Peter Jensen

The blackmailed mother book II

CHAPTER ONE

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 Oliss 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 fucked 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 TWO

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…"

Roger 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 Goddamned 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 objectly. "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 Samuels' 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! Damnit 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 permeations 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 THREE

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 rollercoaster 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 weaved 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 instroke. 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 gangfuck 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 racioustess 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 hotlicking 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 cervice 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 spiralling excitement, the previous series of pummelling, 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 visciously 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 FOUR

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 damnit, 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, Roger! 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 lizardlike 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…! I 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 FIVE

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 cacoon 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. "Damnit," 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, Saunders' 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 Saunders' 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 SIX

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 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 gangfucked 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.

"Damnit, 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 SEVEN

Lonnie Carmel and her daughter, Jennifer, stared into each other's pain-flecked eyes and seeked 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, incestual 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 moonshapad 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 upthrust 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' 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 beastial 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 incestual 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 visciously 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 beastial 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 uptilted 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 innersides 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 firebases, 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 incestual 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 EIGHT

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?"

Content

Peter Jensen
The blackmailed mother book II

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT