave a prodigious yank, tearing them away from her, the material ripping asunder, leaving her loins young, tender, tremblingly naked and defenseless.
"No! Oh no!" she cried, clamping her legs tight together, a hand going instinctively down to cover her shame.
"Open your legs . . . Bitch!" he grunted. "I don't want to get rough with you . . . But if I have to, I will!"
"Leave me alone!" she flashed. "IT just. .. can't g-go through with it.. . !"
"You want your beautiful face marked up .. . Rhoda, baby?"
"Y-You .. . wouldn't ...?!" She was aghast, visions of herself... in the hospital. . . surgeons rebuilding her face!
"Try me!" the sadistic plant guard chuckled. "Now, do you get those legs open or not?"
Defeat, disgust and fear mingled in her, and she relaxed the muscles of her thighs, allowing the marble-white curving columns to splay out slightly, revealing the pink slit, glistening dully there, a golden ring of sparse blonde hair lining the soft femaleness where the petals protruded slightly, like a tiny nether tongue peeping out, and above the miniature phallus her clitoris lay in its protective canopy of flesh.
Then it began!
She felt his finger moving on her . . . moving as it traced the thin pink furrow of her softly naked cunt, and she squirmed and shivered with abhorrence at the lewdness of his tracing finger; then there was a moment of strange masochistic warmth, of prurient delicious agitation, she could not explain as he insinuated the finger deeper and deeper inside her warm moistly tremulant vaginal passage.
In her helplessness, something was happening to her, and Rhoda could not explain it to herself. That spreading warmth in her belly, the tingling awareness and the heightened sensations seeming to center there where his finger probed signaled pleasure . . . forbidden pleasure!
Oh God! That feeling! His finger is driving me crazy!
Rhoda moaned in an agony of emotional conflict and an as yet unrecognized sensual desire, her nerve endings alive with the shimmering electric shock of it along the flesh of her thighs, her loins surgingly responding to him but not wanting to respond . .. not wanting it to happen this way. Why didn't he just throw himself on here . .. and do it . .. and be done with it? God!
Squirming her buttocks down into the soft cushions of the couch, she sought to escape the tantalizingly worming finger, her moan changing to a helpless mewling whimper as his fingers taunted the tight sensitive portal, gently thrusting into it several times then parting the softly curling pubic hair to make a sudden electrifying contact with the tiny pulsing head of her erect clitoris. She felt the moisture seeping from her from the unwanted and forbidden sexual excitation that had now filled her whole being, and she clenched her teeth to hold back her groan of pleasure. She would not succumb to the salacious feelings building within her!
No! Good Lord, no! It's wrong! So terribly wrong! I'm a married woman!. . . And I'm about to break my marriage vows. . . become an adultress!. . . Actually worse . . . I'm selling myself. . . for that awful tape. . . to save Phil! That's almost the same . . . as . . . as prostitution! God! Oh, dear God! I don't know what to do! Help me! Suddenly she knew!
She couldn't let this vile creature do these things to her! What kind of addlepated thinking had she been doing. Forcefully she thrust her hands against his chest as she writhed and kicked, attempting to push him away from her.
"No! Stop it! God damn you!" she snarled up at him: "Get off of me!"
Her sudden change of mind and the force of her attack caught Don by surprise, but he was not startled enough to release her, let her escape him. He caught both her wrists in his steely-fingered grasp, his weight on her pinning her to the couch beneath him.
"You little bitch!" he grated at her, forcing his hip and leg between her thighs, wedging them open while his finger went on plundering the moist readiness of her gently clasping vagina. "You're going to get fucked, baby . . . but nobody can ever say you were raped because you'll be climbing the walls wanting it.. . begging me for it! So relax . .. and cooperate!" he rasped down at her, his lewd smile twisted on his face.
"No! Never!" she shrilled. "I'll never beg. . . for that!"
"We'll see!"
Then slowly, Rhoda stopped struggling, and she relaxed into the soft couch, the insane horror of her helpless, completely defenseless situation sinking into her frantic brain. God! She was trapped! She could only lie there and allow this beast to do his will with her... let his hands roam at will over her helpless body, taking any and all indecently lewd liberties with her that he pleased; presently, when he was ready ... he would take her sexually . . . violating her warm young body as he squirted his abominable sperm deep into her unwanting belly. There was nothing she could do now to stop him ... and either way she was on the losing end. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn't. Now, the real irony was revealed to her. She was being used!
The tears of her humiliation flowed down her cheeks; the revulsion in her for her own reactions catching in her throat as she found that the tantalizingly cruel play of his fingers on her genitals elicited uncontrollable responses in the aroused wetness of the female slit between her legs.
His voice was loud and raspy in her ear, his breath hot against her, "Starting to feel good . . . isn't it.. . ?" he teased.
Rolling her head aside, trying to twist her face away from him, the words caught in her throat; she couldn't speak, the sensual shock of his maddening fingers massaging her quivering clitoris causing her to work her writhing buttocks down into the cushions to escape the frenzied nerve-shocking sensations that coursed through her soft vibrating pussy.
"Oh God! Oh God! Oh!" she whimpered involuntarily as he continued his manipulation of her abused clitoris.
Don moved his scrawny body up over her, freeing her wrists from his strong-fingered grasp and bringing his hand up to her head, he grabbed a handful of her golden tresses. He drew her head to him and kissed her wetly, his tongue sliding deep into her mouth as his finger began to massage her naked cunt once more.
"I'm going to make you naked, baby," he grunted. "And you're going to cooperate!"
She knew dully that she would; at this point she could do nothing to help her situation.
Rhoda felt him raise her up and heard the zipper of her dress being drawn slowly down her back. She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about what she was doing, helping him with the proper movements, wriggling her shoulders and hips, raising and lowering as he removed her dress and slip; then she felt his hands behind her once more as he unfastened her bra, and the cool air rushed over her full throbbing breasts, the hard distended nipples pointing like spikes into the palms of his hands. He gasped as his talon-like fingers enclosed the warm vibrant flesh, hotly kneading squeezing and rolling the sensitive nipples painfully between thumb and forefinger until finally his hot wet mouth was on her, taking one of the hardened buds, areola as well, between his lips, his tongue licking, lips sucking the nipple maddeningly. Transferring then to the other breast, he paid it similar homage, his long wet tongue trailing finally down through the narrow cleft that separated them, and her stomach muscles tightened tensely as he slithered down her, his tongue dipping moistly into her navel, teasing it while his hands kept up their constant kneading of her aching breasts.
Now she could feel his hands as they left her breasts, moving down along her ribs to her waist, sliding down over her hips and the outside of her thighs to her knees then back up the insides of her smooth warm thighs, spreading them, exposing her naked loins to him completely, his breath rasping in his throat as his hand again plundered her thighs, her almost virginal cuntal lips. She kept her eyes closed tight as he raised from her where she lay naked on the couch, and she could hear the whisper of cloth and zipper, and she knew that he was undressing himself.
Oh God! I can't look! Phil Oh Phil. . . will you understand. . . ? Forgive me! Dear Lord, forgive me!
"You'll have to face it, baby ... so you might as well open those gorgeous eyes of yours," he insisted. She recognized the truth in what he said. She did have to face up to it now that she was deeply involved. Slowly, reluctantly, she unclenched her tightly closed eyes. She gasped aloud.
She saw him naked, kneeling now between her legs, his face twisted into his distorted lewd grin. Involuntarily, her eyes swept down his scrawny body with its slight paunch of a belly to his thick hardened penis standing out below obscenely. Her eyes widened, disbelieving what she saw. For a man of his small stature and thin-chested paunchiness, his manhood stood out from him, huge and thick, and while his salacious smile twisted his face horribly, she saw his hand caressing the oversized rod of hardened flesh, stroking gently back and forth, the foreskin slipping easily over the blood-engorged corona with each stroke, obscenely jerking in his hand.
