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Subject: {ASSM} Repost: The Blackmailed Mother - Book Two
Date: Sun, 29 Jun 2003 04:10:10 -0400
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LLP-220: The Blackmailed Mother - Book Two
By: Peter Jensen

http://whiteshadow.pornopartners.com

WARNING: This story is fiction, and should be treated as such. The 
following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains 
descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex 
stories upset you, do not read any further.

Copyright remains with the author and any copyright notices along with 
last known contact information for the author is included if available. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Chapter 1

Saturday morning arrived all too soon.

Jennifer Carmel, the day before an innocent virgin teen-ager, stared at 
the blinds on the windows. Her skin was pale, as if the ice-water she 
felt in her veins was actually flowing in place of her blood. She was 
as confused as any little girl could have been and she tried to sort 
her ambivalent feelings as she lay under the covers of her bed.

She curled her legs up, letting the blankets fall away so that she 
could hug her knees protectively, and would have probably run to her 
parent if she had any to go to. Father was out of town. Father was not 
there to be the father she had needed before last night, and she knew 
that his upright morals wouldn't have allowed him to be the father on 
which she could rely on for judgment and understanding. Mother - hell, 
she hadn't gotten home until after Jennifer had, and the noise she'd 
made, whooping and hollering and ... well, it had sounded like crying, 
but the young girl was too fogged with sleep and the effects of the 
marijuana, liquor, and the sex she'd seen and done to be completely 
cognizant. Mother was still asleep, and she wouldn't have under stood 
anyway. No, Jennifer felt that she was alone, with no one to turn to 
for guidance.

Mentally she was enmeshed in the guilt of having succumbed to 
temptation and allowed herself to display her sweet, tender pussy and 
taut breasts in front of all those kids - even though they were doing 
the same - and writhe abandonly in naked intercourse with Stan Lubin 
on the floor of that cabin. She swallowed, her shame-parched throat and 
looked down at her nubile, firm body with its snowy crests of rounded 
breasts and flat stomach and the black triangular silk of her sparse 
young pubic mound. As she looked down at herself, she miserably 
realized that although her dream had been shattered hopelessly and she 
had given up her virginity and her dignity all in one wild night, she 
wasn't entirely filled with self-abomination. Oh, there were the long-
standing agonies to contend with, the morals and ethics which she'd 
been weaned on since birth, but for all of the warnings she'd received 
about allowing "advances" from a boy, she had to admit, if only 
privately to herself, that she hadn't broken out in warts or become 
wretchedly ill or really changed her basic nature much.

She had had a dream of a large, soft double-bed with white, frilly 
sheets and a husband lying tenderly between her open legs. She kept 
thinking about Stan Lubin buffeting her tender throbbing young cunt 
last night with his lust-filled cock, her breasts swollen and hurting 
from his trembling hands, and the way she willingly allowed him to do 
it to her over and over ... until she was ready to promise him anything 
for the pleasure of having more. Now she had no dream, no bed, no 
tender patience, no husband ... The dream hadn't become a nightmare but 
it hadn't left her totally at ease, the way her girl-friend Tamera 
certainly would be this morning. Of course, Tamera was experienced at 
letting guys fuck her - the salacious way she'd been with her 
boyfriend, Vic, last night, and then let one of the other football team 
members fuck her too was an indelible imprint on Jennifer's mind.

Physically she felt all right. Her head was thick and stuffy like 
muslin, but Tamera had told her afterwards, on the way home, that was 
to be expected until she got used to marijuana. The little teen-ager 
tentatively explored her breasts and loins, found them sensitive, but 
in a delightful, tingling way. Her still moist vagina was a little 
redder than usual - about the way the pink, hair-lined little slit 
looked after she had fingered it and made herself cum - and while her 
wet, tantalizing cunt hole was perhaps a little larger than before, it 
was more alive and healthy than she could ever recall. She let one 
finger slowly draw its way up from the puckered sphincter ring of her 
anus to her trembling red nub of her clitoris. Stan's white semen is 
still lying deep in my stomach, she thought, trying desperately to feel 
the overwhelming, inundating sordidness and dirty anguish that she had 
believed she should feel. But the more she dwelled on the episode, the 
more her whirling mind replayed the dizzy climb - starting from when 
Stan had put his arm around her in Vic's car. The drinking, the new 
sensation of marijuana, the heavy musk in the air as the other couples 
sank into their world of writhing, naked, pagan passion, up ... up to 
where she was watching her girl-friend abandonly making love with her 
boyfriend while Stan kissed her firm, hard-nippled breasts and let his 
hand tease its way into her vaginal slit, her pink lips and clitoral 
bud and moist, quivering cunt mouth ... and the lewd sight of his huge, 
blood-swollen penis moving into her virginal pussy, the shock of 
immediate pain ... and then the breaking of her hymen and his merciless 
sawing back and forth while the pleasure drove her nearly insane.

How could she lie here now and even admit that she had liked it? But 
she had! The revelation that she had liked it, had liked the attention 
from Stan, had liked the comradeship from the others - all this 
bothered her more than the smaller amounts of guilt her upbringing 
still made her feel. Yes, I ... like it, and ... and Oh God, I want it 
again. I want to cum with Stan's cock in me. She must be sick, must be 
a juvenile delinquent and pervert for having no true shame for her 
actions, but only an emptiness inside her belly which was crying for 
more. Her body had not only betrayed her, but was forcing her to search 
out for further indecencies. Tears of humiliation cascaded down her 
cheeks in a tiny waterfall of self-incrimination.

Slowly, like an automaton, she rose and began to dress. Heaped in one 
corner were her soiled, even ripped clothes; souvenirs of last night's 
debauched party. She averted her wet, puffed eyes from them, a shiver 
of apprehension rippling through her as she zipped up a pair of stretch 
pants. They reminded her that Stan Lubin had made her promise to ... to 
have more than himself, to let some of his friends take turns gang-
fucking her, and he'd mentioned other ... things he wanted to do to her 
too. And it was all going to start that very day. He was going to pick 
her up at the house, and as he'd threatened, she'd better be waiting 
and ready. Or else. *  *  *  * 

Sam Zeigler sat in his luxurious appointed office and toyed with a 
miniature Spanish dagger he used as a letter opener. His swarthy face 
was lit by the glare of his desk lamp, making the evil smirk which 
crossed his mouth that much more devilish. He leaned back in his 
leather chair, pricking his thumb with the opener absently. Yeah, Oliss 
and his wife had cooked up a wild scheme, and whether it worked or not, 
he had been getting a lot of fun out of it. He laid his head against 
the chair and shut his eyes and once more he dreamed of the salacious 
evening he'd shared with that innocent young wife of Roger Carmel, the 
black-haired Lonnie, and the insatiable Mrs. Cylvia Oliss. It had all 
taken place up one floor, in his "show-room" - and peripherally he 
made a mental note to himself to raise the girl performer's salary by a 
hundred a week. His lips curled into a slightly wider smile as he 
thought of the performer's near hysterical submission to Fang, his 
German Shepherd in front of all of his special customers. She never 
been fucked by a dog before, and certainly wasn't aware that it was 
going to happen to her last night; but the best shows are the 
spontaneous types when the girl is truly terrified and not just acting 
-- just like she hadn't been acting when Fang had slipped his huge 
animal cock inside her pussy and made her writhe her naked young body 
around in lewd ecstasy.

The girl had enjoyed it, Fang had enjoyed it - the wild young wife, 
Lonnie, had enjoyed it, getting heated up from that and Cylvia's hot 
lashing of pink tongue against her raven-crested, clenching vaginal 
slit until she'd have been willing to let the whole Club Royale staff 
fuck her ... which was an idea to file away for the future. Zeigler 
could still see in his mind's eye how the once-proud Lonnie Carmel had 
looked when he had finished fucking her silly, sprawled nakedly open on 
the couch, quivering, her satin legs wide-stretched on either side and 
her arms dangling doll-like over the edges. Her belly had been filled 
to the bursting point with his hot, sticky cum, and her wet matted 
pubic hair had glistened lewdly in the room's dim light, the insides of 
her creamy thighs smeared with his white semen, which trickled together 
with her own co-mingling climatic lubricants and Cylvia's saliva 
between her soft, yielding crevice and puddled on the couch fabric 
below.

The lewd, evilly erotic memories stirred the heat in his blood, making 
his throbbing cock jerk in his pants. God, he wasn't sure he could hold 
off fucking that hot bitch of a wife again while Cylvia Oliss set up 
the deal for later on tonight. He wanted to have her stretched out 
again, her tight little cunt lips sliding smoothly around his hardened 
penis like a greased oval ring ... He groaned and placed his hand down, 
trying to stop the building pressures in his testicles from making his 
now painful erection from bulging his trousers any worse than they were 
already.

But on second thought, why couldn't he have the luscious Mrs. Carmel 
again? Right now, if he wanted to - which he did. It couldn't hurt the 
Oliss plan; all he had to make sure was that Lonnie was at the Club 
later. Come to think of it, what difference did it make whether it hurt 
the plans or not? Zeigler had already started his own machination 
going, one independent of the Olisses for the simple reason he had no 
intention of sharing the money Carmel's invention would bring to them. 
If the Oliss plan worked, all well and fine he'd ease them out after 
they handed over the goods. If his own plan worked, then he wouldn't 
even have to put up with a scene of recriminations and threats which 
would be sure to follow the realization by the Olisses that they'd been 
taken. Besides, two ways were better than one - Zeigler like to hedge 
his bets; or, like so many of the underworld executives, he didn't 
gamble unless it was on a sure thing.

Along with the recruitment of the Olisses some months back, Sam Zeigler 
had also hired a call- girl that he knew. She had been a private 
secretary before turning to the profession of prostitution for the 
simplest of reasons: she liked the money and liked the work. What the 
hell, as she had said, she'd been going to bed with men for years; she 
might as well start getting money for what she'd always given away. 
Zeigler, spotting the combination of beauty - for Kim Copeland was one 
of the cutest girls he'd ever met - and talent in and out of the bed, 
told her to go to Kirsten and get a job at the Skopos manufacturing 
plant. She was to be a ringer, and one way or the other see if she 
could get information on the device Carmel was making.

Kim hated the small town; only the fat bonus Zeigler paid her every 
week made up for the dust and dumb characters and no action. She 
couldn't ply her trade without jeopardizing her job - which she had 
she had finally gotten - so Zeigler had to fork over her average 
weekly take on top of his bonus, and added to her paycheck at Skopos, 
she was able to salt away a sizable amount. But the only position which 
had occurred at Skopos had been secretary to the personnel manager and 
the result was that she had learned very little about the miniscopos, 
even in spite of the love affair she had instigated with the assistant 
chief of production. It seemed that all the important information was 
stored in Roger Carmel's head, and others only knew inconsequential 
bits and pieces of the whole jig-saw, and had no access to his files.

Martin Oliss had always considered Roger Carmel of such upstanding 
character that the man would never dream of having an extra-marital 
affair. Zeigler had gone along with the opinion just in case he could 
somehow use his "ace-in-the hole," Kim Copeland, but the gangster was 
shrewder than Oliss, and knew that just because a man is honest, 
doesn't mean that he can't be blinded momentarily and lose control of 
himself. Oliss, Zeigler concluded, confused an accidental fall from 
grace with a planned consideration by a person to be dishonest, for 
obviously Oliss had never done anything evil or lewd without a thorough 
review of exactly what he was doing. And even if Roger Carmel did 
reject the advances of a pro like Kim Copeland, it was worth a try ...

Kim Copeland had been phoned that morning; Zeigler had just hung up the 
phone from talking to her. She had been enthusiastic about the 
assignment, and knew just the partner to get for the taking of the 
pictures while she and Carmel were in her home, fucking like hell on 
her bed. She'd used the man many times before when she was running a 
blackmail racket, and since the squeeze on Carmel was different only 
because there was going to be information handed over instead of money, 
she was on familiar turf and could handle herself and Carmel with 
practiced ease. After all, she'd told Zeigler, Carmel is just another 
man. A damned fine-looking one, she'd added, and she was getting tired 
of the production assistant anyway.

Zeigler laughed softly to himself. Sometime today or tonight, Roger 
Carmel was going to end up fucking Kim Copeland - and that called for 
a little celebration. Like fuck Roger Carmel's beautiful, naive little 
wife again. He reached for the phone-book to look up the Carmel number. 
Then he put the book aside and picked up the telephone. Knowing that he 
had fucked her silly for over three hours last night only made him 
desire her more, and he lewdly hoped that she would tease him again 
with her defensively resisting protests. All in vain, all in vain, he 
mused, and whistled as he dialed her number. *  *  *  * 

A sudden blast from a car horn awoke Lonnie Carmel. Then there was the 
fuzzy, distant, only half-jointed sound of the pattering of shoes and 
the slamming of a door ... the roar of an engine, and the squeal of 
tires. Lonnie lay still for a time, listening. The house was now 
silent, strangely so, and the softness of her drowsiness was slow to 
dissipate, like fog on a cold, wet morning.

Lonnie moved at last, only to feel excruciating pain. "Ohhh," she 
groaned aloud, "what happened to me?" Her head was like a block of 
molten lead, and her muscles were tied in spasming knots which made her 
want to jump - but then the pain in her skull would begin and she had 
to lie still until it passed. She had a hard time thinking - 
remembering what had happened to her ...

The drinking - the capitulation of her aroused, frustrated body to the 
blandishments, hands, mouth, and blonde-haired vagina of Cylvia Oliss -
- the obscene show with that nubile little girl and that monster beast 
of a German Shepherd dog - Sam Zeigler, naked and plunging his fiery 
cock deep, deep into her feverish, wide-splayed vagina ... a vagina 
that had only been touched by her husband before ...

The total impact of what she had allowed to happen to her hit hard and 
the traces of her sleepiness vanished. She shot upright, impervious to 
the pain. "My God!" Questions began to run through her head faster than 
her muddled brain could answer them. How did I get home? Who dressed 
me? Why did it happen at all? Why? Why?

She stumbled from her bed and lurched against the bureau, staring at 
herself in the mirror. "Oh no," she moaned thickly, "I must be dreaming 
it. I must be. I just must be."

Yet heavy lines marred her fresh, young skin, and her eyes were sunk 
deeply in their black rimmed sockets as though she'd aged ten years 
overnight. She looked down at her naked, curvaceous nude body and saw 
the mass of burnished marks and rose-colored bruises around her breasts 
and inner thighs. Her rich, full dark-tipped breasts were nearly raw, 
and light exploration of her pubic area with her fingers proved to be 
exceedingly painful. She tried to tentatively feel between her black 
soft hair and down between the swollen, inflamed lips of her well-
fucked cunt, but she couldn't; she had to grip the edge of the bureau 
from the sharp spasm of ache which lanced from her pussy up through her 
belly.

"Oh, God, oh God, oh God," she chanted, and then forcing back tears and 
a wracking sob, she opened the closet next to her and took out a 
chenille robe Roger had given her the previous Christmas. She slipped 
it over her lithe, trembling nakedness and buttoned it part way down, 
then holding the bottom portion with her hand, she stepped out into the 
hallway, almost fearful that her innocent daughter would see her like 
this.

In the kitchen, after plugging in the percolator, Lonnie glimpsed a 
sheet of ruled notepaper on the table. She crossed and picked it up and 
saw that it was a message from Jennifer in her neat, round handwriting.

Mom, it read, Have gone for the day with Stan. Hope you don't mind. 
Will be back tonight. Love Jennifer.

Lonnie crumpled the note and flung it from her. Poor, naive Jennifer. 
Her daughter was with this Lubin boy - did her day also include being 
with Tamera Ollis and her boyfriend, Vic Cain? Lonnie shuddered and 
sunk to one of the chairs, miserably placing her chin in her palms. 
Cylvia Oliss, how that "friend" had fooled her! Was her daughter the 
same way? Was Jennifer safe with Stan and Vic and Tamera ... or were 
they all as depraved as Tamera's mother, and were trying to lead little 
Jennifer into the same kind of wild, salacious life as Cylvia had 
introduced Lonnie to? The horror of having her young teen-age offspring 
having her tender mind and body warped by the corruption that Cylvia 
represented made her almost want to vomit.

Lonnie thought for a crazy moment of phoning the police, and reporting 
that her daughter was in danger ... then the bubbling of the coffee 
brought her back to reality, and as she poured herself a cup and walked 
back in the bedroom, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed with the 
knowledge that such a panicked move would be disastrous. For one thing, 
she had no way of knowing that Tamera was like her mother, or that even 
if she was, that Jennifer was with her or in danger. After all, it was 
daylight out there, and Jennifer knew enough not to drink or let boys 
get too fresh with her - heaven knows Lonnie had told her about saving 
herself for her husband enough times - and tonight she would have the 
chance for a real heart-to-heart, mother-daughter chat. Then, in the 
privacy and calmness of their own home, she could make Jennifer 
understand how important it would be to end her friendship with Tamera.

To go to the police, hysterical and obviously overcome with fear, would 
force Lonnie to admit her own wretched part in the affair ... and then 
everybody would know what kind of woman she'd allowed herself to 
become. Everybody - including her husband, Roger. Roger would be 
repulsed, brand her a whore, and rightly so; he would divorce her, and 
she would be like so much excrement in his eyes. And Jennifer could 
ever be taken away from her! Dear God, what a nightmare she was living!

Lonnie managed to climb back into bed and stretch out, the coffee 
steaming on the table alongside her. Some of the beginning hysteria 
with which she had awakened passed as she sipped the brew, and now her 
mind could reply to some of her questions. She remembered the almost 
dreamlike trance she had fallen into after cumming ... cumming how many 
times? That was lost, the count not taken at the time. Cylvia and 
Zeigler must have dressed her and carried her to the car after they'd 
had their way with her; there was the dim recollection of watching 
Cylvia Oliss and the gangster obscenely fucking together on one of the 
couches after she was unable to spread her exhausted thighs again. They 
must have taken her home and seen to it that she was in bed ...

Cylvia. Her girl-friend's name was like a cancer in Lonnie's mind. The 
thought of that bisexual bitch and the flagrantly lewd acts she had 
performed on Lonnie's body, of her willingness to have that Sam Zeigler 
seduce the heretofore faithful wife, her constant desire for further 
perversions ... What had possessed Cylvia to do such things? What did 
the lovely blonde woman have against Lonnie? Lonnie had trusted her, 
accepted her as a friend and protector, and for her to lead Lonnie into 
perversion and participate while her helplessly drugged body was 
subjected to the most depraved indignities - was there some thing in 
her nature which enjoyed seeing the humiliation of others?

Then, with an anguished groan of realization, Lonnie remembered that 
she herself had been drawn by the ravishment of the young girl by the 
monstrous German Shepherd. She had been repulsed at first, but then she 
had watched with fascination, her own unleashed passions, permitting 
Zeigler and Cylvia to take possession of her hungry body. She was no 
better than they were, merely newer at the games; hadn't her own body 
bucked and twisted in its own lustful fulfillment beneath her 
attackers? And hadn't she actually instigated some of the perverse 
forms of sexual delight? God, yes ... she had, she had ...!

She unbuttoned her bathrobe and once more inspected her radiant, 
shining white body, this time not looking for outward signs of damage, 
but traces of dissipation. Strange, she admitted, no body would know 
that I had been Bucked and sucked half-crazy by both a man and a woman 
last night ...

She concentrated on her breasts, and thought of how Sam Zeigler and 
Cylvia had taken their taut, puckish uplift and made them come alive. 
Yes, made her come alive, she was forced to confess, come alive and beg 
for Zeigler's huge, throbbing penis to salve her tortured, palpitating 
cunt. Lonnie squeezed her eyes shut as the erotic remembrances flooded 
through her ... she had never felt so alone, so helpless in all her 
life. Going to her husband would be tantamount to ending her marriage, 
which was now her one support; going to the authorities was out for the 
same reasons she couldn't go to them with her fears about Jennifer; 
going to her daughter never occurred to her.

The torment which boiled through Lonnie Carmel's mind was worse than 
the agonies Jennifer suffered, for the black-haired young wife and 
mother had had nearly twice as many years to be come infused with the 
mores and guilts of her parents and society. That, and she was of an 
older, less permissive age, and the strictures against what she had 
done were much stronger than the ones Jennifer faced. Yet Lonnie also 
had many more years of sexual experience with her husband, and her body 
was not beginning to be awakened but already the product of fire and 
lust. It had been channeled into a higher plane of awareness by the 
Oliss' - and that meant that Lonnie was that much more demanding and 
conscious of her requirements. Even as she thought of the night before 
and the depraved way she and her girl-friend and Zeigler had been with 
each other, her hands brushed her bruised, violated body, reliving the 
feelings

Her fingertips cooled her hot flesh and in spite of herself, Lonnie 
touched one tender nipple. The little rosebud flowered into a hardened 
chip, and then in shock Lonnie sat up. Oh God, I mustn't! Her breath 
shuddered, ragged and pulsating. Control yourself. Stop this ... this 
carnal thinking! She gazed down at her naked loins, seeing them 
outwardly calm but feeling that they were already a seething mass of 
sensual desire. Her pink-rimmed cunt lips seemed to twitch and spasm 
through the covering of her dark curling pubic hair, and as sore as her 
vagina was, she spread her legs, drawing the lips apart so that the 
blood colored skin and her clitoris were visible, and the darker, more 
wet and sensitive opening gaped, tingling from the rush of cool air. 
Groaning she lay back, the blood rising in her cheeks as more vividly 
than ever the memories of Zeigler's virile body, his thick pulsing cock 
and heavy testicles swaying beneath his hirsute loins ... and of Cylvia 
Oliss, taut-breasted and desire hot in her eyes, her blonde pubic hair 
a fleecy, moist blanket around her thin, pink pussy and her creamy, 
satin-soft inner thighs ...

Her hips dug back on their own volition and before she could gather the 
strength to resist the compelling flame in her belly, she began to rub 
her palms around her hair-fringed cuntal valley, her fingers gently 
moving back and forth over her moistening, coral-tinged vaginal lips, 
and the tide of her passion began to flow over her once again. I must 
be sick ... I can't allow tats ... I must stop myself ... I ...

And then the phone rang.

Lonnie pulled her hand away from her moist, tingling pussy, and not 
bothering with the robe walked rapidly to the hall desk. She stopped 
the phone's insistent clamor on its third ring. Roger ... maybe it's 
Roger ... "Yes?" she asked hesitantly, hoping to hear her husband's 
reassuring and familiar voice.

Instead she heard a voice that sounded like coal rattling down a chute, 
a voice which was all too familiar and anything but reassuring. 
"Lonnie?"

A cold, clammy creepiness stole along her spine, as if a snake was 
crawling up her backsides. "What ... what do you want?"

"You know who this is?"

"Y-yes," the hapless young mother moaned. "You're Sam. Sam Zeigler."

The voice on the other end chuckled confidently. "That's right, Lonnie-
baby, Sam Zeigler. And I wanted to tell you what a pleasant time I had 
last night. I enjoyed fucking you greatly, I did." Again the lewd 
snicker, and Lonnie's body chilled as if suddenly plunged in ice. She 
wanted to hang up and then dress in something big and bulky and warm. 
"I've been thinking about what fun we had, and I'd like to see you 
again."

"No ... never!" she gasped, the blood rushing to her face in an 
uncontrollable blush, the shock of his words and their implications 
striking her with deathly horror. "I'm never going to allow such ... 
things to happen like that again! Never, you hear, Mr. Zeigler?"

"Oh, I hear you, Lonnie, but now you hear me," Zeigler snapped back, 
his tone rasping and menacing. "If you think your escapade last night 
is upsetting to you now, how would you like your husband to find out 
what you did? How you wanted me to fuck you over and over and how you 
licked that sweet pussy of your friend, Mrs. Cylvia Oliss, until she 
was cumming along with you and me. Huh, Mrs. Pure-heart? What would 
happen to your marriage and family then?"

"You - you wouldn't!" Lonnie groaned, stumbling against the table and 
almost dropping the receiver from her nerve-shattered hand.

"Not if we come to some kind of ... arrangement, Lonnie, baby. We're 
both adults, aren't we? I'm sure that if you try hard you can think of 
ways to keep me happy and quiet."

"Blackmail!" the horrified wife cried out. "You're sick! A sick, 
degenerate blackmailer!"

"Don't call me names, Mrs. Carmel," Zeigler snapped back harshly. "I 
mean, you are the Mrs. Lonnie Carmel the adulteress, aren't you? You 
are married to Roger Carmel, but let me and Cylvia Oliss fuck you silly 
at my club last night, aren't you?" He barked out a caustic, lewd laugh 
at his rhetorical, if vulgar, question. "Of course you are. And I'll be 
at your house in a little while, Mrs. Carmel. Lonnie, baby."

"What - what for?"

"To see just how much my silence is really worth," came the smooth, 
assured reply. "Be there, and be ready to please me."

"But --"

"Oh, and another thing. I like thin black undies. You got any? Sure, 
you do. All women have. Well, wear them, bra and panties." With that 
last demand, the gangster hung up.

Lonnie shook desperately, gaping at the dead instrument. It took a long 
moment for her to get hold of herself, and then her mind was a seething 
torrent of agony and despair. He wanted her again. He wanted to debase 
and humiliate her again as he had last night, and what could she do to 
stop it? She had to think ... but it was no use. To hide, to deny what 
she had done with him and Cylvia would be foolish. Zeigler was just the 
kind of slimy man who would do as he threatened. She was trapped, and 
she would have to submit or somehow muster the courage and fight him 
when he arrived. Thank God, at least, her daughter wasn't here.

Before going to the bedroom she poured herself a quick glass of scotch, 
and though the taste was harsh and the liquid molten fire in her throat 
and stomach, she downed the glass - and had an other for courage. Then 
she went and found the black bra and panties given to her on a past 
birthday, which because of their sheerness were impractical and 
embarrassing to wear normally. Over these she slipped a white cotton 
sheath with a gold chain belt, and then spent considerable time in 
front of the vanity putting on her makeup and combing her hair.

She wanted to be as alluring as she could when Sam Zeigler arrived in 
hopes of convincing him to give her the silence she needed without 
compromising herself too deeply. But she had the forelorn knowledge 
that if Zeigler insisted, she would not be able to resist.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

Roger Carmel slumped dejectedly at his desk. The papers in front of him 
were all a blur to him, their words and diagrams so much confused 
jumbles of print before his weary, agonized eyes. He hadn't slept well 
the previous night; hadn't really been to sleep at all, in fact, for 
too much preyed on his mind, too much kept eating at him, and his 
infrequent dozings had been more light, dream-filled slumbers between 
his tossing and turnings.

Martin Oliss had implanted a bomb in Carmel's brain, a ticking time-
bomb of dread and agony and suspicion which Carmel would have almost 
preferred having it explode and get it over with. As it was, he was 
tortured by the passage of time before Oliss' private detective either 
confirmed or denied whether Carmel's wife, Lonnie, had fallen into the 
clutches of this blackmailing Lothario Oliss' own wife had become prey 
to this evil perverter, whoever he was, and it had taken Martin a great 
deal of courage to admit the defiliation of his home and marriage - 
and Carmel was sure that the only reason he had finally broken down in 
the El Mecca lounge last night and told him anything was because Martin 
Oliss held the terrible secret that more than just Cylvia was involved, 
that now Lonnie was also part of the vile plot to corrupt and destroy 
Roger Carmel.

And Roger had absolutely no idea how he was going to handle the threat 
if and when the blackmailer came to see him, as he had Oliss. No plan 
of action, negative or positive, in defiance or in acceptance, had come 
to the miserable vice-president all of last night or this morning. He 
was stymied, thoroughly confused and wretched, unable to fathom the 
situation, much less how to handle it. The whole affair was so damned 
alien to him - so utterly foreign to anything that he'd ever had to 
encounter before in his entire life! All his whirling mind could dwell 
upon was the sordid, despicable picture of his wife, his lovely, black-
haired loving wife and mother of his beautiful child, in the arms and 
bed of another man.

His brain had continually swirled with lewd pictures of Lonnie and the 
animal-like unknown lover ... his wife's curvaceous and alabaster naked 
body displayed abandonedly before him, her svelte, tapered legs spread 
and her rich, warm, moist thighs pulsing, her once sacrosanct vagina 
and breasts maddened and demanding, the unquenchable fires of her lust 
making her cunt spasm with excitement as her lover hovered over her ... 
the pagan debaucher was a faceless lover, for all that Carmel 
envisioned was his hard, erect, blood pounding cock standing out from 
his loins, his sac of sperm bloated testicles swinging down between his 
once faithful wife's open thighs as she ground her squirming buttocks 
up and reached out to grasp his great throbbing penis and lead it to 
ward her soft pink-rimmed pussy lips ... and then the wet sluicing 
sound as the no-name man wormed his virile cock inside the quivering 
bearded mouth between her widespread legs, her cuntal tunnel clasping 
it with its own volition ... The deep throbbing ... the incoherent 
babblings as his desire-convulsed body reached for the magical apex of 
her climax ... and then the lewd cascading of their subsequent cummings 
.... and the pool of the man's white hot semen pooling in his wife's 
belly, mingling with her own sexual secretions ...

