White Slave

Chapter 1


Margaret Sorenson spilled another quarter-cup of Spic 'n Span into the
plastic wash bucket and swirled it around with her delicate hand,
feeling the grit instantly dissolve into sterile suds. She churned the
suds to life and dipped her scrub brush into the hot soapy water to
continue the humble task of scrubbing years of accumulated wax from the
yellowed floor of her landlord's kitchen. Her modest red and white
checkered house dress, still speckled with furniture polish from
yesterday's house cleaning, pulled across her lap to expose her slim
thighs. Margaret poked a finger to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind
her nape-tied scarf and, wiping a purling drop of sweat from her
unwrinkled brow with a swipe of her sudsy hand, sat up to admire the
rewards of her plebeian task. In an arm's stretch semi-circle around
her, an oasis of white glistened in a desert of sandy yellow. Another
two hours of sweating and scrubbing and backache, and she would have
worked off one week's rent here at her Geary Street apartment in
downtown San Francisco. But the thirty-eight year old woman refused to
complain; at least she had a roof over her head, which was a lot more
than many women in her situation could brag of.

The proud Swede had seen many an unfortunate woman in the social
security collection lines. Single women, many not over forty, bent and
stunted from malnutrition and medical neglect, a hive of buzzing,
scraggly children at each side, pulling on her work-wearied body, each
claiming a part of a mother who hadn't the energy left to enjoy her
blessing of motherhood. And in the welfare lines too ... unkempt, dirty
hair, worn-down heels on blistering over-sized shoes bought for a
quarter at St. Vincent de Paul's. The poverty and humility brought
tears to Margaret's eyes. No, she would never resort to such poverty,
even now in her widowed years. She would work off her debts with honest
physical labor and not complain how many backaching hours it took to
satisfy Roger Blasser's insistent demands.

After all, as landlord's go, he had been sympathetic enough to
appreciate her dour situation since Sandor was killed in the
construction accident down south of Market Street. Then, too, her
poverty was only a temporary inconvenience; the union lawyers were
working overtime trying to get a court date to settle the lawsuit
involving Sandor Sorenson's needless death in the explosion that
rocketed him twenty feet in the air to crash on the steel beams still
loaded on the flat-bed truck below. When the case was finally settled,
the union lawyers anticipated a $500,000 settlement for his death, plus
another $100,000 for her trauma and personal loss; that didn't include
either of Sandor's two life insurance policies that would come due in
two months.

When her ship came in, she'd pack up her modest belongings and buy a
ticket back to Sweden where her relatives were crying for her. But that
was in the future and the thirty-eight year old husbandless blonde
realized she must cope with the squalor of her existence until she
could free herself. She would put up with the wheezing hydraulic brakes
of the city's busses that roared beneath her bedroom window, and the
cockroaches that infested every openly seeping draining in the soon-to-
be condemned apartment house where a conglomerate of centurians,
widows, taxi drivers, hippies left over from the flower days of Haight
Street, and single-parented children hovelled in the ruins of what was
once an elegant place to call home. It had its amenities, too. The rent
was extraordinarily cheap for San Francisco, and transportation was
readily available for people like Margaret who couldn't afford a car.
Then, too, the landlord would accept excuses when the rent was late,
like now; or better, still, he would accept what humble labor she could
offer in exchange for a place to call home.

In the three years she had occupied her third floor one-bedroom
apartment here on Geary Street, she had grown comfortable and had made
friends with some of the occupants who shared the ten-story eyesore.
After Sandor's death the widower from upstairs whose television set she
had tolerated at three o'clock in the morning for three yeas without
protest, ingratiated himself by inviting her up for coffee and to watch
the afternoon soap operas. And Lola from across the hall had invited
her to Saturday afternoon Matinees. So it wasn't as if nobody
appreciated her loss. Roger, too, had invited her to his apartment on
several occasions, a truth which brought a blush to her cheeks and she
kneed over to the far corner of the kitchen, pushing her sloshing mop
bucket along ahead of her.

Roger ... she mused, watching the water drip from the natural bristle
scrub brush before descending it to the floor. Roger had been more than
kind. Sandor wouldn't approve of her cooking and cleaning for another
man, she thought guiltily; but what was she to do? Spend the rest of
her life holed-up crocheting and mending house-dresses? Ah, it was
silly! There wasn't anything between she and Roger. Margaret levered
herself to her knees and elbows and dug the brush into the yellowed
linoleum, watching cakes of dirt and wax lift like magic. But her mind
wasn't on the floor, it was on Roger. Roger would be home soon, and for
some unexplainable reason, she didn't want him to see her on elbows and
knees like a common scrub lady. she was only thirty-eight; she had time
to live ... and love.

Oh, sure, he'd kissed her one time and hugged her, lifting her off the
floor with his strong Arabian arms. But that was just kidding around,
nothing serious. Roger liked women, Margaret knew with a small pang of
jealousy. She'd seen several women, all dressed for the night club and
heavily made-up, leaving his apartment at strange hours. Margaret sat
up on her haunches, yanking down her dress that had hiked up to her
thighs. Yes, she reasoned generously, Roger should have many women, he
surely had the looks of a lady's man with his black thick hair and rich
tanned skin. For a man of forty-five, he still carried himself in a
dignified manner, straight and tall and strong. Margaret liked that.
Sandor had been a strong man.

Tonight she would cook for him. Oh, he wasn't subtracting anything off
of the rent for her kitchen labors, but he'd once said he loved
meatballs and gravy, and Swedish meatballs was her dish -- and it would
be good having a man praise her cooking again. It had been so long ...
so darned long since she'd had anything to look forward to.

* * * * *

Margaret had cleared the gravy-smeared plates and run warm water from
the dripping faucet to rinse them off before the cock-roaches decided
it was time for a meal and came lurking out of the woodwork in silent
armies. In the living room off the kitchen, she could hear the
television set's scratchy roar; it sounded like a baseball game.
Suddenly she remembered the world series season was upon fans
everywhere; Sandor had always watched it, too, sitting in his favorite
overstuffed chair, nursing a can of cold beer. The remembrance brought
a smile to her lipsticked lips. Running a dishpan full of hot water,
she set the dirty dishes in to soak and walked into the screen-lit room
to sit beside Roger.

Roger smiled down at the blonde woman beside him and slipped his arm
around her, never taking his eyes off the television set. Somehow it
all seemed comfortable, and Margaret felt no guilt at this man showing
a gesture of absent-minded affection toward her. She basked
contentedly, sitting back on the aging springs of the sofa, and pulled
a hand crocheted afghan over her knees that had been folded and thrown
over the back. Her full stomach and after dinner glass of wine suddenly
made her feel drowsy and she took the silent liberty of resting her
head on Roger's shoulder.

"You're a hell of a cook," whispered Roger when the Gillette commercial
interrupted the game. The Arabian landlord gave her shoulder a gentle
nudge. His hand felt strong and powerful through the thin fabric of her
cotton dress.

"T'ank you. And did you like the way I clean your floors?" she asked in
her sing-songy Swedish accent, squeezing a little closer to the man's
side.

And then, without a word between them, Roger allowed his fingers to
slide along the upthrust swell of her breast until his opened palm
cupped the full swinging mound of her tit delicately. He could feel her
body stiffen, her breath suddenly coming faster as with one finger, his
middle one, he caressed the inviting softness of her breast, rubbing
the swollen tiny peak of her nipple through her flimsy dress as he
admired the ample, womanly figure she still possessed. She was a
specimen of health, her skin tight and resilient, so typical of blonde
Nordics, and her shimmering blonde hair showed only one streak of
platinum gray. Roger could hear a little purr coming from her lips, and
he smiled to himself savoring the effect he was having on her ... he
had her wrapped around his finger, that was for sure, right where he
wanted to keep her. She needed affection, that he knew and in return
she would bring him a gold mine if only half of those law suits and
insurance policies came to fruition. A lonely woman in a strange
country with no man ... hell!

He tweaked the sensitive nipple with his thumb and index finger, and
she shivered involuntarily from the tip of her toes along her spine to
her shoulders. Pausing for a moment, he moved his exploring hand around
the firm curve of her breast until his fingers found what he was
looking for: with practiced deftness, he eased the zipper down along
the satiny plane of her back until he reached the taut elastic band of
her panties. He stopped there an instant slipping his fingers between
her warm flesh and the tight band, far enough down the hollow of her
naked back to reach the first few inches of her fleshy buttock crevice.
Teasingly, he flicked a finger against the tightly puckered ring of her
anus and felt her quickly shrink away.

Shit, I'll bet old Sandor never poked his prick in there, Roger mused
to himself.

He massaged her nakedly sensitive flesh in slow concentric circles as
his hand eased back along the smoothness of her back until he reached
the stretched fabric of her dress, pulled taut now over her shoulders.
Pausing first to unsnap the tiny three hooks of her bra, he then eased
the shoulders of her dress down along her arms until the dress hung
limply over her whitely firm breasts.

He stopped his smooth seductive motions and looked Margaret over again,
eyeing hungrily the rich, womanly full swells and hollows of her well-
formed body. Yes sir, she was quite a nice looking woman, all right.

Again with his right hand, Roger tumbled the fabric of Margaret's dress
and the sheer tissue of her bra over the bulging mounds of her breasts,
exposing the twin half-dollars of her fully erect nipples, all pinkish
and excited at being exposed to the air and to his eyes. They swelled
even more rigidly as a sudden chill breeze caressed them, sending a
burst of rippling electricity through her breasts and down into her
man-hungry belly, fanning the embers of a long-dormant fire that once
burned there.

Yes, God help her, she had been so long without a man, so long she had
nearly forgotten the magic of a real man's touch, the thrilling ecstasy
of being looked at and caressed this way.

His outstretched fingertips brushed lightly over the soft, warmly
beckoning bulge of her tits, first one, then the other, before finally
clamping tightly over the ripely mature mound, squeezing the delicate
ivory-white flesh between his clenched fingers.

Margaret could stand no more; she had kept silent as long as she could.
"Oh, you are a sweet man, Roger. Oh, it feel so good."

Her knees were opening and closing like an accordion and she flung the
afghan to the floor; her firmly fleshed buttocks were ground tightly
against the sofa. Margaret could feel the warm dampness of love juice
spreading between her thighs as the cheeks of her fully rounded ass
clenched like starving lips at the fabric, beneath them. Even his touch
was driving her almost insane with heated desire; she was going out of
her mind with blind passion ... a scream was ready to burst from her
lungs any second now from the agonizing deliciousness of his
knowledgeable fingers were bringing her. She offered no resistance as
he shoved her over onto the cushions of the long sofa, stretching
himself out beside her and continuing to relentlessly caress the
nakedly soft white mounds of her full fleshy breasts. A low moaning cry
escaped from her lips as he roughly squeezed the tenderly pulsating
nipples between his fingers, toying with them mercilessly as her whole
body trembled and quivered from his touch.

His hands left the feverishly jutting nipples and slowly eased along
the flat plane of her belly. Margaret's body arched off the sofa as his
fingers slipped once again under the waist-band of her panties,
brushing over the fluffy mound of her sparse pubic hair until his hand
made a maddening electric contact with the warmly moist lips of her
cunt; even in the dim light of the television Roger could see her flesh
was covered with a million tiny goose-bumps as she shivered
convulsively at his wonderful touch.

"Oooo, it is so nice, so nice ..." the love-starved widow murmured
mindlessly, floating in space now at the ecstasy of a man's hands down
there on her naked cunt.

Clutching the moist flanges of her pussy with his palm, Roger ventured
a finger between the wetly pink ridges, and Margaret gasped as her
feverish loins suddenly ground tightly up against his hand. His middle
finger now slowly explored the entire hot length of her narrow wet
slit, starting with the taut muscular ring of her anus, easing over the
hard membrane of flesh that separated the two enticing channels before
the probing finger finally reached the moistly clasping sheath of her
pussy.

The soft pink walls parted unhesitantly as his outstretched rigid
finger slipped into the warmly clasping tunnel, and he could feel the
fleshy passage open hungrily as he probed it deeply with his finger.

"That feel good?" he asked, sure of himself now.

Margaret tried to reply, but as her lips parted to speak, Roger
sadistically squirmed a second stiffened finger into her constrictive
passage, burying it up to the last joint in the warm juicy depths of
her cunt. Only a muffled cry of pain and pleasure came hoarsely from
her throat.

"Well, like it or not?" he teased again, grinning down at her between
pearly white teeth accentuated by his bushy black mustache and flashing
chocolate eyes. He wiggled his two fingers deep inside her hot, softly-
layered flesh.

"God, oh, yaaaa!"

Roger's ravishing finger slipped from her pussy wetly clasping grip,
and he tantalizingly dragged his fingertip along her warm slit until he
found the throbbing little bulb of her clitoris. Using just his thumb
and forefinger, he squeezed the incredibly sensitive nerve-ending as
the sex-hungry widow moaned and squirmed beside him on the sofa. Back
and forth, as if playing with a marble, he rolled the pulsing little
nodule, and Margaret gasped and choked for air as rippling waves of
undiluted passion and ecstasy swept over her shamelessly aroused body.

As her naked pelvis ground upward tightly against his palm, Roger
continued his maddening assault on her loins, twisting and pulling on
her hardened pink clitoris until she moaned and cried out loudly from
the delightful agonies of his skillful fondling.

"Don't stop, please ... Don't stop!" she screamed between hissing
teeth, her shrill words reverberating above the roar of the baseball
fans on television.

Sensing she was near her orgasm, Roger began to roughly rub her moistly
throbbing cuntal slit with the tips of his fingers, stroking over the
quivering fleshy peak of her clitoris and along the hot furrow between
the hungrily pursed lips of her cunt.

"Oh, yaa, ya, ya!"

Suddenly Margaret's buttocks and back arched high off the sofa, and as
if she were possessed by dozen demons, her warmly moist cunt began
grinding madly against his open hand as a long pitiful moan slipped
from her parched half-open lips.

"Oooohhh ... Aaahhh ..." The impassioned young widow suddenly quivered
from head to foot and jerked convulsively as the shuddering currents of
her orgasm raced from her hotly straining loins, bathing his hand in a
slippery gush of orgasmic juices that soaked his palm and seeped down
the crevice of her buttocks before spreading in lewd trickles over the
soft half moon cheeks of her ass. Finally, with a trembling sigh, she
slowly sank down on the couch, lying face to face with her landlord.

She gasped hoarsely, still struggling to regain her breath. "Oh, oh
that felt so good!"

Roger only smiled wordlessly, pulling his fingers from the warm wet
grip of her pussy, wiping the slippery traces of her orgasmic fury from
his hand with a handkerchief, keeping one eye on the baseball game.
Then he spoke, "We're not done yet. Take off your clothes."

Without thinking, Margaret hurriedly removed her crumpled dress and
panties, then unhooked her garter belt and, sitting on the edge of the
sofa, pulled down her stockings and left them in a heap on the living
room carpet. In just a few seconds, she was completely naked, her
ripely mature body glistening with tiny beads of perspiration from the
excitement and the anguished anticipation of having her first man in
almost six months. She glanced down at him reclining on the sofa with
his head tilted toward the television screen watching the Oakland A's
hit a home run, and she covetously eyed the thick elongated bulge in
his polyester pants that seemed to her passion-glazed eyes to be a foot
long. She twitched nervously, unused to a man's hungry eyes on her
naked flesh. "You 'vant to watch 'vatch me or de game?" she whined
finally, grinding her sleekly firm thighs together to fight the growing
agony between her legs.

But Roger had other plans, plans he'd laid out as carefully as those he
was watching on television. Only his stakes might be higher ...
Margaret was coming along nicely, even better than he'd hoped. But if
she was going to have any respect for him at all, he was going to have
to show her who called the punches. Women liked that, he thought, they
liked to be dominated -- especially blondes.

Margaret watched nervously and impatiently as he swung his legs off the
sofa and without haste pulled off his clothes, tossing them to join the
rest on the nearby chair. She had to quickly draw her hand to her lips
to stifle a gasp as he tugged down his undershorts and the entire huge
length of his massively thick cock swung out into view. God, it was so
big! Even bigger than Sandor's! And so big around, nothing like the
only one she had ever seen.

"You 'vant to fuck now?" asked Margaret with saucered eyes. Just the
thought of making love again was enough to make her soar. And with a
man as handsome as Roger, she thought. A man ... her man. He liked her;
he had praised her cooking and cleaning, hadn't he? Wasn't that what a
man looked for in a good woman. A ripple of happiness spread through
her tingling body: she wouldn't be spending the rest of her life alone
after all. She had Roger. But it bothered her the way he kept watching
television instead of whispering sweet endearments in her ear, as
Sandor had done. Her forehead furrowed and her pouty lower lip
protruded as she said, "You 'vant to make love, or not?"

Roger glared at her. "Get down on your hands and knees," he ordered. "I
want a blow job. You Scandinavians are supposed to be good at that."

Margaret's mind reeled at the sound of those horrible words. Where was
the love? She'd done it with Sandor thousands of times, but he had
never demanded it of her. The blonde widow drew a deep breath and
forced a smile. It that's what her man wanted of her, that's what she
would do, but the tingling ache between her legs cried for a need to be
fulfilled, too. "But can't we make love first?"

"You heard what I said. Now get down on your hands and knees and show
me what you're worth." The landlord was determined that this step in
Margaret Sorenson's total subjugation and humiliation would not be
skipped over. "Down on your knees. Now!"

Brushing her blonde hair from her eyes, Margaret obediently crawled
from the sofa and settled at Roger's feet, all the while trying to
think of a way to get Roger to make love to her instead of what she
must do. She knew he meant it; the flash in his dark eyes promised
that. He was the only man in her life now. God had taken her first man,
and now it was time for him to give her a second. She needed him,
needed a man to cook and clean for and make love to her in return. His
dangling cock, sagging from its own immense weight, was scarcely a foot
away from her face as she struggled to hold back the hot lump in her
throat, terrified and skeptical of having another man's big white cock
in her mouth ... that same mouth that had only kissed and sucked her
dear Sandor's. Another man's cum in her throat ... it was almost too
hard to swallow.

Roger slid forward on the sofa, gauging carefully the distance from his
limply hanging prick and her wetly trembling lips. He adjusted his hips
just slightly so that the purplish swollen head brushed her lips ever
so little.

"All right, baby ... it's all yours! Do a good job and I'll make it up
to you later. Now hurry up, the A's will be back at bat in a couple of
minutes." And with that he gave her a rough pinch deep inside her naked
thigh as she knelt below him, squeezing her soft tender flesh just an
inch from the warmly moist lips of her still-hungry pussy.

Margaret turned her face away from the enormous bulb-shaped head and
closed her eyes, hoping somehow that it would go away -- or better
still, turn into Sandor's long hard prick that she knew every ridge and
vein of.

Roger spun her head back so that she was less than a scant inch from
his half-erect, dangling prick.

"Listen, sweetie, I don't wanna get rough with 'ya, but I said to hurry
up, okay? OKAY?" His tone was calm, but threatening, and Margaret
didn't want to get him angry. She'd heard him yelling at some tenants
upstairs about being late with the rent, and had witnessed his rage as
he slammed his clenched fist into the door and sent it rocking on its
hinges. With his size and strength, she knew she would be helpless
against him.

Suddenly he grew tired of waiting and grabbed her ears with his
powerful hands and twisted them upward, causing a pain so excruciating
that she thought for a moment she would black out. She cried out for
him to stop, but he ignored her pleas, keeping one eye on the
television screen and one on her. Abruptly, he pulled her face roughly
up to his naked loins, shoving his hips forward so that the blunted end
of his heavy cock pressed lewdly against her moistly glistening lips.
Once more he twisted at her small ears and she again groaned with pain.

"Now, Margaret ... open your mouth and suck it! NOW! SUCK IT!" he
screamed above the deafening roar of fan's cheers blasting from the
television set.

Her mouth opened slightly with one more twist and her agonized lips
slowly parted as Roger gazed at the wetly open orifice in front of his
loins, then very carefully forced the massively pulsating head into the
warm moist cavern and let it lay there twitching slightly as it grew
still harder and more erect. The young widow didn't move at all, lest
the brushing of her quivering tongue on the enormous heated shaft of
flesh should cause it to grow even larger.

"It's your choice, honey, but I will have a blow job ..." His voice was
suddenly convincingly cruel.

Margaret knew it was hopeless to resist the landlord and, admittedly,
there was a part of her that didn't want to displease the darkly
handsome man, this was something she must do or lose him ... lose the
one spark in her dreary life. And she couldn't stand the thought, no
matter how disgusting this awful degrading act seemed. She fought back
the churning ball of nausea growing thicker by the second in her
knotted, fear-wrenched belly and closed her wetly walled lips over the
throbbing fleshy staff and eased it reluctantly with her tongue,
feeling his hands loosen their grip as she obediently complied with his
harsh demands. His powerful hands still held her, though not as
painfully, but she knew she should please him to avoid a scene.
Margaret didn't like scenes; Sandor had been such a mild-mannered,
loving man. but Roger had it in him to be brutal if he wanted to, and
that scared her. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her mind on the
long pulsing prick that loomed before her.

Roger looked down at the long thick pole of flesh protruding from his
hair-covered pelvis and throbbing ever so gently in her warm, half-
opened wet mouth, at the pursed lips stretching tightly around the
immense purplish head, and he felt a twinge of disappointment that she
hadn't protested more. Hell, it would have done her a world of good to
get kicked around a little first, before sucking him off. Every woman
worth her salt needed a good kick in the ass once in a while, he
thought. At least the women he had out on the streets leaning against
lamp posts sure as hell needed it to let them know who the boss was.

But there wasn't time for such thoughts now, all he wanted was to enjoy
this blow job and watch the Oakland A's slam a homer to win the series.
And watching her blonde head begin to reluctantly slide back and forth
on the long, saliva-moistened length of his prick was nothing but pure
joy. Damn!

He allowed his hands to slip from her head and down over the smooth,
velvety skin of her naked shoulders, near-perfect and silky and
unblemished, deliciously warm and soft to his caressing touch. She
obviously wasn't putting her heart into sucking his cock, so the big
landlord brought his hands back up to the sides of her head, his open
palms firmly placed on either side of her face. His grip tightened and
he held her neatly positioned there against his heatedly pulsating
prick as he began a rhythmic pumping motion with his lower body, his
still-growing long prick jutting from his pelvis and rubbing between
her moistly ovalled lips as the bulbous, lust-distended head poked
against the back of her mouth. He could feel her small white teeth
grating against the sensitive bottom side of his prick and the wetly
rough surface of her tongue as it brushed along the full length of his
thickly erect flesh, now so finely attuned to the tiniest subtle
movement of her hotly licking tongue and lips that just the very touch
sent shivers of savage animal desire into his loins.

"Yeah, baby ... that's nice, honey, real nice," he growled softly,
beginning to pump his thick, rigid cock deeper into her throat, her
warm enveloping lips sliding along its full length with each forward
plunge of his hips, and his fleshy stalk grew harder, longer, and
thicker by the second, stretching like a rubber band until it reached
enormous proportions.

He grinned to himself as the young widow did her best to take his cock
full length in her mouth, something he knew she couldn't possibly do;
as it was she swallowed, gagged, and choked each time he gave an extra
forward flick of his loins. That part he especially enjoyed; nothing
was better for a good broad than a big cock to ream out her tonsils
once in a while.

He hoped he'd found a good cock-sucker here, because there wasn't
anything on earth he liked better than a really nice blow job, one
where the broad knew her stuff, could relax her throat muscles like she
could relax her asshole, and let his cock just slide right down that
wetly smooth channel until the sides of her throat passage sucked him
dry. Yeah, ol' Margaret here was doing all right for a Swede.

Margaret slaved over his loins, desperately trying not to choke on the
pulsing fleshy cock invading her throat; it was so big! Each time his
muscular abdomen slapped against her moistly pursed lips, the terrible
punishing thing pushed lewdly against the back of her throat and at
first, thinking she would surely be choked to death, she had fought it
back, gasping and coughing with each of his vicious skewering thrusts.
But gradually she had found a way to relax her throat muscles and now
it wasn't as bad. He would pull it almost all the way out of her wetly
clasping mouth, out over her widely ovalled lips until the lust-swollen
head of his cock was between her teeth, and then he would begin that
dreaded instroke, that journey deep into her tender throat. Somehow
that hardened shaft managed to bend just enough when its throbbing head
rammed against the back of her gullet to go down, lubricated with her
hot saliva and the first slippery traces of his seminal fluid oozing
fitfully from the tiny opening on the end of his prick. And every time
it went down, she would have to swallow or choke, and soon she realized
that the flexing of her own throat muscles was bringing on the
inevitable torrent of hot cum even sooner, and she viewed the climax
with mixed emotions. She wanted it over, to be rid of his pulsating rod
that gagged and choked her so painfully ... but the thought of what was
coming next, his ejaculated cum emptying down her throat like she was a
common whore! Sandor had never made her swallow it; in fact, he'd kept
a box of kleenex next to his bed for just that purpose.

Margaret tried not to swallow, but she choked immediately and he pulled
it out for a moment, rubbing its still throbbing head over her moistly
smeared lips, and she could taste the beginning of the end as small
whitish drops of his fluid oozed from the slit end and onto her tongue.
He took the blunted head between his clenched fingers and lewdly,
obscenely, painted her lips with his warm, slightly saline discharge,
leaving them glistening from his impatiently dribbling semen. She was
totally beaten now, kneeling at his feet like a servant girl in the old
country.

Roger felt the telltale twitch of his loins and could feel the dammed-
up seething flood of hot semen restlessly surging behind the restraints
of his aching balls as he slowly, rhythmically, pumped in and out of
her ovalled lips, savoring every inch of his delicious instroke as it
disappeared agonizingly down her velvety throat channel. He wanted to
feel every screaming millimeter of his cum's long fast run from his
lust-distended balls of his prick's throbbing, blood-filled head, and
his hands squeezed in on her ears now, holding her absolutely
motionless in his strong grip while he rammed his cock down, deeper and
deeper down that tight, constrictive little throat.

Ah, here it comes, he thought, it's cumming ... it's cumming! He could
feel the hot sperm rushing out of his testicles and up the bottom of
his prick, and he stopped dead still, his madly throbbing cock rammed
all the way to his pubic hair down her hungry throat, her head
perfectly still, as he waited impatiently for the building explosion in
his loins ...

"Aaaahhhh!" he gasped anxiously, emptying his lungs as, at that same
infinitesimal second, he emptied his sperm-laden balls.

Margaret sucked voraciously, harder and harder, for as strongly as her
better reasoning had dictated, now -- tasting his pungency for the
first time -- she wanted it. She wanted every precious drop of his hot
seething flood, and she sucked at the long quivering cock, swallowing
and gulping its gushing waves of heated thick fluid like a starving
animal. Her arms spontaneously wrapped around his hips as she knelt at
his feet, pulling his powerful loins in hard against her face and lips
until every hot swallow was safely down her eagerly working throat.

He looked down at the kneeling figure of the love-starved widow and
smiled as she finally pulled her hungrily sucking mouth away from his
pelvis, a thin sticky trail of semen dangling from her lips and chin
like a spider's web. Yes sir, she was right where he wanted her,
nothing stood in his way now, those checks might as well be his!

But Roger had other things on his mind ... other things that the love-
starved widow would not have understood in her silent modest humility.
Things a God-fearing woman such as herself didn't even know happened in
a big city where everyone is prey to other lethal talons.



Chapter 2


Chris O'Brien took one look at her checkbook balance and swore. Damn!
There was no way she could pay the rent and afford bus fare too, not to
mention coincidentals like laundry and an occasional glass of wine.
Then the worst realization imaginable struck the sandy haired girl
between the eyes like 40,000 watts of voltage: there was no more money
coming in until she found a job. Thank God they were getting food
stamps!

Oh God! What to do? She collapsed on the single bed that squeeked under
her slender weight and, covering her face with her hands, she wept, her
five-foot four-inch body rocking back and forth on the Indian print
bedspread. Why had she insisted on coming to San Francisco without a
job? Her uncle Frank had warned her, her aunt Violet, her father, and
her very own younger sister. But no, Chris O'Brien was going to prove
her independence regardless of the ominous odds. So what if California
already suffered from 13% unemployment, not to mention the spate of 18-
22 year old jobless, of which she was but a statistic. Chris would
prove them all overly cautious and narrow-minded. She would come in
cold, get a well-paying, creative job with travel benefits. After all,
she had a college diploma in one hand and a portfolio brimming with
talent in the other. What more could she have going for her? Her
professors at the University had encouraged her, telling her she should
try cracking into the fashion design market out here on the West Coast.
Sure, they'd said, it you want to start a career, go to New York; but
the West Coast has lots more amenities. Now, after two months of
scouring the streets, all she could show for her efforts was a bad
blister on her left heel and an arm-long list of useless telephone
numbers and contacts. And no money.

A roar as loud as her own crying rocketed through the Geary street
apartment, the din's vibrating rattle making the stereo groan, then
skip a cut. Chris pounded an angry fist into her knee. And this hole!
It was filthy and noisy, snorted Chris. You couldn't listen to a record
album without a bus interrupting everytime its brakes ground to a halt
to repeat its never ending route up and down Geary Street all night.
But you could hardly complain to a landlord about cockroaches and
broken windows when you still owed last month's rent and had no
prospects for paying the current month's either. You bit your lip and
endured: that was city living.

What could she do? Chris bit into her trembling lower lips and stared
blurrily at the yellow cracked wall. She might as well call her parents
collect and humiliate herself by asking them to send her a one-way
ticket back to Detroit and forget there was any part of America west of
the Mississippi River. No. That would be giving in, sniffed Chris,
wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She'd rather work at the
telephone company, God forbid, than do that -- if they were hiring.

The twenty-two year old slim-hipped girl braced her foot on the bed
board and, out of habit, twisted to reach her cigarettes on the night
stand. With a wince and a snap of her fingers she remembered she'd
smoked the last one last night -- or had her roommate bummed it? She
couldn't remember which. Just yesterday she'd spent her last cash on a
pair of stockings she didn't like, to wear to a job interview for a job
she didn't want. Damn! she hissed, clenching her fists. We've got to do
something. Anything!

And her roommate Sandy was no help either. God, she couldn't keep a
dollar in her pocket for five minutes without it sending up flames.
That, thought Christ pacing in front of the window, is the whole
trouble with Sandy. Drugs. Money spent uselessly on drugs, and all it
got you was a headache and another day in debt. In school it had been
no problem even though they'd roomed together since neophyte freshman.
One collect phone call to the folks telling them you needed another
easel or art book, and the check was in the mail pronto. Now, being
twenty-two and independent, neither of the girls could expect anything
in the mail except for a good wish and a stamped, self-addressed
envelope to back home. A case of responsibility, pure and simple.

Chris put her finger to her lip and concentrated on the old man across
the street, stooping over to pick up cigarette butts from the gutter.
Where had last summer's savings gone? She tapped her foot, mentally
counting off the dollars. Rent-$70, clothes-about $10, rock concerts
... ummm, that's where a good share of it had gone. And dope. One pound
of top grade marijuana that she and Sandy had bought the first week in
San Francisco. "Good stuff ... safe connection ... you can sell it,
keep a couple lids for yourselves and make a killing on the rest."
Right, thought Chris with a sarcastic nod of the head. Safe investment,
huh! The dealer, some guy Sandy had picked up in the park and brought
home for an afternoon of frolic and post-hippie lovemaking, sold them
the goods and ripped them off on the same night. Some scam!

He'd come late at night to break up the kilo and weigh out the pound in
front of the two girls. Next thing Chris remembered she was lying on
the floor from an overdose of PCP sprinkled in the marijuana -- a drug
she'd smoked occasionally while in school --with Sandy making
passionate love to the dealer on the sofa. Chris, on hands and knees,
had crawled to her bedroom, just one doorway beyond, and listened to
the grunts and groans and slurping and slapping of flesh on naked flesh
only to wake up the next morning to find her roommate passed out on the
couch and Chris' purse laying open and empty ... and the pound of dope
picked up and carried off by the same hands that had brought it in only
four hours earlier. It was a killing all right, mused Chris with the
caustic wisdom of a victim of the city. A real lesson.

She'd blamed Sandy for it, calling her irresponsible and a poor judge
of character, that she should have been able to pick up on the guy's
vibes and known better than to buy dope from a stranger. But then,
honestly speaking, if Sandy had to pass on her judgment of people, she
wouldn't have passed kindergarten, for Sandy was a girl who knew what
she wanted on the skimpiest of superficial levels and sacrificed
anything to get it -- money, honor. It didn't matter. If it felt good,
Sandy indulged. It was her life's principle. "Some people live by the
ten commandments," Chris remembered her best friend saying, "and I have
my fun." No one could argue the point; in a crazy sort of way it made
sense.

Even Chris couldn't argue with Sandy on that issue. The long haired
girl lit the half-burned cigarette she found among the marijuana
roaches in the seashell ashtray and lit it, feeling the hot match warm
her fingers as she thought on. No, Sandy had never been discriminate
about her college dates. If they liked loud music, beer, and dope, they
were Sandy's kind of people. Poor, rich, white, black, yellow, red --
Sandy had had them all. And loved it.

That must have been thought Chris pulling on the second-time-around
cigarette, why Mom and Dad were opposed to her coming along with me out
here to California in the first place. Though she was loathe to concede
the issue, her parents were right. Sandy was getting out of hand with
bringing home guys from the laundromat, the bus stop, and the pool hall
-- anywhere she could find a willing mate who wanted to spend an
afternoon in bed. And worst of all, they would crash all night with
Sandy in her bedroom and play the stereo on full blast so that Chris
couldn't get to sleep until the east turned yellow.

But damn it, you couldn't help but love Sandy no matter how many times
she broke a promise or borrowed money. She was a true friend, a real
sister, and Chris would do anything to help her roommate. After all,
Sandy had stuck by Chris through all her traumas and hard times, always
offering everything she had to give.

Like the time Chris's parents had decided to make a surprise Sunday
afternoon visit to their oldest daughter in college, and Sandy had
given up her afternoon to chat and play hostess to Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien
while Chris lay in frozen silence behind her bedroom door with her
boyfriend after a night of de-flowering love making. Chris had been far
too embarrassed and shame-faced guilty to face her parents, especially
with Dick haggling her for a second time around. Hadn't Chris a debt to
pay there? Return one good turn for another? Sandy had shrugged it off,
saying she enjoyed company. True, the dark haired girl did like people.