"It's so big!"
"Your husband got anything to match this ... ?" he chortled.
Rhoda continued to stare at him in miserable humiliation, the degradation of the sight of her own naked obscenely spread body filling her with shame, and again she was aware of the helplessness, the utter aloneness with which she faced this madman.
For surely he was a madman! Her racing brain had concluded that he was actually enjoying his almost brutal debouchment of her, the cruel gleam in his ferret-like eyes as she watched the misery he was subjecting her to was the gleam of a mentally deranged mind . . . the mind of a sadist!
Even as she stared and because of her helplessness, faint tinglings of unwanted desire surged into her loins, the summer-lightnings played there, discharging feelings of wanton depravity along the sensitive nerve endings; nevertheless a new sense of horror arose in her as she watched him on his knees before her, lewdly stroking himself. Her eyes fixed upon the lust-filled cock he held in his hand with utter disbelief and loathing. Its sheer size terrorized her. Oh God! It would split her in two! How could she ever take that.. . inside her?
Don saw her fixed stare. "Like it?" he leered. "Just wait until you get this in that tight little cunt!" he continued, tormenting her and watching the expression of horror and fear that contorted her beautiful face. "You'll know you've really been fucked then!"
Again tears welled up in her eyes, overflowing the brims and dribbling unnoticed, down her cheeks as she realized that this beast of a man would show her no mercy. She hardly noticed his filthy language anymore; her mind was too busy with the hopelessness of her position and the horrifying realization of knowing there was no escape from the ravishment he was going to inflict on her helpless young body. This sex-crazed satyr was going to ravish her defenseless body! There was nowhere to turn ... she had never felt so alone. She was completely at his mercy.
Leaning forward, suddenly, he dropped the full weight of his body upon her, knocking the breath from her lungs momentarily, the long hard thickness of his penis pulsating against the soft flesh of her belly, his brazenly searching hands once more squeezing the smoothly mounded fullness of her breasts savagely, causing her to whimper in pain beneath him while his mouth sought hers avidly, his tongue stabbing deep into her throat as animal noises of his lust came from deep in his chest.
After long moments, he raised his head. "God! You're luscious! But... you're not reacting! Before I'm through with you . .. you'll be flipping!" he bragged.
Too late she realized his meaning as he slithered down her body, sliding down until his head was just inches above the juncture of her thighs. The thought of what he was about to do to her caused Rhoda to recoil in repugnance.
"Please ... don't do that to me ... I-I've never..." she pleaded, but he had already placed the palms of his hands against the soft flesh of her inner thighs and was spreading them far, far apart; her efforts to keep him from splaying her were futile. She whined in her throat as she looked down between the twin mounds of her breasts to the golden triangle to where she could see the top of his head, his face distorted in passion as it poised in space over her softly palpitating cunt.
"Oh my God, no! Not even Phil has ever done ... that t-to m-me!" she moaned, a swift feeling of guilt stabbing at her.
How many times have I. . . refused.. . to let Phil do it? And. . . and I'm helpless to stop this vile monster! God! Oh God!. . . Help me now!
There, between her legs, kneeling, his hands pressing apart the soft warm columns of her smooth white thighs, Don Proctor gazed down hungrily at the thin pink furrow of her womanhood, ringed with soft golden hair, the petals peeking out like two tiny tongues, viscous droplets of clear moisture clinging to them delicately, and as she lay there in terror beneath him, her eyes pleading with him not to debase her further; then, her humiliation complete, she watched, petrified, as his hands moved up, and she felt him place his thumbs against the soft trembling lips of her cunt, part the soft curls of pubic hair and draw them slowly apart, exposing her innermost secret passage to his salaciously deranged gaze.
Rhoda felt the heat of his breath on the sensitive coral flesh and she moaned aloud in agonized shame as, still watching and unable to tear her eyes away, she saw him drop his hand to her loins and felt the moist length of his tongue slide snakelike into her defenseless quivering vagina.
Tremulously, her body responded, instinctively twitching with convulsive determination to escape the unnatural outrage he was perpetrating against her defenseless pussy; her hips ground down and back into the cushions as a morass of revulsion welled up in her for the loathsome creature who was using his tongue on her while he went on and on, his oral member moving in and out of her furiously.
She groaned. How debased . . . how humiliated and tortured she was. It isn't possible! This couldn't be happening to her! The thoughts tumbled around and around, spinning through her mind, but it was there .. . She couldn't deny the reality of it! Don Proctor's tongue was there racing up into her unreceptive yet rapidly stimulating cunt.
"Oh God, Mr. Proctor! Stop! Please . . . stop!" she begged in her shame as unwanted sensations of forbidden pleasure began to course through her whole body from his depraved animal-like stimulation of her moist, quaking vaginal furrow. She fought desperately to keep her mind from acknowledging the wild sensual twinges of sexual madness racing maddeningly through her, stabbing at her loins with explosive power and subverting her body to this man's lewd salacious will. She knew now that she was betrayed. In spite of her revulsion her own body had turned against her!
Then she saw his eyes, staring up at her over the golden-haired triangle of her loins, watching her sadistically while his mouth and tongue labored at the widespread slit between her legs with wet obscene sucking sounds, and she knew, somehow that he was waiting for her final unconditional surrender.
I can't! I won't give in to him! Ooooh! What's happening to me. . . ? I can't think straight! Those feelings down there between my legs. . . they 're driving me crazy!
Don's eyes remained fixed on her lovely contorted face, his tongue still thrusting unceasingly into her wild searingly hot vagina. Tears came once more to her eyes, and he watched with ruthless satisfaction as she fought her losing battle with him .. . with herself.
Fight it baby! Fight it hard. . . because when you give up fighting. . . anything goes. . . because you 'll be all mine. . . mine to do with as I damn well please!
Suddenly his lips probed until he found the erect, pulsing shaft of the miniature phallus. He heard her whimper of agonized pleasure as he took the tiny trembling bud between his teeth and, holding it firmly, ran his tongue around and around it, finally coming to the sensitive button where he laved and massaged it with his oral member; presently he felt the involuntary jerk of her loins as they began to grind up at him in uncontrollable rhythmic counterpart to his abusive tongue. Now her head began to flail from side to side, the sensations so intense that she could but agonize, and he heard new mewls and whimpers of pleasure from her, coming from deep in her chest; he reached under and drew her legs up, sliding his arms under them so that her legs draped over his shoulders, and his hands went beneath her quivering half-moon buttocks to pull them up cruelly to him.
Her cries of involuntary pleasure filled the apartment as he shoved his agile tongue deep into the searingly moist depths of her wildly clasping cunt. Suddenly, her hands reached out to him as she lost the desperate battle with herself and her fingers entangled themselves in the gray thatch of his head and pulled his face tight into her steaming crotch.
She was his! She belonged to him now! He was the absolute master and she was his to destroy ... to fuck ... to do with as he chose. She was lost beyond all recall.
God! It was worth it! She's a luscious piece! Damn me! I could fuck all day. . . and all night. . . if I had something like this. .. regular!
Rhoda's body had betrayed her and was now in complete command. She could only obey the demanding sensations of her loins. Her buttocks jerked and spasmed, moving in circles upward to the plunging tongue as she pulled steadily on his hair, and lightning bolts struck at her love-starved loins when she felt his tongue flick from her vagina downward toward the hidden tiny nether ring of her anus. She wanted to scream, but it was subverted into a moan of sensual pleasure as his hot wet tongue flicked at the sensitive opening. It was only a momentary digression from his goal; in the next few moments his tongue was back at work in the cusp of her loins. She cried out deeply from the unplumbed depths of her soul for the fulfillment that had been denied her so long. Her decision had been made. She could no longer resist; it was useless to do so.
"Don! Love me! Love me, now!" she moaned.
The sadistically crazed security guard could not contain his savage elation. She was broken to his will, beginning to ask for it... not the way he wanted her to, but she was asking him nevertheless. In a few moments he was going to shove his big aching cock in her tight little cunt... and fuck her until she couldn't walk! God! His load was building in his balls ... and he could hardly wait to shoot his hot sperm into that tight unstretched little pussy.
He jerked his head free of her insistent hands in his hair, raised his head and looked at her with that crazy twisted smile. "You're hot enough to fuck now, baby!" he rasped.
Rhoda felt as though she couldn't move ... as though she didn't want to move; all there was in the world was this! Her eyes locked on his long thick cock, and she knew she had to have it grinding around inside her or she would go completely insane.
Dear God! Don't let me do it! I must be going crazy. . . I feel like I actually want him to. . . k-keep on going. . . put that huge vile thing in me. . . and. . . ! No! It's not possible! I can't! It's wrong!. . . But dear Lord. . . I can't stand this torture. . . much longer!
"O.K. baby, take my cock and put it in that hot little cunt of yours!" he ordered.
"No God! No! I can't! Don't make me do . . . that!"
Yet, against her will, her hand slid between them, reaching for his monstrous red-cowled rod of hardened maleness, her hand pausing only an inch from it; she could not bring herself to this final degradation.
"Do as I say .. . you little bitch!" he snarled. "Put it in for me . .. now!"
"Ooooh God!"
Reaching the final inch, her tiny hand encircled his thick lust-inflated cock, feeling for the first time the truly enormous size of him, using the bulbous head to part the golden hair-lined lips of her moistly ready cunt, her brain shocked, reeling with both fear and anticipation.
He flicked his hips slightly and the head forced its way into the tight elastic opening, stretching it cruelly, and Holly was sure that the great breadth of it would tear her asunder as the resilient flesh was stretched even more and more with the almost unbearable pressure he exerted.
The pain was more than she could stand. She screamed.
"Oooh God! You're ripping me ... ! I can't stand it... ! Please, oh please don't. .. !" Her pain-tortured eyes pleaded with him for mercy, but through her tears she saw the evil sadistic leer twisting his face that told her there would be no mercy. His pleasure was evident as he grimaced, the cruel light in his eyes telling her that for him it was sheer delight to see her suffer while he brutally continued his inexorable impalement of her buffeted cunt.
Inch by inch, his massive cock bored into her vaginal vault until suddenly, he thrust with all his strength, sending the rock-hard shaft plunging up into her tightly resisting passage with the force of a primeval boar.
She screamed with the excruciating pain of it.
"AAaaagghh! You'll kill me .. . with that!"
The thick lust-inflated prick raced full length into the coral softness of her vaginal passage, pushing the warm walls of resisting flesh before it until she felt his heavy sperm-laden balls smack heavily against the smooth white cheeks of her naked upturned buttocks.
He lay still for a moment atop her, breathing hard, the air raspy in his throat; then he grunted and expanded his cock buried deep in her, flexing it muscularly inside the tightness of her soft fleshy sheath, moving it into her cunt another fraction of an inch deeper.
Rhoda groaned. He continued, repeating the expanding action several times, each time eliciting tearful groans of agony and shame from deep in her throat. Surprisingly then, slowly, the stretched passage began to adjust, to accommodate the great length and breadth of the throbbing cock deep up inside her wet love channel. Her grunts of pain became fewer as he began a slow grinding motion of his pelvis, insinuating his cock even more tightly into her naked crotch, expanding and stretching the resilient walls of her cunt until her whimpers of pain became mewls of forbidden pleasure that she couldn't control. She was on fire. Unbidden, her loins began to move under him, counterpointing his revolving grinding motion.
She was ready to beg, he grinned triumphantly to himself. Levering himself up on his arms above her, he withdrew his massive prick from her until only the head of it remained clasped between the fleshy folds of her softly hair-lined now-hungry cunt.
"Now baby! Beg for it! Beg me to fuck you!"
"No! Please nooo! Haven't you done enough to me . . . already! Do you . . . have to . . . keep on .. . humiliating me?" she whimpered, legs widespread beneath him.
"Beg! Goddamn it! Beg! You know the words!" he roared, expanding the blood-engorged head once more, just inside, against the sensitive walls of her vagina. Rhoda mewled in ecstasy. She couldn't help it. Every fiber of her being rejected it, but suddenly she was saying it . . . saying those words she thought she would never say.
"Ooh yes! God! I-I want it! F-Fuck me! Y-Yes! Please . . . fuck me?" she begged, rasping the words out between tightly clenched jaws, realizing that now nothing was left to her. There was no pride ... no morals; all there was in the world was sensation . . . the feel of his pulsating huge cock buried deep in her sensate cunt.
"Where?"
"In my c-cunt!" It was easier now and she moaned the lewd words out with desperate conviction.
With what? Goddamn it! With what?"
"With that big c-cock of yours!" she moaned.
Don rocked above her, thrusting in and out of her with short, smooth strokes, her body reacting of its own volition, her fight against the lewd sensual sensation in her loins already lost on the field of dishonor and ravishment. She had no further will to struggle; she only wanted to surrender unconditionally to the wanton desires of her flesh, and the thought of her surrender brought further excitement to her, the summer heat lightning jumping from nerve to nerve and grounding in the close wet tightness where Don's cock had begun to thrust longer and faster into the love-starved pussy that had for so long been a barrier to her complete fulfillment.
Rhoda felt her whole body responding to the increased speed and depth of his stroking into her. She squirmed and writhed beneath him as he dropped his lust-distorted mouth to hers, and she thrust her tongue deep into his throat to be sucked. She moaned incessantly up into his face, her passion-fired mind willing now to accept anything. She began to grind her naked loins up to him in tempo with his plunging, driving cock, her lovely face contorted with desire, her eyes glazed, nostrils flaring and her breath coming in a jerky panting rhythm of the ages-old dance of animal coupling.
Never in her life had Rhoda believed that such rapture existed. Never had she expected that from the licking and sucking of her cunt to this moment with his cock moving in her cuntal passage, filling her completely, that she would want anything so much. It was marvelous . .. magnificent!
Now she found as she moved with him, sliding her cunt up and down his thick shaft, that the intensity of her sensations became more delicious and unbearable. She hadn't known that lying beneath a man, his cock in her cunt, being fucked against her will - being raped, as it were - could possibly be so pleasurable; likewise, she hadn't known that she would want to give pleasure in return. That's what she wanted. She was being given this wonderful thing .. . against her will, but now .. . now she wanted to give of herself in return.
Oh God! It's wonderful! Don't ever let it stop! I want this marvelous cock fucking me in my cunt. .. forever!
He reached down with a hand, moving it over her gyrating buttocks to the defenseless puckered nether ring of her anus. Dipping a finger in the viscous moisture that seeped from the well-filled coral passage above, he circled the tiny hold before placing the tip of it against the rubbery softness of her back passage. He felt her sharp intake of breath, the sock of it in her body as he pushed slightly against the elastic tightness of the warm puckered opening.
"Now you're going to get it, baby! I'm going to shove my finger up your ass . . . as far as I can shove it!" he gloated.
This was it! His words were a further excitant to her already inflamed passion, and wantonly, insanely, she wanted it.. . she wanted to be hurt... to hurt until she screamed.
"Yes! Oh yesss! I want it! I want your finger in my asshole... Oh God, I want it everywhere!" she strangled, delirious rapture overcoming her.
He pushed hard! His finger surged into her all the way to the palm of his hand. She screamed as the finger wormed in past the resisting elastic muscle, deep up into the rubbery sponginess of her warm, un-used rectum. Never had she felt the agony of such pleasure-pain in her whole life; even as unbelievable sweet rapture filled her loins, she adjusted to the painful presence in her anus and tried to skewer herself back onto that sadistically torturing middle finger; at the same time, she strained to absorb his monstrously huge cock completely into her slaving cunt.
Now he thrust into her with increased speed, feeling the bulge in the separating tissues while she writhed wildly, uncontrollably beneath him, grinding up and down his cock with mounting fury, her legs jerking, toes curling, buttocks moving, her back passage against his finger in abject subjugation to the double ravishment of her loins; then he began to pound into her, yanking his fingers from her anus with a hissing pop, using both hands to press her knees back against her breasts, mashing them, exposing the whole of her naked and defenseless crotch to his merciless attack.
Her lovely face contorted with passion. She felt it coming to her, and she began to chant up into his face.
"Ooh, oh, oooohhh! Fuck me, hard! Harder!"
He slaved away, thrusting and plunging wildly, his jackhammer strokes into her becoming ever more and more forceful.
Damn! I've never known a woman. . . who could take me. . . like this! Christ! She's a tiger!
And then it was there for her!
She tossed her head wildly, her body convulsing in wave after wave of muscular relaxation that brought her to the heights where brilliant multicolored stars, planets and shooting comets cavorted; there she was, one with the stars, her spirit soaring free for ages, the moments of time expanded for her; then she fell through limitless space, weightless, to land feather-light on the couch in her own living room.
As in a dream, she heard herself when she had been transported, rocketing into sensual space, her voice unreal in her ears.
Don, pounding into her, felt the great tremors in her body and knew that she was in orgasm even as his own began deep up in him, behind his great cock, in his balls, hosing through him in great spurts from the lust-inflated head of his cock, the hot white viscous semen jetting far up into the dark moist confines of her wildly clasping cunt.
"God! Oh God! Rhoda! Baby! I'm there . . . right with you! Damn! It's pumping me dry! Oh God . . . what a gorgeous cunt!" he groaned and collapsed on top of her, his penis still jerking inside her.
After long moments, Rhoda roused herself and pushed up at him, trying to rise from the couch.
"Let me up now ..." she said. "Why . . . ?"
"We're finished . . . ! You got what you came for. . . " she said dully. "I've got to get myself straightened up ... " Reluctantly he pulled from her with a faint, popping sound, his cock rapidly deflating as he sat up on the edge of the couch. He began to dress while Rhoda lay back on the cushions, her hand clasped over her pubic triangle in a faintly growing embarrassment.
When the plant guard was dressed, he stood to his feet and looked down at her.
"You're a luscious piece ..." he said. "We'll have to have another go at it sometime."
"Like hell!" she snapped. "This is it ... the end of the line . . . except for one thing - I'll take that tape, now!"
"O.K. I keep my bargains baby . .. but don't bet too hard that we won't be seeing each other!" he grunted, reaching for his attache case.
He opened the lid, fumbled with the recorder and palmed an extra blank cartridge, which he handed to her. Rhoda accepted it and glared up at him.
"Good-bye Mr. Proctor!" she said pointedly.
He turned and walked to the door where he paused his hand on the knob. He looked back at her.
"One thing, baby... you'll have to admit .. . you enjoyed it!"
"Please go," she said simply. "You've done enough to me already."
Don Proctor left the Grey apartment in a state of joyful elation he could hardly contain. He had had a completely satisfying fuck, he still had the doctored tape of Phil and the unidentified - except to him - industrialist, but even better, he had a complete taping of all that had transpired in Rhoda's apartment from the time he had first closed his attache case and threatened to leave. God! What luck! He'd have that little piece of tail flat on her back anytime he wanted it now.
Chapter Four
Taylor Robbins, D.Sci. Cal Poly, '48 brilliant research scientist and president of the company he had founded, Research and Development Corporation, based in Seattle, sat with his wife, Tina at the plush bar. Tina's dark, brunette beauty stood out from the common crowd, even in Las Vegas, where female beauty was a plentiful commodity. Her flashing black eyes were angry. She had already downed three martinis in quick succession and was beginning to show the effects of the alcohol; her speech was slurred, coming to him over the muted sounds of the casino that drifted in to them ... the soft click of the wheels and the chanting calls of the stickmen all blending into the general background hum.
"All right," Taylor said, finally, in exasperation. "You can have another five bills ... but that's all! If you lose that... go see a show ... or go back to the room ... understand?"
Tina was petulant, acting the part, almost, of a spoiled child. "No, Taylor... I don't understand... ! Aren't we here to have some fun ... ?"
"For Christ's sake, Tina! You've already dropped over two thousand! I'm not made of money! ... Besides, I'm here on a business deal... And you horned in on the trip!"
"O.K. . . . then, you take care of business ... and I'll take the fun," she said, brightening and putting her hand with its long, slender, well-manicured fingers on his own big, strong-fingered hand.
She gave him a suggestive, lascivious look, her eyes smoldering, smokily, at him in the subdued light, as she continued, "... And, maybe, we could have some fun, together ... later ... eh?"
Her delicate fingers made a lewd symbol of their joined hands on the table top. Taylor jerked his hand away from her and grunted, "Do you have to be so Goddamned vulgar... in public?!" he seethed.
Taylor may as well have slapped his wife's face. She was startled, shocked. She dropped her eyes, the long lashes fluttering as she fought for control. Never, ever, would she allow him to make her cry in a public place; despite her deep hurt, she looked up at him, her black eyes burning into him.
"What's happened to us ... Taylor?"
"Not a damned thing that you couldn't solve!" he grated, his anger rising in him.
"Meaning ... ?" she queried, raising an eyebrow.
"Get the hell off the sauce ... and quit twitching that beautiful behind of yours at any and every sonof-a-bitch that comes down the pike!"
"Very specific ... Mr. Robbins!" she taunted. "Why don't you crawl down off your cross!?"
"At least, I can be discreet! That's something you never are!" he hissed, almost apoplectic, now.
"And, can you be honest... darling?" her voice harsh, dripping with sarcasm.
Taylor stood to his feet, removed his wallet from his inside breast pocket, took five one-hundred dollar bills from it and flung them to the table top.
"Have fun!" he said, grimly; then, with finality, "But, that's the absolute limit!"
"Thanks! Thanks for nothing . . . Shylock ... or is it Don Juan ... ?" she jeered, gathering the bills and stuffing them into her handbag with trembling fingers.
Reaching for her empty martini glass, she raised it to her lips to drain the last drops from it, "Order me another one of these Mothahs before you go to meet Mata Hari!" she demanded.
He curbed a sudden desire to slap the insolent, knowing look off her face; instead, he leaned down, putting his face up close to hers and breathed an angry so to voce command, the threatening tone undisguised even in the whisper.
"Don't you ever say anything to anybody about why I'm here ... or who I came here to see!"
Straightening up, he signaled the cocktail waitress to him and ordered the martini for his wife. She sat in shocked silence, aware that she had really stepped out of line, this time. He was angry with good reason, now, and fearfully, she expected he would punish her in some way. He always had!
Finally, she said, "Taylor... I-I'm sorry ... truly sorry."
"I'll find out how sorry you are ... later!" he growled.
Seething with anger, Taylor left his wife in the bar and entered the casino. The roar of sound, the frantic activity soon relieved him of his anger. He looked around, noting details, absorbing sounds and enjoying his present role as spectator.
Nothing ever changes, here, yet the whole place is in a constant state of dynamic change; people come and go, several hundred new faces replacing those who are just leaving, and pitifully few of those leaving ever leave with more money than they brought with them; similarly, faces change, as employees come and go, the croupiers and stickmen are different, yet are all of one mold. He realized he was drawing generalities, as he gazed around the multi-million dollar carpeted temple of wager, alcohol and blatant sex. Yes, nothing ever really changes, he decided.
The clientele seemed to be mostly week-enders he noted, the dinner crowd still catching the nine o'clock show, but the tables were jammed shoulder to shoulder with ardent gamblers.
Along the walls, row upon row of slots added their mechanical din to the roar of human voices, the louder, cutting tones of the stickmen rising above all the cacophony as they chanted their litany in response to the rolling dice.