With a piteous moan, Roger Carmel sunk his head to the desk, once more 
overcome by his lurid, treacherous vision, more vivid in his 
imagination than if he was actually there, seeing it all ... and the 
horrible part, the thing that really made him feel sick, was that he 
wasn't sure he had reason to think such depravities. Oliss had 
emphasized last night and this morning over breakfast, that he could be 
wrong. The detective could have made a mistake ... it was too soon to 
tell ... wait and the phone call will tell all. So Roger, unable to 
stop the suspicions running rampant through his mind, was doubly damned 
for he could be doing his sweet young wife an injustice, a terrible 
slap against her purity.

But the thoughts just wouldn't go away - as Oliss well knew and had 
counted on. Carmel fought back the waves of nausea, ashamed at him self 
for being so weak of character to allow himself to fall apart this way, 
of condemning his wife in his dreams before he had the evidence. He 
wanted a drink, two drinks, perhaps a whole bottle to help him forget. 
He'd become quite drunk last night, but not drunk enough ... and today 
it was plain impossible to do any work. Not until this matter was 
cleared up one way or another. Thankfully, today was Saturday, and the 
factory was only open until noon. He would spend the afternoon by 
himself and get thoroughly drunk, so damned drunk that the lashing, 
whip-like images in his mind would go away ...

A knock on the open door of his office brought him upright. He saw a 
girl standing in the door way, the secretary to Larson, the personnel 
manager. He didn't know the girl's name, wasn't especially interested 
at that particularly moment, and said in a brusque manner, "Yes? What 
do you want?"

Kim Copeland smiled tentatively. Demurely she clasped her hands in 
front of her clinging blue shift, and in a small, hesitant voice, she 
said, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Carmel, but ..."

"Well? I'm very busy," Carmel snapped.

You son of a bitch, you're going to pay for this. Kim's brain looked at 
the muscular, handsome man who was frowning at her, and she felt the 
blood boil in her. Kim knew the best way of worming her way into the 
soft underbelly of a naive and preoccupied man like Roger Carmel, and 
long practice she judged that this was not the time to be seductive, 
bewitching, alluring; that was for later, after he had become friendly 
with her and his guard was down, and perhaps a couple of drinks was 
warming his stomach and dulling his thoughts. Now she had to be all 
sweetness and angelic helplessness, and although inside her beat the 
heart of a carnivorous feline, outwardly she trembled like the mousiest 
of retiring people.

As shy as she seemed to Roger, she still couldn't hide the fact that 
she was a beautiful sensual woman. She was proud of the thick coils of 
burnished copper hair, her soft, small hands and smooth white 
shoulders, of her ripe, up-lifted breasts and her large, round green 
eyes with their luminescent flecks of gold.

"Gee, Mr. Carmel, I didn't mean to ..." She blinked her eyes sadly.

Carmel felt sudden pangs of guilt. For Christ's sake, pull yourself 
together! No reason to jump all over this nice, lovely girl ... My 
problems don't have anything to do with her, and she's only trying to 
do her job. Roger had no way of knowing that her attitude and his 
reaction was exactly that - part of her job, the job that she was 
doing for Zeigler. He said in a contrite voice, "I'm sorry, miss ... 
ah."

"Copeland," she replied eagerly and stepped into his office. "Everybody 
calls me Kim, though. That's short for Kimberly."

Carmel managed to smile. "All right, Kim, what can I do for you?"

Hooked. The sucker is as gaffed as a salmon ... "I came to tell you 
that your friend, Mr. Oliss, has already left the plant. He asked me to 
tell you that he won't be able to see you this afternoon." True enough 
.... after I called that silly fool and told him Carmel was unable to 
meet with him. Kim rubbed her hands nervously. "I ... I could have 
called you on the intercom to tell you but, well ..." She lowered her 
eyes, as if afraid to continue.

Now I've frightened the wits out of her. Look at her shake! "Come on, 
Kim," Roger said softly. "But what? Don't worry, I won't bite."

"It was just that ... that my car broke down, and ... and if, if you 
were going to your motel in a little while ..." She let the suggestion 
dangle.

"You want a ride home, is that it?"

"Oh, could you, Mr. Carmel? I'd be so grateful. It isn't far from the 
El Mecca, and otherwise, I'd have to take a taxi, and they're so 
expensive, and --"

Rower held up his hand, cutting off her explanations. "Of course I can, 
Kim. I'd be glad to." Least I call do to make up for the bastard way I 
first treated her. "Let's see," he said, "It's nearly eleven-thirty 
now. Do you get off at twelve?"

"Well, to be honest," she said, smoothing her dress front, seemingly 
unconscious of the way the thin material clung to her rounded thighs 
and dipped into the hollow of her pussy, "I can leave anytime you're 
ready, Mr. Carmel. My work is finished and Mr. Larson didn't even come 
in today."

"In that case, get your coat and your purse, and we'll go right now." 
Carmel was glad for the excuse to leave.

He stood, smiling. "And for heaven's sake, if I'm going to call you 
Kim, then you should call me Roger. Okay?"

"You know the rules about being too familiar with executives, Mr. 
Carmel - Roger," Kim said coyly, a small smile dimpling her cheeks. "I 
wouldn't want anybody to hear me call you by your first name."

"Nonsense," Roger said expansively. "I'll take full responsibility. 
Besides, as of right now, we're both off work. Right?"

"Right!" And Kim Copeland left with a swirl of her dress and a brief 
flash of her lovely, slim legs.

The Chevrolet which Roger had rented at the airport was a large, two-
door business Impala which almost steered itself as Roger cruised 
through the downtown Kirsten traffic. For a small town, it sure had 
enough people, he thought as a car cut him off, making him swerve into 
the next lane, but then this was Saturday and all the locals would be 
shopping, he supposed. Kim Copeland was thrown against him, and she 
gasped with a startled cry as the softness of her breasts brushed 
against Roger's shoulder. Her touch made him acutely aware of her 
presence, more than all of the laughing and pleasant conversation 
they'd indulged in since leaving the Skopos plant. Kim, he had found, 
was a smart, sparkling woman, and the rapport between him and her was 
easily established. He realized in that sudden moment of physical 
contact that she had allowed him to forget his deep-set troubles, and 
for those few minutes of grace, he was eternally grateful to her. The 
lurid green-with-jealousy mental picture of his wife being fucked 
senseless by another man became more remote as the miles passed, and by 
the time he parked in front of her apartment house, he was almost sad 
to see her leave him.

Nothing sexual, he hurriedly told himself. Nothing like that at all. 
Just because Lonnie was - he snapped the sick reverie as a hot coal 
began to burn once more in his belly. He turned to the stunning beauty 
of Kim Copeland and felt the tingle of her provocative physical aura 
and the relief from his bitter depression. He said: "Well, this is it, 
Kim. Glad I could be of service."

"Won't you come up for a cup of coffee?" she asked, her wide eyes 
dispelling any salacious intentions such an invitation might arouse. 
Roger felt torn between the natural hesitation of a married man to be 
alone with so alluring a female as Kim and the reluctance to once more 
be alone. She purred through her slightly moistened lips, "Or a drink? 
It's a little of that old Indian Summer today, and sort of hot. I could 
use a gin-and tonic, and I don't like drinking alone."

She placed a friendly, warm hand on his leg - not too low, nor so high 
as to warn him, scare him off, just at the place mid-leg where a hand 
might touch innocently. But Roger felt her electric contact, and his 
mouth went dry. "I ... I really don't know if I should."

"Do you have anything planned for right now?"

"Well, no, not really. I ..." he looked at her, weakening, and bit his 
lip. "I don't know if it would be right, that's all.

Kim laughed lightly, like a spring nymph enjoying the morning dew. "Oh, 
you men, always thinking about your wives!" She chuckled again with a 
lilting, teasing manner. She moved like a lithe cat, her breasts 
pushing against the fabric of her dress. "As you told me, Roger, I 
won't bite."

The reference to his wife, if only in a passing, allegorical way, made 
Roger jerk on the car seat. His heart trip-hammered. "What about my 
wife?" he said in a halting voice.

"Nothing, Roger," Kim said innocently. "It's just that so many nice men 
like you place their wives in ivory towers, and stop considering them 
flesh and blood. Sometimes," she added with a rueful almost ironic 
smirk, "it can be a rude awakening."

How true. How God-damned true, Roger glumly thought. Kim hit the nail 
on the head. And what the devil, why shouldn't he go up and have a 
drink with this delightful, young woman? Surely no harm would be done 
.... certainly nothing like the harm his own black-haired bitch of a 
wife was doing to him. If she was, he had to keep reminding himself, if 
she was ...

"All right, you convinced me, Kim," he said, and his heart suddenly 
felt free, for in the sixteen years of marriage he hadn't so much as 
looked at another woman much less been with one alone and socially.

It was just like Kim said, he had placed his wife in the realm of the 
gods, and she wasn't. His entire concentration on Lonnie had been 
unrealistic, and now that there was the possibility that she didn't 
consider her husband as the be-all and end-all of creation, and was 
unfaithful to his dream-like image of her. His ivory tower of devotion 
was crumbling rapidly now that its inherently impractical, sand-like 
foundation had been cracked by Oliss' lewd and evil lies. And Kim 
Copeland, amoral whore that she was, had been tipped to this by 
Zeigler, and with callous disregard or sympathy, started the final 
razing of Roger Carmel's idyllic world, coldly and calculatingly using 
her feminine and lurid wiles with all the effectiveness of a master 
game player. Roger Carmel never really had a chance.

Her apartment was facing the rear garden on the third floor, and was a 
spacious and attractive one-bedroom flat. Roger was a little surprised 
that a secretary could afford the obviously fine quality of Danish 
modern furniture and hand-rubbed walnut lamps and fine prints on the 
walls. There was a heady scent of musky perfume in the air - not 
unusual for a woman's apartment, but it nevertheless tickled Roger's 
nostrils, making him quiver with unexplained lightheadedness. He 
grinned as he sat down on the comfortable couch, thinking of candle-
light and old crystal decanters and violins. Hell, there was no use 
denying it, for all of Kim's apparent shyness, she was a very sensual, 
very passionate woman. Her modesty was all the more appealing to him, 
for that meant she wasn't just a promiscuous bitch in heat, but 
considered the men in her life as important and desirable for their 
minds and affections as their prowess in bed.

May God! Stop thus kind of lewd thinking! Roger felt ashamed as Kim 
talked innocently from the kitchen while making the drinks. How wrong 
he was about her character never entered his head; the setting, the 
actions the whole web she had designed to lure and capture were too 
cleverly done; the stage backdrop was authentic, only the woman who 
starred in the leading role wasn't. Roger chastised himself for 
harboring lewd thoughts about Kim Copeland's love life - for all he 
knew she was a virgin. Hell, the next thing he knew, he'd be getting 
half-way romantic intentions about her, and just because she invited 
him up for a drink certainly didn't give him the right to entertain 
overheated and wicked notions. The shock of realizing that he was 
contemplating what she would be like in bed was enough to scare him ...

"I see you made yourself comfortable, Roger," Kim said, walking in from 
the kitchen with two full glasses. "Slip off your shoes if you want."

"Oh ... no, no this is fine," he replied and took the proffered glass. 
"Mmmm," he said after tasting the gin and tonic.

"You like? I make them strong, because that's the way I like them."

"Excellent, Kim." He looked around the apartment in obvious 
appreciation. "You certainly have a fine place here."

"Thanks to my husband," she said with a touch of girlish sarcasm. "He 
left me flat, with no money and no warning. All I had after he skipped 
was what you see here." A complete fabrication - she'd never married 
any of the men she'd lived with.

"You were married?" he asked inanely.

"Too long," she replied. "And never again. Couples lie to each other 
more than strangers do, I think."

Her comment raised the intangible devil of Lonnie again, sweetly cooing 
her affection for her husband, while Roger was kept blissfully unaware 
of her adulterous relations while he was gone. He shook his head and 
drank heavily. Well, one thing was clear; Kim was no virgin, not having 
been married, and Roger bet mentally that this sweet young secretary-
divorcee was one holy terror in bed. Just watching how she walked and 
smiled and smelled was irrefutable testimony to that ...

"Excuse me, will you, Roger?" Kim asked, jumping up. "I want to get 
cleaned up and out of this old stuffy work dress. Do you mind!"

"No ... no, of course not ..." Roger blinked, for her "old work dress" 
was anything but stuffy - not with that second skin look it had as it 
clung to her voluptuous young body, and the way it stretched around her 
firm pointed breasts and ripe thighs. But he knew how women love to get 
rid of the reminders that they have to work; when Lonnie had been a 
salesgirl in a local department store during their first, poverty-
stricken years of marriage, she'd been the same way.

Kim kept the door of her bedroom open so that she could continue to 
talk to Roger as she changed. He could hear the zip as she took her 
dress off, and he quickly drowned his imagination of her standing naked 
in there, a few feet away, by swallowing his gin and tonic. He looked 
down at his glass again, embarrassed. How stupid he'd feel if the 
lovely girl in the next room knew he was thinking such things? He 
drained his glass, and as the gin swirled in his stomach and fused 
through his blood, a strange confidence that he'd never possessed 
before seeped through him. He was a man, wasn't he? Why shouldn't he be 
excited by the lascivious thoughts of a pretty young girl naked?

Across from him, between the living room and the bedroom, was a narrow 
door, which Roger subconsciously assumed was for a closet. It was - in 
a way. A special closet in which a man sat in darkness, between two 
windows, both two-way mirrors. On the living room side the mirror was 
an ornate framed decorative piece which matched a credenza and small 
table next to it. The man, named Harry Saunders, was not looking out 
into the living room through the two-way glass; he was busily watching 
through the other mirror, into the bedroom. On the bedroom side the 
glass was the dresser mirror, canted at a slight angle so that it 
overlooked the full expanse of the double bed. The man was moistening 
his parched lips and trying to stop the heavy sound of his breathing, 
for in the clear glass was the lovely and lust-enticing sight of Kim 
Copeland dropping her simple blue sheath on the floor. He felt a jerk 
in his pants as his cock began to throb with desire, and kept his beady 
eyes leveled on her beautiful body as she moved slowly around the 
bedroom, fully aware he was there, for she had hired him and put him in 
the closet and told him to be ready with his camera for another job of 
blackmail. He'd done this kind of work for her and some of her other 
whore friends before, and did it well - his fee was moderate, and all 
he asked was the added bonus of fucking them when the sucker left. His 
testicles ached with the lewd thought that in a couple of hours he was 
going to possess that desirable, soft young cunt as he had many times 
in the past. She was one piece of ass he had never grown tired of!

Saunders felt another slight jump under his pants, his prick hardening 
as Kim turned from the mirror and bent over to pick up her dress from 
the floor. The full rounded moons of her buttocks came into tantalizing 
view, and she couldn't have been more than three feet from him, and she 
gave the camera man a full, unimpeded view of the narrow nylon strip of 
her panties between her firm full thighs as they tightened into her 
vagina as she bent over. He watched her with bated breath as then she 
stripped them off along with her bra and stood running her hands up and 
down her satiny smooth skin, cupping her firm, molded breasts for a 
moment, then dropping down to rub her soft pubic hair and tease her 
pink-edged vaginal slit before opening a dresser drawer and selecting a 
pair of sun shorts and halter. He almost groaned as she slipped the 
tight clothing on, looked around once, winked directly at him, and 
stepped freshly into the living room.

Saunders quickly moved around in his stool, saliva forming at the 
corners of his pudgy mouth. Old Zeigler was going to get a set of 
photos, by damned; one hell of a hot set - for Kim was in rare form 
today, and when she got like this she could fuck a man to death ! 
Saunders didn't know why Zeigler wanted the pictures, or who the sucker 
in the living room was but he knew that when they got down to nakedly 
writhing on the couch or in bed, he was going to have his hands full 
snapping the shutter of his camera.

Roger Carmel was stunned by Kim Copeland's change into "something more 
comfortable." She wore short-shorts of bright red, so tight that her 
pubic mound and its teasing little cuntal cleft was impressed on the 
cloth between her white thighs. Her long, statuesque legs, bronzed from 
the sun of Nevada, were bare and curvaceous, and her belly was just as 
tanned and nude between the band of her shorts and her strained halter. 
Her breasts quivered, barely concealed by the thin halter, and Roger 
could almost make out her nipples. Her sparkling green eyes sparkled 
vivaciously and with a hint of fire.

She moved panther-like to the couch. "You finished your drink. I'll 
make you another." She seemed to catch his wide-eyed stare for the 
first time. "What's the matter, Roger? I plan to go out and suntan 
after you leave. I hope this isn't too much for you." She smiled slyly 
as she undulated toward the kitchen. "Don't forget, I won't eat you."

She didn't add the word she was thinking: "Yet."

Before he could protest, Kim she was back out of the kitchen, gin 
bottle in hand, glasses full of ice and tonic. "I thought it would be 
better if we made them out here from now on, don't you?" She didn't 
wait for his strangled reply, but sat down very close to him and 
crossed one slim, tanned leg over the other, tightening the material of 
her shorts until the pulsating slit of her pussy was sharply defined, 
and as she mixed his drink and handed it back to him, she leaned 
forward so that a good deal of her creamy, globular breasts were 
exposed to him - with just the bare hint of her ruby colored and rock 
hard nipples. He felt a flush creep up his neck. Yet he was unable to 
take his eyes off her provocative lushness. Like it had a life of its 
own, his cock gave a tentative spasm against his underpants, and his 
testicles contracted with a lewd spark of excitement. Quickly he took a 
long pull on his gin and tonic.

Kim chuckled to herself, knowing the effect that Roger Carmel's 
emotional upheaval was having on his normally cautious, unassailable 
character as well as the liquor. Drinking when under the mental anguish 
which was wracking Roger, always hit the mind harder and faster than at 
other times, when a person was relaxed, as Kim knew from her 
experiences with married men with marital problems. She drank from her 
glass, savoring the juniper taste of the gin and the bitterness of the 
tonic; alcohol increased her own sexual fervor, too, though she could 
control herself if she was so inclined; now that she was with Roger 
Carmel.

Yes, she mused, Mr. Roger Carmel was hers, no mistake about that, even 
if he didn't know about it yet. She felt the initial droplets of her 
lubricants begin to flow from the sensitive walls of her vagina as she 
considered what would be taking place within the next hour. Brother, 
was she going to have this guy fuck her ... it would be one fuck he'd 
never forget!

Roger felt a warm lethargy overtake him as he drank his third gin and 
tonic. The quickly swallowed drinks were doing exactly what he had 
hoped the liquor would do - help him forget his troubles, and if he 
got drunk, all the better as far as he was concerned. And of course it 
wasn't every day that a man had the opportunity to get looped with a 
young vivacious girl as lovely and sensual as Kim Copeland. She was 
really some thing, he thought admiringly. How could any husband ever 
leave her? She exuded pure animal sex dressed in that tiny halter and 
shorts; a sudden change from the demure secretary to a teasing, 
alluring woman of the flesh, with a miasma of sexual fire encompassing 
her as she walked, talked, breathed ...

What he'd like to do right now, right this very minute if he wasn't 
married, was to take Kim in his arms and kiss her, touch her firm, 
proud breasts ... oh, nothing more than that, he hastily added to his 
thoughts; he wouldn't fuck her or anything - but God she was so damned 
desirable, so ... so damned hot-looking! He moistened his lips with the 
cool liquid of his drink, already mentally kissing her soft, coral 
lips, caressing her vibrating white breasts and tweaking the pink 
rimmed nipples he could almost see ...

Roger's lust-provoked cock spasmed with hunger and strained for release 
against his restraining band of cloth. He tried to banish the lecherous 
thoughts which were overheating his mind, but in spite of his anguish, 
his rigid penis remained hard and blood swollen. His eyes went to Kim's 
face ... In turn, the provocative, lurid little prostitute lowered her 
eyes and focused on the bulge at Roger's loins. She grinned again, this 
time more forcefully. "You like me," she said with a twinkle in her 
eyes. "I can tell."

"I ... well, that is ..." Roger stammered, knowing instantly what she 
was referring to: the unquenchable erection burning his pants.

Kim laughed throatily. Now it was time to be the feline, now was the 
time to cast aside her chaffing role of the modest secretary and become 
the uncontrolled hedonist, the lover of passion and sex. "Don't be 
ashamed of your hard-on, Roger. I've been married, remember? I know how 
it is with a man."

"Kim, I'm sorry. Really I am. I better leave."

"No! Don't!" she demanded in a husky voice, her mouth and eyes so close 
to Roger's face. "You think that just because we girls don't have 
penises, we don't get excited? We show it differently, and maybe not so 
obviously as your stiff cock --"

"Kim!" Roger gasped, shocked at the lewd words.

"Cock, Roger. You have a big hard cock, and it's because you want to 
fuck me, isn't it? That's why you're breathing as hard as I am and 
squirming in your seat and are all red in the face. You want to take 
your clothes off and fuck me!"

"Oh, God!" Roger groaned, gasping for air like a stranded fish. His 
penis was palpitating wildly, and his brain reeled with the heady 
combination of gin and sex. Had he heard her correctly? Had this sweet, 
publicly modest secretary been telling him that he was wanting to fuck 
her with his cock? And what was the matter with him? He was thinking 
the same filthy words! Lord, his testicles were aching with the 
pressure of his sperm as if he really was that crude and debased as to 
take advantage of her. Didn't she know what her obscene use of the 
words were doing to him? He took another swallow of his never-empty 
drink and found that he could hardly hold the glass in his trembling 
hand. He must leave ... get out before they were both sorry for what he 
might do in a sudden impulsive move. But he was rooted to the couch.

Kim leaned closer, her breath a white-hot fire brand on his cheeks and 
she touched his thigh lightly, her fingertips seething with desire, 
searing the cloth. "I can tell you're married, Roger. What's your wife 
like?"

Roger was taken aback for a moment. What was there to say about himself 
and Lonnie? What could he tell this teasing vixen about how he 
suspected his wife of cheating on him, of letting another man fuck her 
.... Before he could gather the semblance of a reply, Kim went on. "It 
doesn't matter, Roger," she said, "but I can tell by the way you 
reacted that you've got problems at home. It your wife untrue to you or 
just no good in bed?"

"Lonnie's a very capable sex partner," Roger said, stiffly."

"Then it must be my first guess. She's being very capable with somebody 
else." Kim shrugged, her breasts in marvelous profile. "Join my club 
Roger, honey. My husband was fucking around on me all the time, too." 
She was almost nuzzling his cheek now, and her voice was sugar in his 
fevered ears. "We've both been lashed by the same whip. So let's lash 
back and have a little fun in the bargain."

"Kim ... for God's sake!"

"You want to fuck me ... and I want you to, only I don't have a big 
cock to get hard to show you. I just have to show you anyway I can!" 
Her breasts pressed hotly, softly against his arm and her lips found 
his jaw line and traced a pattern upward along his cheek, leaving a 
trail of molten fire along his skin. She let her hand on his thigh 
slide up higher ...

Until she touched the throbbing bulge of his penis.

Roger almost leapt off the couch in convulsive reaction. Kim stroked 
his encased but sensitive penis, and though he tried to pull back, she 
was sliding closer, increasing the rhythm of her strokings. Guilt 
welled up in Roger, engulfed him in a wave of nausea at what was about 
to transpire, and he tore himself free, standing up and trying to 
control his trembling, nerve-blistered emotions.

"What's the matter, Roger?" Kim asked casually, standing beside him, 
slipping her hands over him and running freely over his lithe, rippling 
flesh. "Attack of the conscience? Thinking of your wife?"

"Yes - yes," Roger managed, averting his eyes from her lustful figure. 
"What we were going to do is wrong, Kim. It was crazy, and ... all 
wrong."

"I don't think so," she purred. "If your wife is fucking around on you, 
why can't you fuck a girl if you want to? And she's willing? Like I'm 
willing to let you. Willing? Christ, I've got to have you! I want your 
big, hard cock fucking up inside my cunt, Roger." Her lewd 
salaciousness seared a path of lust across Roger's mind.

"I love my wife," he moaned.

"Sure you do. And you'll go home to her and be very happy. But that 
doesn't have anything to do with her, with now, with fucking."

Roger's heart hammered violently in his chest and his prick was granite 
hard and seeping hot smears of his male seminal fluids. In gathering 
panic he told himself that he had to get control of the situation, that 
he couldn't bear to hear any more. That no matter what, he couldn't do 
it! No matter what Lonnie was doing, he wasn't justified in fucking 
this woman, as hot and lustful and desiring as Kim was ...

Kim's voice whispered huskily from behind him. "Roger, honey ..."

He turned, gathering his courage to say what had to be said, but when 
he saw her the words froze in his throat. She stood before him, 
completely nude. She had unhooked her halter and stepped out of her 
brief shorts, and the clothing made a brilliant puddle at her bare 
feet. She stood with her legs spread apart, her head and shoulders 
pulled back, and her hands knuckled provocatively on her proud, bronzed 
hips. She was smiling at his shocked expression, her teeth slightly 
bared and the pink, wet tip of her tongue showing. The moist, petal-
like lips of her now naked vagina were presented in all their pink-
tinged loveliness, and the soft light of the apartment splashed across 
the perfectly round, white breasts which jutted from her like inviting, 
ruby-crested mountain peaks.

"Well, lover? What do you have to say now?"

He couldn't speak, only stare at her lewd, wanton pose - and his cock 
returned to its maddening pulsations in his pants. He was transfixed, 
captured totally by the strange, fascinating allure of this purely sex-
oriented female in front of him and the absolutely lustful sensuality 
of the scene he was part of.

Kim slid her fingers, slowly, teasingly, down from her hips, her hand 
grazing her soft resilient pubic hair and the wet, glistening slit 
between her thighs. She began to stroke her thin, young vaginal slit, 
baring her writhing clitoris, and stroked her whole helplessly 
contracting cuntal channel, sending rivulets of her sexually aroused 
lubrications to dampen her white inner thighs.

"I want you to fuck me Roger," she crooned in cadence to her rubbing 
fingers. "I want you to put that wonderful male cock in my pussy and 
fuck me until I scream ... and then I'll suck your cock if you want ... 
I'll milk your balls dry of all the delicious white cum you've got 
building in them. I want ..." On and on she intoned and her words were 
perverted obscenities which made Roger more frenzied than ever. Her 
fingers in the gaping crevice of her wet, pink cunt excited him to a 
peak he'd never known existed. As much as Lonnie loved sex, loved to 
have him fuck her ... she never once allowed herself to be so 
completely abandoned, so void of modesty or shyness. She never said 
such things, never stood before him in depraved splendor and played 
with her female genitals. Never!

"I can't help myself," Kim moaned abjectly. "You're too much a man for 
me ... and it's been so long, so damned long ..." She trembled and her 
eyes clenched shut and hot breath hissed through her clenched teeth. 
"Ohhhh, how can you stand there and not want me? What more do I have to 
do? Please ... tell me you want to fuck me ..."

Her last appeal, couched in the kind of girlish innocence which drove 
him wild, was far more exciting than a blatant, crude splash of sex 
from an over-experienced harridan. He saw Kim without a husband to 
soothe her inner cravings, as being driven to embarrassing and almost 
hysterical actions, and not realizing that he was the victim of a 
finely-tuned act on her part to use all of his emotional aspect, put 
out his heart to the girl and cried: "Yes, Kim, yes I want to fuck 
you!"

"How!" she mewled, almost staggering from the whipping of her hand in 
her open, lust spasming, wet cunt. "Tell me how!"

"Deep! Deep and hard like you've never been fucked before!"

"Oh, God, Roger," she moaned. "Let's go in the bedroom and you get 
naked too before I die!"

A self-consciousness stole over Roger as he dropped his pants and 
shirt, removed his shoes and socks and then slowly drew down his under 
pants while all the time Kim Copeland lay on her double bed, her eyes 
riveted on his loins. As his rigid, frenzied penis stood out, she 
watched the blood-filled head for a moment and moaned: "I love your 
cock, Roger. I know it's going to feel good fucking up inside me and 
twisting deep in my cunt. Oh, God, hurry! Hurry!"

He lay down on the bed beside her, dragging her over him with his arms, 
and moved one hand down to cup one smooth, white, quivering buttock. 
Her body was warm and soft against him, and as she raised her face to 
his and they kissed, their lips locked together tightly and her hand 
searched down between their bellies and closed around his rigid, 
swollen cock, making Roger gasp. Kim crushed the whole length of her 
naked flesh against him and her lips were yielding and yet at the same 
time demanding, and she ground her pelvis into him until spasmodic 
chills were racing up and down his spine. Then she twisted and pulled 
him over her, opening her lovely, glistening white thighs wide so that 
he could plunge his penis between them and take her ...

Harry Samuels sat behind the mirror and clicked his expensive German 
camera, catching breasts and cock and balls and the splayed wet pink 
slit in a series of color stills. He felt a slight twinge of jealously 
as he sighted on their passion wracked faces, and groaned with the 
desire to be there, on top of her, instead of that man. His own cock 
burgeoned with hardness and blood-lust as the two naked bodies 
struggled on the bed, and small beads of sweat broke out on Samuel's 
forehead as he watched another man about to fuck the beautiful 
insatiably lascivious young girl ...

Kim's hand was still around Roger's throbbing penis, and she guided it 
between the lips of her hot, desire-moistened vagina while he undulated 
his loins against her thighs in a slowly teasing rhythm. She moved his 
cock up and down between the pink lips of her pulsing cunt, parting her 
soft, wet pussy with his blood-filled, searching cock-head, and her 
pubic hairs grazed lightly against his sensitive skin, forcing the 
shaft to greater hardness until it ached excruciatingly. He couldn't 
hold back any longer; he'd been tantalized to the limit of his 
endurance - he flicked his hips forward and with a cruel thrust drove 
his erect penis into the gaping mouth of her defensively clenching 
pussy, and plummeted his thick, tender shaft up her cunt to the full 
depth of her quivering belly. Her spasming vaginal orifice was warm and 
tight around his rigid member, and then as he stroked in and out with 
powerful surges, lubricating wetness of the passage surrounded it, and 
his balls slapped hard against the rounded cheeks of her ass when 
finally he hit bottom.

"Oh, Roger ... honey, you feel sooo gooood!" Kim whispered, then 
smashed her lips against him and writhed the flatness of her belly up 
against him. Her nails trailed across his back, leaving small red welts 
in their path, and he in turn pushed his hands back and cupped her 
resilient, full buttocks in his palms and pulled her open crotch 
tighter to his expanding cock. He moved harder and faster, insinuating 
the hardness of his total length inside her widespread slit, sensing 
her increasing excitement and voluntary response with each passing 
second. Her hips and thighs rotated desperately against his loins, and 
she raised her slender legs and locked them tightly around his body, 
her calves pulling him inside her still more.

Goddamn, he's fucking the hot little bitch good! Harry Saunders grinned 
as he snapped more pictures as Roger Carmel's lust-hardened cock 
disappeared to its hilt between the lovely young girl's widespread 
thighs. An obscene thrill coursed through the photographer, and a half-
cruel smile crossed his face as he wondered just what Sam Zeigler's 
price was going to be, what amount he was going to extract from that 
writhing, heaving man who was fucking Kim so maddeningly. Zeigler 
always got his pound of flesh, one way or another, and he must have had 
a real fine reason behind all of this elaborate set-up. He hoped the 
man appreciated the truly talented screwing he was getting, because 
Saunders knew intuitively that it was going to cost him plenty in the 
near future.

Roger Carmel was no longer the chief engineer and vice-president of 
Skopos, or the inventor of the miniscopos VTR, or the husband of his 
lovely wife, Lonnie. He was a wild, untamed beast, tasting sex for its 
own pure sake for the first time in his married life, the prurience of 
this immoral, lewd affair was driving him out of his mind, and his body 
strove to superhuman efforts as he worked to bring him and this animal 
of woman under him to magical crests of orgasm. He ground his loins 
into the squirming mass of flesh as Kim strained back, arching her back 
up and lifting her buttocks inches off the squeaking mattress. She 
moaned incoherently beneath his pounding cock, chanting the song of 
intercourse as old as the world itself, and her legs opened and closed 
convulsively around his strongly pumping thighs, her mouth gaped open, 
and her head flailed from side to side. Nobody ever accused Kim 
Copeland of not enjoying her work.

"Oh, God, yes! Yes! Make me scream, honey! Shove your finger in my ass! 
Damn it it, do it, do it! Make me scream!"

Roger reached between her rhythmically pumping buttocks as he drove his 
cock into the wetness of her smoothly grinding cunt and stretched the 
crevice of her ass wider, searching for the tiny puckered ring of her 
anus with his middle finder. He found it - and a small trickle of warm 
moisture running from the clasping warm fleshy glove of her vagina 
lubricating the sphincter muscle making his probe easier. He pushed 
against Kim's anus, felt it resist elastically, then with a little pop 
the nether ring opened, and he wormed his middle finger up to its first 
joint. Kim jumped forward, almost crawling on her back across the bed 
from the sudden impalement.

"AAAaaaahhhh! It hurts! Yes! That's it! Ohhh, it's so damned good!" She 
screwed her buttocks back on his finger in spite of the pain until his 
palm was flat against her mildly jiggling buttocks. He rotated his 
finger inside her rectum, and could feel through the thin wall of flesh 
separating her two passages the underside of his cock as he fucked in 
and out of her. She opened her legs wider to give him still more access 
to her ravished cunt and anus.

Roger could feel his penis expand inside her until he was sure his 
throbbing hard rod was going to burst from the exquisite pleasure 
billowing in his testicles. He began ramming her with longer, harder 
strokes, his finger skewering her rectum to excite her more, and he 
could tell that she was near her climax as she gripped him tightly and 
gurgled deep in her throat from her abandoned spiraling to orgasm, and 
he continued to mercilessly thrust with all his might.

Jesus, look at her go, Harry Saunders thought in lascivious fascination 
as he watched the lithely beautiful girl racing for her climax under 
the wildly fucking body of the stranger - look at that hot little 
bitch go! No wonder she's popular with so many guys! And she was going 
to let him ride her that same way in a little while, and at the thought 
of himself ramming his cock between those long, slim legs, he wished 
that they would hurry up and cum.

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming," Kim coughed suddenly, and mumbled 
incoherently until the sounds bubbling from her mouth were a mass of 
unintelligible syllables whose meaning was only known to herself. A low 
banshee wail pierced through the sounds of the squeaking springs and 
the two panting bodies slapping sweatily together, the young girl's 
nostrils flared, and she pulled back her thighs until the whole of her 
pink, cock stretched vaginal slit was presented to Roger to batter and 
crush, while her stomach and breasts jerked spasmodically against his 
bells and chest. Then she held her breath for an interminable moment 
and expelled it as though hit in the gut, and her body collapsed limply 
onto the mattress, still save for uncontrolled quivering of her 
insatiable pussy which was still locked tightly around Roger's surging 
prick. He saw that she had reached her release and he pushed deep 
inside her and then lay quiet, allowing her to rest for a moment.

It was all he could do to keep from screwing her more. God, he'd never 
seen anything like it, never felt anything like it, before in his life! 
The muscles of his prick throbbed and ached deep in her belly, hoping 
to bring her to life again, but after long moments passed, a semblance 
of sanity returned as the first furious moments of sexual frenzy 
abated, and he knew that he should begin to feel waves of remorse and 
shame. But they weren't forthcoming, and strangely, he felt only like a 
full-blooded, virile male who had satisfied a true, sensual woman and 
who was still lusting for more. He felt a certain power and a much 
needed bolstering of masculine pride, his ego having taken a beating 
with lewd, horrid news that Martin Oliss had told him.

Lonnie ... his lovely wife's name echoed in his mind and a small 
portion of Roger tried again to make the guilt of this sensual orgy 
with a strange girl appear, but still nothing happened, for his faith 
in his wife had been torn asunder by the night and morning of devilish 
suspicions about her potential adultery. Perhaps it would come later, 
he thought, after he had time to think things out, but right now, all 
he could do was feel the warm heat of Kim's body, smell the musk of her 
perfume, and soak in the permeation's of their lusts.

"God," Kim said, smiling sweetly, her voice drugged with momentary 
satiation, "I came but you haven't yet, lover."

"I will," he breathed hard. "Another fuck like that and I'll burst my 
balls." The ache of his testicles throbbed hotly.

"Roll over, and I'll suck your cock instead. Would you like that?"

"Yes ... oh, yes!" He pulled back, sliding both his finger and his 
hardened cock out of her anus and pussy. He hated to, for he was so 
near to shooting his load of white, hot sperm up into her belly that he 
didn't want to stop, but he had to let her have her way. He rolled on 
his back, thin trails of their sexual secretions following his rigid 
shaft across her lower thigh, and then he lay tense and expecting, his 
blood-swollen penis pointing straight up toward the ceiling. As Kim 
Copeland climbed up on her all-fours and bent her head over his cock 
and balls, her tongue moistening lips which were wide and trembling, 
Roger knew that this was going to be an afternoon he would not soon 
forget.

And behind the two-way mirror, Harry Saunders cursed the additional 
time before he could sink his own angry aching prick into that hot 
young whore on the bed, and put more film into the camera. He started 
clicking away as Kim's mouth slowly closed over the turgid, moist 
expanse of Roger Carmel's helplessly expanding cock.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

Stan Lubin came from one of the better sections of Rapier City. Some 
distance from either Jennifer Carmel's home or the cabin in which last 
night the fullback football star had taken her virginity, his father, 
Reginald Lubin, had leased a mansion in the shelter of a vast pine 
forest, a mile off the main highway leading south. Reginald and his 
wife, Elmira, had left the house in care of their son, Stan, while they 
went off skiing to a chalet in Switzerland. Mr. Lubin was a wealthy 
man, dabbling in a collection of businesses, all loosely controlled by 
his one, main holding company with its address in Switzerland, chosen 
for its tax laws, and the Swiss skiing trip was actually being paid for 
by the company, as was his house and new Aston-Martin. Mr. Lubin put 
everything he could in his company's name; his income tax showed that 
he made about two hundred dollars a month personal income, and 
naturally he enjoyed the benefits of the tax law's loopholes.

The house itself was spacious, built in a Spanish style of white stucco 
and wrought iron. Wide, well-landscaped grounds bordered it, the two 
tennis courts, the emerald-green swimming pool and twin cabanas, and a 
magnificent waterfall which cascaded from a small mountain of rocks and 
ferns, bubbling away into a stream which meandered among the many thick 
bushes and exotic plants growing in profusion. It gave the appearance 
of a deserted island paradise if it hadn't been for the collection of 
hot rod cars and flashy customed autos which lined the driveway, a full 
volume blast of a raucous electric guitar band from the sunken living 
room's stereo, and the wild yells and shrieks from the eight young 
teenagers inside.

Eight adolescents: seven boys and one girl. The seven were the 
"swinging" members of the high school football team. The one girl was 
the lovely, radiant young Jennifer Carmel.

The sweet, near-virginal teen-ager had been happy and excited when Stan 
Lubin had picked her up in the Aston-Martin his father had left be 
hind. As she had climbed in and sat against the tan leather upholstery, 
her pulse had quickened, for Stan had grinned at her, his face 
glittering with excitement. She had still not been overwhelmingly sorry 
about what had happened to her the night before, and actually wanted to 
have Stan's penis back inside her tiny, already expectantly quivering 
pussy again, spewing its cum into her belly. She had remembered the 
conversation of babbling, lust encited words she and Stan had had 
between them while she was being so wonderfully fucked by his hard, 
slamming cock, but those words were said in the heat of passion, 
weren't they? Certainly nobody would really mean for her to do all 
those things that Stan had said to her ... letting the football team 
fuck her, forcing her to suck his cock ... no, of course not. She was 
his girl ... he had so much as said so last night!

And Stan had been so nice. He'd talked about all sorts of things to the 
pretty daughter of Roger Carmel as they drove to his parent's house. 
And he'd given her a marijuana cigarette to smoke, and even another 
after she'd finished it. By the time she'd arrived, the car swinging 
around the crushed oyster shell semicircular drive and stopping in 
front of the front door, she was carefree and lightheaded and laughing 
at everything. She was having a wonderful time! She was part of the 
"In" crowd now, and she had found it so much fun to be part of the 
group, that she'd have done anything to keep in it. Anything - she 
didn't reckon on how prophetic her thoughts would later become.

It was only when she saw the grinning, expectant faces of the other six 
boys, including that of Lance Retliff, the huge Negro tackle, that she 
began to feel the pangs of doubt, and terror began to creep between the 
fuzzy layers of wool which the marijuana drug had swaddled her brain 
in. "Stan --" she whimpered, clutching his sleeve.

"Relax, sweetheart," Stan grinned lewdly at the petrified young girl. 
"This is sort of your initiation into the group, you might say. Do 
well, and ..." he shrugged, "we'll let you continue paling around with 
us."

"But --" the words of protest clung to her throat as she looked around 
the cluster of eager, virile young teen-age males. "I can't ..."

"Just like I always thought," snarled Vic, Tamera Oliss' boyfriend. 
"She's chicken. She's just a baby."

Tears of agony and tormenting confusion welled in the girl's eyes as 
she saw that unless she submitted to whatever depraved games Stan 
wished to have her play, she would be ostracized, and although she had 
the desire to go home to cast aside the threats, she stayed, 
whimpering, hoping that she could plead for mercy. Stan lit an other 
cigarette and ordered her to smoke it, deeply and quickly. She obeyed 
almost without thinking, seizing on the brown-colored cigarette as a 
salvation, as a filming haze to cover her mind from making the decision 
whether to save her body from their lascivious abuses or whether to 
submit ...

Jennifer's black-haired head began to swim and she found herself 
weaving slowly. Some of the mortal fear and misery left her mind, being 
replaced by more floating, suspended calmness, and though she was still 
afraid of what this all male group might deign to mete out to her fresh 
young body, her courage was tripled. Then Stan said, "It's up to you, 
baby. Make up that sweet little mind of yours, and decide whether 
you're going to be a chicken like Vic thinks or a big girl like I 
think. I wouldn't have brought you along if I'd thought you'd balk like 
this. No girl of mine does that to me."

"What - what do you want me to do?" the fifteen year-old girl said, 
gulping bravely. "Tell me, and I'll try to ... do it." She steeled her 
mind, thinking only of belonging, of the one chance she had been given 
to be a part of the school scene, of being Stan's new girl ... and 
having Stan all to herself later. Afterwards.

"Strip," he commanded harshly.

"In front ... of ev-everybody?" she answered in a frightened whisper.

"I don't mean out in the street, you stupid slut! Now peel those pants 
off and let us see that beautiful little body of yours." Stan's stone-
like command broke through her resistance, and like a marionette, the 
drugged and subjugated young girl unclipped her blouse and unzipped her 
pants, letting both garments fall to the living room carpet.

"All of them," Vic Cain added nastily, "including your bra and 
panties."

Stifling a sob of utter shame, she reached behind her and then her 
white, firm, quivering breasts were naked, in full view of the seven 
boys. The team members sucked in their collective breaths, for her 
breasts were perfect twin orbs of purity, capped with tiny, trembling 
nubs of burgundy-colored nipples. Then she slipped her thumbs in the 
waistband of her panties and slid them down over her full rounded hips. 
Her black triangle of sparse young pubic hair was projected to their 
lustful, leering eyes, bringing another round of excited gasps.

"Hot damn," groaned Greg Mothra. "I can see her cunt lips and 
everything. Jesus, she's a fine piece of fucking tail, Stan."

"You're going to see a lot more of her than just this," the fullback 
son of the rich Reginald Lubin sneered. "All right, baby, now lie down 
on the floor. Lie down, I said. That's it. Spread your legs. We want to 
see all of your pretty pussy. Ahhhh ..."

Jennifer Carmel did as she was ordered, sinking to the wool carpet and 
lying trembling flat on her back, her firm, unblemished skin glossy in 
the indirect lighting, her full breasts pooling provocatively on her 
palpitating chest, her flat, hardly touched stomach rippling with queer 
sensations of fear and excitement. There was some thing so terrible, so 
wretched about exposing her young, vainly resisting naked body before 
all these boys that it was almost exciting ...

"Open those thighs wider," Stan continued. "Now put your finger in your 
little cunt and play with yourself. I bet you do that all the time at 
home, anyway," he snickered, and the truth of his dirty jibe made 
Jennifer blush profusely, right to the roots of her hair. "Make your 
tender cunt all nice and hot while we watch you."

Mortified, Jennifer looked down between her legs at the exposed, hair-
lined lips of her vagina, the cool air of the day wafting gently over 
them and making them tingle erotically. She swallowed hard and with her 
middle finger extended and her face shining with sweat and intense 
embarrassment, she slowly started to run her finger up and down the 
moist, wet, little valley between her wide splayed thighs, all the way 
from the gently quivering crevice where her tiny puckered anus nestled, 
up to the tightly ovalled mouth of her vagina, and above, where she 
touched the exposed, hard bud of her clitoris. A shock of sexual 
arousal passed through her as her fingernail grazed the tender bud, and 
she spasmed with a momentarily uncontrollable throb of desire.

The hapless, broken little teen-age girl realized then that she had 
been trapped in a depraved circus of evil lewdness, that her initiation 
was only an excuse for these tormenting teen-ager boys to wreak their 
licentious passions on her innocent body without any regard for her 
except the most callous of attitudes toward on object to use and abuse. 
She trembled with renewed fear, and wished that she could smoke still 
another of the dream-inducing marijuana cigarettes. But she continued 
to masturbate, her legs bent wide, and as her pink little cunt lips 
became used to her finger, they glistened with dewdrops of lubrication, 
and an odd flame of tingling started rising out of her belly, as if her 
depravity was as exciting to her as it was to the carnal, animalistic 
group of boys around her.

Stan Lubin was breathing heavily, the tantalizing sight of this young 
teen-ager fucking herself with her fingers driving his cock to wild 
throbbings. Without a look at the other boys, all of whom had gathered 
around the girl, he unbuckled his pants and stepped out of his shorts. 
Jennifer paused in her self-abasements, even though her hot, quivering 
little pussy was secreting a greater flow of sex fluids now, and her 
smooth inner thighs were trembling and beginning to buck from her 
manipulations. She saw through her lust and drug-fogged eyes the giant, 
blue-veined shaft and rich, blood-heavy head of Stan Lubin's cock - 
the cock which had broken her hymen only the night before and had sent 
her on a wild roller coaster of magnificent thrills, and as she recalled 
the exciting fucking his penis had given her untouched vagina she 
shuddered with expectant horror. He was going to fuck her in front of 
all the other! Well, why not? Hadn't he done that last night, up at 
that cabin, the only difference being that the rest of them were doing 
the same to each other? A surge of obscene desire rippled through her, 
and she worked her fingers faster along her moist, pulsating cunt, 
readying it for his entry, a new salaciousness taking over her dizzy, 
subjugated brain as she gazed upwards at the boy working his hand up 
and down his throbbing, ridged shaft, the foreskin of his penis 
puckering over the engorged cock head, then wrapping itself back again 
over the straining shaft.

But Stan Lubin lowered his muscular body down near her mouth until she 
could see every grain, every pore of his prick in close-up, and he 
hissed menacingly at her: "Take my cock in your mouth, Jennifer. Take 
my cock in your mouth and suck me off."

The young teen-ager let out a mewl of surprised rebellion. She couldn't 
do that! Not after all of this, she still couldn't force herself to 
take his penis in her mouth, wrap her tongue around his sperm-loaded 
rod and ... no! The girl reached up her free hand and cupped Lubin's 
young, virile testicle, kneading them tenderly. "Please, Stan. Not 
that. Fuck me in front of the others, if you want. Fuck me like you did 
last night. I want you inside me ... now." Tears streamed from her 
eyes, running down her cheeks and soaking into the carpet. A trickle of 
the warm, clear liquid slowly dribbled between her heaving, hard-
nippled breasts. "Fuck me, Stan ... don't make me suck your cock."

"You don't hear so good, I guess," came his mocking voice. "I told you 
last night that I was going to have you suck me next time, and by God, 
it's next time right now! Goddamn it, you're going to do as you're 
told, you bitch! Now, put my cock in your mouth!"

She tried to resist, but the football hero wrapped his hands painfully 
in her black hair and brought her head up to where his cock wove 
magically in front of her lips, and he held the moaning young 
adolescent girl steady, unable to move. "Hurry up, you fucking bitch, 
hurry up! My balls are ready to explode!"

Jennifer stared at the writhing cock-head of Stan Lubin's hot young 
pick which glistened wetly with its thin sheen of lubrication, and it 
seemed to her a symbol of everything despicable and sick in the world 
at that horrid moment. The marijuana dulling her mind was a blanket 
which thankfully diffused some of the stark terror and made her a meek, 
quivering slave to the whims of the devilish high-school boy who 
kneeled naked in front of her, and she knew inside her that she was 
going to have to obey him without further question, that it was too 
late. She'd said she would be part of the group no matter what, and now 
that she was here, if she tried to back out, she knew instinctively 
that he would stop her. And then in would be worse - far worse for her 
than if she submitted now.

"Ohhhh," she mewled in abject misery, and bent her head forward.

She kissed the tip of his purplish cock-head hesitantly, and tasted the 
pungent tang of male secretions for the first time, in her young life, 
and its distinctive spice instigated wild tremors coursing through her 
.... But instead of disgust and a feeling of nausea which she had 
thought she would experience, the rippling spasms of emotion were of 
delight, for incredibly she had to admit the taste of his cock was 
actually pleasant to her. It was hard, yet fleshy and resilient, and 
gave her trembling young lips a peculiar feeling of warmth and desire 
as if the boy's penis was some delicious stick of candy which she 
couldn't get enough of. Tentatively, still unsettled and fearful about 
this new discovery, Jennifer lavished her wet, slippery pink tongue 
along his whole glans, then brushed and grazed along the palpitating, 
heated shaft from its wide underside to its coronal ridge, washing and 
playing and caressing with increased fervor with every lapping stroke.

Then she parted her glistening lips and opened her fevered mouth and 
slid his penis along the full-length of her tongue, while tiny drops of 
lubricating fluid seeping from the tip of his cock, filling the warm 
cavern between her cheeks with its pungent, salty taste. Yes, she had 
been wrong! She had thought she'd hate to suck on a boy's cock, but 
now, forced to do it, she was finding the lewd perversion extremely 
exciting, and with out further hesitation she began to bob her head up 
and down along his expanding cock shaft, feeling its head hit the back 
of her throat. She moved so that she could continue to slide the 
fingers of one hand in the throbbing young curls of her black pubic 
hair, and beyond, into the open wet slit of her clasping pussy, feeling 
her vaginal walls squeeze against her hungrily probing finger. Jennifer 
Carmel became increasingly wild with frenzied new sensations churning 
in her belly and loins, erotic fermentations that she'd never dreamed 
could exist. The delicious masculine piquancy of the boy's genitals was 
driving her almost to the point of orgasm, and more and more her mind 
singled out the one burning craving to suck him until she could taste 
his sperm. Quickly she trailed her tongue back over his pumping shaft 
and throbbing head, while Stan commenced a slow undulation with his 
hips, sliding his thick, wet cock in and out of her tightly ovaled 
mouth in time to her own movements, his hands still viciously entwined 
in her hair.

The sight of the now crazed young teen-age girl's naked body slavering 
to make the groaning boy empty his balls into her mouth was entrancing 
to his other teammates, and spurred on their own young, insatiable 
passions. The collection of muscular high-school football players gaped 
as tingling sensations of lewd, voyeuristic delight coursed through 
their minds, and they one by one began to undress and strip off their 
clothes until they were as naked as Jennifer and Stan. Some dropped to 
lie on their back and massage their engorged, aching pricks with their 
hands, a couple even helped rub each other cocks in mutual 
masturbation, but all were drawn with envy as the daughter of Roger 
Carmel sucked with tight, elastic lips the cock which was fucking her 
mouth, her cheeks hollowing on the out-stroke and expanding obscenely 
on the in-stroke. The child's eyes were glazed with a wild, ecstatic 
film of animal lust that sent shivers of excitement through them as 
well as her own naked body, forcing her hand to rub her pink, wet pussy 
lips with faster and faster abandon and sink two, then three of her 
fingers into her quivering, lust expanding cunt hole, and she began to 
gyrate and undulate her hips in total lewd-abandon. Some of the closer 
boys could even see thick fluid, a combination of saliva and 
secretions, dripping from the corners of the girl's mouth and run in 
tiny streams down her cheeks as the little innocent daughter and the 
others reveled in the cruel humiliation which Stan Lubin was subjecting 
her to. All the boys were able to view through the daze of their own 
mounting desires Jennifer's soft, wet mouth clasping greedily the 
growing penis pumping into her face, the thin, tensile rim of her lips 
clinging to the throbbing shaft as though clamped there by unseen 
fingers.

Stan Lubin grinned more lewdly than his friends as he fucked this 
virginal girl, and hungrily watched as her lust-contorted face sucked 
and licked his relentless shaft. She had taken her hand from his 
testicles and placed them behind his muscular flexing buttocks and was 
pulling him demoniacally to her, and his eyes feasted first on her 
masturbating fingers revolving in her dilated cunt and her heaving 
thighs, and then on the thick, pummeling shaft of his cock seemingly 
disappearing into a lengthened fusion of her face. She sucked his penis 
like a wanton whore, and as blood seethed in his veins and his cum 
boiled in his balls, the star halfback of the team drove forward like a 
pile-driver, sinking his prick so far into the little girl's tender 
mouth that his pubic hair brushed the tip of her nose and his balls 
danced with slapping unison against her up tilted chin. He could sense 
that his orgasm was about ready to explode, and feverishly he sought 
for his release. "Shit ... shit, shit, shit ..." he groaned.

And then the gathering of teammates saw some thing that in all their 
many lewd and perverted orgies, they'd never seen before! Stan suddenly 
jerked his cock out of Jennifer's hungry, clasping mouth and held his 
huge, red glans about two inches away from her lips.

"No, no ... Stan, please, I want it! I want your cock!" the teen-age 
girl mewled abjectly, her fingers wildly slipping inside her hair-lined 
cunt and her mouth gaping wildly. And as if in answer, Stan Lubin's 
penis began to spew hot, sticky white cum directly into the searching 
cavern of her mouth, and she immediately opened it wider and thrust out 
her wet lips in an abandoned effort to receive more. The thick, quick 
spurts streamed from his cock's head hole like milk from a cow's udder, 
and Jennifer swallowed voraciously to keep up from being overflowed and 
losing a single precious drop of his hot, lust-incited fluid, her 
Adam's-apple bobbing rapidly as his wildly ejaculating cock shot its 
lewd sperm into her face. Stan's prick throbbed out its last remaining 
stream of seminal fluid and thin strings of his hot, sticky seed ran 
down the tip of his penis to her glistening wet lips, but the debauched 
little teen-age girl desperately lifted her head off the carpet still 
more and took the deflating cock in her mouth, sucking like a starving 
calf with her lips until she had licked him clean.

Finally she sunk back to the floor, her pussy still a writhing and 
contracting fury of unquenchable desire which her fingers couldn't 
control or put out, and piteously she pleaded, "Please, fuck me now, 
Stan. Put your cock inside me ... I must have you ... my cunt's on 
fire, Stan ... don't leave me like this ... I beg you, fuck me!"

Stan Lubin chuckled and rolled to one side and sat up. "In due time 
I'll fuck you, you bitch ... when I feel you've earned it."

Her breathing came in short, hard gasps, making her full, young breasts 
rise and fall in deep panting motion. Her glazed, pot-drugged brain was 
filled with her own starved and unsated passion, her belly and loins 
ached in seething unfilled lust, and she all but crawled along the 
floor in her quivering state of maddened frustrations. "Ohhhh, Stan ... 
you must, you must give me your cock now ..."

"I'll give you a cock if you want," he chuckled lewdly, "but not mine." 
He grinned at the group of players around him. "Who wants to go first 
with her, pals?"

"Me - me," stuttered the giant Negro tackle, Lance Retliff. "I - let 
me go first Gawd!" He gawked wild-eyed at the white little girl.

"You've got such a big cock, Lance, you'll tear her in half and not 
leave anything for the rest of us. No, you go last. How about you, Vic? 
You deserve seconds, I'd say; you and Tam were the ones who set this 
thing up."

Jennifer shuddered uncontrollably as her drug maddened mind deciphered 
the lewd, carnal words of Stan Lubin and the others. They ... they were 
all going to gang-fuck her, and there was nothing she could do about it, 
for her body was one seething mass of raw naked passions. She was 
crying out for release, cowering on the rug as seven boys gleefully 
watched her shamefully writhe on the floor, her fingers still working 
desperately up in her unsatiated, wet, young cunt, and she knew that 
she would submit to any of their demands, no matter how depraved, to 
keep the fevered devil of her sexual fire from eating away her belly 
and loins and tearing at the innards of her body.

The blanket of the marijuana drug was not enough. The torture of 
knowing that first Vic and then sit others including the lewd 
thrustings of Stan's hard, blood-swollen cock would make her nothing 
more than a lewd receptacle into which their vile sperm would spew, and 
that she would allow their great shafts of hardened young flesh to drub 
her helpless pussy with or without the deadening smoke, sent tears of 
wretched humiliation from her tortured eyes, for she was at that point 
where she had to have cock. Cock, with a capital C ... Cock deep, deep 
inside her innocent young womb ... She moaned in fatalistic anguish at 
Tamera's boyfriend, Vic Cain, the thick muscled, leering halfback and 
Stan's closest buddy, stood and came over to her.

The Squirming teen-age girl looked up, hoping that he might have taken 
some small pity on her hopeless condition, but the boy's eyes flickered 
in appreciation as he saw the delicious nubile feast spread 
defenselessly before him, undisguised raciousness glittering from his 
pupils. His long, hardened cock jerked from the shadows of his muscular 
belly, and for one agonizing instant, Jennifer wondered how Tamera 
could take all of that in her tender girlish cunt. Then Vic sank to his 
knees and leaned gleefully over her and began running his rough, 
calloused hands over the adolescent, girl's smooth, cringing flesh.

Jennifer's reaction was violent!

A deep, indescribable electric shock shot through the frayed nerves of 
her body like a thousand sharp needles, dancing wickedly along the 
inner softness of her moist thighs, her buttocks ground desperately 
into the carpet to quench the seating hot flames licking hungrily at 
her naked cunt and rising bud of her exposed clitoris. The path of the 
high-school boy's coarse fingers rippled in her now quivering belly and 
out into the black-berry-like nipples of her throbbing breasts, 
drowning out the debasing humiliation of his strange roaming of her 
flesh, and her ivory breasts rose and fell heavily with her labored 
breathing.

Vic Cain couldn't wait - only a fool would have. He pushed her 
unresisting thighs wide with the rough palms of his hands and crawled 
eagerly over between their lush fullness. Desire-ridden flames rose 
higher around the pink, wet edges of Jennifer's naked cunt as she felt 
the boy's weight on top of her nakedness, and she dizzily thought of 
herself as one hot, moist tunnel which had to be filled. Her eyes 
locked greedily on the hardened cock quivering from his kneeling body, 
hovering between the slimness of her wide-stretched thighs, and 
uncontrollably, she kicked out her legs and curled her heels around his 
hips, pulling him toward her writhing body. He guided his thick, 
hardened penis straight into her throbbing cunt, his full weight 
smashing her to the floor with a deep moan, and then he rammed his 
pulsing rod as deep as it could go in her hungry, clasping vagina. His 
balls smacked heavily against her upturned, churning buttocks as he 
bored hotly into the yielding softness of her belly.

Jennifer had only one maddened thought at that moment: she wanted him 
deeper, wanted him to burrow further into her hot, quivering cunt, and 
she groaned and splayed her legs wide out on the carpet to give the 
football player greater access. "Fuck me deeper! Fuck me deeper!"

As if in apology, Vic rammed his tongue in her mouth, and Jennifer 
sucked thirstily at his drooling saliva in wild frenzy, her body caught 
up in a whirlpool of raw lust as his jerking cock pistoned into her 
mercilessly, the brutal thuds of his pelvis smacking her resounding 
noisily, and she felt her climax beginning ... she was so close ...

And then as she bucked uncontrollably against Vic Cain, she felt his 
plunging cock stiffen without warning and spurt its white-hot liquid 
far into the hidden recesses of her tortured womb. Jennifer moaned in 
frustration, for he had cum too soon, leaving her a second away from 
her own magical apex, and she strained against his rapidly deflating 
cock and cried out with anguish when he rolled away from her with a 
happy, satiated smile.

The fire burned on in Jennifer's churning thighs, and she waited 
impatiently for the next boy Stan would chose, "Oh God," she sobbed 
hysterically, "I'm going crazy! Someone! Anyone! Fuck me!"

Greg Mothra threw himself over the girl's squirming body without 
ceremony, straddling her stomach heavily, the soft whiteness of her 
writhing skin as it brushed against his dangling testicles causing his 
long, slender prick to jerk in anticipation. To the insatiable little 
girl, he was only a boy, a boy with a cock that could slice her burning 
pussy, and that was all that mattered, but Mothra had other indecent, 
perverted plans for his schoolmate's girl; he moved forward and lay his 
hard, wet penis between the valley of her full, fleshy young breasts 
and cupped his hands around their quivering mounds, pushing them 
together and trapping his pulsating cock softly between them Jennifer 
looked down her nose and watched the red bulbous head growing between 
her tightly held breasts, and could feel it throb against the sensitive 
tissue of her skin, sending further sheets of hot licking flame down to 
the quivering slit of her palpitating cunt.

"No! Fuck me, fuck me, please, please! Not there! Not there!"

Mothra slid his blue-veined cock faster and faster between her 
straining breasts, ignoring her anguished pleas, saliva trickling from 
his puffing lips moistening the narrow valley and making the passage 
easier for his rampaging shaft. Desperately he pumped, faster and 
faster, and then before the teen-age girl's horrified eyes, his lust-
built cum spurted out in hot sticky streams over her heaving young 
breasts, ran across her creamy white shoulders, splashed against her 
neck and chin, and sent droplets clinging to her cheeks, forehead, and 
flaying hair.

"Goddamn you!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, and cursed the boy 
with all the foul words that came to her lewdly deranged mind. "I want 
a man in me! I want a cock up my cunt! Now!" Her vagina was a steaming 
hot cavern that twitched like a nerve out of control, and her body was 
going to explode if someone didn't stuff his penis in her soon. She 
sobbed hysterically crying out for deliverance.

Stan Lubin grinned with cruel, salacious satisfaction as he saw the 
lovely little daughter of Roger Carmel writhing out of control on the 
floor. The teen-ager was beyond objecting to anything now, and she 
would probably welcome it, he thought gleefully. But he couldn't go too 
far, he knew; he had his orders from Tamera to do so much to this 
surging young female child and no more - and one didn't cross the 
orders of Sam Zeigler, even those given indirectly through Tamera and 
Vic - not if one wanted to keep a steady supply of passion-inducing 
marijuana coming. Anyway, what the hell; there'd be other times, other 
days ... He turned to another of his teammates, who was stroking his 
own turgid penis, by the way he was moaning and whipping his hand over 
his shaft, he was about ready to shoot his cum straight into the air, 
and it would be a shame to waste it when there was Jennifer ready and 
willing to accept the load. "Ken, go get her, boy!" he said to King, 
one of the team's receivers. "Fuck her like she wants!"

Jennifer's eyes were glazed in uncontrollable lust, and all she wanted 
was to feel the deliciousness of a man fucking her. The young girl 
wanted her belly filled with great swirling pools of white hot semen 
and feel it shaking around wetly inside her --

The heavy body of Ken King flowed over her and once more she was lost 
in the sea of perversion and unquenchable desire. She fitted his 
oversized cock-head incautiously into the entrance of her pink-lipped, 
wet cunt, and frenziedly she locked her legs tightly around his back 
and jerked her hips up, gyrating wildly, holding the boy deep in her 
gripping vagina. King came quickly, his hot juice splashing her womb, 
and then she felt the cool rush of air against her fevered genitals as 
he left her. Before she could protest and beg for more or Stan could 
call out to the next boy, George Slade leaped up and grabbed her slim, 
tapered, wriggling ankles and thrust them up until her knees were hard 
against her swollen, still sperm-drenched breasts. As she lay so 
totally exposed, her hair-lined pussy splayed wide and her tender anus 
puckering in full view, the teen-aged boy rammed his trembling cock 
deep into her cum-filled cunt with a violent thrust.

"Ahhh!" Jennifer wailed as she felt the school boy squeeze his penis 
along the full length of her tightly clenching cunt, his body quivering 
from his delicious fucking, his hips surging against the soft flesh of 
her raised wide-splayed crevice and moon-shaped buttocks. His swollen 
cock-head hit the top of her burning channel, mashing her cervix, 
making her writhe hot and delirious. "Yes, oh yes ... fuck faster ... 
fuck faster ...!"

The little, once-naive, once virginal teen-ager, strained desperately 
against his ramming prick and bucked crazily, arching and rearing her 
white, wide-stretched ass like the bitch in heat that she was, while 
George Slade groaned and whined with a torrent of insensible words and 
rotated his thighs, splitting the walls of her milking hot vagina with 
each pounding stroke. Then he gave a hoarse cry and the glans hole at 
the peak of his blood-swollen penis opened like the gates of a dam and 
wildly lashed hot, thick semen into her writhing belly, just as the 
others had, sending shivering geysers of hungry tension flooding 
through her loins, the wash of sudden excitement mixing obscenely with 
his molten cum juice spurting from his cock buried in her churning, 
still unsatisfied cunt. And then through the dulled screen of her 
drugged and orgiastic-maddened mind, Jennifer opened her eyes as the 
boy removed his limp cock and another boy took his place almost without 
a pause.

"That's it, Gene!" Stan urged the teen-age teammate whose nickname was 
'Cowboy."

"Yeah, man, she's one wild ride today!" And then he laughed with a 
barking, sinister laugh of utter contempt and lewd delight, as he added 
in reference to Roger's love of horses and horseback riding, "Too bad 
you don't have spurs, Cowboy, you could really make her buck!"

"Cowboy" Rogers giggled shrilly and pulled the unprotesting almost 
incoherent little girl on top of him, his prick slipping into 
Jennifer's overflowing, hot young pussy as he did; then holding her 
white, slippery thigh, he bounced her harder and harder on his length 
of shaft, while she arched over his pumping body and spread her legs 
wide on either side, giving all the boys a different, more provocative 
view of her now up-tilted anus and crevice of her vagina slit, which 
was wetly pink and nibbling at the virile penis sawing upwards into her 
tender hair-fringed cunt. She was moaning and groaning now, for 
although she was incapable of either controlling the boys or her own 
wild, spawning need to find final release from her spiraling 
excitement, the previous series of pummeling, cruel fucks had rubbed 
her thin, unaccustomed walls of her lubricious, tiny vaginal tunnel 
absolutely flooded, and the new and different cock slamming into her 
made loud wet sluicing noises in the other boys' cum as it plunged 
rhythmically in and out of her. When finally Rogers screamed out his 
bursting orgasm, and her womb was once more filled with alien, strange 
seed that hit her inner belly with savage, boiling cream, she dropped 
off of the boy and lay panting on the rug, her loins and thighs still 
twitching and jerking with unrequited lusts. But she gripped her small, 
young hands into fists and clenched her eyes shut and cried out in 
defensive agony:

"No more ... let me rest, please let me rest ... my pussy is so filled 
.... it hurts now ... I must have a rest ..." Her feeble pleas were 
directed as much to herself as to the ring of panting, lecherous young 
males, all naked and glassy-eyed with lewdness around her, for she knew 
that her body was crying out for more, ever for more ... and she had to 
stop herself from demanding an other cock, or else she'd never be able 
to walk again.

"N - now me, Stan," groaned Lance Retliff in a stammer of lusting 
head. "You - you promised I could have her too, after the others ... I 
gotta have her or, or I'll cum all over your rug, I will!"

"Sure, Lance," Stan Lubin said to the great, hulking Negro team member. 
"You can have her, and right now."

Jennifer opened her eyes, and her shocked gaze fell on the black boy's 
monstrous penis pointing directly at her. She gasped in abject, 
astonished fear. She couldn't take his huge cock even if she wasn't so 
wretchedly, painfully exhausted!" He'd split her open from anus to 
navel, she knew it! And ... and he was a Negro! Frantically, with 
visions of her ripped and torn body bleeding on the carpet flickering 
wildly through her cringing mind, Jennifer looked around the room. They 
couldn't allow this to happen! They couldn't!

But all she saw were horribly excited young faces and eager sweaty 
bodies, and heavy, excited breathing. All of the young football team 
members were wide-eyed and eager for Lance Retliff to cruelly ravish 
her white quivering body with his burnished black penis. The Negro 
stepped to the tortured girl, his ebony penis rearing out from his 
muscular dark stomach like a third leg, his two great, sperm-laden 
testicles swinging below. Jennifer, through wide-splayed thighs, 
watched in frozen awe as the black-skinned torso descended over her 
like night across the sands of a bleached desert, and a shock rippled 
through her as her straining, defenseless cunt felt the trembling, wet 
head of his mammoth prick graze her already sperm-drenched vaginal 
lips, the shock of which traveled from the base of her loins to the top 
of her skull, where it shattered in a cascade of licentious 
abandonment. Her pussy jerked involuntarily forward to nibble hungrily 
at it, and nothing else existed in the world except that huge, fiery 
sword of black, hard flesh. She had to be filled in spite of what the 
Negro might do to her, and gone were her natural prejudices against his 
race, her principles, her humiliation; there was only the teasing 
reality of his probing cock crawling between her hot, steaming vaginal 
furrow, tracing lines of tiny wet circles of anticipatory secretions as 
it searched for her pulsating, bearded little cunt mouth. The alien 
cock jostled for a moment against her pink ragged edges of flesh, 
insinuating itself gently between them - and then Lance Retliff 
flicked his hips and forced his blood filled cock brutally into the 
open lips of her rubbery flesh.

Jennifer threw her head wildly from side to side. Aggggg!" she screamed 
and desperately kicked her legs, trying to free her impaled little 
cunt. In her wild passion she'd overestimated herself, and she'd been 
right with her first, fearful reaction: his negroid cock was too big! 
But Lance Retliff grinned lewdly down on the white young teen-age girl 
and levered his hands into a push-up position and slid another inch of 
his relentless monster into her excruciatingly painful vagina. Jennifer 
screamed again - another inch burrowed inside her --

"Nooo ... nooo," she sobbed hysterically, tears gushing from her 
swollen eyes, but her struggling protests and resistance only brought 
more crushing thrusts from the Negro boy until his black cock plowed 
through her rippling pink soft flesh and smashed her inner organs into 
tight tiny balls that could not breathe or move. His penis was coming 
out her throat, out her mouth, curling around her brain ...

Suddenly it stopped with an earth-shattering jolt as Lance thudded 
heavily against her white, up-turned buttocks, his inflated, sperm-
bloated balls smacking heavily into the widespread crevice, and his 
huge ebony cock was imbedded to its hilt. The boy lay still for a 
moment while the bereaved pale-skinned daughter of Roger and Lonnie 
Carmel became adjusted to the presence of his huge shaft, and he lewdly 
savored the way her pain-contorted face slowly relaxed, her gnashing 
teeth opening with a soft sigh. Then, unable to control himself further 
he began a slow revolving motion with his hips, a slight sawing motion 
as he ground his cock in and out of Jennifer's moist, wide-stretched 
pussy, thrusting forward mercilessly from the apex of his withdrawal 
and battering her pain-wracked body hard against the floor, expanding 
her still cringing walls of her vagina until she fit around his 
instrument like a well tailored glove of flesh.

The rapined, drugged little teen-ager was dimly aware through the haze 
of pain and desire that the rest of the boys were closing in, peering 
unbelievingly within inches of Lance Retliff's huge buried member, 
amazed that the tight, slender cunt they had seen before was capable of 
swallowing the whole of his black shaft. From both sides hands came out 
and began to rub lewdly over her moon-shaped buttocks, pulling and 
teasing the fleshy hair-covered lips locked so tightly around the 
pumping Negro boy's penis, and more hands clawed over every part of her 
skin until she thought she was covered with a thousand tiny insects. 
The living room became a giant octopus of grasping tentacles reaching 
out to help the obscene crushing of her moral and physical being. Weird 
sensations tingled through her helpless body as the outrageous 
debasement and subjugation brought strange masochistic pleasures 
seeping through her every sinew and marrow, and her hips started an 
unconscious response to the black cock fucking her and the thousand 
fingers groping at her and the mass of leering faces surrounding her.

"Ohhhh, yes, yes ..." she crooned. "Oh God yes, fuck me like this ..." 
She squirmed lewdly among the myriad hands teasing her flesh. Cocks 
were everywhere, the boys of the football team stroking them over her 
in time to the lewd black and white flesh smacking together before them 
-- long ones, short ones, fat ones; she was a prisoner of them and the 
great ebony piston fucking into her deliciously wet and expanding cunt.

"Oh, don't stop, don't ever stop!" she grunted and she gyrated her 
thighs and buttocks faster in a vain attempt to match the poles of 
hardened flesh above her and in her, and then she felt her hands 
uncontrollably grasp a couple of the wavering penises and she started 
to stroke them viciously and hard in communal rhythm to the shaft of 
anthracite-like penis pummeling her throbbing vagina. She was no longer 
a little, despoiled youngster, but a great morass of flaccid female 
flesh, unable to think or breathe.

Then all of a sudden, the Negro boy's cock inflated momentarily and he 
too grunted out his release of alien semen, shooting the hot, 
torrential flood of sperm deep up inside her, the load ricocheting 
wildly back against her battered cervix and flowing obscenely down from 
her matted hair-lined cuntal lips to drip down between the white 
crevice of her still uncontrollably convulsing buttocks and stain the 
rug. Other penises similarly exploded, bathing her in a shower of mixed 
semen as the lustful, virile young boys from her high school drenched 
her already sticky, wet flesh, her proud, darkly-nipple breasts, her 
passion lined face with surges of hot, white, gushing seed.

And Jennifer's long-sought wish came true, for the utter lewdness, the 
total rage of unhindered salaciousness had finally been enough to 
trigger her own impending climax simultaneously with the boys' urgent 
releases. She screwed her tight, young buttocks up hard against Lance 
Retliff's still squirting penis in her cunt and with a scream between 
her wide open, sperm glistening mouth, she felt her newborn tender 
young body burst into a Roman-candle of colors and stars, orgasmic 
juices swirling from the depths of her womb and churning obscenely 
together with the black boy's alien seed. She screamed, her legs 
flailing the carpet on either side of his rampaging thighs and the cock 
fucking her, and then her strength was suddenly gone and she collapsed 
as Lance slowly removed his limp penis from her semen-drenched pussy.

Stan Lubin stared in awe at the quivering, quietly moaning young girl 
on the floor, as thunderstruck with the overwhelming perversion based 
actions she had be a party to as the others were. She was the most 
fantastic, most insatiable girl he'd ever encountered. Great God, you 
couldn't wear her cunt out! One or a thousand fuckings were all the 
same to her, spurring her on to wilder uncontrollable frenzies of lust. 
He took a deep, trembling sigh, and even though he'd cum twice already 
the very prurience of this virginal looking, innocent-acting little 
girl enticed his prick to give a little jerk of renewed interest.

"We'll take her on again, fellows," he said to the panting, excited 
group of teammates. "We'll fuck her all day if you like, because she 
doesn't have to be at the Club Royale until this evening."

"Can we ... can we go to the Club, too?" Ken King asked. "I hear tell 
they've got some wild shows in the upstairs rooms, and ... and if this 
little sweetheart is going to be an attraction there, oh God, I'd love 
to see her then!"

Stan Lubin shook his head sadly. "Naw, not even I can go. You know how 
strict the state is about under-age drinking, and Zeigler won't let us 
in because of our age. We'll have to make-do with her until he comes to 
pick her up." He grinned lewdly. "What are you worried about, Ken? You 
fuck her enough here and now, and you won't be able to move a muscle 
tonight anyway."

"Yeah ..." King responded, licking his rubbery, wide lips.

Time, after that, became a meaningless and blurred merging of cocks and 
more cocks to the hapless, sex-drugged young daughter of Roger and 
Lonnie Carmel. She was beyond emotion, her body still reacting with 
orgasm to several of the boys' fuckings, but her strength was gone and 
she followed mechanically. Many long hours later, she was dressed and 
cleaned up by Stan and a couple of the other teen-agers, her limbs too 
weak and satiated to be able to perform for herself, and only dimly she 
heard the gravelly voice of an older man directing Stan to take her to 
his car. Slowly putting one rubbery leg before the other, she leaned on 
the boy and allowed him to take her outside and to a large, gold-
colored Cadillac parked near the door. Exhausted, soiled, but 
pleasantly satisfied with a euphoria of drugged unawareness of what she 
had done, she tottered as he opened the back door of the large 
limousine and almost fell inside, lowering herself to the soft cushions 
and unconsciously feeling the warm, heavily breathing body of a woman 
next to her. She looked up, and then her eyes flew open with startled, 
abject bewilderment. Torment surged like a stimulant through her, 
sending all of her previous torpor from her in one split second of 
comprehension as she recognized the woman, but she still didn't 
understand why she was there, why she was in the back of this strange 
man's luxurious car.

"Mother!" she gasped, and collapsed in a dead faint.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4

Sam Zeigler, for all of his aching desire to once more delve into the 
hot, tingling pussy of Mrs. Lonnie Carmel, wasn't able to drive to her 
house until the early afternoon. Business before pleasure, he ruefully 
had to admit, and there were many things to take care of at the Club 
Royale before he could break free.

The girl performer from last night, for instance. She had been due for 
a bonus, after letting Fang, the German Shepherd, fuck her with his 
long animal penis during the show, but Zeigler had discovered that the 
girl was still moaningly delirious, almost insane from the perverted 
act, and he'd had to arrange for sanatarium care for her instead. Which 
was too bad, because she was a star attraction on his second-floor 
theater-of-the-lewd. They couldn't get over the different way different 
women reacted to Fang - the lascivious, totally debauched wife of 
Martin Oliss, luscious blond-haired Cylvia, had nearly gone mad when 
she had let Fang fuck her, but in the opposite way; she couldn't get 
enough of the dog's immense wet shaft, and cried out for more, more! 
Idly, Zeigler wondered how Lonnie Carmel was going to react, when she 
met the carnally trained German Shepherd for the first time ...

And then there was an order of broken glasses to take care of and an 
explanation to his superior in Los Angeles why the weekly take wasn't 
its usual high figure ... little things, but what with one thing and 
another, he didn't park his Cadillac El Dorado in the tract-house 
driveway of the Roger Carmel home until after one o'clock.

Lonnie, black-haired and eyes swollen with fear and regret, tremblingly 
answered the door. She meekly let him in and the gangster had a hard 
time controlling his cock from leaping into full erection just at the 
clothed sight of the lovely wife. She was as delicate as an orchid, and 
her eyes were half-lidded and sensually downcast, and it was obvious 
that she'd spent the torturous hours while she agonizingly had been 
waiting by drinking ... Good, good ...

Lonnie was in a disparaging, irrational state of panic; the frozen 
kind, in which the body is too confused and terrified to really plan 
out a course of action, and now facing the gruff, not unhandsome but 
craggily ruthless face of the sneering gangster she was ready to bolt 
and run past him, out into the quiet Saturday afternoon suburban 
street, screaming at the top of her lungs for help ... but then her 
desire to protect herself, her marriage, her family occurred to her and 
she stifled her first impulse. "Come in," she said softly, with a 
choking catch to her normally smooth, warm voice, "come in, Mr. 
Zeigler. I - I expected you before now."

"Business, Lonnie," he said, grinning and entering the foyer. "And call 
me Sam. After all, we're good friends. Intimate friends," he added with 
a snicker. He threw his hat on the hall table and rubbed his hands 
together, eager to get down to business.

The trembling, misery-and-guilt-laden wife of Roger Carmel felt 
unsteady, and the room swayed as she stepped with him into the living 
room. She'd had too much to drink, she knew that, but she'd hope that 
the headiness the scotch gave her would act as a blessed covering over 
her naked shame, and she felt naked under his lascivious gaze, naked 
and dirty, even though she had showered twice and was wearing a dress. 
Perhaps it was the black brassiere and panties. The very thought of 
what he had so pruriently demanded her to wear, had made abundantly 
obvious on the phone this morning would excite him to see, was the 
implied filth crawling over her white, satin smooth skin ...

She took a seat on the low couch, aware that her shapely legs were 
provocatively exposed to his gleaming, salacious vision, and as she 
looked up at his reddening face and saw how hard he was breathing, 
there was no more doubt in her mind as to his intentions. Sam Zeigler 
was after only one thing: her body. The gangster walked slowly around 
her and sat down close to her thigh, leering at her ripe, quaking form, 
his lips glistening with saliva and his left eye ticked slightly from 
his obvious anticipation.

"Now, Lonnie, let's consider you and me," he said softly. "I want 
something you've got, and you want me to give you something in return. 
I think a straight trade can be arranged very easily. Don't you?"

"Mr. Zeigler - Sam," she said hastily, catching the fire in his eyes, 
"Sam, I love my family ... I want to forget about what happened between 
us last night ... I've never been with any other man except my husband 
before ... please let me alone."

"You joke," Sam replied, his voice cool and contemptuous. "A great deal 
of money was spent on you last night, and I don't like throwing money 
away. I like to get a return for my investment, and damn it, you're 
going to work it off, let me tell you."

Lonnie stared wild-eyed at the sweating, greedy gangster, his beady 
eyes glowing like burnished wet olives in their sockets as he devoured 
her full, rich body. "Money ... I'll pay you back. I'll give you 
money," the hapless wife babbled. "How ... how much?"

"I don't want your money," Zeigler spat with a cruel smirk. "No, I want 
you, Mrs. Carmel, you and your wild-ass, swinging body."

"Oh, God," Lonnie Carmel moaned and fell back against the couch, her 
whole body displayed to this evil underworld leader, her skirt hiking 
up to expose most of her slim, young, milk-white thighs. "I can't make 
love to you again, Mr. Zei - Sam, I just can't!"

"Yes, you can," Zeigler coaxed, thick lips shining as he licked them. 
"And you will. God, you're too beautifully built not to, for Christ's 
sake. I'm going to really enjoy this little swap."

Lonnie's mind whirled from the scotch and the humiliation of sitting 
beside this vile, depraved man while he uttered his degrading monologue 
of lurid demands, and frantically she attempted one last desperate act 
of bravado in the faint hope that she could scare him into silence and 
letting her free from his evil bondage. She looked at him, steeling 
herself to be cold, her courage spurred by the overdose of liquor and 
her desperation.

"If you don't leave right now, Sam, I'm going to call the police. 
You're trying to blackmail me in the most despicable way imaginable, 
and that's against the law. You'll be arrested as a sex offender, I 
bet, on top of blackmail and coercion, and in this state that means 
even after you serve your prison sentence, you have to always report to 
the police in every town you live in. You'll lose your license to 
operate that dirty nightclub of yours and you'll be out of a job and --"

His harsh, biting laughter cut off her threats like an axe through a 
piece of kindling wood. "Don't be so damned naive, Lonnie. You think I 
could operate without the cops knowing about what I do? Do you know 
that the county deputy sheriffs deliver my bootleg in the trunk of 
their cruisers at night, and the mayor, two councilmen and the chief of 
police himself not only take cuts, but were at the performance last 
night? You think they'd do anything about your accusations, even if 
they believed you - you, who willingly came to my club and joined in 
the fun?" Zeigler chortled at the young, tear-streaked wife and dropped 
his hand down between her clenched, defensively resisting thighs. 
"Lonnie, I'm going to fuck you and fuck you good, or otherwise I'll 
ruin you."

Lonnie had to face the stark, cold fact that there was no other choice 
if she wanted him to always keep what she had done a deep secret from 
her husband and daughter, and if she didn't do as he commanded, she 
would lose Roger and be castigated beyond belief. Her hips and rounded 
buttocks jumped at his familiar, decadent touch, but she didn't protest 
as Zeigler's hand slid her dress up her front until his cool, grasping 
finger tips suddenly came into hot, searing contact with her thinly 
covered flesh. She squirmed back a little, whimpering helplessly as he 
slipped one finger under the tight elastic band of her erotic panties 
and gently teased the narrow, sensitive slit of her vagina, parting her 
soft raven-hued pubic hair and tickling her throbbing tiny clitoris. 
She sucked in her breath tightly, trying to hold back her overwhelming 
urge to hit and scratch the gangster's gloating, blood-infused face, to 
pick up a knife and plunge it through the ice-water heart of this 
insidiously corrupting man. But she couldn't; all she could do was 
sprawl helplessly while Zeigler roamed his hands over her body at will, 
building up to the final, most indecent liberty of all, and a cascade 
of tears once more poured her mortification and sickness down over her 
trembling cheeks.

"Spread your legs, Lonnie," Zeigler breathed harshly. "Big Daddy Sam 
wants to see those pretty black panties stretched over your pussy."

"Oh God, no, not here. Don't make me do it here," she pleaded softly. 
"My daughter might come home and catch us."

Sam Zeigler, well aware that her daughter wouldn't be home, that 
Jennifer Carmel was at the home of Stan Lubin getting gang-fucked by 
some of the boy's friends, didn't tell the distraught woman that lewd 
fact. Instead, he removed his hands and stood up, pulling her upright 
and giving the now totally capitulating wife a moment to smooth her 
dress down. "You're right, Lonnie baby. We'll fuck in your bedroom."

The full impact of his evilness hit Lonnie then. He was going to force 
her to make love on her own marital bed! On the same sheets where she 
had so often taken the warm and loving embrace of her husband, Rower! 
Sam Zeigler couldn't possibly find a more despicable way of debauching 
her, truly crush her slightest mental resistance, but the wretched 
young wife allowed Zeigler to lead her down the hall to her sacrosanct 
bedroom, shocked into surrender by the utter baseness and brutal 
obscenity of the gangster. How could he do such things? He wasn't 
human.

"Now, come on, Lonnie-baby, get that dress off and let's see you in the 
nude," Zeigler grunted, and before she even had time to react, he was 
unbuttoning his own clothes. She watched him strip, frozen trancelike 
in horror as his thick penis stood out from beneath his slight paunch 
like a heavy, blunt spear, and he grinned lewdly at her and stroked his 
massive uncircumcised shaft back and forth, taunting her. "Like that, 
Lonnie? Remember it from last night?"

Lonnie tried to speak, but no sound came from her constricted, parched 
throat. Against her will, her eyes dropped again to his hard, fleshy 
cock that he was holding in his hand, and she knew that there was no 
possible escape. The crude gangster was going to ravish her defenseless 
body no matter what she did or tried, and she was alone and completely 
at his mercy - and she was well aware now that he had no mercy in him 
to give. Only lust and sadism.

"Are you going to take that dress off or do I do it for you?" Zeigler 
snarled, reaching out his thick, meaty hand, and with a sudden jerk he 
drew her hard against him, his erect and throbbing prick ramming her in 
the belly painfully. He snaked his hand around her body and in one 
swift downward motion unzipped her dress; Lonnie could feel the cool 
rush of the afternoon air against her naked skin as he slid the garment 
from her shoulders, and then she heard him mutter in lusty appreciation 
as the dress fluttered to the carpeted floor. He dropped in front of 
her, his knees thumping hard against the floor, and while she swayed 
above him, he hooked his fingers in the elastic band of her black lacy 
panties and pulled them down slowly over the softness of her round, 
full buttocks, letting them drop with her dress in a skimpy pile on the 
floor.

"Don't ... don't take off your brassiere," he ordered in a panting 
voice, his gasps having a wheezy quality to them as if he was laboring 
with an asthma attack. "It ... it turns me on with you like this!"

She stood before him, humiliatingly naked except for the black cups of 
thin material surrounding her white, quivering breasts, and she almost 
lost her balance when she felt the sudden wet contact of his glistening 
lips pressing tightly into the nude, flesh of her soft, vaginal area. 
Her soft, dark pubic hair grazed his cheeks and he spread her pink, 
moist pussy lips with his fingers and flicked his lizard-like tongue 
into the sheath of the softly pulsating slit. The beautiful fear-crazed 
wife jumped from the electrifying assault on her female genitals, 
falling backwards, the edge of the double bed catching her behind the 
knees, and she sprawled with a soul-searing moan on the mattress, flat 
on her back, her thighs inadvertently wide as she landed.

Zeigler pounced on the bed and caught her by her ankles before she 
could close her legs; she struggled, but it was a one-sided battle, and 
then she relaxed, offering all of her pink, hair-fringed cunt to his 
salacious and greedy eyes, knowing that she would have to give in 
eventually, and that there was nothing left now but the horrible 
submission to the gangster's every obscene whim. Her body was a 
helpless toy to be abused as he wanted, and he would only cease his 
animalistic quest for satisfaction after he'd exploded his hot liquid 
sperm inside her soft and resilient belly.

"On ... on your knees, Lonnie-baby," Zeigler groaned, his licentious 
excitement aroused beyond belief by the mere sight of her voluptuous 
body. Her inspiring nudity with her erotic, pleasure filled thighs, 
perfectly formed hips and legs, trembling, begging vaginal lips - 
never in Zeigler's debauched life had he seen such perfection! "On your 
knees ..." he husked impatiently.

"Why?" the bitterly humiliated young wife mewled. "What ... what are 
you going to do to me?"

"Just a little fun, Lonnie-baby," Zeigler crooned hoarsely. "Don't you 
worry none. You're going to get the ride of your life, because Big 
Daddy Sam here loves to fuck ass."

Ass! He wants to put his giant penis up my anus, to clam in my rectum! 
Lonnie had prepared herself a little bit, as much as she could, for any 
thing he had wanted of her - but this, this sodomy between her 
buttocks wasn't human! It wasn't right! He couldn't mean what he said, 
he was only trying to frighten her further, to make her crawl and plead 
with him. He wouldn't dare make love to her there, like some rutting 
animal!

Rough hands suddenly pressed against her firm, hot flesh, Zeigler's 
massive paws digging into the resilient, protesting skin of her 
buttocks and thighs, leaving painful red marks of his clawing 
fingertips. "I said turn over, bitch!" he snarled impatiently. "Turn 
over, or by God, I'll break your arms!"

Whimpering, sucking back her desire to cry out in torment and horror, 
Lonnie Carmel obeyed, rolling over and then kneeling with her head 
pressed tightly into the sheets, her frail little hands clutching 
desperately at a pillow for support, the full, white moons of her 
buttocks stretching up in sacrificial offering to the lewdly 
uncontrollable gangster. God! Zeigler heatedly thought, my balls are 
aching ... and he longed to thrust forward, into the narrow teasing 
slit of the clenched, soft crevice between her quivering cheeks. But he 
knew that this was the moment for the conquest of her mind, now that 
the first stage of physical submission had been successfully breeched, 
and the change of spirit was best accomplished with softness.

He slid to his knees behind her wavering white buttocks, leaned forward 
and planted a warm, wet kiss with his thick, slavering lips on the 
thin, pink folds of flesh which covered her protruding vagina, and he 
felt her quiver and heard her groan slightly as her body trembled from 
his moist contact. Then he ran his long, wet tongue slowly and 
teasingly down the full length of her tightly clenched crevice, and 
with gleaming eyes, perceived that the submissive wife slowly let the 
straining muscles of her inner thighs relax and the beginning formation 
of aroused moisture gleaming on the soft pubic curls lining her cuntal 
lips as Lonnie let her buttock cheeks slip wider and wider apart.

Lonnie had geared her mind to the fighting of pain and subjugation, but 
not the softness and pleasure she was feeling now as Zeigler pressed 
his open mouth hard against the pink lips of her vaginal slit and 
thrust his tongue deep inside the smooth, fleshy folds of her gently 
throbbing cunt mouth. She squirmed slightly, and he tightened his hands 
on her buttocks so she couldn't slide from him, and then he began to 
work the whole inner crevice, sucking and licking at it crazily as her 
buttocks throbbed and swayed around his face. The unexpected switch 
from brutality to caressing tenderness had, in spite of her vow not to 
succumb physically to his rapacious demands caught her off guard, and 
she sensed a great weight being released from around her constricted 
heart and soul, and unconsciously, the unbelievable relief that follows 
such lifting of a burden began to allow her body to respond sexually.

"Ahhhh," Jenny Carmel's young mother sighed as slowly she found herself 
being unwillingly but irresistibly drawn into desiring more delicious 
and lewd sucklings of her loins, and from deep within her belly and 
flowering, palpitating cunt came strange, magical stirrings of tingling 
ecstasy. She shivered as the heat of spasming lust first started small 
and then grew with the impetus caused by Zeigler's curling and flicking 
wet tongue imbedded up between her thighs until she couldn't help but 
screw her buttocks back against his wildly licking face, her taut hip 
muscles making them hollow and contract around the sides of his cheeks. 
She was unable to prevent herself from writhing and churning in a 
lascivious dance of ravishment as the gangster licked and sucked at her 
with a greedy, untamed lust that threatened to drive both of them 
crazy.

Her wide-splayed cunt surrendered completely to Zeigler, for in a gasp 
of dazed, purely emotional reaction, Carmel's terror-stricken and 
humiliated wife no longer even wanted to resist the hot, teasing 
swirlings of tongue, mouth and lips in her swaying vaginal crevice, and 
her pussy secreted lubrications which ran in warm trickles down her 
inner legs and over the oscillating cheeks of Zeigler. The depraved 
gangland leader lapped up her sexual secretions, adding them to his own 
saliva as he teasingly bathed her cunt and the tiny puckered sphincter 
ring of her defenseless, fully exposed anus.

Zeigler sensed from the wild abandoned tempo of her body that she had 
capitulated mind, body and soul, and knew instinctively that it was 
time ... time to ram his burgeoning cock into her innocent, softly 
working rectum, its tiny, tender opening now well lubricated. He raised 
up behind her buttocks on his knees and taunted her cunt with the 
violently quivering head of his blood raging cock, her helpless little 
whimpers drifting back to him as he ran its insinuating tip between her 
wide-splayed pussy lips.

She was moaning incessantly as he wormed the first, small portion of 
his blunt cock-head into her anus with a slight pop as the tiny 
puckered mouth gave way to his pressure.

"Oooooooh, God!" he heard her groan down into the pillow but still 
continued his constant penetration of her viscous-coated rectal channel 
until the entire length of his massive penis was being submerged up 
inside in slow, tormenting inches. Zeigler doubted whether the lovely, 
now completely conquered young housewife really was aware that he was 
going to fully penetrate her asshole and he grinned lewdly to himself 
and wormed more of his large cock into her snugly tight aperture, 
savoring with pleasure the clenching fist of her burning entrails as 
they closed over his thick penis like a custom-made fleshy glove. And 
then, he gave a quick hip-thrusting stab, seething with the knowledge 
born of experience and intuition that the devastated mind of the wife 
beneath him could only flash signals that it was all right ... that it 
had to be all right, because she could say nothing else to counteract 
the rape of her back sides.

Lonnie thought crazily, it's all right ... it's all right ... as his 
passion-inflamed cock ground its way through the vainly resisting 
barriers of her clutching anal muscles. Then suddenly she felt as if 
she was filled with a telephone pole, and a warning spasm that her 
tortured body was being ripped open, her belly painfully bursting at 
the seams, flooded her brain.

"AAAAAAggggggg!" she cried out deliriously, "God, nooooo ... it hurts! 
It's going to kill me!" She tried to pull away, but she was too fully 
impaled now by his tremendously throbbing penis, and Zeigler held her 
fast by the buttocks and rammed in some more. He grinned excitedly: Of 
course it hurt her. It was supposed to hurt ... at first! His penis 
moved forward inexorably, and he thrust his thighs forward until she 
could barely think for the pain.

"Push back!" he commanded. "Push back, you hot little bitch!"

She did, for she knew that every way was agony, and she opened her ass 
that final inch be cause she had been so ordered and stretched her 
quivering, tortured buttocks wider until she thought she would die. 
Zeigler's vicious prick surged into the full confines of her back 
passage until his balls slapped harshly against the wetness of her up-
turned vaginal slit, and then crooning with delight, the gangster began 
to fuck rhythmically and mercilessly in and out.

He watched as he kneeled above her white moon-shaped bottom, seeing the 
reddish skin of her round little anus draw back with his cock, grasping 
it as if it didn't want him to leave. At first the pressure had been 
almost unbearable, but now it was just tight and warm, the type of 
squeeze which always promised to draw his sperm out of his testicles 
with the ferocity of a sucking whirlpool. He thrust forward again, 
hearing a howling cry of pain tear from the grimacing lips of the 
Jenny's mother's wide-open mouth, and his cock tingled with fire. He 
would cum soon, and he wanted to feel his torrent of semen surging into 
her beautiful white, once proud buttocks. That would be the ultimate 
subjugation!

"My God! My God!" Lonnie screamed. "You're killing me! My husband will 
kill you for this!"

Zeigler laughed cruelly. "Are you planning to tell him, Lonnie-baby? If 
you do, I'll have to tell him all about last night," he taunted, and 
stroked more rapidly into her anus hard and fast, battering her 
defenseless, tormented thighs with his hips. Lonnie groaned loudly with 
the agony, and then moaned abjectly as Zeigler added: "Don't forget, 
bitch, that this is your husband's house, you husband's own bed ... and 
I'm fuckin' you in the ass in it! You think he would ever touch you 
again, your preciously upright husband?"

Lonnie dug her nails into her palms and bit her lower lip as the 
lashing of his words stung her mind insensate. But for all her 
humiliation and tearful misery over the situation to which she had 
allowed herself to fall prey, she began to sense that his rape of her 
anal passage was not as painful as it had been when he first thrust his 
cock in. There was an odd mixture of stimulation joining in, and the 
constant plunging was now more a discomfort than torture, and she felt 
strangely wet between her buttocks and throbbing vaginal lips below - 
wet and morbidly ashamed, for she was being sodomized and knew it, and 
yet the pain was weirdly turning enjoyable. She tried to concentrate on 
this horrid, perverted response of hers, but Zeigler thrust a buttock-
splitting jolt into her just then and astonished, she found that she 
automatically squirmed back on his fleshy shaft, heaving and undulating 
her body, moving her buttocks in tiny, welcoming circles.

Roger Carmel's wife couldn't halt the maddening excitement which was 
starting to reach her through the torment of muscle and flesh, and a 
violent shudder rippled through her, and she fell to mumbling 
unintelligibly, wiggling her thighs salaciously back against his 
pounding cock, unable to comprehend what was seething through her body. 
But too dizzyingly numbed by her overwhelming growth of unquenchable 
lust-fire to question it. She could feel the increasing wetness back in 
the crevice of her buttocks and try as she might, she couldn't feel her 
initial pain any longer - but only the wetness and Zeigler's 
magnificent cock pummeling her battered rectum and smoothly widened 
anus. Lonnie dropped her shoulders to the bed, raising her buttocks and 
gleaming thighs higher in the air so that the hungrily surging penis 
could fuck up into her heaving belly more deeply.

Sam Zeigler, seeing her obscene acceptance to his cruel fucking of her 
backsides, was drawn on like an infused satyr. He watched her beautiful 
profile as the wife's complexion flushed to a crimson red and her hair 
strewed down over her forehead, and Lonnie Carmel unashamedly shook her 
head from side to side like a mad-woman, her teeth bared, her breasts 
jiggling. She was his! A slave, submitting at will! He reached down and 
pulled the soft, pliant cheeks of her thinly perspiring buttocks wide 
apart and drove his cock into her with hard, ramming jerks, his aching 
testicles slapping against her quivering flesh be low with resounding 
whaps, heavy with the sperm which had to be emptied soon or burst from 
the excruciatingly delicious pressure.

"Fuck back harder!" he yelled at her. "Fuck back!"

"Oooohhhhh, yes ... yes." Roger Carmel's now wanton wife hissed to the 
gangster sodomizing her. "Fuck me harder tooooo!"

Her sudden lewd response was too much! Sam Zeigler threw back his head 
and blurted: "I'm cuuuuummmmiiinnnggggg!" He thrust his cock's full 
expanded length into her wide stretched, defenseless anus and his body 
jerked convulsively, his mouth hanging slack, his vision clouded as he 
clawed at her buttocks with harsh grasping fingers, pulling her moist, 
fevered crevice even farther apart to receive the full blast of his 
orgasm.

Lonnie felt the first torrents of his hot, white cum splash up into the 
depths of her open rectum, surging through her desire-wrenched belly 
with the force of a fire-hose stream. The delectable sensation touched 
off her own climax - a climax which she would have stoutly and angrily 
denied could happen only short moments before and she creamed out her 
spiraling pinnacle of release in a vast flow of rising female juices as 
pleasure ran rampant through her; she shivered from the welcomed 
congealing of his hot, sticky sperm with her orgiastic secretions as 
together they pooled around the throbbing crevice of her wide-split 
buttocks and the open slit of her still pulsating cunt.

Then Sam Zeigler withdrew his rapidly shrinking penis from inside her 
deflowered, sodomized rectum and fell over with a deep, satisfied sigh 
on the bed covers. Lonnie, unable to support herself, her every muscle 
trembling from sheer exhaustion, collapsed beside the gangster and lay 
on her belly, her throbbing body falling into an obscene spread-eagle 
position, her legs still splayed wide.

Then, a few moments later, her passion-clouded mind cleared in the wake 
of her played-out sexual ecstasy, shame and revulsion once more 
inundated her passion-fogged mind, causing tears to once more blur and 
darken her swollen, guilty eyes and dribble down her cheeks to soak 
into the sheets. Dear God, forgive me ... I must be sick! ... l had to 
submit, but there is no excuse for allowing myself to desire him ... I 
actually wanted him to perform that bestial act on me ... Oh God, let 
me die, let me die ...!

Sam Zeigler rolled closer and put his arm around her sobbing waist, and 
through her still partially glazed pupils, the self-loathing wife saw 
that he was smiling in lewd triumph. "That was fine, Lonnie-baby. As 
fine as I've ever had," he complimented, showing his pearly, even 
teeth. "You mustn't grow morbid or sulky on me; a good fuck in the ass 
never hurt any girl, and you have to admit you really turned on 
something fierce by my cock up your asshole. Let me rest for a minute, 
and then I'll fuck you in the cunt, like I did last night."

The completely crushed wife of Roger Carmel, submissive in her 
obeisance to the gangster's superiority over her, shut her eyes tightly 
as his filthy words sent a wave of sickening nausea coursing through 
her. She was caught in an abominable trap and there was no way out, no 
where to turn. She had to protect herself, and Roger must never know 
how badly she had broken her wifely promise of fidelity.

"Later on, we'll go down to my club, Lonnie baby," Zeigler continued, 
his hand now fondling unhampered with her moist, red, quivering vagina. 
"Yeah, we'll go down there ... after we stop by a house and pick up 
something. I think you'll get a real big surprise at what we're going 
to pick up too."

The gangster's chuckle was obscene, and Lonnie trembled at the lurid 
thought of what that "surprise" might be - but she never even 
considered in the most dark, forbidden recesses of her trepidations 
that what Zeigler was going to pick up was Jennifer, her own daughter, 
who would also be in a somnambulistic state of sexual satiation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 5

Roger Carmel groaned and lifted his face from the double bed as the 
entrancing young whore, Kim Copeland, sucked his stiffened, aching 
cock. He stared down at her contorted face, and the salacious view of 
his hard shaft of flesh sunk between her ovaled lips increased his 
excitement a thousand-fold. His penis was still wet from the juices of 
her recent orgasm and it glistened like the stump of a rained-upon tree 
as she bucked over him, a mad demoness of desire. Vast heat built deep 
in his balls and he arched his back, moaning incessantly, and the 
muscles of his stomach tensed until he thought his spine would snap.

Suddenly he howled as from the depth of his boiling testicles swirled 
the mad rush of his hot, sticky sperm up his rigid cock, and before he 
could warn her of his climax, his cock-head was spewing thin streams of 
creamy hot semen into her mouth. Kim's cheeks expanded and contracted 
as she greedily swallowed the warm flood of his surging release, and 
she held her head to his pulsing shaft as he emptied his molten seed 
down her throat until the flow ended and Carmel collapsed with a groan, 
to lay still and spent on her bed. She nibbled gently on him for a few 
moments and then crawled up his body to cradle his head in her heaving 
breasts, and she bent and kissed him warmly on his quivering lips.

"There," she whispered. "Your cum tasted so good going down my throat."

"Mmmm," was all that Roger could muster, looking up into her eyes with 
an appreciative gleam.

"I just love to suck cock," the lascivious girl said with a shudder of 
delight. "I can't describe the thrill I get running my tongue over a 
great big prick and tasting the cum when it shoots into my mouth. It's 
like the finest candy in the world to me!"

In the hidden closet, Harry Saunders couldn't control a groan of 
anguish, for the prurient sight of the prostitute hired by Sam Zeigler 
- and who had, in turn, hired Saunders - performing the lewd, 
perverted act of fellatio made his own penis nearly ejaculate the load 
of cum he'd built while snapping pictures of the couple through the 
two-way mirror. He had been totally absorbed by the passionate and 
fevered Kim Copeland burying the straining cock up in her throat until 
she was nuzzling pubic hair, the lust-producing scene making the 
photographer nearly throw his camera aside and rush out to join the 
carnal orgy. He quivered, sweat streaming down his face, and wiped his 
damp, clammy palms on the thighs of his stained pants. Well, now it was 
over, and both the lovely girl and the stranger who had been set up by 
Sam Zeigler's express and insidious order were resting after their-
orgasms. In just a little while he, Harry Saunders, could throw off his 
clothes and burrow his fat, angry cock in Kim Copeland's pussy and 
mouth, and if she was game, her ass-hole too. Another wheezing groan 
bubbled from his lips as he clenched his thighs closed around his fully 
erect prick ...

Roger Carmel heard that last groan. He furrowed his brow, wondering 
what the strange, out-of-place, muffled cry had been. He sat up on his 
elbows and turned to the sensual young woman he thought was merely the 
secretary to Skopos' personnel manager. "Kim, what was that?"

The Copeland girl knew full well what it was - Harry steaming in his 
juices behind the mirror - but she wasn't about to say so; the last 
thing she wanted was a scene here and now. Let Zeigler have that fun 
when he showed the pictures to the vice-president; she was only the 
girl who got Carmel in trouble, not sprung what the trouble was on him. 
She said hesitantly, "I didn't hear anything, Roger honey. You must be 
mistaken." She licked her still wet lips, savoring the few droplets of 
Carmel's semen which had stuck to her mouth. "Just relax for a minute, 
and ... and then perhaps you'd better go."

"Go?"

"I mean, if you want." She grinned weakly at him, feeling a tendril of 
apprehension. She knew that Saunders, as good a photographer as he was 
- as good a fuck as he was - was one man who couldn't be stalled 
indefinitely. Most of the times she actually got a little evil 
enjoyment out of making him suffer as he watched her being fucked by 
her male "customers" - it helped to arouse her own insatiable desires 
when finally he came to her, rutting and grunting like some jungle 
animal. But Roger Carmel had proved one fine cock to satisfy; it was 
almost as if he hadn't had a piece of cunt in all the time he was 
married, which his prowess in making her excited and screaming for more 
belied, and to Kim he was one of the finest men she had ever had make 
love to her, no question about that. As a result the time had flown by, 
way past the usual deadline where she had the guy dressed and out the 
door.

She was a little sorry to have to see Carmel leave, to tell the truth, 
for her pussy was almost seeping new and lustful lubrications of desire 
again, and not for Harry's prick either but for the muscled, handsome 
one rooted in the loins of the virile male lying next to her.

Still, she had a job to do, and a girl in her profession could only mix 
so much pleasure with business. She had to get him out of her apartment 
before Saunders was unable to control himself and do something stupid 
like groan again. It wouldn't take much to set Roger Carmel on the 
scent of what was happening; he wasn't dumb in spite of his lack of 
extra-marital affairs. Kim rose languidly and walked to the closet 
beside the bureau, trying to keep her eyes off the bureau's mirror, 
which was actually the two-way glass behind which Saunders sat with his 
camera. She opened the closet door and took out a thin nylon robe, and 
was about to slip it on when Carmel said from the bed:

"Don't, Kim. Don't cover that beautiful body of yours. I want to see 
it, all of it." His eyes were feverish with pure lust for her. "I'm not 
about to leave, not unless you want me to. I can't explain it, Kim, but 
you make me so damned hot just standing in the nude like that, your 
cunt hair glistening and your breasts hard and throbbing, that I'm 
going to get hard again."

Kim stifled a moan of her own, lewd reawakening, only to hear a soft, 
course whisper from behind the wall - Saunders again, the damned fool! 
- but as fearfully aware as she was, the excited young prostitute was 
still shivering from the thrills Roger's merciless penis had given her. 
She gazed with enrapturement at his supine form, saw that incredibly 
his cock was slowly filling out with blood, growing harder ... harder 
.... and a hot seething knot of tingling need lashed at her vaginal area 
.... yet she couldn't risk Roger staying here any longer ... She groaned 
and taking a shuddering breath, said, "Maybe another time. T-tomorrow, 
perhaps."

"Now," he grinned wickedly at Kim, catching the luster in her eyes and 
knowing that it would be now if he wanted it, which he did. He stared 
with rapacious eyes on her beautiful, provocative loveliness as she 
smiled with a combination of shyness and passion, and unknowing to him 
with indecision as her lusting mind swirled indecisively between 
prudence and desire but her body ruled supreme, and with breasts 
jiggling proudly and thighs matted pubic down flashing enticingly, she 
began to teasingly parade before him, unable to control her own spasms 
of lurid ecstasy ... and he was tantalizingly brought under her sheer 
wanton depravity.

He had the sudden urge to kiss her pink-tinged, moist cunt and smell 
the tang of her perfumed secretions as her cuntal valley opened to his 
lips and mouth - and he said so unashamedly.

"Come here, Kim, and I'll suck your pussy like you sucked my cock!"

His lewd words brought forth the moan of licentious excitement that Kim 
had been able to choke down before, and on rubber, trembling legs she 
started for the bed, running her hot, fevered hands up and down her 
rich, white and tanned body, cupping her breasts ...

Roger Carmel was completely captivated by this abandoned vamp of a 
girl, and the guilty self-loathing which he had tried to conjure up 
earlier in an attempt to assuage his feelings of lust and satisfaction 
were now entirely blotted out by the absolute free and unhesitating 
debauchery of which he was a willing partner.

He had tried to tell himself that he should feel shame and remorse for 
what he was doing, tried to tell himself that the only reason he had 
allowed himself to become an adulterer was because of anger and hurt 
and jealousy over his wife's similarly despicable behavior - but he 
knew that it wasn't true. He didn't know for sure that Lonnie was 
unfaithful to him, and what difference did it make anyway? He would 
have still thirsted for this girl who was slowly and teasingly coming 
across the bedroom to him ... He just plain wanted to suck, fuck Kim 
Copeland and God knew how many other willing, depraved girls if he 
could ... Fuck - the word described what he wanted to do perfectly, as 
in contrast to making love, which was what he and Lonnie did in the 
privacy of their marital bed.

And perhaps even more perverse was the consummate love he still had for 
his black-haired, desirable wife. He still wanted to go home and wrap 
his arms around Lonnie and have her wrap her vagina around his cock so 
he could make love to her, for no longer was he tortured with righteous 
indignation over whatever lewdness she had gotten involved in. He had 
the faith and the unquestioned belief that Lonnie loved him in return -
- that she was fucking that man, if she was at all, as he was fucking 
this girl, in a purely physical gratification of the senses and nothing 
more. In a way, he had the urge to call her up and tell her this ... 
but he wouldn't. Because Kim Copeland was placing one knee on the bed 
now, her eyes wide with hunger and her lips wet with the moisture of 
her licking pink tongue-tip ...

A psychiatrist might have diagnosed Roger Carmel as a man who had an 
irrational and sub-conscious fear of the basic male characteristic to 
mate indiscriminately. Perhaps this had stemmed from his Victorian 
mother who had smothered him from birth with the conviction sex was 
inherently bad and all men were beasts, and who had sentenced her son 
to a cocoon of prudery as he reflexively strove to prove that he wasn't 
such a contemptuous type, that he was a gentleman first, last and 
always.

Perhaps ... but Roger Carmel wasn't a psychiatrist, nor at that moment 
was interested in pondering why he had kept the lid on his perfectly 
natural instincts with a blind attitude and stiff-necked disdain, or 
why this one adulterous fling had not brought the wretched self-
incriminations he had assumed he should feel. Time enough to unravel 
such details later, for his chest was pounding as Kim Copeland crawled 
across the sheets to him, the predatory feline that she was, and his 
semi-hard cock began to flinch with the renewed pressure of arousal ...

Roger Carmel had not changed - he had evolved, breaking out of his 
self-imposed, unhealthy cocoon from a mind-shattering combination of 
pressures from his work, his turmoil of anguish over his wife's alleged 
infidelities, and the liquor-fogged plunge into the world of sex for 
its own hedonistic sake. He had matured into a complete, physically 
whole man, virile, ripe, and alive, as his unconscious grip on the 
darker caverns of his soul was wrenched away, and no longer could he - 
or would he attempt to - return to the shell of his former half-life.

