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Subject: {ASSM} Repost: The Blackmailed Mother - Book Two
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LLP-220: The Blackmailed Mother - Book Two
By: Peter Jensen

http://whiteshadow.pornopartners.com

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

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


Chapter 1

Saturday morning arrived all too soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the phone rang.

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

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

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

"You know who this is?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What - what for?"

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

"But --"

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

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

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

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

Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you have anything planned for right now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You were married?" he asked inanely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until she touched the throbbing bulge of his penis.

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

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

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

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

"I love my wife," he moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Strip," he commanded harshly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jennifer's reaction was violent!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lonnie had to face the stark, cold fact that there was no other choice 
if she wanted him to always keep what she had done a deep secret from 
her husband and daughter, and if she didn't do as he commanded, she 
would lose Roger and be castigated beyond belief. Her hips and rounded 
buttocks jumped at his familiar, decadent touch, but she didn't protest 
as Zeigler's hand slid her dress up her front until his cool, grasping 
finger t