That, succinctly, was another one of Sandy's problems. But nobody
could blame her. Everybody said she was lucky not to be scared for
life. And to think her step-father was responsible.

Chris felt a wave of nauseating guilt. She drew heavily on the last
drag of the tortured cigarette and snuffed out the filter in the
carbon-stained seashell. For some unaccountable reason Chris sensed
that she shouldn't even be thinking about Sandy's problems ... that
lurid, terrifying story had been related in confidence, and Chris
wasn't even sure she had the facts straight. The antidepressant drugs -
- stelazine and meloril -- the doctors administered to Sandy that night
in the hospital after she'd attempted to commit suicide by threatening
to jump out of a ten story campus building because of a breaking up
with her boy friend, had triggered her memory and blurred her speech.

Chris had spent the night in the psych ward of the University hospital
holding Sandy's cold, clammy hand and listening to the mumbled horror
of a childhood nightmare. Had Sandy the courage to relate her story
without the mellowing effect of drugs to ease the emotional and
physical torture that scorched her body each time she talked about it,
Chris was certain the objective truth might run like this:

The day that Sandy was to remember forever had dawned very hot, and she
had decided to go for a walk down by the creek to get a bit of sunshine
and daydream as twelve-year-olds do. A physically mature girl for her
years, the black haired girl had walked with her back curved and her
full young breasts jutting out and bouncingly firmly. She'd been happy;
her mother, after a year of husbandless loneliness, had married a man
at last, and Sandy was happy to have a father.

Sandy strolled along, occasionally raising her hand to shield her eyes
against the glare of the sun. Born and raised in the Michigan
countryside, she loved the out-of-doors and especially the creek, where
as a child she used to build log dams and fish for trout in the cool
fresh water. She sauntered down to the creek that ran through their
property, down to its shady banks where she drifted under the willow
trees, feeling the coolness like caressing fingers all over her body,
and finally reached a sheltered place she knew. It was a spot where the
creek widened out into a crystal pool that was hidden from all eyes by
the bushes and a natural embankment. Here, Sandy kicked off her shoes
and waded ankle-deep in the water, playfully kicking up a spray, with
her dress showing a flash of nakedly white thigh. Here, in the tiny
glen, Sandy felt that she was safe to do as she wanted.

It felt good being out of the house, because things hadn't been going
as smoothly as the twelve year old thought they should. There had been
much arguing between her mother and step-father, much of it having to
do with Sandy and her newly discovered social life. Already at the
approaching teenage year, she had dated once or twice and her step-
father thought she was being too loose for a girl her age. He had made
accusations which sent her mother into tears, and Sandy had the feeling
he'd been following her, something her mother refused to believe of her
new husband.

The young brunette hadn't counted on the prying eyes of her step-
father, who made his quiet way up and down the creek embankment, and
now stood looking down at Sandy tossing her thick mane of black hair.
He crouched down behind a tree on the top of the knoll and watched
Sandy sprawl in the grass and turn her face up to the warming sun. Her
face was delicate, with a slender nose that ended in a provocative
tilt. There was also a tilt to her wide pale green eyes. Her face was
delicate and feminine, right down to her wide, fleshy mouth.

But it was her voluptuous young body that excited her step-father and
made him chew on his lips. He watched his step-daughter from behind the
tree and saw Sandy lean all her weight back on her arms, letting her
head even further back so that her face and throat were presented to
the warming sun. She raised one leg and bent the knee. The man held his
breath as he watched her firmly white thighs. He saw her sprawled with
the hem of her dress in her lap and her legs spread as she let the knee
wantonly fall over to one side, revealing the tight white band of her
panties that so snuggly held and hid her pussy. He stared as though
mesmerized at the flimsly white panties covering the treasure he wanted
to so badly to see, then blinked and wiped sweat from the palms of his
hands by rubbing them on his pants.

Christ, his wife had one hell of a good looking daughter, alright. A
lot of style for a young girl, the way she strutted her stuff, flashing
her ripe breasts in front of the young guys. And already she'd come
home at two o'clock in the morning on two different occasions. Hell if
she wasn't out getting it!

Sandy sank back, her eyes closed, smiling slightly at the kiss of the
sun on her face and neck. It felt good! The rays caressed her flesh and
made her tingle in a drowsy kind of way. A slight breeze blew and sent
ripples of pleasure over her face and neck. Sandy listened for a moment
while lazily thinking how nice it would feel if she were to ...

Her step father was like an Indian, freezing immediately when he saw
the girl sit up and open her eyes and look around. Slowly, he sank back
into the shade of the tree and held his breath. With one eye, he
watched Sandy glance around and cock her head as if listening for
something. Had he made a noise or did she hear someone coming? He was
sure she'd run off and was waiting for her boy friend to show up.

No! He held his breath and felt his rapidly awakening cock give a hard
jerk in his pants as he saw her unbuttoning the front of her dress and
pull it free of her creamy shoulders and gather it around her
incredibly slender waist. His mouth went dry as he saw her sitting with
her breasts looking so full blown that they were literally stuffed into
the bra and were straining to burst free. He watched as Sandy reached
behind her with both arms. Her breasts jutted forward and up as she
worked with the clasp in the hollow of her back. Her fingers snapped
the clasp and her ripely fleshed mounds sprang quivering free.

The step-father, George, almost yelled and his cock jerked again so
powerfully in the tight confinement of his jockey shorts that he bent
over in pain.

Jesus, Christ! His step-daughter had beautiful tits!

His mouth was as dry as sand as he looked at her two nakedly free
breasts with their tightly tensed nipples so dark and round. He watched
her breasts quiver and shake in a wantonly provocative way; they were
ripe and round with half-moons of shadow under them as she again leaned
back all her weight on her arms and let her head loll back with her
eyes closed. Her breasts were jutting up, right at him and the older
man felt he could leap up, run down, surprise her, and grab those tits
in his hands ... and massage them ... and put his hungry mouth over
those tautly teasing nipples and bite and suck on them. He bent over
again, forced to adjust his swelling cock in his pants.

"Jesus, I'm in for a show!" He whispered the words in his dry, caked
throat as he waited for her boy friend to show up.

His hand swatted at the sweat forming on his upper lip just as Sandy
sat up again, and looked around with a dreamy expression. He sank back
further, keeping one eye on her and one hand on his painfully tight
groin.

Sandy was feeling good, very good ... and a little bold and wicked.
Supposing someone should come along? She smiled, knowing that no one
would. Only her mother was at home, and she was doing the wash. And her
step-father ... well, he was probably in town getting drunk. After all,
it was Saturday afternoon. Just as well, her step-father had been
accusing her of all sorts of ridiculous things of late, and she'd just
as soon he spent his time on a bar stool, rather than trying to play
father which he failed so miserably at.

Satisfied, she felt safe, felt that this was her day, her hour, that
she could be safely alone and do exactly as she pleased, that she could
be free and enjoy the sun. Free! The word hummed through her head like
a song, a wantonly sensuous song. She cupped her budding breasts with
either hand, touching them softly and intimately, her fingertips
brushing across her already distended nipples as she marveled at the
way her body had changed so dramatically in the last six months.
Already the boys at school were calling her a cock teaser because of
the way she strutted proudly. A thrill of lustful desire swept through
her body, mixing, smoking and brooding, in her groin. Her entire young
body seemed to, for a minute, throb with the hotly liquid desire of
being a ripe woman.

Sandy almost lost her balance as she felt desire ripple through her
body in increasing undulations as her fingertips brushed back and forth
across her nipples. It felt so good!

God damn! She's acting like some twenty-two year old whore!

Lust twisted his face as he watched the unsuspecting girl gently
teasing and exciting herself. He was right about her. She was putting
out for somebody! Somebody definitely was getting her nooky! He
clenched his fist and crouched low behind the tree, preparing to
charge. He couldn't stand watching any longer and, damn, her mother
never did that for him!

He was just about to go barreling down the hill as if her were pulling
off an off-tackle plunge when he froze, catching his breath in an
audible way he was afraid she heard. She was sitting up again and using
her hands to push the dress down over her creamy-white hips. He held
his breath as he watched her rocking from one cheek of her buttocks to
the other, wiggling and writhing lazily as she brazenly slipped the
bunched up dress down over her thigh and all the way down to her knees.
She sat for a moment in her little white bikinis, feeling so drowsy in
the sun.

George licked his dry lips and watched her with her naked breasts
caught between her arms, pressing her cleavage tightly deep. Her
breasts ballooned under her arms, making her nipples more tautly
tempting than ever before. His eyes greedily took in her firmly flat
stomach with its navel plainly visible as her abdomen tautly rippled
when she again leaned back on her arms and tossed her wild black mane
of hair.

Sandy basked in the gently, sensuous warmth of the sun. She closed her
eyes and felt it warming her all over. On an impulse, she again sat up
and hooked her dainty thumbs in her flimsy panties and pulled them off,
feeling a rush of cooling air on her heat-moistened cuntal slit and in
the deeply tight crevice of her buttocks.

George felt his body quivering like a big cat ready to leap. There she
was before him, totally naked, her sensually voluptuous body so young
and firm with a rubbery kind of resilience. He watched her breasts twin
white orbs quiver elastically as she moved, lying down and stretching
out in the hot sun. He saw her young naked loins moving enticingly as
she stretched her legs.

His eyes were drawn to her groin where her firmly shaped thighs met her
nakedly tempting torso and he saw her softly parted pubic hair that
fuzzed out virginally. His eyes fastened on that slit and he caught a
glimpse of warmly pink cuntal flesh as she lazily spread her legs. Her
pulpy pussy lips were already glistening and swelling even as he
watched. His cock throbbed and lunged once like a wild animal seeking
freedom, and he gritted his teeth hard in an effort at self control.

Sandy lolled back, closed her eyes, basking in the gently warming rays
of the sun and gradually becoming sensually aware of her own naked
body. She felt her genitals growing moist with a throbbing itch, and
her hands whispered over her ripely swelling breasts once more, her
fingers teasingly skimming back and forth. Then she let her hands trail
down, down over her contoured stomach and over her navel to the sparse
triangle of pubic hair that was beginning to sprout there. She felt
wantonly hot and she raised one knee slightly as her fingertips skimmed
down the length of her wetly swelling slit. She felt the moist warm
heat of her own cunt, and a tiny moan of delight escaped her lips. The
sun, her hands, they felt so good!

Her fingers began tenderly probing and exploring her teased clitoris
into an erect life of its own. She felt a rippling erotic pleasure
tingle through her naked pussy under her gentle ministrations. She felt
so devilishly wicked as she allowed her hips to jut obscenely upward
while her finger slid up and down the heated lubricated slit in an ever
increasing rhythm.

A crash from up on the embankment made the young brunette sit bolt
upright, a strangled cry frozen in her throat. She didn't have any time
to move before her step-father crashed on top of her with savagely
guttural snarl. Sandy was knocked completely over, her naked loins
flashing, her young breasts bouncing. They rolled over and over under
the impact of his charge and ended up right next to the pond, with
George on top of her.

Sandy was seeing stars, and her lungs felt like they were on fire as
she gasped for breath and tried hard not to pass out. She opened her
mouth to cry out but George clamped his hand roughly over her mouth.
"Shuddup, you little bitch," he snarled. His wild eyed face was only
inches from her. She could smell beer on his breath. He had been
drinking again! His lips were twisted in a facsimile of a grin. "You
make one sound, one little peep, and I'll beat the living shit outta
you."