He recognized the frantic, clarion call to him, inherent in the wild, fabulous action that was The Strip in Las Vegas; however, the calculating, finely trained, scientific mind of Taylor Robbins told him exactly what the odds were - everything was in favor of the house - and he was having no part of this scene ... as far as gambling goes. He was there, he reminded himself, to make a business contact; the gambling he would have to do being only an image he would project for as long as necessary ... and no more. God! How he wished he could get across to Tina that it was impossible for her to win any real money in Las Vegas! She'd probably lose the five hundred he'd just given her in a matter of minutes!
The good, solid sound of two-beat Dixie, a famous headline belter dishing it out over the wailing horns came to him from the stage in the adjacent lounge, her imploration for Bill Bailey to please come home interspersed with the rhythmic click of the roulette wheel, the croupier's voice droning, "Sixteen on the red," while at the nearest craps table the stickman chanted: Six! Six a number! Let's have odds the hard way. Come on, get 'em down... Field your bets! Here we go! Shooter's coming out! Four! Four... six the number. Looking for a six. Sir! A six'll do it for you! Let 'em roll! Roll! It's seven! Seven's the loser! Next shooter! Coming out, Sir? All bets down. The dice are coming out! Let 'em roll...,!"
Taylor wandered, casually, from table to table, heading for the far corner where he was to meet her. He mused to himself that his meeting was like some old-fashioned melodrama or bad cloak-and-dagger, James Bond-spy-thriller type as seen on television or the movies. Glancing at his watch, he noted that it was almost time.
All right, men, synchronize your watches! Let's see. .. she said, exactly 10 o'clock p.m. in the main casino of the Flamingo in Las Vegas, Nevada on Saturday, June 28th... the far comer table... and she answers to the name of Wini Brent. Well, here I am... in the right place ... the right time... and I damn well hope I'll see the right person. Miss Wini Brent... Taylor Robbins... number sixty-nine reporting! God! This is real corn! Maybe Tina is right... she may turn out to be Mata Hari... reincarnated!
Standing on the fringe of the crowd around the table he studied the faces clustered, intently, around the play of the cubes on the felt, his analytical mind sorting them out, eliminating the obvious tourist housewives, the hardened gamblers, the too-perfect showgirls, narrowing the choices until he was fairly certain that the petite redhead with the pixie-face framed in a feather cut, dressed in a mini-mini thing that had shrunk from both directions; from where he stood he could see the expanse of breasts, deeply cleft the white, translucent skin innocent of sun-tan in this Mecca of roasting epidermae. As he watched her, closely, he convinced himself that she had very little, if anything, on under the pale green mini-dress. He looked around, again, weighing the evidence, coming to the conclusion that the only other woman at this table who might possibly qualify was the fully mature, statuesque brunette over to his left, five spaces down.
The redhead was almost directly across the table from him, and he concentrated on watching her for a few moments. Satisfied of his ground, ninety-nine percent positive, now, in his own mind that she had to be Wini Brent, he extracted a C-note from his wallet and worked his way up to the table.
The money man pushed a stack of five-dollar chips at him. He left half the stack on the pass line. In so doing he attracted the attention of the flame-haired girl who looked up at him, levelly, her impish face breaking into a slight smile that told him she was pretty sure of him, herself. He looked away from her to the shooter, the big brunette, and watched as she crapped out, a vulgar oath referring to a specific oral-genital sex act ripping from her in regular barracks style, as she tossed down another five-dollar chip. Taylor moved the remainder of his chips to the pass line and watched the brunette roll an eight.
The stickman chanted: "It's eight, easy eight, lady..." Picking up the dice, the big-bosomed brunette held them between her palms, prayerfully; Taylor looked over at the redhead, and she gave him another encouraging smile, her eyes boring into him. He noticed that those smoldering eyes were green. She put a twenty-five-dollar chip on the pass line.
Again, chanting his litany, the stickman brought out the brunette: "Eight a point. . . four. Eight a number. . . Six! Six, the hard way, six. . . Eight a number. . . and a five! Eight! Eight a point. . . Two! Snake-eyes! Pay the field. Eight's the number, lady. . . Twelve! Pay the field, again! Eight's her number. . . Let 'em roll! Seven! Seven's the loser! Next shooter. Bets down . .. Shooter coming out!"
Now, the little, pixie-faced redhead looked at him with sorrowful eyes, as she cocked her head to one side and surveyed him, carefully. Taylor produced another hundred and brought twenty-five dollar chips, moved them to the line and picked up the red cubes. He grinned over at her as he tossed a natural, looking at her for a reaction. She pursed her lips into a kiss and tossed it to him, then moved a stack of her own chips to the line. He let his all ride and rolled a five-deuce, again!
"Seven, the winner!" the stickman intoned. "Pay the front line! The shooter's hot! Get your bets down . . . He's coming out, once more! Will he or won't he ... ? Same lucky shooter. . . coming out. . . " When Taylor looked up, she was gone; then, suddenly, she was beside him, the light, heady perfume she wore thick in his nostrils. He glanced down at her. She was a vision of loveliness, as he looked down the cleft of those perfect breasts, almost all the way to her navel, noting at the same time that the dress creation she wore had peek-a-boo cut-outs along the sides, dipping almost to the waist.
"Drag some of that, Mr. Robbins... and we'll go on a sightseeing tour... O.K.?" she murmured, throatily, in his ear.
"Miss Brent... ?"
"Wini... Wini Brent," she affirmed, smiling up at him, disarmingly.
The stickman prodded: "Here we go ... Shooter coming out! Same lucky shooter! Sir? Coming out now... ?"
He left a single chip, picked up his winnings and backed away from the table, someone behind him taking his place, immediately. She stood beside him as he pocketed the chips.
"You were hot!" she said. "Maybe I should have let you make a run ... ?"
"Accident..." he allowed. "It's only money... Where shall we have our little conference ... ? Drink ... in the bar?"
Wini took his arm. "My car..." she suggested, firmly, and with finality.
She led the way, treating him to a view of her behind as she walked, just ahead of him, toward the parking lot. Taylor controlled his desire to reach out to those undulant orbs to feel their smooth muscularity as they worked. The outline of them under her dress was invitingly sexy, and by the manner of her walking she projected a sensuous, almost salacious effect.
Damn! That's sexy as hell! I'd just love to get my hands on those! She's got nice tits... too! God! If I play it right... I might be able to get her into the sack with me... tonight! Christ! I'm already getting the hots for her!
Wini drove her new Jag; Taylor, belted into the other seat, admired her quick, sure handling of the powerful car as she churned out into the desert, turning off the highway, shortly, onto a secondary road and, finally, entering a dirt track, she braked to a halt and extinguished the headlights.
A cold, pale moon cast its light into the car and Taylor could see her, plainly, her small, pixie features looking a little mysterious in the half-light. The scene, the situation was not lost on him; he felt the familiar signs in his loins, a slow building of desire, the crawling sensation in his scrotum, his penis becoming tumescent and beginning to throb, slightly, as he began to build sex fantasies around her.
She turned to him, full face. "We can talk, privately, here," she said.
"No bugs ...?"
"Only the crawly kind," she affirmed. "That's why I came out here."
"In my position... I can't be too careful..." he began.
"Trust me, Mr. Robbins ... This is a perfectly safe place," she said. "Now ... why do you need my particular services?"
Taylor parried, "And, your services, Miss Brent... What do they include ... ?"
"I can enter and leave any building ... open any lock ..." she said.
"But, you're a woman ... and so tiny ... " She smiled. "Sometimes, being a woman is an advantage . . . And I'm in top physical condition."
"Most plants have security guards..." he offered.
"I can take care of myself... believe me Mr. Robbins. I studied Karate in Japan ..." she said, matter-of-factly. "Now, really... I must know what you need me for?"
Taylor paused, before giving her an answer. "I want the research data on a new product that's being developed at Northern Chemical and Research," he stated, flatly.