"Yes, lover," Kim breathed in panting harshness, "kiss my cunt and make 
me cum that way ... then we'll fuck some more ..."

And Harry Saunders in the closet couldn't repress the tortured moan of 
frustration as he saw that he was in for another voyeuristic session 
before he could empty his balls of their overloaded weight of churning 
seed. His hands trembled and he knew that he couldn't take any more 
pictures not now. He couldn't hold the camera steady enough, and all he 
felt was the crazy tide of his own sex-craved passions, the insane 
jerkings of his thighs and belly and especially of his now stone-hard 
cock as it fought the imprisonment of his trousers. His breath steamed 
the two-way glass and he thought he was going to have to take his penis 
out right there and use his hand to release some of the burgeoning 
explosions which engulfed his mind and body.

And Roger Carmel heard that groan, too, and recognized it for what it 
was. He sat upright, the shock of knowing there was a man some where 
nearby dampening some of his prurient longings for the warm, moist cunt 
of the girl panting over him. "Damn it," he said, "I heard it that time 
for sure. There's somebody else in this apartment!"

"No!" Kim Copeland cried out sharply. "No you must be wrong. It - it 
must have come from next door."

"Don't be silly, Kim," Roger said, getting off the bed. "Your bedroom 
overlooks the back garden; there's no connecting walls with the other 
apartments." He shook his head, frowning. "I'm going to take a look in 
the living room."

"No! Please don't!" the luscious, now panicked prostitute tried to 
grapple Roger by the arm. "Come back to bed, don't leave me."

Carmel eyed her, frowning over her odd resistance. "You sure as hell 
don't want me to go out there, do you? Why not? You know something I 
don't?"

"Of - of course not, Roger. It's just that ... that I'm so hot and I 
want you now ... I've got to have you," she pleaded insistently. 
"What's more important to you? Having me or some imaginary noise?"

"It'll take me just a moment, and then I'll feel more at ease. I want 
you as bad as you want me, lover, but I just won't feel right until I 
make sure we're alone. It could mean our jobs if we're caught. I'd 
think you'd want me to check around."

"No ..." Kim whimpered, but it was too late. Roger opened the door to 
the living room and padding in baby naked, he looked around. Every 
thing was as he had left it, glasses on the table, the two thin pieces 
of Kim's lust-provoking sun suit ... Carmel went on silent bare feet 
across the carpet to the kitchen and stuck his head in; nobody there. 
He turned around, scratching his hair and wondering if his imagination 
was playing tricks on him, that thinking only peripherally of his wife 
and her suspected lover hadn't given him an over-impression of plots 
and blackmail ...

Harry Saunders, whipped to a fever pitch of sexual emotions, rashly 
took that moment to shift positions on his stool. He had heard and seen 
the man jerk upright and knew that he had heard his groaning. Trembling 
with the fear of being discovered, Saunders had sat perfectly still 
while the man went into the living room, but he couldn't see the man 
while he was looking through the two-way glass into the bedroom; he had 
to turn around and look through the living room mirror for that, and 
when he heard the squeaking kitchen door, he assumed in his blind 
position that the man had stepped inside. If he was going to turn and 
follow the man's search, he had to do it then ... which he did. He was 
very quiet about it, too.

But his trembling, sweat-slick hands dropped the camera.

Roger Carmel whirled around, hearing the thank of something coming from 
what he had assumed was the coat-closet door. Anger stirred in him, and 
with caution and modesty thrown aside, he crossed and wrenched open the 
door, and the pale light of the living-room fell across the hulking 
figure of a middle-aged man, his straw-colored hair brushed European 
style back across his head, his large nose and dilated nostrils 
quivering, and his two, small, marble-glittering eyes filled with the 
kind of illogical fear of a cornered rat.

Saunders hurled himself off the stool, panic making him into a single-
motivated body in search of escape. He swung at Carmel with his camera, 
unthinking that he was using the one object which he had been hired to 
use, its metal case hit Carmel on the side of the head and 
inadvertently the catch on its back snapped, and the roll of film flew 
through the air, unwinding to the light like a spool of yarn a cat 
plays with. Saunders stumbled toward the front door and freedom ...

Stars danced in front of Carmel's eyes, but with unleashed fury of a 
man pressured far more than a mere tight corner, he reached out and 
caught the fleeing photographer's coat-tail and spun the short, dumpy 
man around. The camera came up again, Saunder's teeth set in a grimace 
of frenzy ...

Carmel blocked the metallic blow with his left forearm, and blood 
pounded in his temples as he answered with a fist to the belly of the 
intruder. It was like slugging a bag of sand - wet, hard sand - and 
then he was catapulted forward as Kim ran from the bedroom screaming 
and lunged at his naked back. He swiped with his arm, and the lovely 
young prostitute fell away, sprawling unceremoniously on her delectable 
buttocks, her legs splayed wide and showing the full, rich furrow of 
her cuntal slit, where only moments before both men had been so 
lustfully engrossed. Her breasts heaved and danced, but the men took no 
notice now; her attack had sent them down on the floor in a tangle of 
arms and legs and the foulest collection of swearing Roger had ever 
heard in one place before. He caught the photographer's right wrist in 
his hand and bent it back, squeezing for all his might, and the older, 
unconditioned, unmuscular Saunders squealed in pain and dropped the 
camera he'd used as a weapon.

Kim Copeland was trying to crawl between them and bite Carmel's hand or 
leg or cock ... anything to allow her confederate time to escape, but 
Carmel twisted away and then kicked out at her, catching her in the 
breast. She howled and toppled away, in a somersault which exposed her 
full white expanse of buttocks and the deep, pink, and still moist 
crevice between. Carmel, catching Saunder's ear, pulled the man upright 
in one savage jerk which brought a guttural cry from the man, and then 
Carmel, seething with rage at what he instinctively knew was a plan to 
compromise him, allowed all of his built-up frustrations to explode and 
in a purge of his confusion and torment that had collected from 
yesterday evening, drove his naked knee crashing into the unprotected 
groin. Saunders yelped and doubled over, and Carmel unmercifully 
brought his knee up again, catching the nose this time, and the 
blackmailing photographer sagged and dropped, moaning and babbling 
incoherently, his face chewing bits of the wool tuft, his nostrils 
gushing red blood on the carpet.

Panting, still livid with all the fury which had driven him on, Carmel 
turned to the cringing whore, Kim. She was slumped against the table, 
her sensual face pale white and waxy, her mouth a twisted pink slash, 
and her hands were clamped to her bruised breast where he had hit her.

"All right," he snarled grimly, "Spill."

"I ... I don't know what you're talking about," Copeland said sullenly, 
averting her eyes.

"Yes you do, and you're going to tell me, right now!"

"I never saw that ... that man before in my life!" Kim cried out 
defiantly. "I don't know how he got in here! Honest!"

Enraged by the bald-faced lie, Carmel swung the flat of his hand across 
her face, slapping her with a resounding sound that rocked her over 
onto her side and left a red imprint on her swollen cheek. "You slut! 
Who do you think you're trying to snow, anyway? Some half-assed kid out 
of the hills? You were helping him, not me ... or don't you call trying 
to bite my cock off fighting against someone? You're in this up to your 
cunt, you filthy bitch, and by God you'll talk or I'll beat the ever-
loving shit out of you!" His own lewd threats shocked even him, for 
never in his life had he allowed himself such full reign of his 
emotions - but that was the new Roger Carmel. Even the old one would 
have recognized the situation for what it was, but where before Roger 
would have slunk off with his tail between his legs, dejected and a 
gelatin of confused self-pity, now he was a dervish of cold-blooded 
intensity as strong as the hot-blooded reaction to Kim Copeland's 
salacious, teasing body he had had and expressed.

He glowered at the gasping, terrified young whore, void of any sympathy 
for her. He had fucked her, not loved her; used her, in a sense, and he 
was neither in the mood nor the rationale to brook her mercy. He 
brought his hand back, fully intending to hit her again if she didn't 
cooperate. "Talk, you hear?"

"Please ..." came the whimpering whine, and she brought up one 
quivering arm to ward off the stinging blow, her eyes horrifyingly 
darting first from the savage male standing wide-legged and naked over 
her to her coughing, writhing partner on the rug and then back again to 
Carmel's enraged features. "I ... I'm sorry, Roger ... I get my kicks 
this way, see; yes, that's it. Harry is a friend of mine who likes to 
take pictures of people fucking, and I ... I get turned on by it ... 
just like I do when I suck cock."

She looked up to see if her lame excuse would be brought, but Carmel 
only laughed contemptuously and used his hand to slap her other cheek, 
sending her tumbling over backwards with moaning wail as if she was 
dying. And then Carmel reached down and grabbed her by one slim, 
tapered ankle, and with his bare foot holding her other tanned, firm 
leg down, stretched her in a painfully lewd form of the splits. He bent 
her one upward-spread leg back, farther, her white buttocks undulating 
on the rug as she struggled for balance and surcease, her soft auburn 
pubic hair parting to show the wide wet expanse of her vagina and anus.

"Bitch," he cursed her through clenched teeth. "Let me help you get on 
the straight and narrow path," he said, pulling on her wide-stretched 
legs and bearing down on her cunt with his foot. "I've got an invention 
everybody wants, but until last night I never had the balls to think 
that there were scum in the world low enough to use a healthy thing 
like sex to compromise my career and honor so that they could get their 
grimy hands on it. Well, last night and today have sure been an eve-
opener for me, one hell of an awakening, and I'm not going to sit by 
and let a bunch of shit-heads roll over me. Clear?"

He yanked viciously for emphasis, and Kim Copeland squealed out a 
torture-wracked, "Yes! Oh God, yes! Stop it!"

"Martin Oliss told me how his wife was seduced and he approached, and 
he said that my wife may have fallen victim to the same slimy man. And 
I bet that whoever's behind our wives getting fucked planned this 
little party up as well." Carmel indicated the broken camera and the 
long roll of exposed, grey-backed film on the floor next to the still 
gibbering, still fetal-curled photographer, whose hands tenderly cupped 
the ruptured remnants of his manhood. "The set-up's the same, the 
method's the same - hell, maybe even the bastard taking the picture's 
the same. Uh-uh, Kim, I know too much not to see the obvious 
connection."

"You're wrong! You're damned wrong!" Kim spat back in a last-chance 
blaze of defiance. "You've gone stark raving mad, I tell you."

"No, I've grown up, you little vixen," Carmel retorted, jerking her leg 
again with evil satisfaction. "You see, if everything had been left 
alone, I'd probably have gone along with the deal. I would have been 
the usual doting husband wearing horns, afraid of public scandal and 
feeling sorry for myself. But this attempt to blackmail me directly was 
one step too many, was the one little shove which has made the worm 
turn. You and your boss have a tiger by the ass, bitch, not the pussy-
cat you had when you started."

Kim Copeland put the back of one white hand over her sobbing mouth, 
wild with fear and the impact that what this savage maniac tearing her 
naked limbs apart was saying was true: the easy push-over of male 
inadequacy had become a forceful, exerting masculine giant.

"He'll kill me if I talk," she whispered in defeat, in respect to the 
man who now dominated her. "He'll kill me when he catches me!"

"Tough shit. I'll kill you right now, if you don't talk!"

Kim looked up in horror, and read the cold, glittering eyes in Roger 
Carmel's stern face, and believed it. Nodding with numbed unresisting 
capitulation, she whimpered. "It ... it was Sam Zeigler."

"Zeigler? The hairy ape who owns the Club Royale in Rapier City? Is 
that the man behind all this?"

"Yes, lord yes ... now please, let me up! Oaaahhhh," she moaned in 
abject pain and humiliation. Never in her life had she been so 
callously treated, so heaped with disregard for her usually effective 
seductive charms. Her head was spinning, and she was a shriveled husk 
of her once ice-like scorn of men and their trepiditous, sniveling 
pursuit of her body and cunt. She had the perverse desire to beg to 
this male who had her in his power, to try and please him, as the 
masochistic ambivalence of pain-pleasure ripped from her broken thighs 
and loins. "Really ... I'll tell you everything, only please stop 
hurting me. Oh, please!"

"Tell me now, and then I'll decide whether to let up or not," Carmel 
said derisively. "Is Zeigler the one fucking around my wife?"

"Yes ... yes, he said he was!" Kim said, nodding her head wildly.

Zeigler? Hot wrath boiled through his nerves as Carmel pictured the not 
unfamiliar face of the gangster. Now the image of the lover fucking his 
wife gained solidarity, the pumping male body gaining a satyr's face 
but Zeigler wasn't the "Latin Lover" type Oliss had described and the 
sales vice-president would certainly have recognized him if Zeigler had 
been the one to approach with the blackmail threat. No ... there had to 
be another man in the woodpile, and maybe the Copeland girl was lying 
again. Carmel twisted her leg higher. "Bullshit. Who's really behind it 
all?"

"AAAAggggg! I'm telling you straight! It's Zeigler! He ... he called me 
this morning ... ooohhhhhhh ..." Carmel relaxed his hold for a moment, 
and blessed relief washed over Kim's writhing groin. She babbled out 
what she knew in panting, gut-wrenching rackings of air. "He ... he 
said, he wanted to make sure you were hooked, and this other idea to 
get your wife needed insurance, that maybe you'd be so bloody high-
nosed and indignant you'd throw her out and not go along with the 
scheme."

"He ... he happened to say that getting your wife wasn't his idea but 
this one was, and he wanted the photos to use so he could double-cross 
the others and get your secret direct.

"What others!"

"I don't know!"

"Come on, you were doing so well," Carmel said, tentatively wrenching 
her leg again. "Don't clam up on me now."

"I doubt know!" the tear-drenched young whore screamed. "I ... I think 
that one of them works for Skopos, but I'm not sure."

"For Skopos!" Carmel was struck with shock. Who could such a traitor 
be? There weren't many who could fit the requirements - He'd have to 
be high up in the company, and lives in Rapier City so that he could be 
near Zeigler and the wives ... Carmel went through a mental index of 
the executives, but didn't decide on anyone. He turned back to Kim. 
"You said others. Do all of them work for Skopos?"

"No ... just one, if I'm right. The other is ... is a woman, by the way 
Zeigler talked. But honest, Roger, I could be wrong. I just don't know, 
Zeigler never told me. I could be wrong ..."

"No," Carmel said in a hissing sound through his teeth, for the 
identity of the stab-in-the-back traitor suddenly occurred to him when 
the Copeland girl said the other was a woman. "No, you're not wrong, 
Kim. You're right, and I know who the bastard is who's ruined so much 
of my life." He kneaded her ankle with his hands as if it was a neck 
he'd like to wring. "You bet your sweet ass I know."

"Who ?"

Carmel almost blurted out the name - Martin Oliss - but he held his 
tongue, shaking his head. "Never mind. The less you know the safer I 
am." He dropped her leg, now finished and unconcerned about the lovely 
girl. His blood was a volcano of anger and resentment toward his co-
worker; Zeigler was the sewer, to be expected to follow his life-style, 
and Carmel couldn't find anywhere near the raging hatred for the 
gangster as he could for the man he had befriended and worked beside 
for so long.

And it had to be Oliss. It fit too perfectly not to be. Oliss and his 
sultry wife, Cylvia, in the superb position to undermine the Carmel 
family; Oliss in a company position which wouldn't give him access to 
the miniskopos invention directly, but would allow him to infiltrate to 
where the plans fell in his lap; Oliss, the egocentrical socializer 
always living way above his means and always talking about sex, which 
gave him the motivation and the ideas for this perverted form of 
insidious blackmail. All of what Oliss had so convincingly told Roger 
last night had to be so much crap, therefore - there was no Latin 
Lover getting into Cylvia's pants, at least not unwillingly and with 
the intent to force information from her husband later; there was no 
private detective, either, it stood to reason. What nefarious idea was 
behind the long, weepy story was not clear to Carmel yet, but that it 
was total fabrication was evident.

The vice-president and developer of the much sought-after invention 
churned with thoughts as to proper retribution. Bull his way through? 
Confront the tricky bastard. Oliss, with what he knew in a display of 
temper and indignation? No ... that didn't befit the crime, and Oliss 
could merely deny vehemently his role in the defilement of Roger's wife 
and ... and daughter? Jennifer was a close buddy with Tamera Oliss, and 
would that utterly unprincipled man and wife have the temerity to bring 
in their teen-age daughter to corrupt his own, innocent fifteen year-
old offspring? And Oliss had dropped such a hint last night - with 
seething flames of tormented loathing, Roger Carmel inwardly had to 
admit that any abomination who would stoop as low as Oliss had would 
stop at nothing, not even the despicable corruption of a naive little 
virgin. That settled it in Carmel's blazing mind; he was going to have 
to be as sneaky and as lacking of scruples as his enemies ...

He was whipped back to the present tableau of violence and lewdness as 
Kim's raw, accursed nude body molded itself to Carmel's similarly naked 
loins. She clasped him around the neck in pleading supplication, tears 
washing down her blue-rimmed eyes, streaking the light application of 
mascara and makeup she was wearing. She bent her head haplessly to his 
throbbing chest, pressing her firm, white, hard-nippled breasts to him 
in a frenzy of terrified subservience, and uniquely, her writhing body 
strove to join with his in a one-ness not out of sexual craving but 
from abject desire for mercy, forgiveness, protection, and affection.

"Please ... please," she whimpered in mournful, unabashed forlorness, 
"please ... help me now. I ... I told you everything, and if Zeigler 
ever found out, he will have one of his boys take a knife to me ... if 
he doesn't have me killed, he'll leave me scarred." She gulped with 
horror. "Have you seen what one-inch of a blade can do to a face or 
figure? I have ..." She shuddered and clenched the body of Roger Carmel 
with desperation, all thoughts of independence vaporizing. She had 
changed in the last hour, and now nothing would ever be the same for 
her again.

Carmel's first impulse was to fling her away as a piece of rotten 
carrion, but then with a bitter smile he looked down on the weeping, 
shaking head of Kim Copeland and thought better of his indignation. The 
idea he was contemplating and the lewd perversions of which he had been 
a partner with her certainly didn't entitle him to be the holier-than-
thou, starched collar prig he'd been when he entered her apartment; 
she'd been a damned fine fuck and had given him all the lewd enjoyment 
of sex he could have desired, and she'd loved it as much as he had, and 
it hadn't taken too much to break her down. What the hell, he owed her 
something.

Carmel patted the frightened young whore on her shoulders and held her 
quivering body closer to his. "Don't worry, Kim, don't worry. All 
you've got to do is convince your friend there on the floor that you 
hadn't been successful in seducing me. The film's no good anyway, so if 
you told Zeigler anything else, he'd be mad that he didn't have any 
pictures to show." He grinned reassuringly down at her blotchy, but 
still delightfully sensual face. "Simple, right?"

"But ... but what are YOU going to do?" she stammered. "Aren't you 
going to the cops or tell Zeigler what you know?"

Carmel shook his head. "He may not have the proof of me fucking around, 
but if he's tricked my wife to spread her lovely legs for him, he still 
thinks that will work. Him and --" he almost named Oliss again in a 
burst of profane anger. No, what I want to do is nullify their threat, 
and besides, if it hadn't been for Zeigler I wouldn't have met you, and 
if I hadn't met you, I wouldn't be as changed as I am." He put a finger 
under Kim's chin and smiled warmly at her. "The trick is to use what 
they unknowingly have given me to my advantage, and lover, what they 
gave me is priceless."

"You really mean that, Roger?" Kim mewled, almost unbelieving.

I mean it." He slapped one luscious rounded buttock cheek playfully, 
and said, "I've got a few minutes of phoning to do. Get that bum on the 
floor out of here while I work, and then we'll ... well, we'll see what 
happens next. Okay?"

The Copeland girl nodded, a tender smile crossing her swollen moist 
lips for the first time in almost an hour. "Anything you say, Roger. 
Anything ..." she breathed huskily and went over to where Saunders was 
now wretching on the carpet, and she hunkered down beside him. Carmel 
went into action with a decisiveness which he'd never had before. He 
checked information, found out the number of the El Mecca, and dialed. 
He asked for Oliss' room, but there wasn't an answer, so he had the 
call transferred to the cocktail lounge, and after a short wait, the 
familiar voice of Oliss said: "Hello?"

"Martin? Roger here. Heard from your detective?"

"Christ yes, I have," the insidious sales vice-president replied in a 
show of concern. "It's just as we feared, I'm afraid. Lon ... Lonnie is 
.... is ..." He paused as if choking on the news.

"Oh God," Carmel moaned, playing his part now, "Oh God, what can I do? 
My home, my family, my lovely Lonnie ..."

"Do? Why Roger, I know what I'm going to do," Oliss said. "I'm going 
back. Tonight, on the supper flight that leaves at five. I've already 
booked a reservation for myself. I ... I didn't know where you were, so 
I took a chance you might feel the same way I do and want to come 
along. I have a ticket in your name, too."

"Yes, yes, I want to come along," Carmel groaned into the receiver. "I 
want to ... I want to see the detective ... and my wife ..."

"Good, good," Oliss said, hard pressed to temper the gloating in his 
anxious voice. "But where the hell have you been all afternoon?"

"Drinking," Carmel confessed humbly. "Trying to drown my aching heart 
and soul. One bar after another until I lost track of the time, the 
number of drinks, even the place I'm in now."

"Well, just make sure you get back here in time to catch the plane, 
Roger," Oliss said sympathetically. "I don't blame you for behaving 
like that; I'm sitting here doing the same, drinking."

"Sure, Oliss. We have to stick together, I can see that. I'll be at the 
motel in a little while, after another drink."

After hanging up, Carmel glanced briefly at Kim, who had gotten 
Saunders to his wavering feet and was cleaning him off, all the time 
telling him the story he had to stick to so that Zeigler wouldn't get 
his boys after him as well. The photographer was nodding, casting 
balefully malignant eyes at Carmel, who couldn't have cared less.

The long-distance operator connected Carmel with Skopos' vitriolic and 
ruthlessly overbearing president, Jerome Quarren. Carmel told him after 
introductions that he was coming back to Rapid City on a personal 
matter that was most urgent. And may last into the next week.

"If you, your wife, or your daughter aren't dead or dying, it's more 
important that you stay there in Kirsten and finish the project," 
Quarren rasped. "I don't pay a man to shirk his duty."

"I'm not asking permission, Jerome," Carmel said levelly. "I'm telling 
you that I am returning."

"That, young man," Quarren said coldly, "smacks of insubordination and 
a high-handed, un-cooperative attitude. I would reconsider your rash 
judgment, if I were you."

"Sorry, but my mind is made up." Carmel was getting hot under the 
collar, if he'd been wearing a collar or anything else, and he felt 
more of his already unleashed anger rising at the misanthropy his 
employer was showing. He'd never realized how kowtowed, how meekly 
under Quarren's thumb he'd been in his former all-too trusting and 
humbly honorable skin. Now he was resenting the blustering domineering 
as Quarren retorted with a stinging charge of disloyalty and lack of 
company dedication. He let his superior rant on, fleetingly remembering 
himself hurrying into the office early yesterday morning, torn between 
the insistent poles of his wife's needs and his company's demands, and 
how he had wavered with the woeful rationale that some how he had to 
serve two masters at the same time and why couldn't either of them take 
that into consideration. Thanks to the even more selfish taking by 
Oliss and Zeigler, Carmel was no longer their slave; no, by God, from 
now on he was going to serve only one master, himself, Number One - 
and they were soon going to realize that, all of them, Quarren 
included.

"Don't you threaten me with being fired, Jerome," he suddenly snapped 
into the phone, catching the drift of the president's last few 
implication-laden sentences. "Believe me, you give me much more static 
about my returning and I'll quit. And I'll take my invention with me."

"Haw!" Quarren scoffed. "I can see that generous promotion has fattened 
your head, Carmel. You can leave anytime and I could replace you with 
the floor sweeper, but if you try to take your invention, I'll sue you 
for breaking the contract you signed with me. Or don't you remember the 
part about giving me exclusive control?"

Why that dirty son-of-a-bitch, Carmel thought. He's no better than 
Zeigler, only he is working behind a very thin skin of legality. He 
grinned with cruel satisfaction. We'll see about that. Quarren wasn't 
aware that the miniskopos was only the forerunner of a whole series of 
developments which Carmel had been envisioning while working on the 
prototype. Up to this moment he had firmly decided to hand over the 
developments as he got around to them, but the retiring manner of the 
previous Roger Carmel had at least been good for one thing: it had 
provided an indirect veil of secrecy which effectively prevented anyone 
else from following the trail he was blazing should he leave Skopos. 
Yeah, he vowed, we'll see about Mr. Jerome Quarren after Oliss and 
Zeigler are dealt with.

Later ... he glanced at his watch and saw that he'd spent too much time 
arguing with Quarren as it was. Quarren didn't matter right now, and 
there were other things to do. "Jerome," he said in a perfectly calm 
tone, "Jerome, go piss up a rope." He slammed the receiver down in the 
middle of an outraged squawk.

He turned to Kim, who stood in the middle of the room, still downcast 
and broken, her face tearfully helpless. She said in a quivering voice: 
"Saunders is gone. He'll ... he'll go along with us."

"He has no choice, lover," Carmel said, crossing to her. Kim's firm, 
taut breasts trembled provocatively, and as he let his eyes roam over 
her hour-glass satin form and down to the enticing triangle of pubic 
hair with its coyly pink hint of vaginal lips, the newfound virility in 
his own loins began to stir once more. He stopped and allowed a full, 
pregnant minute of silence to pass as he salaciously openly admired her 
soft, white and bronze skin, and he licked his lips with the saliva his 
regenerating passions had provided. His penis began to perk and pulsate 
with the blood of his salacious thoughts, and he let it grow unhindered 
and unashamed until it was stiff and hard in its glistening erectness 
in front of his now aching scrotum.

Kim gasped, her eyes glued to the excited, lust responsive rigidity of 
his cock, a tingle of her own lascivious desires began to sweep through 
her blood, and she suddenly realized she wanted this naked, animal-like 
man standing spread-legged and proud before her to crush her with the 
heat and intensity of his lurid, unquenching sexual emotions. She 
wanted him to fuck her again and again ... in any way he wanted to ... 
as she had never wanted any man before.

"There's a couple of hours before I have to get back to my motel," 
Carmel said, now moving to where his prick grazed her rippling belly. 
"And I think that we were going to do something before we were so 
crudely interrupted."

"Yesss," she moaned, melting in his engulfing, muscular arms.

"Let's go back in your bedroom and I'll suck that sweet, tender cunt of 
yours like I promised. Hell, no use wasting a perfectly good 
opportunity like this."

He placed a hand on her white, smooth buttocks and together they 
returned to their carnal arena of unbridled lusts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6

The small dressing room above Club Royale's second floor stage was 
misnomered; it was almost exclusively used for undressing. The haggard 
miserable wife of Roger Carmel, Lonnie, and his similarly black-haired 
young daughter, Jennifer, stood huddled in shivering fear, icy tendrils 
of horror touching their spines and making their white, firm flesh 
tremble convulsively ...

The ride from Stan Lubin's house had been a kaleidoscope of nightmares, 
and both mother and daughter had sat dazed, unable to speak to each 
other for the long, interminable minute it had taken to drive to the 
rear entrance of the club. Sam Zeigler had sat hunched over the 
steering wheel, chuckling lewdly from time to time, occasionally 
taunting the pretty wife and her teen-age child with obscene comments 
as to what was going to happen to them.

"I guess you're surprised to see your daughter here, aren't you, 
Lonnie-baby?" the vicious, immoral gangster had sneered. "Your once 
virgin little Jennifer? Well, look at her, look at what half the 
football team of her high-school has just finished gang-fucking!"

Lonnie had stared in utter disbelief as her shocked mind absorbed his 
vile words, and when she had looked over the rumpled pants and stained 
blouse of her innocent naive daughter, had heard the mewlings of 
satiation and desire bubble from the tender, swollen young lips, and 
had caught the trembling jerks of Jennifer's still throbbing, still 
demanding loins and thighs, the wife of Roger Carmel had thought that 
the earth would open up and hell would swallow her for sure. She had 
almost screamed with agony, putting her fisted hand to her open mouth 
and biting her knuckles until they bled, her torture-glazed eyes 
bulging wider.

She had somehow managed to gasp out around her constricted dry throat: 
"Why, Sam? Why, oh God, why my daughter too?"