The words were hissed, spat out in her face and her whole body tensed
as she tried to shirk away from him. He gradually removed his hand from
her mouth, keeping one finger held up as a warning. Slowly, he removed
his weight, getting up and allowing her to catch her breath with her
breasts ripely heaving up and down to in front of his eyes. She watched
him with wide-open eyes as he began taking off his shirt. She couldn't
believe her step-father was doing this to her! My God, he had to be
insane! Or did he really hate her that much?

He pulled off his pants and kicked them to the side. She gave a gasp of
horror as she saw the hugely obscene bulge in his jockey shorts. His
cock was so big he had trouble getting it out of the underwear until
finally it sprang free with a life of its own. Her hand flew to her
mouth as he stood nakedly menacing over her. His cock! It was so huge!
She had no idea men's cocks could get so big. He held it lightly with
one hand, sadistic grin on his brutal face. She stared up at the lust-
swollen, blood-red mushroom head. She saw his thick white shaft with
the bulging veins and, as she watched, her heart pounding, he pulled
back the tautly tight sheath of foreskin and the flanged head ballooned
out, red and shining. "No!" she cried, her voice trembling.

"Come on, you're putting out for those young boys," he growled. "And
now you're gonna put out for me!"

"N-no! Never, n-never b-b-before!" she stammered.

"Don't give me that shit! You been staying out almost all night with
those studs. Don't tell me you ain't fucked before." He crouched over
her, his voice grating, his long massively pulsating cock held firmly
in one hand. "I'm going to fuck you to within an inch of your life."

"No! Help! Mother!" Sandy rose up, crying out as loud as she could. She
never even saw the punch. She felt it as the world seemed to explode
right in front of her eyes; her head snapped around and she fell
backward heavily, feeling the pain sponge deeply into her face.

George kneeled over her naked young torso, sitting on her stomach and
slapped her face back and forth with an open hand. Sandy tried to ward
off his stinging blows but found she was too weak and stunned to have
much effect. His strength was incredible and brutally effective as he
seized her wrists and bent her arms back above her head just as his
hotly wet mouth clamped over hers and she felt his hot tongue wetly
probing into her mouth.

She tried to yell, but his fiery hot tongue slid in her mouth and
lewdly lashed at her own tongue. The terrified young girl fought for
her breath as his tongue pumped lewdly and wantonly in and out of her
mouth. Despite her terror and pain, a certain lasciviousness rippled
through her body pleasurefully.

George was grunting like a madman as he pulled his cruel wet mouth away
from her bruised lips and hissed. "You make one sound, and I swear I'll
punch you silly!"

Again she tensed. She believed him; she believed he might even kill
her. He was wild, his eyes were bloodshot, his breath reeked of stale
beer, and his hands were hurting her wrists as he squeezed them tightly
to show he meant business.

George shifted his weight and looked hungrily down at her large fleshy
breasts in all their firmly erect splendor. With her hands forced up
above her head and pinned there by his grip, her breasts were arched
with her nipples right below his face. With a savagely cruel chuckle,
he lowered his hot wet mouth and clamped his tongue and lips over one
pinkly erect little nipple.

"Nnnnoooooo!" Sandy moaned, her head rolling back and forth as she felt
him first suck, then bite the nipple so hard she winced. Despite the
pain, she felt an unexpected ripple of pleasure mix deep down in her
loins ... a masochistic thrill at being so helpless while his hungry
mouth ravaged her nipple, sucking and nibbling it into a tautly hot
shape of its own.

"Oooooh, God, please stop!" she whispered, her voice hoarse, afraid to
yell. She shivered with fear as his voracious mouth moved over to clamp
on her other breasts, and she felt that second nipple being sucked
until it ached with a combination of wanton desire and physical pain.
She knew there were red teeth marks in the hotly tender flesh of her
breasts.

"N-N-noooo!" she wailed as her hateful step-father shifted his weight
on top of her, his thickly muscled chest crushing her ravaged breasts
and pushing the breath out of her tortured lungs as he grunted, "Spread
'em, Baby! Spread your legs!"

"No! Please! I'll give you anything ... I-I won't tell Mom." Tears
welled up in the naked young brunette's eyes from the pain and fear as
she felt his heatedly pulsating cock pressing against her stomach. It
felt hard and hot and thick and huge! He was going to tear her apart
with that big obscene thing!

"Anything?" he asked between gritted teeth.

"Anything!" Tears snaked down her flushed twelve year old face, and for
a wild second she thought she might be getting out of it.

"How about a little nookey?" His laughter was wild and harsh.

Sandy screamed again and received another sharp blow that almost
knocked her out. Dimly, her strength ebbing, she realized he was
forcing her legs wide. She felt his powerful loins between her legs,
and then her eyes opened very wide, and she screamed in pain as she
felt the thick head massively pushing on her virginally tight pussy
lips.

"Aaaaggghhhh!"

His teeth tightly gritted, his lips twisting open wide, he thrust with
all the brute strength he possessed. He was driven wild with the taste
and smell of her. He felt the thickly blunt end of his cock spreading
her wetly cringing cunt as he bore down hard. She whimpered and the
sound caused him to thrust forward with brutal delight.

The flanged head of his cock plopped just inside her tight, hotly
quivering little cunt with a wet tearing sound. Sandy felt herself
impaled on his heatedly pulsing cock. His massive cock head was buried
just inside of her cunt with her cuntal lips drawn tight as rubberbands
around the thick shaft. Sandy was positive he was going to shove his
massive maledom clear up into her belly and on past, on up into her
throat itself. She trembled with abject fear, sending her cunt into an
oddly pleasing quiver around the throbbing head. She smelled his sexual
heat, and felt his huge cock like a throbbing piece of hot meat lodged
in her virginal pussy -- the treasure she had saved for the right boy.

Slowly, with a cold-blooded brutality, George began pumping his hips,
moving his rigidly thick cock like a huge piston plunging in and out of
her tender flesh.

Sandy couldn't move, and she gasped for breath and tried to keep from
screaming as she felt the lust-thickened shaft spreading her cuntal
walls until it seemed they surely were being ripped from her clitoris
to anus. She lay rigid, her cruelly violated young body trembling in
spasms of fear and guilt. Guilt! She closed her eyes and tried to
concentrate, tried not to think about the wanton excitement she had
begun feeling with each brutal, pain-filled thrust; she couldn't help
herself, and the more she tried not to think of it, the bigger and
harder his cock became ... and finally she was forced to admit to
herself that she was enjoying it!

She loved it -- all twelve childish years of her!

A sudden stab of guilt shuddered through her body as she felt her wetly
pulsating cuntal lips inched in with each wonderfully heated thrust of
her mother's husband's heated shaft. On each withdrawal stroke she felt
them clinging to his hardened shaft and the obscenely exciting mental
picture of what was happening made searing spasms of pleasure streak
through her loins and caused her puckered little anus to tremble with
delight. She was enjoying making love to her own stepfather!

She knew she shouldn't be liking it, knew she was being brutally raped,
that she was being marked forevermore, she knew it and felt full of
fear and pain. Her pain made her sob real tears and babble incoherently
for George to stop. Her head thrashed from side to side, and she bit
her lips against the increasing pleasure she was feeling with each
deeper stroke of his hotly rampaging cock. She fought against the
itching urge in her hips to pump them lewdly back and forth. The more
she tried not to think of it, the more she enjoyed it. She loved it!

There was something so thrilling about being so helpless while being
fucked! She shuddered and her mouth fell wantonly open as she gave out
a half-cry, half moan. The cry ended in a deep moan, a moan as rich and
deep as a cello; her father grinned triumphantly as he saw her face and
began fucking her harder and faster.

He went crazy, fucking her insanely, his thick, wetly glistening cock
slamming mercilessly in and out of her hideously stretched cunt, his
balls slapping rhythmically against her thrashing, softly fleshed
buttocks. He fucked her with all his might, lifting her hips up off the
grassy ground and slamming her down again, ramming all the way into
her, feeling his mushroom head slam into her young cervix deep in that
velvet volcano that was her tight little pussy.

It was as if all restraining bonds had burst inside Sandy for she
lewdly threw back her head and thrust her nakedly straining breasts up
at his face, all the while wantonly pumping her hips up and down. She
was suddenly a lewdly writhing animal, curling her legs and arms around
his hard body in an effort to take all the cock he could offer.

Her mouth was open, her eyes closed, and she moaned with an obscene
delight as she gripped his hotly plunging shaft hard with her cuntal
muscles. She saw his eyes squint with pain and delight. He grinned
savagely at her, and then their needy mouths locked together, step-
daughter and step-father, while the girl ground her hips up into his
groin and bent her knees as much as she could. She wanted all of him in
her, every last single inch.

George gripped her with all his strength, his eyes bulging. He was
going to give her the fucking of his life, a fucking she would never
forget. He gathered his strength, his teeth gritted. Damn, but she's
tight, he thought.

He enjoyed the rubber-glove feeling of tightness he was getting in her
moistly hot little pussy. She trembled ecstatically at his slightest
movement, and he knew she was enjoying it. He could feel the rubbery
tightness in her cuntal lips and the taut exciting way her tiny erect
clitoris stood up when his pubic hair rubbed against it. She was loving
it! She was a slut and loving every minute of it!

They fucked, their now sweating bodies locked belly-to-belly as they
writhed and undulated. He crushed her with his arms as he gasped, "You
love it, you little bitch!"

Her only reply was a low moan and her hips moved as if they were on
ball bearings as she fucked up against him with a wanton abandonment.

"Tell me you love it!"

Again she moaned as their sweating stomachs slid one against the other.

"Tell me!"

"I ... I ... like ..."

"Tell me!" his voice was a growl as his wetly lubricated cock slammed
like a jack hammer in and out of her tightly fitting cunt.

"I... I like it."

"Louder!"

"I like it. I like it." Her voice began to waver and rise as she felt
the fucking rhythm increase and she worked to match thrust and thrust.
She could feel his heavy balls slapping wetly against the tightly
clenched cheeks of her buttocks. Her cuntal lubricant had seeped down
into her anal crevice as she fucked him with obscene abandon. "I
lllloovveee it!!!" Her voice was low and wanton, "I love it, fuck it,
hurt me, fuck me, rape me!" She was screaming with lust now, and it
seemed his cruel hurting hands were everywhere at once, all over her
body; at her hips, her thighs, her nipples, raking across her wildly
thrashing buttocks and splitting her ass-cheeks open while a cruel
outstretched finger stabbed at her puckered little anus!

"Fuck me, fuck me all night!" she moaned, spitting the word, "Fuck" out
with delight and feeling and obscene pleasure shudder through her body
at the forbidden word. "Fuck me!"

George closed his eyes and thought of nothing but driving it home. They
fucked, crushing the wild sweet grass beneath their bodies, slipping
and bucking across the slope until they were splashing in the water.
I'll continue to fuck her even if she drowns! Fuck it, I ain't gonna
stop now.

He fucked her as he felt her tensing beneath him and her moaning
becoming deeper and more rhythmic; it was only then that he felt his
own heated cum building in his balls to the point where they ached.

"Aaaaagghhh!" He felt her body suddenly full of a wanton strength as
she arched up beneath him and her body began trembling deeply. Then she
was fighting him like a game fish before falling back into helpless
spasms of searing ecstasy as her first orgasm convulsed her.

That was too much for the step-father and, with a guttural roar, he
came, pumping powerful spurts of his white-hot cum deep into her cunt,
filling her up so that it spurted out all around his wildly jerking
shaft. Then grinning, he pulled his eagerly ejaculating cock out and
let it flop on her stomach where it continued to pump sticky white
sperm onto her nakedly rippling stomach.

She lay with her loins and stomach glistening with cum, completely
relaxed, feeling like putty, feeling tired, very tired ... and a little
uncertain about her own emotions.

George rolled off her with a groan and lay catching his breath for
awhile before he got up and slowly dressed. His clothes on, he looked
down at the still naked Sandy and spat in the water, then turned and
climbed up the embankment.

Left by herself, Sandy had rolled over, sobbed, and lay still until it
was almost dark. Then she slowly got dressed, a sad and weary young
girl and went home. Two months later she realized her afternoon
encounter had left her pregnant. She'd let her mother believe it was
Curtis' fault, a young freshman boy she'd been seeing on the sly. It
caused an uproar, predictably enough, but the reticent girl refused to
tell the truth, reasoning she had been hurt enough, there was no reason
to destroy her mother's life, too.

The baby was adopted out from the hospital -- a darling seven pound
baby girl with black hair and brown eyes. Sandy had seen her infant
through the maternity ward's glass window, but never once did she hold
her baby, never felt it squirm in her arms. For nine months she had
been holed up with nothing to do but watch her body grow to a distended
grotesque shape, and those months in solitude had taken their toll. The
thirteen year old girl made a vow to herself on her first teenage
birthday, to never, never allow any one man to claim such a great part
of her.

Any psychiatrist would say it was a natural rebellious response to a
stressful situation, that she had been far too young to bear the burden
alone with no natural father to help her through the rough times and
dreary, lonely nights.

Predictably, it had been all down hill from there, though Chris would
never have believed it possible for her girlfriend to sink any lower
into the depths of confused depravity she was exhibiting now in her
twenty-second year of life. From what little Sandy had confessed, she'd
spent most of her time hot-rodding around town with the loose crowd in
high school -- smoking dope, drinking beer, having wild parties.
Everything a young girl should not even know about, let alone indulge
in.

In college it had been the same way. Chris was the only friend who
stuck by her, sometimes out of pity, occasionally out of unsatisfied
desire to have a sister, but always out of genuine sincere friendship
for Sandy, confused and ravaged though she had become.

Sandy's carefree, live-for-today, the hell-with-tomorrow attitudes
could be a bit disconcerting sometimes, though, particularly when Sandy
seemed to bounce from one man to the next, from one affair to another,
without a trace of scars from the frequent, and often tempestuous
breakups.

And Chris, her one and only real love experience now just a shattered
memory, still hated herself for crying softly sometimes in the night as
she remembered those wonderful times with Mark. She hated him now,
loathed his brutality and cowardice, but she still thought of him on
lonely nights when she lay there on the other side of the door
listening to her roommate making love in low soft whispers and giggles.

Chris O'Brien stared out of the window, watching Sandy get off the
Geary Street bus, a boy right behind her. Chris witnessed all of
Sandy's feminine tricks: the flinging of her long black mane of her
hair over her shoulder, the hip-thrust stance that could provoke the
Pope himself, and the carefree style in which she handed the stranger
her telephone number as casually as if he were asking for a donation
for the Salvation Army. Oh, no, thought Chris with a gasp of disbelief.
Another night listening to Sandy making it with another stranger ... it
never ends. She let the curtain fall from her clutching fingertips with
a movement that might have been a sigh.



Chapter 3


Chris listened apprehensively to the key turning in the lock, waiting
for her roommate to step through the door. They'd have to discuss their
money tragedy, Chris knew, and this might be the last free moment of
Sandy's man-hungry day before the telephone started ringing and the
doorbell buzzing.

"Hi, ya!" beamed Sandy, closing the door behind her handing Chris her
mail. "Here ... look." She thrust an official looking envelope in
Chris' hands. Food-stamps. First of the month. What do you say we buy a
couple of Porterhouse steaks and celebrate? God, it seems like an
eternity since we've had a real meal," she complained, collapsing on
the faded velour couch with a squeak of the protesting springs. "Mine
came too, only I got them for a whole family."

"What?" But Sandy, you don't have a family. How did you get $128
worth?" She waved the envelope accusingly in the air, one hand on her
levied hip.

The black-headed girl shrugged casually. "Simple, I just told them I
had a husband home sick, and this neat looking guy told me to follow
him and fill out the forms." She pulled open her shoulderbag, and,
searching for her pack of cigarettes, found them and tore open the top
and shook out two, one for each of them.

Chris hissed through clenched teeth. "Damn it, Sandy. That's fraud!
Don't you read the newspapers?" she blurted heatedly. "They're cleaning
house down at the welfare department. Anybody who's caught telling lies
to get foodstamps is up for fraud, and that's a federal offense."

Sandy tutted. "Oh, don't be silly Chris. How is anybody going to find
out I don't have a husband and two kids? Why don't you look at the
bright side?" The green eyed girl spread her hands and shrugged. "We're
getting $128 worth of free food and you're complaining? It was easy: I
borrowed somebody's kids in exchange for a joint. No big deal." Her
long lithe arm reached over to the end table and long red fingertips
clutched the match book.

Chris' platform shoes made clunking sounds as she nervously shifted her
weight from one foot to the other. "Oh swell. Just don't call me up
when the authorities start looking for you!" They were riding the red
line of poverty, and it was wearing on both girl's patience.

Sandy stood up on one foot to light Chris' cigarette off of her own
smoldering one, then handed it to her grateful roommate. That last
cigarette butt just hadn't cut it.

"And what about the rent?" Chris blinked as the pungent smoke attacked
her eyes with the first heavy draw on the virgin cigarette. "Any idea
how we're going to pay that? God, do you have any idea of how much we
owe Roger as of tomorrow? She counted it out on her fingers, letting
her lit cigarette dangle unfemininely from her lips. "$140 for last
month and the same for this month. That's $280 we have no way of
earning."

Sandy's green eyes fastened on her roommate, and blinked in downcast
acquiesence. Chris was right, there was no way to avoid that horrifying
truth. Yes, they were in trouble and it was mostly her fault. But why
couldn't Chris understand that was why she'd gone to the welfare office
and lied to the social worker. The dark haired girl drew in her breath
with a desperate gasp. The Aid to Dependent Children form she'd filled
out this morning was a lie too! What if Chris were right? What if she
did get caught for welfare fraud! Oh, Jesus! But at the time, she
thought defensively, she was certain she was doing the right thing. And
everybody did it; it was no big thing. California the welfare state and
all that jive ...

"Listen," gestured Sandy with the palm of her hand. "I'll talk to Roger
myself. I know that creep who ripped off your money was my
responsibility. I'm in the wrong ... as usual," the emotional girl said
for the thousandth time in her life, "and I'll go down to talk to
Roger. Okay?"

Chris, seeing the distraught look in her roommate's eyes, felt
instantly repentant for her emotional outburst and accusations, though
most of them remained unspoken. "I'm sorry, Sandy," sighed Chris,
sinking to her knees and grabbing her friend's hand in hers. "I don't
mean to sound like such a bitch. It's just that I'm really disappointed
in everything that's happened to us since we've been in San Francisco.
No job, no money, no chance to go out and explore ... and no dates ...
well you've had no problems in that department, but I'm not as outgoing
as you are," she admitted with a wince. "I don't mean to get so
uptight."

Sandy stroked her friend's hair with sisterly affection. "That's okay,
Chris. I understand. But I hope it won't hurt your feelings if I tell
you that since you and Mark broke up last spring you've been really
uptight. I know what you need," grinned Sandy with a knowing smirk. She
nodded her head for emphasis. "Yeah, that's the problem," she giggled
giving her friend's head a loving pat.

Chris stared up into her roommate's twinkling, devilishly green eyes.
The truth was written there by the hand of experience. If anyone should
know the merits of a healthy sex life, it was Sandy -- unattestably
Sandy.

"Hey, friend," soothed Sandy. "Why don't you go in and take a good hot
bath. I just brought some vanilla scented bubble bath from this neat
store that sells nothing but organic products. " She tutted with self-
recrimination. "I know I shouldn't have spent the money," she admitted,
rolling her eyes in her flirtatious manner, and sticking out her pouty
lower lip like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar and
trying to lie his way out of it. "But the clerk told me it had the
correct PH balance and all that ... well, I just couldn't resist.
Anyway, take a hot bath, calm down and sprinkle some of that vanilla
bubble bath in. It smells so sexy!"

"Sounds good to me," smiled Chris heading for the bathroom, wondering
how Sandy could con her into anything, marveling at her magic touch.

With Sandy's giggle still ringing in her ears, Chris turned on the
radio and sauntered toward the bathroom and pulled off her tee shirt
and Levi's, leaving her bikini and bra on long enough to dart to her
bedroom and pull a fresh towel from her bureau drawer.

Later, as the blonde haired girl prepared to step into the warm, sudsy
bath water she had drawn, her reflection in the cracked mirror caught
her eye. On the whole she was satisfied with what she saw. She was not
as full breasted as her teasingly voluptuous roommate, but her breasts
were firm and round. Testing the bathwater with her toe, she unsnapped
her bra and pulled it from her arms, then pulled down and kicked off
her panties.

Chris stared into the mirror again, this time running her hands over
her satin-smooth skin, and bringing up both palms to cup the rounded
swells of her lushly ripening young breasts, rolling the erectile
nipples between her fingers until they were distended and the areolas
puckered up around them, the warm flush of tumescence spreading through
her -- the feeling of need, of desire, of sexuality. She turned for a
profile view. Maybe Sandy was right: what she needed was a good long
roll in the hay.

If only Mark were here, she thought temptingly, stepping into the tepid
bath tub and sighing as the warm water lapped at her worried body. Yes,
Mark, she ah-ah-ed, slipping down in the tub 'til her blonde hair
floated on the vanilla bubbles. Mark had been her steady date through
most of her sophomore year in college and into her third year, too. It
had been mostly for companionship that they spent time together
studying and going to football games; suddenly, and without their even
knowing, their innocent infatuation filled with hand-holding and
necking, gave way to desperately passionate sessions in Chris'
apartment. Chris' resistance weakened further every time until finally
there had come the inevitable loss of her virginity.

Being a virgin wasn't something she had particularly relished, not a
life-creed to be carried around on a signboard, just something that
seemed right for her. The voluptuous blonde had never really made any
plans about keeping her virginity, or about losing it, for that matter.
But when it happened, it just happened. It was something she regretted
now, not only because her parents had come for that god-awful surprise
visit the next day, but because she hadn't anything ... or anybody ...
to show for it now.

The blonde, relishing in the feminine feel of the suds remembered that
night, that awful regrettable night. As if to scatter those thoughts to
the wind, she dipped her hand into the suds and blew a stream of
bubbles into the moist air watching them as they popped and dissipated
like time itself.

Mark. A perfect gentleman ... most of the time, mused Chris now,
feeling sexy and feminine mummified in the vanilla bubbles. She
remembered, too, the Hawaiian sarong she had worn to the springtime
fraternity party, how daring she felt knowing one pull on that rope
belt and her breasts would come tumbling free. She'd felt devilishly
sinful that night, it may have been the full moon, she later thought.
But the boilermakers -- the virgin's lethal drink made of tasteless
wood alcohol and Hawaiian punch -- had a lot to do with it! It had
tasted so good she'd had a glass, though she seldom drank ... then
another, and another.

After the dance he'd driven her home and carried her to the door.
Apparently Sandy had let him in, but she could hardly blame her
roommate for that; Mark had spent many nights in their apartment when
he didn't feel like going back to his fraternity house room which he
shared with a frat brother. Mark had slung the door open with his
shoulder and lay the lush half-conscious body out on the soft mattress.

"Oh," she'd mumbled thickly, stirring uneasily in her alcohol-sodden
slumber. "Have I been asleep? Mark, I'm so drunk!"