"And, the nature of it... ?"
He waited again, looking at her, measuring her, finally deciding he could trust her, as she gazed back at him, levelly, her intelligent green eyes showing great interest in what he had said.
"A material ten times better than Teflon!" he said.
"And, I suppose you've already tried ... What have you done ... so far ... ?"
Taylor's answer was candid. "I tried to buy it from the young chemist who is developing it."
"A bribe ... ! And ... ?"
"He turned it down cold!" he answered, ruefully.
"So . . .he couldn't be bought! How much ... ?" Again, Taylor studied her and decided to give honest answers. He said, "One hundred and twenty-five thousand!"
Wini was interested. "What's his name?"
"Phil Grey."
"Married ... ?" she queried. "Yes."
"Children ... ?"
"No, I don't think so ..." he answered.
"I'll have to have a hundred and fifty thousand," she said, casually.
Taylor's breath caught in his throat; he hadn't expected her to ask that much.
Going on, Wini said, "Half now ... half after I deliver ... O.K.?"
Breathing deeply, he said, "It's a deal... but I don't carry cash ..."
"Naturally ... Monday morning deposit a certified check in the downtown branch of Wells Fargo . .. made out to The Cinderella School of Beauty and Charm," she instructed.
"Some kind of cover ... ?" he queried.
"No, it's for real... You'll be making an endowment..."
"Are you for real... Wini?" he asked, reaching out to put a careless hand on her nylon clad knee.
"Yes ... Mr. Robbins ... I am ... but sex is not one of my ... services!"
His hand moved, surely, gently, smoothly up the inside of her thigh.
"Nonsense ... You use sex ... all the time ... in your business!" he ventured.
"Not with clients!" she snapped.
Moving constantly, his hand was now up under her dress and his fingers slipped under the wispy leg band of her nylon panties and probed in the softly curling hair to the warm, softly palpitating slit below her pubic mound searching for the sensitive clitoris in its soft, protective canopy of flesh. He felt the electric shock in her body as he found it, her pelvis, suddenly, sliding down and tilting upward, her thighs splaying out offering him full access, invitingly, a low moan escaping her lips as she leaned toward him.
"Goddamn you, Taylor!" she swore, her lips avidly searching for his. "Why... did you ... have to do that... ?"
"Simple ... I like sex!"
"So do I... too damned much!" she moaned. "It's a weakness of mine ..."
Her searing lips worked on his, her tongue snaking into his mouth, sending him sensual messages, his mind-body interpreting them while his prick came jerkingly alive in his pants.
Boldly, knowingly, her tiny hand moved down to his crotch, expertly opened his zipper, delved inside and came up with his cock, bringing it out into the car, liberating it... making it available.
The touch of her hand on his hardening, fleshy rod caused it to jerk in her hand, expanding and growing, even as she worked the foreskin back to reveal the bulbous head of it, blood-engorged, shining smoothly, redly ... filled with lust for her. She fondled and caressed, her fingers, finally, attempting to encompass its thickness; failing this, he felt her agile hand measuring him in hands-breadth, her delicious tremor of excitement communicated to him through her undulant pelvis as her loins were ignited with an even more intense fire.
She broke their kiss, suddenly, and gasped, "There's a blanket behind the seat . . . These cars aren't made for this!"
Taylor felt behind the seat, found the blanket, got out of the car and spread it on the ground a pace away.
"Not quite the Beverly Hilton," she said, getting out of the low-slung car. "But, be my guest..."
Wini came around the car to him from behind, just as he straightened up; she reached around him, began to undo his belt and unbutton the single button at the waistband. His trousers dropped to his ankles and he stooped to remove them over his shoes; then, he removed the rest of his clothing as she turned from him to remove her own things. He tossed his clothes onto the seat of the Jag, turning completely nude, at last, to find her standing naked before him, waiting. She had removed everything but her shoes.
He was stunned by her beauty. In the pale moonlight, her body shone like translucent Italian alabaster. The twin mounds of her upthrusting breasts were thrown into sensuous high relief, the pink nipples hard and pointed. Her flat stomach showed the undulating twin ridges of muscle rippling smoothly under the skin. A tiny, wasp-waist blended into perfectly swelling hips, the darker triangle at the cusp of her thighs was a mass of softly curling red hair. Even in the cold, half-light of the Nevada desert moon, he could see that she was a true redhead.
Dropping, suddenly, to the blanket, she lay down on her belly, spread-eagle, and her hips began to move, sensuously, the perfect, milk-white, half-moon orbs of her buttocks hollowing and dimpling with her salacious movements.
Quickly, Taylor lay down on top of her, the throbbingly needful ache in his cock becoming more painful with each passing minute. His rod slipped easily down between the rotating cheeks of her working behind, running on down into the moist, warm furrow, the blood-engorged head coming to rest on the tiny, tremblingly erect clitoris enshrined there.
Lying on top of her, he ground his hips down onto the gyrating buttocks beneath him and heard the mewling pleasure-sounds emitting from her throat, as the hard contact of his blood-engorged shaft with the warm, pulsing flesh of her slit struck sparks of sexual passion in her.
He kissed the back of her neck under the carefully feather-cut red hair, then began to move farther and farther down her body, kissing her soft shoulders and back, sliding off her, finally, to kneel between her widespread legs; in the same way, he paid homage to her buttocks and thighs with lips and tongue. Now, he used both hands on her waist, pulling her up to her knees; she came easily up, the white, smoothly sculpted thighs spreading, naturally, as she rested on knees and shoulders, her head turned sideways on her hand, underneath. Her rounded, twin-moon buttocks were raised high, wig-wagging in the air before him, and the viscous moistness of her cunt glistened like pearls of dew in the pale light of the moon.
Crouching down behind her, he used his hands, one on either side of the hair-lined softness of her fleshy female cleft, his thumbs slowly drawing the inner lips apart, revealing the tight, trembling passage to her innermost being. He moved his head forward and placed his lips firmly between the coral lips of her nether mouth and flicked his tongue deep into the velvety smoothness of her vagina. The quick, sucking intake of her breath, the nerve-shock in her body, told him that she loved it... wanted more of it, as her hips pressed back against his face, grindingly. He moved his tongue in circles against the sensitive walls of her pussy, the excitement of it growing in her as she began to moan in ecstasy.
God! She's a hot little bitch! Hot as a firecracker. . . and she's really got a short fuse!
Her breath came in jerky gasps. "Oh, God! Taylor! That's wonderful! Eat me! Eat me ... some more!" she groaned.
His searching tongue contacted the tip of her tumescent clitoris and licked it, her bottom dancing with salacious undulations, the whimperings and mewlings becoming increasingly louder and incessant, seeming to come from deep in her throat, animal-like in their wailing croon of sexual arousal and throbbing need.
Behind her, his mouth working, lewdly, Taylor's pulse pounded hard in his veins, his prick throbbed, achingly, and from the orifice in the tip of the red-cowled head he could feel thick, viscous droplets of preparatory lubricant oozing out. He was ready! God! He was more than ready!
"Put it in, now .. . Taylor!" she moaned back at him.
Rising to his knees, he moved up close in back of her, his rock-hard shaft of man-flesh standing out before him. He could hardly wait to get it into her. The agony of his need had been building steadily within him, and he could feel the acid-like burning in the root of his cock that told him it would not take much more excitation to bring him to a spewing ejaculation.
As he moved in closer behind her, she reached back behind and between her legs, grasping his massive cock in her tiny hand and guiding it the last inch to the seething, hungry wildness of her moistly prepared pussy.
The bulbous, blood-engorged head went into the wet, satin-lined cuntal opening, and as he pushed and prodded, the resilient flesh of her passage expanded and moved before it in wavelets, the elastic muscles of the portal stretching, cruelly to accommodate him.
"Oh, you're big and nice!" she gasped. "Fuck me good with it!"