And Zeigler had laughed low and ugly. "Because it was part of the 
price. Because your daughter was needed to make sure you would never 
dare say a word to anybody not in the know, not in the same world of 
lust and sex that you're in now, and she in turn must save her mother 
from the same fate by cooperating ..."

His corrupt, salacious talking had cut through the dream-like trance of 
Lonnie's debauched young daughter for an instant, and little Jennifer 
had fluttered her eyes open for the first time since she had fainted. 
"Mo ... mo ..."

Those had been the only croaked gasps of intelligibility that the girl 
had been able to mutter throughout the whole ride, though she had tried 
to work her mouth, her jaw moving up and down soundlessly as she locked 
her tear-blurred, puffed eyes on her mother's tormented face. Lonnie, 
bitterly grieving at this shattering confrontation, had realized that 
the final point of no return had been reached - then, that never again 
could she have her baby girl curl up in her lap and cuddle with the 
warmth of love and security without them both recalling this horrible 
day and the still more terrifying night that was surely to follow.

And as for the night, the gangster had left no room for hope as he had 
driven the large Cadillac through the city streets. "This is almost too 
good to be true," he'd cackled. "I couldn't have asked for a better 
deal if I'd arranged it myself, but you have your friends and 
neighbors, the Olisses, to thank for setting this up."

The evil light in Sam Zeigler's lustful eyes had grown larger as he had 
glanced at Lonnie in the rearview mirror and seen how tenderly she 
cradled her raw, sore, abused child. He had been tempted to stop the 
car and turn around and watch how the lovely wife of Roger Carmel would 
react to the lewd confession that the Oliss plot was more than to 
simply pervert the two Carmel females, that the reason was to strip 
their husband and father of his livelihood, and that the one man they 
were doing all of their immoral submissions for had betrayed them by 
fucking the young girl he'd hired, Kim Copeland. Christ, mother and 
daughter would probably go mad with that news!

But Sam Zeigler had plotted the downfall of too many once pure men and 
women to lose control that much; he had the experience to know that 
should he spew out the full details of what had been going on since 
Roger Carmel had first announced the development of his invention might 
well wreak havoc on the carefully laid machinations of both the Olisses 
and himself. Lonnie Carmel still adored and worshipped her husband, and 
as long as she thought she could keep her sinful capitulations from 
him, she would do any thing to save what little there was left of her 
marriage and home; to learn that her beloved Roger was the true target 
could very well make her change about and warn her husband, sacrificing 
herself in his interests. On the other side of the coin, allowing 
Carmel's wife to know that he'd been unfaithful, either now or after 
the pictures of him and the Copeland whore were developed, might well 
turn her against her husband in a fury of anger, spite, and jealousy, 
and she would tell all. That would spell disaster, Zeigler had thought 
as he drove, for the holds over the Carmels depended that the wife and 
daughter didn't know what the husband was doing - and vice versa.

Yes, he'd just have to be patient. The day would come for the 
confrontation - after Roger Carmel handed over his invention - and 
then there wouldn't be any more reason not to sadistically enjoy 
spilling the secrets each hoped the other would never learn. Besides, 
tonight there was going to be a confrontation of sorts, for the Martin 
Oliss plot required that Carmel learn of his wife's and daughter's 
public depravities in an inducement to cooperate with the man who had 
enslaved them. At this very moment, Oliss and Carmel were flying back 
to Rapier City after being sent for by Oliss' wife, Cylvia, who called 
in the guise of the "detective" earlier that afternoon. Zeigler had 
smiled with self-satisfaction at the corrupting, degenerate plan, and 
could almost picture the husband wringing his hands and moaning, a 
spineless, puritanical milksop who'd capitulate to the insidious terms 
with insipid whimperings and no more; serve the pretentious Carmel 
right to look out of that window and view his worshipped wife and teen-
age daughter as the main performance - with the help of Big Daddy Sam 
and his wonderfully trained dog, Fang, as added attractions!

The gangster laughed out loud at that point, and lashed out with 
further invectives at the helpless mother and daughter cringing 
together in the back seat. "Everything has been a lead-up for to night, 
Lonnie-baby," he'd taunted on, "In a little while the Club Royale is 
going to offer its special second-floor patrons the delights of a 
mother-daughter act for the first time in its history, and you'll do 
it, you hear? You and that hot-assed prick-teaser Jennifer, unless you 
want your husband to find out about the sordid sex lives of his two 
sweet girls. Those are my terms ..."

Lonnie Carmel had been fully cognizant of her and her child's exact 
position, but she had looked into Jennifer's wooden eyes and had 
realized that the tremendous pressures the girl had already gone 
through had snapped her immature mind like a twig, and that the 
inundation of lewd, savage cocks by innumerable young boys had stopped 
the girl's brain from coherency the way a computer would throw its 
circuit breakers to halt unrepairable damage from a short. Perhaps it 
was better this way, she had thought; perhaps if her sweet, angelic 
daughter wasn't able to comprehend what tonight's pagan orgy would be 
like she could be saved the self-loathing and disgust which gripped at 
Lonnie's pain-wracked soul, and her barely formed life might still have 
a chance for a normal, happy and love-filled future.

"... Both of you are going to fulfill all the promised delights of your 
tender bodies," Zeigler had continued to taunt delightedly. "You and 
little Jennifer are going to get fucked every way I've ever wanted or 
dreamed about, and you two are going to do it back good and proper ..."

His words had droned on, even after the Cadillac had been parked and 
the gangster had escorted Lonnie and the still mercifully half-
conscious Jennifer into the private entrance of his night club. 
Lonnie's own helpless mind had come to the brutal conclusion that 
nothing mattered anymore except to get the night's lewd ordeal over 
with as fast as possible for her husband and her daughter's

149 sake, and she had taken deep shuddering breaths as she mentally 
promised what she would do. With each faltering step on the narrow, 
steep back staircase leading to the room above the stage, the tortured 
wife of Roger Carmel had set her mind into a single vow that while she 
would awaken tomorrow permanently scarred with memories she would take 
to the grave, she would not let it destroy her family; that Roger must 
never know the horrors she and Jennifer were going through because the 
so-called friends they had liked and trusted had sold out her and her 
daughter to this evil maniac. She would protect her husband and, as 
little as she could, her child too, with all she had - and all she had 
left was her body. A body at the mercy of Sam Zeigler and whomever he 
chose to share its secret pleasures.

She would show him, she had drummed through her recoiling brain, she 
would show him that she could please no matter what he would demand. He 
wanted her to act as a whore, then she would be his whore! She would 
suck anything if he said suck, fuck anything if he said fuck! Nausea 
had made her weave and clutch the faded paint door way of the room, but 
somehow she staggered onward, holding onto her child with determination 
born of hysterical hopelessness.

The (un)dressing room had been small, like a closet, most of it taken 
up by the huge, white-covered double bed and gold chains which she knew 
all too well. Lonnie's stomach had churned with the lurid remembrances 
of seeing the young girl only slightly older than her own little girl 
being cruelly raped by an enormous dog while she ... while she ... The 
mental words hadn't come to describe her own inexcusable acts, and for 
an instant the room had blurred and she had the distinct feeling that 
she was falling ... her eyes faintly staring up at the electrical 
hoists mounted on the ceiling which lowered the chain-driven bed to the 
spot-lit stage below. Zeigler's fingers had caught her in time, and his 
talon-like grip had made her perk back to the real world, for his touch 
had been something incredibly repulsive to her now; but she had made a 
promise, and swallowing back the nausea which acidly choked her throat, 
she had allowed the gangster to lead her beside the large, rectangular 
bed, and she had breathed deeply of air musty and unclean, with its 
odor of untamed sex and depravity-induced sweat.

And now the lecherous gangster, Zeigler, was rubbing his hands up and 
down his pants in anticipatory excitement, and his eyes burned holes 
through the pretty young wife of Roger Carmel. He said with a hoarse, 
trembling raucousness, "The show's about to begin. It's time you and 
your daughter, Jennifer, got ready. Strip, Lonnie baby, take those 
clothes off just like you did for me once today, and if that hot-cunted 
little girl of yours won't do it herself, you undress her, too." He 
chortled demoniacally. "Just pretend you're home and Jennifer's unable 
to get into bed herself, and you have to do it for her."

In spite of her admonition to be brave, Lonnie Carmel couldn't help 
herself from moaning with heart-rending sobs. Tears burst from her 
dejected eyes, and she cried into her hands with long, weeping sobs. 
"Oh God help us," she blubbered.

"Goddamnit, I said take off your clothes!" Zeigler roared in 
uncontained urgency. "There's fifty people down there waiting to see 
you two perform, and at a hundred bucks a head entrance charge and five 
dollars a drink, they want their satisfaction!" And so do I, his raving 
mind continued silently. My balls are as aching as they were before I 
Sucked this sweet young mother's virgin ass-hole today, and Fang is 
waiting down there as well! Damn, this is going to be one fine night 
once I get them going! I know it!

"Hurry up!" he bellowed frantically, taking his own clothes off in a 
display of frenzied incontinence, "by hell, I'll rip you both naked if 
you don't!"

"Nooooo!" whimpered Lonnie, but it was her only defiant gesture. With 
fingers so distraught that they couldn't unbutton her blouse without 
intense, frustrating effort, the now nearly mindless wife gritted her 
teeth, reaffirmed her decision to take the brunt of Zeigler's 
wantonness, and peeled off her garments for the second time that day. 
Zeigler commanded that her bra and panties were removed instead of 
lasciviously allowing her semi-nakedness to distract the gangster; he 
was already overly aroused, and the customers wouldn't be as 
appreciative as he would have been - they wanted total nudity.

Lonnie stood in the cold, impersonal room with out anything on and 
clenched her eyes tightly shut so she wouldn't have to see Sam 
Zeigler's immense, hard and glistening penis again or his lusting leer 
at her vibrant, shivering flesh.

"Now," the gangster breathed, "now your daughter. Let me see that 
tender, sweet little cunt of hers that's just been gang-fucked by all 
those teen-age pricks ..." And like a robot hearing a master's command, 
Lonnie reached out for Jennifer's cherubic body, the miniature twin of 
her own rich, blossoming, curve of breast and thigh. But her daughter 
suddenly spoke, the first real words that she'd been able to manage 
since she'd been shoved into the back of Zeigler's car - and to 
Lonnie's incredulous, tortured ears, her tone was low and even and 
bitter with resignation.

"It's all right, Mother," Roger Carmel's young daughter said quietly, 
"I can take off my clothes by myself."

"Jennifer ..." moaned the tottering, nerve-shattered mother. "Jennifer 
...."

"Don't worry, Mom," Jennifer replied, her voice now losing some of its 
original calmness, and breaking slightly as she spoke. "I ... I know 
what this, this man wants us to do." The word man was spat out as if it 
was a more horrible swear word to the young adolescent than any foul, 
filthy four-letter guttural. "I heard it all in the car, as if I didn't 
know about this beforehand." She had her blouse off and was unzipping 
her pants with unsteady but determined little white fingers. "I'm no 
better than you, Mother, no better at all. Worse, in fact, because I've 
just let seven boys fuck me over and over ... and, and I liked it." Her 
bluish lips were quivering with remorse and shame, and her eyes 
mirrored her parent's in that they were welling with the warm liquid of 
torment and revulsion.

"You poor child," Lonnie consoled, her heart wrenching for her 
daughter's broken innocence. "This is horrible, horrible."

"Yes, but we have no choice," Jennifer said in a whisper. She slid her 
pants down, stepping out of them to show her firm, young, lithe legs 
and thighs. Zeigler gasped at the salaciously exciting build of the 
girl, and his cock throbbed hard and painful in front of him, but 
Lonnie's daughter turned to him and curled her lip in disdain. "We've 
got to do it, Mother, I know it. It would ruin Daddy if we didn't, this 
horrible man would tell him without a hesitation. I'll go through it 
with you even if it kills us both."

Through hazed eyes, Lonnie watched her only child slowly roll her 
already sperm-drenched panties down until the sparse, young triangle of 
her still moist pubic hair was visible. Then, when the gangster so 
commanded, mother and daughter climbed on the bed and lay down side by 
side, and she beheld all of Jennifer's pubescent, slender and 
curvaceous body, saw that it was as proudly developed as her own, and 
realized in a blinding flash of respect for her that no longer was she 
a baby, but a physically complete woman, one who, as the sickening 
words returned in haunting reverie, could take on seven boys and like 
it. Jennifer had become a woman in body if not in mind, and could 
respond to a man with all the passion and sexuality of her gender. And 
Lonnie Carmel wept again at the tragic way her daughter was being 
introduced to the world of physical sex.

The depraved Zeigler stood naked with his pulsating cock pointing 
straight at them by a large switch mounted on the wall, the control 
which would automatically lower the bed to the full, lasciviously 
waiting view of a half-hundred patrons below, and fingering the 
bloated, sperm heavy sac of his testicles with his other hand, he 
snapped out: "All right, you hot-ass beauties, let's start the action. 
Mother and daughter night," he grinned callously, "and mother and 
daughter will start out the performance by playing with one another's 
pussy."

Lonnie gasped in horror and revulsion at the salacious demand. Not only 
was he desiring lesbianism, a terrible perversion unto itself, but with 
Jennifer, her own child! She couldn't! With a face shining with 
anguish-caused sweat, she regarded her daughter once again, gulped with 
parched, torture-wracked gasps as she studied Jennifer's trembling 
breasts with their dark rosettes and hard nipples and then lower, to 
the hair lined lips of her so recently well-fucked vagina and the 
dainty pink clitoris nestling in their wet, trembling folds.

"Jennifer ... my daughter, my love ..." she groaned.

"Mother ..." came the responding mewl of undisguised misery.

"Damn it, it's either you two make love, or I go to your simpering prig 
of a do-gooder you call husband and father! Now, do it, you fucking 
sluts, do it!"

Lonnie's arms went around her black-haired, quivering daughter even as 
she felt Jennifer's arms go around her. They touched one another as 
they were drawn together by their mutual need, their mutual pain, their 
mutual goal, their mutual familial love. Their breasts touched and 
their nipples pressed against the other as if mother and daughter were 
trying to fuse together in their bondage.

With a spasming cry of exaltation, Zeigler witnessed their defeat, and 
he threw the switch. Slowly, with creaking and groaning and an odd, 
weightless vibration, the bed began to descend. Sam Zeigler leaped on 
the bed, his eyes slavering at the incredibly lewd and corrupting sight 
of mother and daughter, Lonnie and Jennifer Carmel, locked tightly in 
each other's arms. *  *  *  * 

Roger Carmel descended from the jet, maintaining his pose of shock and 
moral indignation and the effects of too many drinks as he moaned his 
plight to Martin Oliss. Oliss had been most sympathetic during the 
whole trip, buying Carmel drinks in his role as comforter and companion 
in grief until Carmel was in fact slightly tipsy. He had a hard time 
playing the part of an anguished cuckold, for inwardly he glowed with 
satiation and revengeful pleasure, and he made sure that Oliss, who 
undoubtedly felt the same mental satisfaction at the thought his evil 
plot was working perfectly, was run ragged with putting up with a 
seemingly demoralized and wronged husband. If the traitorous Martin 
Oliss concluded that he, Roger, was more of a prig than ever, well so 
much the better.

"Now ... now what, Martin?" he asked in a servile whine as they entered 
the terminal. "Now what do we do?"

"According to my private detective," Oliss said, licking his thin, taut 
lips with hardly contained zest, "we can catch our wives with this 
sonofabitch who's been sleeping with them while they're at the Club 
Royale. You know of the place?"

"No," Carmel lied. "I've never been there."

"It's a sort of roadhouse, not far from here." Oliss made a face as if 
he disapproved of the club. "Lots of rather, ah, questionable goings on 
there, I understand. A place that a rat like this blackmailer would be 
apt to take another man's wife." He curled his lip with disdain, and 
walked toward the baggage collection point with hurried forcefulness. 
"I've even heard rumors that decadent entertainment is run for a 
certain type of low-life that likes that kind of thing."

Carmel still wasn't sure exactly what Oliss' final game was, but he was 
certain that to give the executive enough rope would allow him to find 
out in time - and then hang him. Kim Copeland hadn't been told by 
Zeigler all the details, for she wasn't in a position to need them for 
her part in the lewd sedition of Carmel - a debauchery which had 
backfired so badly that if the gangster were to have known of its true 
outcome, it would have sent him fleeing - so Carmel was still ignorant 
that Oliss vitas plotting to show him his wife and daughter on stage 
and then with the aid of his wife convince Carmel that the only way he 
could rescue his abandoned family was to cooperate with Zeigler.

Oliss watched Carmel with a degree of contempt that he didn't know he 
felt for the vice-president before. It was all he could do to keep from 
laughing in his silly face right now, but he knew that he had to wait 
and keep up the facade of outraged decency or he would destroy the 
confidence Carmel had in him. He was caught a little off guard by some 
of Carmel's reactions, and had been careful to not make any rash, loose 
moves during the whole trip back - and then Carmel threw him another 
curve when the distraught man beside him asked:

"Didn't you say just now that both our wives are at the Club? Isn't 
that odd that the guy who seduced our wives would be able to escort 
them together? I mean, that is what you said, Martin, isn't it?"

"Why, er ... yes, yes, I said that, Roger," Oliss stammered. "What I 
meant was that my detective said your wife was with the man and my wife 
was ... was also there, but alone. That's it. She's alone because ... 
well, I'm not sure why because he never said." He took out his 
handkerchief and wiped his forehead, damning the way Carmel could 
pounce on every word he uttered even though so high-strung. Never seen 
him this want before! What a job it turned out to be to maintain a 
hurt, gentlemanly attitude with this prudish fop.

Carmel smirked to himself as he picked up his suitcases. So both olives 
are going to be there, are they? This should be Interesting ... I 
wonder what they'll be doing? For all of his feeling that he had the 
situation under control, that he now could pull the strings as he 
desired, Roger Carmel still wasn't prepared for the totally heinous 
sybaritic saturnalia which would be thrust before him when he arrived 
at the Club Royale. If he had, he wouldn't have been in such eager 
hurry to go there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 7

Lonnie Carmel and her daughter, Jennifer, stared into each other's 
pain-flecked eyes and sought solace in them, and the pained mother 
knew, as instinctively she was aware that her teenage child knew, that 
they were both the same, having committed lewd, unspeakable acts of the 
flesh, and were now caught helplessly in the evil, enslaving web of Sam 
Zeigler's depravity. The immoral bonds tied them more closely than the 
best of friends, for they were of the same blood, and a mute empathy 
and bond of love was sewn between the two ravishingly beautiful young 
women, and somehow that knit helped blank out the hot, hard lights 
which bore down upon their exposed bodies from the circle of spots 
around the open stage, silenced the hoarse urgings of the naked and 
lewdly incensed gangster who was on his knees with them on this bed of 
public display. Things were a little less terrifying for both mother 
and daughter, and together, they fought to hold their sanity during 
this longest of all nights.

The warm, comfortable air of the stage area was like a blessed 
covering, and the lights were bright mirrors which no matter how hard 
one might try, could not be seen through, but Lonnie knew what was on 
the other side of the lights, surrounding the bed like pits of hungry 
carnivores; she knew because she had been on her back herself getting 
fucked half senseless the previous night in one of the ringing small 
rooms, and had gaped in fascinated excitement at the lewd performance 
transpiring on the bed which now supported her and her own daughter. 
Now, wanting to protect her Jennifer, she didn't say that a few feet in 
any direction would bring them face to face with glass-enclosed 
voyeurs, devoted to the worship of vice and gross sexual immorality. 
She didn't say anything at all, for the time of talking was past ...

Slowly, Jennifer pressed the soft, young curling fleece of her pubic 
hair into her mother's loins, and arching her back, she moaned in the 
bitterness of what had to be done for her father's sake, and she kissed 
her mother, kissed her hard the way she had kissed Stan Lubin, and 
found to her shame that her mother's lips were enticingly agile, pliant 
and soft. And, in spite of the guilt of knowing that her daughter was 
kissing her as if she was a lover, Lonnie stiffened her resolve to show 
Zeigler that she was cooperating and she fluttered her tongue out, 
entering the opening of her daughter's hot, moist mouth as an answering 
tongue invaded her lips; she sucked the pink, trembling tongue and 
found that she could not help running her hands over the fresh, firm 
skin of her child, touching her naked, taut breasts and buttocks. They 
squirmed on the bed, locked in their lewd, incestuous embrace, and the 
tiny puckered little anus puckered more from her mother's finger as the 
girl's firm, white, young buttocks parted inadvertently.

Jennifer, sensing her mother had steeled her mind to continue with this 
depravity, melted with the deep love which she had for her, plus the 
sympathy she held for any woman who loved her husband so dearly and 
with her own similar affection for her father. She gasped as she saw 
the gangster who had engineered this sinful orgy over her mother's 
shoulder leering down at them in vile delight, then she shut her eyes, 
hearing Zeigler's lewd chuckling, and let swiftly flickering tongues 
and familiar soft hands send out urgent, teasing messages radiating 
outward along her nerves, and she allowed her own fingers to rub along 
her mother's rippling satin backsides as she trembled with the strange 
forbiddeness of her degradation.

"That's it! That's it! More! More!" the gangster hissed down at them.

Spurred on by Zeigler's sex-crazed demands, mother and daughter 
caressed each other's breasts until they were swollen and throbbing 
with unwanted sensation and their nipples were four chips of dark rock 
biting into the other's tormented flesh. Lonnie could feel Jennifer's 
hot breath on her face and her mind cried out in a futile gesture of 
anguish, but her hands were moving of their own volition, down over the 
hot, fevered hips of her naked child, down, down to the moist covering 
of hair around Jennifer's quivering pubic region. Oh God ... oh God 
...."

Roger Carmel's teen-age daughter felt her mother's fingers seek out and 
find her pink, wet vaginal slit, groaned with the lancing, undeniably 
pleasurable spasm of the contact, and her extended middle finger 
located her mother's clitoris and returned the attention, tweaking it 
as if she was masturbating and she was touching herself.

"Enough! Enough!" Sam Zeigler shouted, his rubbery lips drooling 
uncontrollably as he watched the mutually subjugated mother and 
daughter fondling each other's female genitals before him and the vast 
audience on the other side of the klieg lights. His thick, hirsute body 
was also on display, and he reveled in the exposure, as his blood-sated 
and pulsing cock stood rigid and his hand stroked it lightly, causing a 
smear of his male secretion to form on its tip.

"Now you, Jennifer," he panted with obscenity, "you turn upside and 
kiss your mother's cunt. That's right, get between her legs!"

Jennifer moaned, but began to slide away ... down the trembling form of 
her whimpering mother, giving a shudder of dull abhorrence at the 
order. Lonnie raised her head to watch in half-revulsion, half 
captivation as the nubile voluptuousness of her daughter moved up on 
all fours ... she didn't think that Jennifer could do it, would do it 
.... but the girl was already positioning her lovely young moon shapad 
buttocks over her face, and Lonnie could see the barely mature long 
pink slit of her daughter's cunt open slightly, and the crevice widen 
to show the child's hairless, puckered rosette of her anal opening as 
Jennifer lowered her shoulders down to her mother's open, defenseless 
thighs.

Jennifer had always considered the act of oral love between two women 
as incredibly abhorrent, one of those things which, as a little girl, 
she never allowed herself to think about, but as she sucked in her 
breath and took a look at the close up, softly hair-lined lips of her 
mother's vagina and the enticing pink flesh just beyond which was 
honey-dewed with sparkling droplets of moisture that her own fingers 
had raised, and then breathed the musky, perfumed scent, she quivered 
excitedly, flicked out her tongue and teased the fleshy folds. She 
heard her mother moan and raise her buttocks up off the bed in 
involuntary reaction, her body twisting slowly from side to side from 
the grazing tickle of her daughter's tongue. Jennifer eased her mouth 
inside the now wet, tingling cleft and found to her humiliation that 
she got an electrifying stimulation from the delicious contact, and she 
lashed out everywhere, her pink, wet tongue and lips invading her 
mother's pussy, forgetting in her excitement where she was, or who was 
under her, as her mind soaked up the ambrosia of slippery female juices 
and sensitive flesh which quivered violently under her assaulting 
mouth.

Her mother groaned from deep within her belly and began to pant 
explosively from the salacious and unwelcome passions which were 
flowing out of her convulsed loins. She heard her daughter gasp for air 
and then with a hungry lurch, bury even her nose back into the wild 
cavity of her cunt, and she begged the young girl to stop ... stop 
before it was too late ... but then she realized that it was too late, 
that she was no longer just enduring the sweet agony and was enjoying 
the depraved immersion in her cunt. "Oh, no ... no, Jennifer ... God, 
that's enough ... oh, no more, please no more ..." she begged weakly, 
and she twisted in the grip of her daughter's increasing voracious 
tonguing, writhing as Jennifer refused to stop, shamefully aware that 
she herself was unable to break the open, nibbling mouth which was 
glued to her insanely responding pussy. Her pleas died in a strangled 
mixture of a sob and a sigh, and her body convulsed as she wanted and 
yet didn't want her daughter to stop.

Once more the lust-maddened gangster interrupted. "No more!" Zeigler 
cried out, and Jennifer withdrew her wet, glistening mouth from her 
mother's palpitating vagina. "I can't stand it any longer! I've got to 
have you now!"

"How?" moaned Lonnie, fearing the worst. "How?"

Zeigler's mind raced with combinations of perversions and lewd acts, 
keeping in the back of his mind that the dog must still have his 
animalistic way with the lovely, cringing wife ... his heart slamming 
in his chest, his mind awash with the pleasures that flamed in mental 
images, his chest a bellows emitting grunting sounds, he paused ... 
then chuckled with a lascivious glee which glazed the hearts of both 
his victims.

"I think I'll have Jennifer suck my cock ... something which if I know 
the football team, she's already well practiced at." Then he groaned 
and grimaced with ugly, satanic lust. "But first I'll fuck the girl my 
favorite way ... in the ass. I already reamed yours out today, Lonnie-
baby, and I don't think your daughter should be deprived of the same 
thrill, do you?"

Lonnie couldn't believe the absolute pit of depravity she had 
unwittingly fallen into. Even though her passions had been unnaturally 
aroused and were coursing through her heated blood in spite of her best 
efforts to reject the ministrations of her daughter's loving tongue in 
her cunt, the mother was shocked speechless by the impact of Zeigler's 
words. God, he was going to sodomize hers and Roger's daughter! The 
obscene thought of the ravishment about to take place right here a few 
inches in front of her horrified face caused her to groan and grind her 
own heated buttocks against the bed, and one look at Jennifer told her 
that the girl was too far gone in her humiliation and shame and 
determination to save her father to resist.

"Come here, little girl," Zeigler hissed, crooking his finger at 
Jennifer. He lay on his muscular back, his massive penis jerking with 
its swollen erection, and as he thought of what was to follow, new 
sensual spasms of hazy delight taunted his cock to still higher 
rigidity. "Yes, come here, my sweet one, come to Big Daddy Sam."

"Yes," sobbed Jennifer mournfully, "yes ... but please don't hurt me 
...." She crawled over the well-lit bed, tears stinging her eyes as she 
gazed stupefied at his immense cock. But the Negro's on the football 
team had been larger, she told herself, and if she could take his, she 
could take anything ... A phyyric note of vain hope.

"Now, Jennifer," Zeigler commanded, "squat down over me, facing your 
dear, loving mother. I want her to see just how brave you are when you 
feel me up inside your rectum, and how you love cock there after you 
get used to it. You're just like your mother I bet, and she almost went 
crazy when I fucked her in the ass."

Jennifer gave an awful look of sadness to her mother, which Lonnie 
could only return with tear-blurred eyes, and then the girl moved over 
Zeigler's loins and assumed a semi-squatting position, her white, firm 
buttocks and the darker shadows of her crevice poised directly above 
his blunt, aching penis.

Lonnie moaned involuntarily from the lewd scene as Zeigler ran his 
hands between the girl's legs, his fingers greedily pinching the firm 
skin of her inner thighs and the smooth cleft between them, and then he 
parted her trembling buttocks with both hands so that the tiny, 
virginal anus was visible to Lonnie's gaping eyes. Her own backsides 
still throbbed from the effects of the gangster's earlier defilement of 
her rectum, and she knew instinctively that he was doing this to her 
daughter as a special way to break them both.