"That's okay," the broad shouldered fraternity boy replied soothingly,
not wanting her to regain full consciousness just yet. It had been an
age old tradition in the fraternity; if you can't get your girl to make
it with you after the Hawaiian dance, all bets were off you ever would.
Besides, he'd had a bet riding on it. "You'll feel fine in the
morning," he reassured.

Chris couldn't help but giggle drunkenly at the thought of Mark playing
nurse to her. But his thick strong fingers proved agile enough as he
pulled on the rope belt that held that single piece of fabric snug to
her lithe body, and slid the garment gently over her head, revealing
most of her supple tempting young bodily curves to his avidly searching
eyes.

Suddenly, Mark had become a man possessed, a maniac driven only by his
intense animal lust for her body. Nothing else mattered to him that
instant but fucking his long, painfully hard cock into that warm hair-
lined pussy no man had ever touched, that damply glistening cleft he'd
hungered for so long. She was a woman to him now, a desirable young
woman to be taken, a virgin born for his sacrifice.

He reached for her, grabbing her roughly before she had time to react,
before she could even cry out in surprise, a deep beast-like groan
erupting from his throat as he pulled her roughly in prone position on
the bed.

"Please, Mark, please ... we can't ... w-we can't!" she moaned
piteously as he held her down with one lust-strengthened hand and ran
the other greedily over the lush contours of her nakedly struggling
body, kneading her ripe succulent breasts cruelly with hands now beyond
his control, hands that acted as if they were possessed with a spirit
beyond his own. Pinkish ridges of her softly delicate flesh protruded
between his straining fingers as his head had dropped to the budding
young nipples and chewed hungrily at their tips until he had felt the
tenderly resilient flesh give way and the salty taste of blood seeping
onto his lashing tongue.

"Oh, no, not like this. It can't be like this!" she moaned, more in
anguish than in anger. But her plea was unheeded.

In his madness, he still held her wildly straining body tightly to the
bed, imprisoning her there by he heavy tensed chest that weighed upon
her lithe slenderness like a giant crushing boulder. Her long blonde
hair began thrashing from side to side on the bed, her beautiful face
contorted with anguish. She pleaded until the words become nothing but
incoherent mutterings of jumbled words.

And it was then that he brutally fucked her the first time, robbed her
of her virginity in a frenzy of jungle passion gone wild.

Ignoring the low moaning pleas, Mark rolled on top of the violently
struggling coed, catching her body just as her long, slimly tapered
legs had scissored out in one last desperate effort to escape his
brutal assault. His hips had fallen down tightly against the mattress.
The soft down of her thinly curling pubic hair brushed teasingly
against his throbbing cock, inciting him to insane mumblings of crazed
uncontrollable lust.

She felt the anguish of that night even now as she recalled it so
clearly, like slow-motion frames from an old movie as it flashed in her
brain. His knees were spreading hers wide apart, and he was grinding
his pelvis hard into her squirmingly defenseless crotch, completely
naked and vulnerable then to his rapacious assault. She felt once again
the spasmodic jerkings of her own fleshy inner thighs as he drove his
hand between them. Mark was searching for that elusive treasure, that
jewel-like never-before-penetrated orifice between her wildly trembling
legs. And then he found it! He jammed his heatedly throbbing cock up
between her widespread legs, following the guide of his hand in the
semi-darkness of the bedroom, and then shoved his blood-filled prick's
head between her fleshy cuntal lips with a groan, he brutally thrust it
all the way forward without hesitation up into her quivering pussy,
deflowering her like a kidnapped Sabine maiden prostrate before her
barbarian captor. Chris shrieked in agony and kicked her legs out
wildly in the air in a futile attempt to escape the cruel impalement.
Her frantic movement only worsened her plight, however, opening the
depths of her unplowed furrow to his plundering cock as it hotly rammed
deeper and deeper into her yielding cuntal flesh. At last, his pelvis
smacked down hard against hers, signaling the hoped-for end of her
agony as his rigidly beating cock slid all the way up inside her
trembling belly, the warm wet bloody walls of her cunt wrapped tightly
around the fleshy hardness like a moist warm glove.

But the aroused fraternity boy hadn't stopped there. He didn't even
give Chris a chance to adjust to the sudden unexpected presence deep in
her virginal young womb. He just began to fuck her, thrusting in and
out of her like a mongrel dog mounting a bitch in heat, and with about
that much concern for her enjoyment and happiness. He had only thought
of one thing -- to spew his hot, thick sperm deep inside of her tight
little pussy where it belonged and where he had yearned to empty it for
so long now. He vented his lust against her torturedly groaning body
time after time, flooding her cringing belly again and again with the
hot white liquid of over a year's frustrated waiting and hoping until
finally ... his cum was gone.

And this was the boy she'd been thinking of marrying! Chris had
awakened in the night, sobbing from a nightmare she was not convinced
was real until she saw the blood smeared evidence on her inner thighs.

Worst of all, her parents had chosen that next day to come visit her!
She'd been too ashamed to crawl out of that bed to and greet them. And
Mark, damn him! He laughed through the afternoon thinking it extremely
funny while she sobbed into her pillow.

That was the last she saw of him.



Chapter 4


Chris pulled the belt to her fleecy robe tight around her still damp
body and wrapping a towel around her sopping, freshly shampooed hair,
emerged from the bathroom to find the landlord pacing back and forth in
the living room a letter in one hand, a cigarette in the other. On the
sofa sat Sandy, pale-faced and saucer-eyed, taking inhumanely long
drags off her cigarette and exhaling with exhausting force. The blue
smoky aura around her dark hair testified to the lengthy encounter
between the renter and rentee. A tale of woe for poverty-stricken
victims of America's unemployed. Chris heard nothing above the low roar
of the top 40 rock station except for the words 'welfare fraud' and
'eviction.' Fear froze her to the floor, her two feet two ice cubes
melted to the tray. She clenched her jaws tight. Damn!

Roger stood straight and tall, his body abuzz with the excitement of
facing a challenge most men would have cringed at. Roger could not
remember when he had come up with the idea; probably it wasn't the sort
of plan that was conceived all at once, but rather the result of
several years as being a landlord and listening to half-hearted excuses
and rationalizations for late rent and middle-of-the-night moves. He
did remember the night he was woken up at two o'clock in the morning
and, suspecting one of his tenant's of beating up his girl friend,
broke in with his master key in time to see her flailing her hair back
and forth on a love-crumpled bed while an embarrassed middle-aged man
fucked in and out of her buttocks. In the kitchen the tenant sat
smoking marijuana and drinking beer, keeping a close eye on the kitchen
clock. A dollar a minute counts up-fast! Damn! Roger had thought at the
time, I'm going through hell trying to collect the rent, and these
bastards make twice that much in one night. Why not cash in on a piece
of the action? he'd asked himself numerous times.

Hell, at that rate he could quit driving a cab and stay at home to make
money. Legitimate money took time, especially with taxes and insurance
-- all the crap that drains your pocket for no reason but to keep the
money flowing.

The first step had been to con two Mexican girls -- lovely pieces of
ass they were -- into chaperoning a couple of businessmen Roger had
taxied to Broadway street where they wanted a quick floor show and blow
job, something their wives wouldn't put out for. One phone call to the
girls and snap! Fifty bucks in his hand. Nobody got hurt and everybody
was happy: Fifty bucks in his hand. Nobody got hurt and everybody was
happy: the businessmen got laid, the girls got twenty-five dollars
each, and Roger the other half.

With Margaret Sorenson it had been a case of coincidence, too, he
rationalized to himself. Boy, she'd been crying her heart out for a man
since old Sandor was blown to bits by that accident. She'd come
pounding on Roger's door every day spilling out her woes, making
promises for paying the rent ... even offering to clean his place! How
could a bachelor refuse an offer like that? Finding out about her
inheritance ... well, that hadn't been quite as accidental. He'd never
thought he'd resort to steaming open mail, but it proved worthwhile.
Old Margaret was sitting on a Goddamned nest-egg, just crying for
somebody to share it with. Couple more months and he might be a married
man.

But these two girls. Whow! They were in hot water up to their pretty
virgin asses. Welfare fraud, he tutted to himself, pivoting to see the
blonde haired girl staring wild-eyed behind him.

"Come sit down, Chris," he motioned toward the sofa. "I've got
something here you had better know about." His brown paw waved an
official looking letter in the air, gesturing for her to sit next to
her roommate.

The roommate's eyes locked for a terrified second and, feeling the
burden of the guilt, Sandy winced, wrinkling up her perky nose and, as
if to beg pardon, shook out a cigarette and handed it to her solemn-
faced roommate whose every blink of the eye was a righteously wielded
accusation of irresponsibility.

Roger, studying the nipples spiking out from the blonde girl's robe,
smiled appreciatively in a tight smirk. Yes, she would sell well, he
thought to himself, waiting for his audience to snap alert under his
threatening gaze. "To fill you in on the facts, Chris, this is a letter
from the social service department of San Francisco ... I assume you
know who they are since you've been getting foodstamps for the past
month."

Chris nodded her turbaned head.

"As landlord I was mailed this letter to ask a few questions about your
living situation. According to this xeroxed form, Sandra ... that's
you," he blinked his chocolate eyes at the dark haired girl who cowered
in the sofa, one leg hugged up to her chest, her dimpled chin resting
on her knee," ... are supposed to be married to a Christopher O'Brien
and supporting two children." He flung the letter to the side table and
feigning a glare, thrust his hands in his pockets and resumed his
pacing.

Silence fell on the room, broken only by the dull crackle of a radio
that hummed out Bob Dylan's "Dear Landlord ... put a price on my soul."
Sandy stifled an irresponsible giggle; it was almost funny in a
desperate sort of way, but Chris' elbow in her ribs put a somber look
back on her pixie face.

"So ... what do we do about it?" Sandy pouted, sighed and tutted.
"Okay," she said in a monotone voice, "... so I lied. Now what are you
going to do about it? Have me locked up? Call my family? Good luck if
you do."

Roger drew in a deep breath and rested his finger on his lower lip. "If
I wanted to get nasty about it, I could do just that. Welfare fraud is
becoming one of the most common crimes in this city, and the taxpayers
are goddamned sick of it ... especially since all these young people
are coming out here to the West coast without jobs and sucking up all
the welfare so the people who really need it go hungry. Papers are full
of cases."

Chris wriggled uncomfortably on the sofa, fearing the worst. One glance
at Roger and she knew he wasn't going to give them a break.

"Then there's the matter of your rent being overdue," his brown intense
eyes snapped wider like shutters on springs. "Two months now and you
girls haven't paid me a dime. Legally I could have you out of here in
thirty days ..."

Chris was the first to break. She rested her head in her hands and
sobbed three times before regaining her composure. Today had been an
emotional nightmare, saying nothing about financial. An apologetic
feminine hand stroked her arm as she squeezed out the last tear.

"Oh damn," sighed Roger, gleaming over his success. Shit! He had them
now. Get a woman in tears and she loses all rationale. Now was the time
to snap it to them; they'd be putty in his hands, their will broken,
ready to be molded to his wishes. "... I didn't mean to make you cry,
but this is a serious matter. Christ, I can't count the number of young
girls who've lived in this building -- just out of school, away from
home for the first time, thinking they'll come out to old SF and teach
the world tricks." He shook his head negatively. "Life ain't that way,
girls. It ain't that simple."

"But ... but we've tried looking for work. Honest we have!" Chris'
ivory white forehead was wrinkled with a solemn plea for mercy. "We've
spent all the money we had on bus fare and god, I even sacrificed my
last dollar for a pair of stockings to go to a crummy interview -- and
I didn't even want the Job!" She looked pleadingly into Sandy's tear-
blurred eyes. Sandy nodded in acquiescence.