Wini pushed back against him, helping him, making his entrance into her easier, her hips wriggling and gyrating; literally screwing herself back onto him, impaling herself on his ever growing and expanding cock; then, with a final effort, he flicked his hips forward, driving with the strength of his legs, to drive the last punishing inch of his giant cudgel inside her, and he could feel the fluttering internal muscles as she worked them to milk at him. He grunted in satisfaction when he felt his pelvis smack into her backside, his balls swinging free below, grazing the pubic hair of her loins, tantalizingly.
Her hand was there, still, her fingers caressing his testicles, the deliciously lewd sensations arcing across his nerve endings. He paused with his cock buried to the hilt up inside the warm, clasping, vaginal vault and expanded the head, flexing it outward, the entire length of him in moist contact with the softly pulsating walls of her sensate cunt.
Reaching out to her hips with both hands, he began to move in and out of her, slowly, at first, ramming his prick home full-length and pulling out until only the head remained in the dewy exudation of her clasping furrow. He began to squeeze and knead her full, firmly rounded buttocks, the smooth, cool flesh plastic under his strong-fingered manipulation.
Now, he felt the load of his semen, blocked by the cofferdam of tumescent flesh - somewhere back behind the root of his cock - begin to burst. He slammed into her faster and longer, the smooth strokes hammering into her with demon-like force. She thrust back at him with equal fury, absorbing him to the fullest with every stroke and reveling in the magnificent power of his great, rampaging cock fucking into her.
Her breath was coming in one continuous whine of pleasure. The urgency of her need convulsed her body and he knew that she would soon be reaching the brink of her climax. She was moaning in an increasing crescendo, incoherent animal sounds coming from her in an unceasing flood of sound.
"OOOOooooh! God! I'm ready ... to cum!" she squealed, her hips pushing back at his plunging cock, frantically, and suddenly, explosively, she was there!
Wini reached back behind him, pulling his hips into her, tighter as he fucked into her for several more agonizingly pleasurable strokes, just on the verge of ejaculation, burning like acid in the base of his prick, before his semen jetted from him, surgingly, hosing the white, hot, viscous fluid through the lust-filled length of him, squirting from the nozzle to spray, thickly, all over the inside of her wildly clasping vaginal passage.
They collapsed together onto the blanket, their breathing harsh in their lungs from the effort. After a few moments, she stirred under him and he rolled to his side as she turned on her side to face him, her red hair framing her pixie-like face; she had her breathing under control, now. She smiled impishly at him.
"That's a lesson in how to spoil clients ..." she said.
"I'm paying enough ... Spoil me some more ..."
"Later ..." she agreed. "I'm a working girl, now ... I've got to catch an early plane back to L.A. I'll call you in a few days ... but don't try to call me ... O.K.?"
"O.K ... ?"
He reached out to her, taking one of her breathtakingly beautiful breasts into his hand to stroke and knead, rolling the nipple to erect hardness with thumb and forefinger.
"Could you take a later plane, Wini?" he asked, then.
"Yes . . . but let's get more comfortable ... My bed at the Flamingo is a lot softer than the rocks out here on the desert.
Chapter Five
Phil Grey was in a mental purgatory. He didn't know what to do or where to turn; the final stages of his research project were going well, only a few more qualitative tests would determine, within a few days, whether or not Northern Chemical and Research would go into full-scale production of his new plastic coating. He knew he had a real winner .. . had known it from the time he had stumbled across a new molecule cluster and had analyzed it, discovering that it had many of the properties of other commercially produced slick plastic coatings derived from certain combinations of chlorine; however, this new substance proved to be tougher, able to withstand extremely high temperatures and lent itself, easily, to wider applications. The happiest part of his discovery was that it could be produced ridiculously cheaply. This, of course, put it in direct competition with one of the giant chemical manufacturing firms.
He had been given the go-ahead to research it on his own, an almost unheard of thing at venerable N.C.&R.; he was one of the younger junior chemists, and he had worked for the company such a short time that he had no real hopes of getting a major assignment for some time. It had been a real feather in his cap when he had been told to see what he could do; shortly, he was to learn that Dr. Friday, his division supervisor, had spoken up for him and assured the president of Northern that Phil could do the job.
He was thankful that the brilliant, world-renowned Dr. Friday had such faith in his ability, and Phil had worked long, hard, overtime hours to analyze that peculiar molecular structure; as a result he had made excellent headway, arriving at the formula in a very short time. Then, he had begun the long series of qualitative tests to determine its possible applications. He found it to be an amazing substance. He knew that it would revolutionize many aspects of American industrial technology; he even suggested its use in the space effort. From his testing, he knew that it could be used to coat the outside of space capsules much more cheaply than at the present time. Phil had been walking on air after a highly secret interview with an official of NASA, and there were hints of a contract with Northern to work on the problem. It was heady stuff for Phil!
Then, Dr. Robbins had come into his life, quite unexpectedly. Phil had been sitting at a table near the runway in a bottomless-topless bar enjoying a bourbon and the sexy gyrations of a voluptuous nude dance, having stopped there on the way home, because he felt the need for some care-free relaxation. There was another reason, too. He wanted the sexual stimulation afforded him by the suggestive dances. His sex-life with Rhoda left much room for improvement, he felt.
At any rate, as he sat there, a tall, distinguished looking man came over to his table, carrying his drink, and introduced himself.
"Dr. Grey. .. ? I'm Taylor Robbins of Research and Development Corporation . . . You may have heard of me ... ?"
Phil greeted him, cordially, for he had, most certainly, heard of Dr. Taylor Robbins; everyone in the industry knew of him. His research with pesticides was well known to almost every chemist; his papers had been read by him before almost every scientific body throughout the world, in addition to having been published widely in various journals. - Meeting this man had produced mixed emotions in Phil; he felt exulted that the older, famous man had wanted to meet him as another professional, but there was also trepidation, a small, lingering doubt was there deep in his mind . .. something that told him to be suspicious of this man's motives. Phil was aware that Taylor had the reputation of being a sharp, shrewd, man of business, especially since he had organized his own firm for industrial research. There were also rumors that this charming, brilliant man was also ruthless and calculating in his approach to some problems. People who knew him were heard to say that he was an extremely tough-minded individual who always got what he went after. Knowing these things about Dr. Robbins - some of them obvious items of gossip - Phil still felt that he should be somewhat circumspect and close-mouthed in the man's company.
Phil further knew that their first meeting in the bottomless bar had not been accidental. Taylor Robbins had made a point of initiating the contact. They had talked pleasantly of current scientific developments, at the same time, mutually enjoying the spectacle of the bottomless dancers. Their second meeting had been arranged, then. Phil had met Taylor at a place of Dr. Robbins's choosing, an out of the way bar where neither of them was known. Phil had gone to the meeting; indeed, had readily agreed to it, because he was curious to know why this great man was obviously cultivating his friendship for some reason; Phil was quite sure, in his own mind, that there was an ulterior, perhaps even a sinister, motive involved, and the possible intrigue beckoned to him.
His suspicions were borne out for him in their subsequent conversation at the second meeting. Taylor Robbins had tried to bribe him . . . buy him out! Phil had been both shocked and flattered, but he had turned down cold Robbins' offer of an eighth of a million dollars - one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars - for Phil's secret formula.
The man must be mad! If I sold out to him . . . I'd lose my job . . . maybe never be able to get another one like it! It wouldn't be hard for the security people to figure out how the competition got it. True. . . I won't get anything other than my salary. . . Oh, there might be a bonus. . . But, all research data belongs to Northern... I, and every other researcher have to sign an agreement to that effect. Actually, I'd be stealing. . . and I'm no thief! I'd sure hate to mess up my future in this industry.