"Look at it, Lonnie-baby. Nice and young and hairless." Zeigler taunted 
the frozen woman. Then he leered up at the quivering back and lower 
torso of the fifteen-year-old daughter of Roger Carmel and felt her 
cower as he drew her firm young buttock cheeks wider apart. Then he 
levered her down ... down ... pressing the tip of his cock into the 
tiny, throbbing hole, wet from her inadvertantly aroused excitement. 
Arching his loins, he raised up slightly, directing his hard instrument 
straight into the tightly clenching orifice, and Jennifer screamed: 
"AAAAaaaggg! Uuugh!" and she twisted her buttocks above his thighs, 
trying to throw the slowly invading cock from her, but he held her 
firmly and with each buck of her body his prick skewered into her 
defensively resisting anus another cruel and painful inch. Her mother 
held her breath and then groaned in empathetic response to her daughter 
as she saw Jennifer's tiny stretched anus clasping desperately at 
Zeigler's thick, throbbing cock as he sunk his rod halfway to its hilt, 
and she knew that her daughter had no more chance of resisting than 
she, herself, had had that same afternoon.

Jennifer flailed her legs on either side of his as she rocked backwards 
in agony, and that made her sit on his huge cock with no other support 
-- and she grunted helplessly and dropped to his loins as it slipped 
unimpeded up into the rubbery depths of her small, child-like rectum. 
She jerked spasmodically and then lay still to ease the pain of the 
cruel and complete occupation of her asshole, knowing it was impossible 
to fight it, and movement only served to widen and stretch her tiny, 
hopelessly clutching little anal cavern to greater and more painful 
dimensions.

Zeigler ground his teeth together. "Christ, she's tighter than you 
were, Lonnie-baby, but damned good!" he hissed, and then he guided her 
with his massive hands on each outer side of her trembling, young 
thighs up and down his turgid shaft in long, smooth strokings, bringing 
groans of pain and humiliation from the teen-ager's tortured lips each 
time. Lonnie watched mesmerized, moaning in concert with Jennifer's 
mewls of agony, her eyes a few scant inches from where the gangster's 
hardened penis was stretching her daughter's backsides and pile-driving 
rapaciously into her anus. Lonnie could see every detail; the moist 
long cock wet with its own secretions drawing the ragged pink edges of 
her daughter's pink sphincter muscle out on the outstroke, then 
disappearing back inside as he rammed it home again deep in her belly, 
and the mother got up on her all-fours, her vision totally absorbed by 
the obscene spectacle of this man sodomizing her only daughter on and 
on, screwing her from behind and beneath as Jennifer rode bravely up 
and down on his lust-hardened cock.

And as Lonnie stared in subservient anguish at her helpless child, she 
began to detect that Jennifer's moaning cries of pain subtly changed to 
low whines and then to a tone which left no room for doubt! Jennifer 
was beginning to enjoy it with a strange kind of masochistic pleasure, 
the same kind that had thrilled her mother to orgasm that afternoon. 
Perhaps it caused by the very helplessness of her position or from the 
lewd, obscene thought of being fucked in the ass while being watched by 
a hundred beady, lust-incensed eyes; but whatever it was, Jennifer was 
loving it, and her hips started to move of their own volition, meeting 
the up-thrust of Zeigler's cramming prick, her whole, young nubile body 
undulating in tiny, abandoned circles.

The sight of her daughter, her innocent darling young girl, going stark 
raving mad the way she was and turning into a sex-crazed female was too 
much for Lonnie Carmel. She continued to watch the sodomized, ravished 
Jennifer respond more and more feverishly, and once again she thought 
of her own reactions this afternoon when she had taken Zeigler's huge 
cock all the way in her rectum and had pushed back in torrential 
explosions ... and in the loving way one person can feel vicariously 
for another, she sensed an odd wetness in her own anus as if he was 
screwing her again instead of her daughter.

Then was added further ambivalence of agony and fascination to heat her 
loins as Lonnie superimposed the depraved scene she had witnessed the 
night before on this very same bed, confusing her daughter with the 
incensed girl of then. It was too much, too damned much for her not to 
react to, and Roger Carmel's black-haired wife started to mechanically, 
as if she had no mind of her own, undulate her own body salaciously as 
weird sensual thoughts grew in her mind, swamping her flesh and fibers; 
and as she continued to watch the corruption of her daughter, she began 
to push the fear, the self-guilt, the hatreds out of her head and 
replace them with desire. Desire - dear God, she was beginning to 
enjoy the sight of the depraved assault on her young daughter's naked 
anus! Her belly churned and a tremendous wave of sensual excitement 
poured over her, inundating all other emotions. Oh God ... how could 
she not enjoy it!

Jennifer Carmel was crooning now, her mind filled with the horrible 
pleasure billowing from her tortured rectum. She gyrated her buttocks 
down hard against Zeigler's pelvis in an effort to knowledgeably widen 
her back passage, and she leaned back against the debauching gangster, 
her arms resting on the bed at the elbow. Her beautiful black hair-
covered pussy was wet and glistening with her excitement now, and her 
mother could see its long, pink furrow trailing from her quivering 
young clitoris down to her writhing buttocks where the gangster was 
massively splitting them with his hard, pumping cock, his hands holding 
them apart with his urgent and spasming fingers while he buried all of 
his thick, sensitive shaft in the girl's wide-splayed anus, his heavy 
balls pulsing in full, erotic view.

Lonnie couldn't have contained her own seething sensations any longer 
had she wanted to. She crawled the remaining few inches and nuzzled her 
face in the soft, sweet-smelling pussy of her daughter, returning the 
liquid embrace of Jennifer's mouth on her vagina by starting her tongue 
from the tip of Zeigler's testicles, taunting the half-inch of exposed 
penis not yet swallowed by her child's pulsating, open hole, and 
upward, finally sucking the inner lips and clitoris of the young 
excited girl. She reached back between her own legs and massaged her 
now burning, unquenchably fired cunt, wallowing lewdly in the pleasure 
of her debasing inability to prevent her wild, desire-maddened body and 
mind from demanding fulfillment.

The depraved gangster lasciviously watched Lonnie Carmel become 
subjected to the entrancing sight of the anal fucking he was giving her 
daughter, and instantly he was spurred on by the absolutely lust-
billowing enhancement of Carmel's wife licking his balls and her 
child's tender pussy. He flexed the shaft of his impaling, thick cock 
and made a tight, half-choking laugh as Jennifer wailed in 
pleasure/pain and surged downwards with her rectal fist of soft, pliant 
flesh, and violent spasms of delection whipped through his loins. 
Jennifer continued to raise her hips and thighs up and down over 
Zeigler's plundering cock, and simultaneously press her wet flowering 
vagina against her mother's wildly sucking mouth while furiously Lonnie 
lapped her tongue about her daughter's delicious tasting pussy, her own 
unsated passions building and building until she could hardly breathe.

"You ... you want to be fucked, Lonnie-baby?" Zeigler in his ecstasy 
stammered out to the young wife and mother. "You want to be fucked?"

The answer tumbled out before Lonnie could even consider the lewd 
question rationally. "Oooh ... yes, yessss!"

"Then raise up your ass behind you as high as it will go," he ordered, 
and he waved his hand in a gesture to one of the guards standing to one 
side of the stage. "Get ready for the best fuck of your life!"

"Yeas! Yes!" Lonnie cried out, her tongue still buried in her young 
daughter's now hungrily quivering cunt as she thrust her white, round 
buttocks as high as she could.

The guard, seeing the signal, released Zeigler's huge German Shepherd 
dog, and the great beast surged for the bed, his tail wagging and his 
thick, long tongue lolling as the specially bred animal salivated with 
the remembered pleasures his master had trained him to perform. Fang 
leaped on the bed and headed straight for the provocatively waving 
buttocks of the woman.

I don't care ... I don't care any longer ... as lewd and despicable as 
this is, I can't help myself ... And then the wife of Roger Carmel felt 
the additional weight on the bed behind her, and she turned, wondering 
who her lover would be, but not really caring so long as he had a long, 
hard cock to fill her hungry, seething womb. And then she came back to 
reality as she saw the dog. Oh God! It's that dog from last night! 
Lonnie screamed out in undiluted horror as the great, panting brute 
growled the same, menacing way he had when he had subdued the young 
girl to hopeless subjugation. Lonnie could do nothing except freeze, 
her hand still deeply impaled in her masturbated cunt as Fang lowered 
his head to her defenseless, upturned buttocks.

Oh God, somebody, help me!" the lovely young wife mewled in helpless 
horror. *  *  *  * 

"Oh Lord!" Roger Carmel blurted out. "It's Lonnie! My wife's out there 
.... and Jennifer too! And ... and ..."

Oliss finished the choked-off sentence. "And Sam Zeigler, the man who 
my detective said has been fucking your wife. Look at him, Roger. Look 
at what that bastard is doing to your daughter!"

Carmel looked wildly out the window of the little second-floor room 
Oliss had led him to, then around at Martin trying to swallow his 
obvious lustful and malevolent pleasure at the carnality going on out 
there, and his depraved wife, Cylvia, who was sprawled on one of the 
low couches with a Cheshire cat grin all over her smug face.

"It's just like I told you, Roger," Oliss's blonde and lovely wife said 
throatily, "I thought there was something ... terrible and hideous 
about Zeigler, and I followed him tonight. He picked up your wife and 
daughter and brought them here. I ... can't tell you how sorry I am to 
have been a party to this horror ... but Zeigler is a bastard ... I 
couldn't help myself, though I know I'd never have allowed myself to 
fall so thoroughly under his spell as your wife and child obviously 
have."

Lying hitch! Roger Carmel's tortured mind screamed. They all set up 
this circus of perversion! His mind whirled with the total nightmare of 
what hen and countless other people - were viewing, and all his brain 
could fathom was that Lonnie and Jennifer weren't really out on that 
bed, but they were! Oh Lord, they were! His face grew blue with rage 
and sickness as he watched first Lonnie, completely enslaved by a giant 
German Shepherd, her trembling white body spread face down on the bed 
while the brute's thick tongue slithered into the exposed crevice 
between his adored wife's smooth-ivory buttocks. Roger gulped aloud, 
and he stared horror-stricken at his child-like, innocent Jennifer 
being pummeled by a man older than Roger, and not even in her tender 
vagina, either, but in her anus! His own teenage daughter was being 
sodomized in front of him - and liking it; both wife and daughter were 
liking it, performing together in the lewdest of debauches ... and ... 
before a depraved, lusting audience!

In the back of his blindingly fogged mind Roger Carmel thanked God that 
at least he had been forewarned of this treachery by Kim Copeland, and 
that he had prepared himself a little bit by assuming the worst 
possible thing that could happen would be catching his wife making love 
to Zeigler in private ... if he had come upon this prurient exhibition 
cold, the way Martin and his wife had plotted he would, he knew that he 
would have gone out of his mind in one searing second of comprehension!

And then, if that wasn't enough punishment for the unsuspecting husband 
and father to witness, Zeigler gnashed his teeth suddenly and jerked 
Jennifer off his turgid, slick cock, and rolling her around with a 
sadistic grin implanted on his face, took the young child by the hair 
brutally and thrust forward to rim his thick, glistening penis deep 
into her gaping mouth. Roger held his breath in wretching pain, fearing 
that his teenage daughter would choke to death from the sheer size of 
the gangster's cock buried between her lips, but to his amazement, 
Jennifer not only swallowed the shaft greedily, but began to suck it 
hungrily while Zeigler fucked into her tightly locked mouth like it was 
another cunt. And Carmel caught the look on his wife's face as she 
watched in envy as their teen-age daughter slavered with all her vigor 
on the alien penis fucking her tiny, clasping mouth. The child's eyes 
were glazed with a wild, ecstatic film of lust that sent a shiver 
through both her parents, and Lonnie began to gyrate her own naked body 
back against the lapping tongue of the German Shepherd behind her.

Cylvia Oliss said something to Roger but Carmel was too engrossed with 
the incredible unfolding of the next horrifying act. The dog was 
mounting his wife from behind now, paws wrapping around her waist as if 
she was a bitch in heat, and Carmel could plainly see the brute's 
glistening scarlet penis jerked and danced from its furry sheath as it 
slid along her vaginal slit in search of her pink, clasping cuntal 
hole. The husband held his breath as did the Olisses beside him and the 
other spectators in their little rooms as the massive dog bucked at 
Lonnie's wide-spread buttock cheeks and bared its jaws and growled in 
his attempt to skewer her on his hot, still growing animal prick. A 
groan of abject disbelief came from Roger Carmel as Lonnie reached back 
between her wide-spread legs and grasped the dog's slippery rod of 
bestial flesh and guided its glistening tip to her moist, throbbing 
cuntal slit ... and then the huge animal humped forward and buried its 
canine penis deep in the lovely wife and mother's squirming pussy mouth 
until it was interred to its full extent and the hairy testicles swung 
lewdly below into her wetly matted pubic hair.

"Great Heaven above!" Martin Oliss exclaimed in fascination. "Look at 
her! You see what I mean now, Roger? You don't have any choice except 
to submit to Zeigler. You tell him about your invention and whatever 
hold he has over your wife and kid will be broken. It's the only thing 
you can do, Roger; believe me, you don't have any choice."

Only thing to do ... no choice ... no choice ... Roger Carmel laughed 
shrilly and hysterically at the revolting words of the traitorous 
Martin Oliss. No choice? The hell there wasn't! He'd show them! He'd 
show Martin and Cylvia and Zeigler, he'd show Jerome Quarren if he was 
in the audience, he'd show his wife and daughter, he'd show everybody 
what choice he had, including that damned dog out there!

Carmel couldn't stand it any longer. Reeling like a wild, uncontrolled 
animal, incensed by all of the plotting and lewd seductions of his 
family, intent on punishing the whole world for what he had become a 
victim of, he turned from the window and stumbled out the door, into 
the hallway.

Oliss stared in complete bewilderment at the departing, maniacally 
laughing man, bewildered by this odd turn of events. He said to his 
wife: "What the hell is Roger up to?"

Cylvia, her gaze still wrapped in the lust-provoking performance on the 
bed, didn't turn her head but said, "I don't know and right now I don't 
care! God, would you look at those two girls go! Mother and daughter 
teams really work the best. Ohhh, I wish Tamera was here right now! My 
cunt is steaming for a good licking and - God, Martin, look! It's ... 
it's Roger! He's running out on stage! And ... and he's naked!"

*  *  *

The lust contorting sight caused Sam Zeigler to drive his cock farther 
into the passionate teenaged girl's face, and he stared down at her 
lips pulling out grotesquely and clinging to his hardened penis as the 
Carmel child sucked it hungrily, while next to them his monster dog, 
Fang, fucked Lonnie Carmel with a long, animal shaft which sent the 
woman's buttocks grinding back in wild tempoed fury. Then his attention 
was shifted by a slight scurry of muffled shouts, the scuffle of shoes, 
and a groan which he recognized as having come from the guard at the 
stage entrance ... and then Roger Carmel came dashing into view, naked 
as the day he was born ... and Christ, he had the biggest hard-on that 
Zeigler had ever seen!

The first thought was one of terror, and for a moment, the gangster 
missed a beat and staggered, almost pulling his erect cock out of 
Jennifer's young mouth, but then Roger Carmel was on the bed with him, 
a leering, crazed grin on his contorted face, a demoniacal laugh coming 
from his slack-jawed mouth.

"Carmel! What the hell!"

"Shut up and fuck, you bastard!" Carmel roared. "You don't have a 
goddamned thing on me or my wife! To hell with you! To hell with 
everybody!" He stood and pranced around the bed, waving his hard, 
blood-turgid shaft in all directions, cackling insanely.

Lonnie Carmel's head whirled in terror and humiliation, and she froze 
in her pumpings against the dog's enormous prick. "Roger!" she moaned 
in mortification at her husband seeing her and their daughter like 
this, naked and shamelessly perverting every sacrament of marriage and 
decency. She lowered her head to the bed, sobbing, the shame of hers 
and Jennifer's broken and used bodies blotting out the comprehension of 
what her husband was doing in his insane, perverted dance of naked 
exhibition.

"It's all right, honey," Roger said, coming back to her. "Everything's 
going to be all right. Zeigler and the Olisses don't have a hold on you 
or Jennifer or me any longer. Don't you see? We do it as a family, 
together, and what the hell can they do? Don't you see? It's the 
perfect answer!"

"Carmel, you damned fool, what the hell --"

"Stop your spluttering, Zeigler. You're not getting my invention," the 
once meek husband spat at him contemptuously. "Now start fucking my 
daughter in the mouth, if you want, because I'm going to really show 
you an act tonight. You want a mother-daughter team? Well, Zeigler, you 
bastard, you're going to get a mother-daughter-father team, and at no 
extra cost!"

"Yes, father! Fuck me! Fuck me in my cunt!" babbled Jennifer around the 
huge thick cock in her mouth, and she squirmed her beautiful vibrant, 
tender buttocks back and spread them wider, her first impact of shame 
and humiliation gone in the wanton depravity of the incestuous desire. 
She loved her father, loved him more than ever for what he was doing to 
salvage their family and she wanted him inside her, to feel his long, 
hard cock cum, for it was a cock she loved and not one of so many 
strange, uncaring penises which had viciously violated her innocent 
body. Her father groaned and slipped his hand in her flowering, wet 
pussy as he kneeled down behind her, and then his prick made electrical 
contact with the soft, sparse pubic hair covering the slim folds of her 
tender, adolescent vagina, and with one hand, the daughter reached 
under her body and her fingers lovingly guided his thick cock to the 
warm moist flanges of her now well-educated little cuntal hole.

Roger felt the softness of his child's curly soft lining of pubic hair 
tease around his aching penis as it entered her. He had lost all sense 
of modesty or decency with the driving luridness that Zeigler and the 
Olisses had unwittingly instigated in him and which had boiled once 
today with the mad fucking of Kim Copeland and which now threatened to 
overflow the very barriers of his sanity with the lewd, ruttish sight 
of his wife being willingly raped by a vicious animal and his daughter 
voraciously sucking the hardened cock of the most obscene man in town. 
Unable to contain himself, the new Roger Carmel erupted in his now-
changed emotional and rational being, and he threw back his head and 
rammed his heavy, pulsating penis into his kneeling daughter like a 
battering ram, deeper and deeper until he felt the white soft cheeks of 
Jennifer's wide-split buttocks flatten out against his belly. He 
convulsively reached forward and clasped his hands around her narrow, 
wasp-like young waist and held her tightly to him, relishing the low, 
dragging moan of ecstasy which came from her lips as he surged into her 
with long, deep strokes ... into the wet, palpitating slit between her 
thighs which hollowed and shook with the desire to milk her father of 
his sperm ... the sperm which had once created her in her mother's 
womb.

Lonnie felt the pit of her stomach hot and moist and the savage force 
of the doffs brutal cock ramming into her as she heard her husband's 
wild denial of Zeigler's rapacious, depraved threat to her and her 
family. With blurry eyes she gazed with fondness and love as Roger 
drove his penis deep into the walls of their teen-age daughter's cunt, 
and she knew then that all was well, that her loved ones would be with 
her, all together from then on, and breathing a sigh of relief, Lonnie 
began to once more move rhythmically backwards to meet the German 
Shepherd's supreme thrusts, her lust-twisted mouth moaning words of 
encouragement.

"We're together," she panted, grunting under the animal strokes, "We're 
really together ... oh, I love you ... both ... yes, yes ... and we'll 
stay a family ..." Lonnie knew that her mouth was open and pouring what 
she felt at the deepest depths of her soul, but at the same time the 
rolling thunder of sensation made her disembodied and free, and she 
undulated her buttocks in salaciously lewd circles, abandoning herself 
completely as she watched the lascivious trio next to her to the erotic 
pleasures of the bestial fucking this wonderful dog was pounding into 
her from the rear. Now, wantonly delirious with her release from 
subjugation she could truly revel in the delights of the brutish 
monster and she heaved her thighs and loins against the dog's hairy, 
hammering body, feeling as if she was a quivering mass of animal flesh 
herself, and the mounting pressure in her belly and cunt signaled that 
her rising, impending orgasm was almost there.

Roger Carmel pumped his cock from behind into his daughter's widely 
stretched and open cunt, and he saw with gazed eyes the obscene picture 
of Jennifer being buffeted between himself and the gangster in a 
subservient kneeling position, and Zeigler's huge, thick rod ramming in 
and out between her sucking, fish-like lips, while her long, black hair 
disheveled and flowed down over her head and her firm, young white 
breasts bobbed below her heaving chest. Her father grinned triumphantly 
at Zeigler and taunted out at him: "Enjoy this while you can, you 
bastard, because you aren't going to have any more of it! You fucked up 
solid, Zeigler, and this is your consolation prize! Hah! My daughter 
your consolation prize!" He thought that was very funny and he roared 
with laughter and surged into Jennifer mercilessly, until his daughter 
could only loll limply between the two carnally incited men, allowing 
herself to be used as they would, following their increasing tempo by 
the hungry swirling of her tongue around Zeigler's almost exploding 
cock.

Beside him, Carmel could see his lovely wife, Lonnie in the salacious 
scene of her twisting her head from side to side, screwing her buttocks 
back greedily against the German Shepherd like a demon-bitch with 
distemper, and the giant dog's tongue hanging from his mouth as he 
fucked into the wavering buttocks, saliva dripping down onto the sweat 
lining Carmel's wife's sweat-shining back.

Then:

"Now, dad ... oh now, I'm going to cum now!" Roger heard his writhing 
daughter moan from beneath him, and the rhythm of his and Zeigler's 
lewd double-fucking increased with her piteous cries of climax, faster 
and faster until he tore every last inch of his cock into her cunt. 
"Fuck back! Oh, Jennifer, fuck your daddy back!" as he felt her buck 
and moan and tremble with the raging tornado of her young, 
inexperienced body's release and his own impending orgasm swiftly 
approaching.

A deep, inhuman cry erupted from the gangster's throat and he locked 
his hands hard around the back of Roger's daughter's head, drawing his 
penis deep down until all Roger Carmel could see was a small bit of 
Zeigler's pubic base protruding wet and glistening from Jennifer's 
sucking lips. He gazed in fascinated awe as her throat tightened and 
untightened in great desperate gulps as she swallowed the hot, sticky 
flood that Zeigler spewed into her mouth, her cheeks bloating as her 
throat filled and emptied, filled and emptied in the attempt to rid her 
mouth of the flooding white sperm pulsating hotly up into it. At the 
same time he felt the deliriously sensual gush of his child's orgasmic 
secretions swirl warmly around his own cock in her still-spasming young 
vagina, and her juices flowed out from around the edges of his deeply 
imbedded penis and down the softness of her up-tilted cuntal split and 
his sac of swaying, sperm-filled testicles.

Lonnie screamed suddenly and her husband turned to stare in still more 
wonderment as his wife's firm rounded buttocks began contracting 
uncontrollably with her climactic upheaval. The doff thrust his canine 
prick deep up into her and jack-hammer lunges pounded her flooding 
cunt, and then Lonnie felt the animal's stream of hot alien cum 
squirting in thin streaming jets, ricocheting against the inner sides of 
her wildly contracting vagina, and its steaming heat setting her off. 
She screamed again and thrust her ass back toward the animal's 
expending penis as it continued to empty into her rippling belly with 
unbelievable force. Her stomach quaked and her thighs trembled, and her 
brain reeled insanely with the sensual reactions traversing her spine, 
all reality nothing but a blank, black shroud around her brain.

Roger Carmel saw thick, white ooze burst from around the flowering lips 
of his beloved wife's lust-clenched cunt as she squeezed and milked the 
dog's still ramming cock, forming trails of viscid liquid that ran down 
in lewd rivulets, wetting the ivory columns of her soft, inner thighs. 
Lonnie displayed in shameless abandonment all of her semen-soaked pubic 
hair and pink vaginal flesh as she pitched forward onto her face, 
exhausted, and the rapidly deflating penis of the animal slipped from 
her willingly ravaged cunt with a slightly sibilant pop.

Roger Carmel clenched his teeth shut and felt his testicles erupt like 
Fire bases, and his hot seed shot into his daughter's hungrily milking 
little womb, far, far up in her quivering young belly, and her father 
ground his pelvis into her churning buttocks and dug his cock-head 
deeper into the walls of her dilated pussy as he continued to spew his 
lewd load of incestuous cum hard against the inner cavern of Jennifer's 
child-like cunt. She whimpered, her own orgasm nearing its end, and 
Zeigler's limp, expunged cock slipped from her tender lips, and her 
father could see thin, sticky strings of the gangster's hot sperm still 
connecting the teen-ager's mouth with the bloated, red tip of his 
penis.

Jennifer Carmel groaned and relaxed, and only her father's hands at the 
juncture of her waist held her upright as he strained to empty the last 
of his cum inside her. Then he released his child and she slithered 
forward, his own shrinking penis sliding from her wet, flooded hole of 
her vagina, and she lay half-comatose across the loins and chest of Sam 
Zeigler, her own slim, nubile legs still wide apart, a last tempting 
view of her young pussy glistering in the overhead lights.

"Jesus, Lonnie, I love you," he murmured to his satiated, smiling wife, 
falling on his side and kissing her fondly on one sweat-slick breast.

"Thanks, Roger," she whispered in return, "thanks for saving me, your 
daughter ... us. You, you seem so different tonight somehow. So much 
more a human and involved person. I don't understand, I'm just glad 
this nightmare is over and we're together again."

"Someday I'll tell you what happened," Roger grinned at her. "For now, 
let's just say that I saved myself as well. Or, more correctly, I found 
myself, all of me. And," he added, looking with loving eyes over at his 
sweet, cherubic daughter, curled up and almost asleep, "and, yes, I 
found my family."

Zeigler groaned and rolled over and glared balefully at Carmel. "I may 
have been screwed out of my invention," he gasped, "but at least I got 
the fucking of my life. That's more than I can say for Martin Oliss at 
this point."

"He's never going to get that fucking, either," Lonnie Carmel promised. 
"Consider yourself one of the lucky few."

"Correction," her husband said with a lewd smile. "One of the lucky 
many. You don't think we're ever going to end all this do you?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 8

The idea to move to New York City had been Roger's, based on the offer 
by a large, international electronics company interested in the Carmel 
developments. Ampex and General Electric, and even one of the Japanese 
corporations, had all bid heavily for Roger after he terminated his 
employment with Skopos, but all things considered, he thought a move 
across the nation and the large amount of money plus generous stock 
options swayed him for the one he'd chosen.

And so far, after two months in the swank Manhattan apartment house, 
Lonnie Carmel had really reveled in the luxury of having a maid to 
clean up and no yard to mow and weed. She stretched out on the chaise 
lounge, relaxing with a cool drink beside her. The sun lamps hanging 
from the ceiling were giving her a lasting, all-year tan, and since she 
was naked, the golden bronze was a full covering over her body, only 
broken up by the twin projections of her darker colored nipples and the 
rich blackness of her soft, curly pubic triangle. However, relaxing was 
one thing; her mind was another. Zeigler and the Olisses were past 
history for her, Roger, and their daughter, Jennifer, but the erotic 
fires they had ignited in the three of them would never die ... and 
last night when mother, father and daughter had all romped together in 
wild sexual abandon on the large, round, king-sized bed in the master 
bedroom was proof of that. So fulfilling, the love of a family seeking 
pleasure and satisfaction as a unit. And the trio readily agreed 
unanimously that while they were happy together, they would never 
decline the benefits of variety, their now seemingly insatiable sexual 
appetites needing a lack of constricture.

Lonnie's prurient thoughts were interrupted as she looked up and saw 
Roger peeking in through the door. "Oh!" she said, startled. "I didn't 
hear you."

"You weren't supposed to," her husband replied smoothly. He was smiling 
lewdly and she could read the lustful thoughts on his mind. "Come on 
and put on your robe and meet our new neighbors, Betty and Don Marlowe. 
They were moving in across the hall and I invited them over for a 
drink."

"How marvelous," Lonnie exclaimed, and wrapping her robe around her she 
came out of the sun room to be introduced to a pert, well-endowed 
little honey blonde girl and a handsome man whose masculinity was so 
strong she felt a ripple run through her just in shaking his hand.

"We never dreamed that we would meet any one this fast," Betty Marlowe 
chattered amiably. "We thought New York was the city where every body 
were strangers in the same building."

"Not in this building," Roger said expansively. "Lonnie, darling, how 
about a drink?"

"I have some champagne just waiting for a special occasion like this," 
she said in friendliness. "Don? Do you think you could help me take 
down the glasses? They're awfully high up in the kitchen cupboard for 
me to reach." She waited for the eager man to rise from his chair, and 
then she paused to pat the head of the large German Shepherd which had 
followed her out of the sun room. "You stay here and get acquainted 
with Betty, Fang," she said lovingly to the dog, "I don't need any help 
this time from you. But maybe later, alright lover?"


The End

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with
all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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