There's still such a thing as loyalty. . . and Northern had sure given me some breaks! Why should I turn on them . . . for money? Hell! I'm tempted... there's no denying that! Who wouldn't be. . . ? Christ! The things I could do with that amount of loot! Buy that nice house we both want. . . start our family. . . acquire some good investments... good growth stuff. . . But I know Rhoda would agree with me. . . We just couldn't do it with crooked money! No, Sir! I've made my decision . . . and I'm going to stick with it! I don't want to have any part of Taylor Robbins. . . or his money! Anyway, no amount of money could convince me to sell out Northern . . . or myself!
After the meeting with Taylor Robbins, Phil had driven to another bar and proceeded to get drunk, finally going home, sick at heart, worried to death that Taylor would find some other way to get hold of his research notes. He was sexually frustrated and needed the comfort of sex. Unfortunately, he had been brutal with Rhoda. He hadn't meant to be, nor had he intended it, but her questioning his late arrival had triggered his already mean mood into outright sadistic rage. He hadn't understood himself, for afterward, he was truly sorry, contrite and guilt-ridden. Rhoda had made him sleep on the couch that night. He had deserved it, he guessed, but he had vowed to make it up to her; he had even agreed that they should go together for marriage counseling. That was a giant step in the right direction.
Phil could not understand it, the reason for it seemed to escape him, but for the last several nights, the lovemaking sessions in bed with Rhoda had been different . . . more satisfying, for him; although he knew it had not been so for Rhoda. Phil's need had been great.
He had kissed her breasts, the nipples coming up hard, erect, and then she had writhed under him, moaning gently.
"Phil, oh Phil! Love me! Lick me . . . there!"
There had been both shock and pleasure in him. He had been trying, unsuccessfully for some time, to convince her that the act was desirable, but the very thought of cunnilingus had been repugnant to her. She had, consistently, adamantly refused his overtures in that direction.
He had moved over her loins, his tongue seeking and probing, but he had been inept, in too much of a hurry to get to his own enjoyment, leaving her naked loins too soon, to ram his hard cock into her with rampaging fury. She had been left frustrated, right on the verge of a soaring climax as his thundering prick had spewed into her... too soon. He couldn't understand her quick tears, and she was unable to communicate her need to him to tell him, specifically, what it was she needed.
Damn it to hell! You're damned if you do . .. and damned if you don't! I wish I could understand Rhoda. . . figure out what she really wants! God! I was so hot. .. and so was she. .. but I couldn't bring it off. . . for some reason. She sure surprised me. . . wanting me to go down on her. . .
Then, Wini Brent had come into his life.
She was the newest girl in the secretarial pool. He had sent down a report to be typed, and she had made it a point to return it to him, personally. She had wanted to make sure that she had spelled all of the technical terms correctly. Standing at his elbow, helpful, eager eyes looking out through her glasses up at him, as they checked over the twenty page report, together, she had captivated him.
"What did you say your name was ... ?" he asked.
"Wini. .. Wini Brent..." she murmured. "I'm new . . . " "Yes .. . Well, I like the way you did this report for me. . . I'll have to try to get you, again ..." he promised.
She smiled. "I try to please . . . Mr.
Grey . . . every way I can ..." she lilted.
Phil looked at her again. Red hair framed a small, pixie face, petite body, sensibly dressed in skirt and blouse, not too revealing, although he was sure that underneath the working clothes there was a magnificent body. He came back to her face where the glasses gave her an owlish look and decided that without her glasses she would be extremely attractive . .. not attractive . . . beautiful! That was the right word. The implication in her voice was not lost on him.
"Every way . . . ?" he asked.
"Why don't you try me ... " "Meet me for a drink... right after work . . . ? The Pump Room . . . ?" he suggested.
They had two drinks. Their hands wandered. "I have a small apartment . . . not far from here ..." she invited. "Let's go!"
They were in her bedroom.
"God . . . you're a beautiful woman!" Phil said, staring at her nakedness. She lay on the bed nude. Phil still stood beside the bed, his trousers still on; he was hesitant . ..wanting it. . . wanting her, yet he held back. Infidelity was new to him; twinges of conscience stabbed him just at the point of his taking action.
Christ! What am I doing here. . . ? I'm sure not playing ball with Rhoda! But, damn it! I'm so hot now. . . there's no turning back! What the hell! I guess I'll only live once!
"Let me help you get your pants off . . . Phil," Wini volunteered.
She sat up and reached for his fly, unbuckling his belt, zipping down and assisting him to remove trousers and shorts; then, she reached up, put her arms around him and pulled him down to the bed on top of her, her mouth open, expectant, waiting for his kiss. Her body was all soft, warm and full of curves. His mouth was on hers and her tongue burst into his mouth bringing the sweet-sour of her with it. Below her pelvis ground up at him, capturing the length of his cock between her thighs and bringing his blood-engorged shaft to painful hardness. He could feel the lubricating juices spasm from the tip, the jerking tool resting in her nervous furrow. His cock was so sensitive now that he felt he would come to ejaculation with the slightest extra pressure.
He thrust his tongue against hers, pushing on through to lash his oral member into her mouth. She sucked his tongue, gently, using her teeth to nibble on it, taking tiny, playful bites. He couldn't get Rhoda out of his mind; the guilt of what he was doing to her, to their marriage, weighing heavily down upon him.
Wini turned her head, breaking the oral contact.
"Thinking about your wife . . . ?" she asked.
It was almost as though she were psychic, able to read his mind; he was startled.
"Yes .. . yes, I was ..." he admitted.
"Don't!" she said. "I want you to live ... for just this moment . . . this space in time . . . with me."
Intelligently, Phil followed her reasoning. It was not a new philosophy of life. "Existential..."
"Yes . . . the only way ... for me!" she said. Her body quivered and moved licentiously under him.
"You do want to . .. fuck me .. . don't you . . . ?" she pouted.
"Yes! Christ, yes!" He had never heard a woman use the word before; it excited him, even more.
"Then why don't you tell me . . . ?"
"Wini ... I want to fuck you!"
"How?" she moaned. "Tell me how you want to fuck me!"
"God! I want to bury my cock in you ... as far as it'll go . . . Fuck you like a rutting bull!" he grunted.
Her legs splayed out beneath him, and her hand searched down between them to the hardness of his cock. Her cool hand found him, touched him, her fingers closing around the rigid maleness of him, sending gasps of pleasure emitting, involuntarily, from his throat.
She pulled her body in close, her hands running down over his body to his buttocks; grasping them, she strained to get his tool wedged into her. She shaft of his lust-filled penis lay hard in the cusp of her thighs, pressed into the narrow, hair-lined, quiveringly ready slit. Now, she guided the slick, rubbery head up and down her pink, wet furrow, spreading the inner lips to gain access to the waiting portal of her palpitating vagina. The hair grazed and teased his cock, making it grow even harder in her hand, and the ache of it . . . the need to plunge it into her was so great he could hardly stand it.
God! He couldn't hold back another second. Flicking his hips forward, he drove his massive phallus into the hot, gaping cuntal passage below, rutting into her with animalistic abandon.
"OOOOoooooooh!" she moaned beneath him.
His cock went into her, stretching and driving all before it. He felt the warm, elastic sheath of her vaginal walls slip wetly over his sensitive, naked length. The knobbed cudgel raced up her cunt to the full depth of her and he hit bottom, his loins crashing into hers as his balls slapped hard up against the full, rounded cheeks of her bottom.
Screaming a guttural, animal-like scream beneath him, Wini twisted and turned trying to escape the sudden, unexpected pain of his entrance, but he thrust even harder into her, an animal cruelty in him, making him want to hurt her. She thrust back at him, then, lifting them both off the soft mattress as she took him full-length and breadth into her seething pussy. Insanely, he began to pound into her with long, ramming thrusts of pure lust.
Wini moaned unceasingly beneath his pummeling, pumping body, her legs splaying wide, her loins rising to meet him, working herself up and down his skewering cock fucking into her searing depths, chanting a rhythm as old as man, dancing the dance of age-old sex that was new to every man and every woman. Her mouth hung open, her