"Really," she moaned in her flirtatiously childish manner, the
expression on her face one of a hungry orphan begging for a bowl of
rice. "It's not that we haven't tried or don't have any brains. God, we
both graduated from college and ... and I speak Spanish and Chris
speaks French." She shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands
entreatingly.

"Spanish? you say?" Ah, ha, mused Roger silently, stroking his full
mustache with glee. This was the opener. "French?"

The girls nodded simultaneously.

"Hmmm ... I might be able to help you ... that is, if you really want a
job." He continued pacing, one hand thrust into his polyester suit
pants, the other still working on his mustache, while his brown eyes
clicked off the dollar signs. The surreptitious landlord glanced over
at the rentees to see them sitting up straight, ready to take orders.
"Naw. You girls went to college huh? What were your majors?" His eyes
sparkled as they probed every inch of feminine flesh ... two hundred a
nights worth.

"I majored in art with a double major in French, and Sandy majored in
modern dance and speaks Spanish ... she's part Spanish, you know," the
spokesman assured.

"You girls ever worked in crowds of people? I mean have you ever been
hostesses or tour guides?"

"No," answered Sandy, somewhat disconcertedly.

"But we can try!" Chris blurted.

"I ... I don't know ..." Roger made a turn at the mantle and rested his
elbow on the chipped paint and stroked his neck with that hand. "You'd
have to spend time around men ... many of them foreigners." He smacked
his lips and shook his head. "Maybe you'd be better off trying the
lunch counters down town ..."

"No, wait a minute! Tell us more about this job," implored Chris,
sitting on the edge of the sofa now, ablaze with interest, desperate
for a break. The prospect of going back to Detroit was about as
appealing as making love to an elephant.

"Okay," Roger confronted them in his military stance, arms behind his
back, legs spread. "I have some friends who own a tour guide business
downtown ... old buddies of mine from the army. They make contact with
the bus guide tours and instead of sending everybody out in buses they
take them out sometimes singly, sometime in pairs. What they need is
somebody to chaperone the guys, somebody who can speak Spanish or
French ... adds a little class, you know."

Sandy's eyes sparkled. It was a dream come true, but Chris looked
puzzled, her face still mirroring her concern over the money and the
way her landlord kept stealing peeks down the gaping front of her
bathrobe. She yanked it shut tight.

"So what do we have to do?"

"Simple. You go out to dinner with the guys ... there will be wives
along sometimes," he admitted with a sly smirk. "You impress the guy by
ordering in another language ... that's always worth a tip, especially
from businessmen who are out to impress some client ... then you hop a
cable car and take 'em to the wharf maybe ... out for a couple of
drinks, tell 'em about the landmarks of the city -- how Golden Gate
Park used to be a sand pit, and everything east of Market street is
landfill ... you know. Little bits like that. Mostly you just play nice
to 'em and they treat you well."

"I don't know," said Chris, biting on her lower lip nervously. "Sounds
kinda fishy to me ... almost like ... like, well, you know." She turned
to read the expression on her roommate's face. "What do you think,
Sandy?"

Marvel-eyed, Sandy shot a beaming grin at the landlord. "I think it's
great! When do we start and how much money will we make? I'll have to
get my clothes together for this!"

Roger looked a little perplexed, but at the same time he was relieved.
He knew if he could persuade Chris, he'd have it sacked, but she was
the cautious one, he noted. "What about you, Chris. How do you feel
about it? I know it's not what you expected to do with a college
diploma, but it's the best I can offer. Besides, the foreign tourists
in San Francisco have a lot of class." He studied her unmoved
expression. "Well, I know you'd rather sit in an office for eight hours
a day, but ..."

"Let me think about it," broke in the blonde haired roommate. "I want
to think this over."

Sandy wrinkled up her nose and tugged Chris' bathrobe sleeve, her eyes
on Roger as she whispered into Chris' ear: "Come on, it's no big thing.
We'd at least be able to eat and get out to see the city." Pulling her
bathrobe tight around her, and letting the bath towel unwind with a
vigorous shake of her head, Chris stalked off to her bedroom and closed
the door behind her. It seemed cheap somehow, going out with a man
you'd never seen before. Why, it was the closest thing to prostitution
she'd ever imagined herself coming in contact with. She closed her
bedroom door behind her.

One room away, Chris could hear Sandy's throaty voice apologizing for
her roommate's abrupt response. "Don't pay any attention to her, she's
just very upset today," she heard Sandy explain.

Roger returned: "Okay, you girls think it over and come down to my
apartment tonight and tell me what you want to do. Remember, I still
have two months rent to collect and this letter from the foodstamp
office is nothing to scoff at. It's serious business ... could cost you
both a lot of money and time behind bars if you're not careful. I'm
just trying to help you out, is all. I've got my responsibilities too."

Sandy caught his arm before he reached out to open the door. "Just one
thing," she said hesitantly. "Does this mean we have to go to bed with
the men?" Her eyes sparkled and the landlord read the message loud and
clear.

Dropping his hand to the doorknob he rested it there and said, "If you
do, it'll earn you a bunch more, that's all I can tell you."

When he left, closing the door behind him, Sandy leaned up against the
hardwood door, her eyes smiling for her. No use giving away what you
can charge for, she resolved and headed for Chris' bedroom for a long,
practical talk with her best friend of four years.



Chapter 5


Roger's apartment was on the second floor in the back where his living
room window overlooked a small rose garden in the middle of the
concrete stone maze of apartment buildings and garages. It was the only
apartment with such a view, blessed in its solitudinous location and
free of traffic noise. Best of all, it had an exceptionally large
living room, good for entertaining and business combined.

Tonight, though, he didn't need the rose garden. Tonight was that
certain lucky moment every man dreams of but seldom finds. Christ, what
a girl, what a hell of a woman!

"Mmmmm ... that's nice, honey, nice and deep," came the hoarse whisper
through the darkness. Sandy's levis, blouse and underclothes were
strewn haphazardly on the floor beside the couch, and her long trim
legs were cocked back at a forty-five degree angle, flattened back hard
against her chest, smashing the firmly swelling mounds of her young
breasts beneath her own thighs.

Roger was half on his knees and half arched off the sofa, supported on
his feet and palms, his long pulsating hard cock buried deep in the
dark-haired girl's belly, stretching apart the warm hungry lips of her
cunt as he flexed the head of his huge fleshy length far up in her
womb.

'Oh, yes, yes," she moaned, "God, you feel so good inside of me!"

He smiled a little to himself and tightened his loins, jerking the
heatedly bulging head of his cock deep up inside the hot moistness of
her cunt, bringing a grateful moan to her ovalled lips. He flexed the
rigidly throbbing thickness again and the young girl gasped in pleasure
as the enormous instrument probed the previously untried depths of her
cuntal passage, far up inside her belly. Other shrill cries escaped her
lips as the powerful landlord began a slow revolving motion with his
pelvis and her hotly seeping cuntal cavern gradually became accustomed
to this thick invading prick stretching her to the limit. He pushed his
pelvis tight against her upturned, wetly-glistening pussy and ground
his cock deeply into her, expanding the still-quivering walls until her
moistly warm pussy fit his massive cock as though it had been a custom-
made glove.

Roger reached past the nakedly writhing body of the black haired girl
and yanked at the cords of the draperies, pulling them further apart so
that the room was bathed in a fine glow of moonlight over the rose
garden that outlined each one of the warm, smoothly gleaming curves.
The naked girl's translucent skin glowed like an ivory statue of a
goddess and her softly fleshed breasts were two alabaster mounds,
capped with a little brown nipples, hard and throbbing, as Roger thrust
his long, hard manhood deep into the hungrily clasping sheath up
between her wide-spread legs. Sandy's eyes were closed, her teeth
tightly clenched, and her face distorted from the delicious torment of
his rigidly thick organ in her eager young cunt.

Afraid to believe his eyes, the landlord ran his sweating palms over
the girl's naked flesh, rubbing lewdly the moonshaped firm cheeks of
her supple buttocks as his fingers delicately probed the hair-lined
cuntal lips tightly clamped around his impaling cock. His fingertip
flicked tentatively at her tightly puckered little anus as his hand
eased between their sweat-soaked bodies; his finger pressed painfully
against the opening, then suddenly popped through the tiny nether ring
and wormed deeply up into the soft rubbery flesh inside her rectum. It
moved around, expanding the small hole until the palm of his hand lay
flattened against her yielding ass-cheeks, his whole middle finger sunk
all the way up inside the forbidden little tunnel.

Roger simply couldn't believe his luck. This was just too much for any
man! Just an hour ago, he'd been sitting quietly, sipping his bourbon
and water, cautiously laying out the details of his plan for those two
girls up on the thirteenth floor ... and now this! Damn, he'd had his
share of women, but never a hot little bitch like this one. Christ,
she'd practically torn his pants off trying to get at his cock, licking
it, nibbling at it as though it were food and she'd been starving for a
week! And now, hell, she was hotter than a firecracker on the fourth of
July.

He began a hard rhythmic fucking motion in and out of Sandy's moistly
stretched pussy, thrusting forward mercilessly from his arched
backstroke and battering her writhing body back hard against the sofa
cushions, all the while continuing the relentless plundering of her
anus with his rigid finger, slowly pistoning it in rhythm with long,
skewering thrust of his lust-distended cock, bringing loud sobbing
gasps from her half-opened lips in time with agonizing tempo of his
finger and his cock fucking her at once. He could feel the hardness of
his cock through the thin fleshy membrane between her cuntal and anal
channel as he rammed into her again and again; his finger, plundering
her hopelessly stretched little asshole, rubbed along the whole
throbbing length of his prick as it wetly slithered deep into her cunt.

Sandy was enjoying every delicious second of it -- through a series of
unusual circumstances, she'd been without a man for two days now, and
nothing on earth could have felt better than this, the blood-boiling
ecstasy of a long, hard male cock fucked deep into her craving young
belly. That was the way she liked it, and the harder and bigger it was,
the better. Being fucked by a man like this was always brought out
those suppressed masochistic urges she kept hidden in everyday life and
lying flat on her back like this, absolutely naked and helpless, she
could let those shameful desires and passions run rampant through her
writhing body, could pull her knees back tight against her breasts and
savor wondrously the deep, burrowing thrusts of a man's cock far up
inside her moistly heated cuntal passage. Roger was very well-hung, and
she liked that most of all in a man, and now, nothing else mattered!
...

One floor above, someone was thinking identical thoughts. Margaret
Sorenson plumped up her feather pillow for the fourth time that night
and peeled up the afghan that sat folded at the foot of her man-empty
bed. Already she'd taken one Sominex, and it had done nothing but
depress her and make her feet tingle with a strange, drugged sensation.
And it was late, the clock warned, as she finally sat up in bed and
flicked on the night lamp beside her bed, standing next to the
photograph of Sandor.

With a groan of self-loathing, she lovingly picked up the metal framed
photograph of her deceased husband. He stood on a pier, a huge
oceanliner behind him; it was taken in 1968 when she and Sandor got off
the boat to face their destiny in America. How happy and vibrant he
looked! Margaret blinked back the tears, bit into her lip and put it
back to its bedside grave.

What would dear, wonderful Sandor think if he knew that at that very
moment she lay in bed lonely and anguished ... for the want of another
man! A man who had given her his love with promises for more, and then
carefully avoided her.

She wailed, covering her face with her hands, a wave of remorse washing
over her as she struggled to keep from going to Roger's door and
pounding angry fists against it. Where was the love she needed so
badly? She'd done everything she could to please him -- cooked for him,
cleaned for him, and ... and oh my God, he realized she'd done that
too. She'd had oral love with him.

No! Her Swedish pride screamed a shaking finger at her. She couldn't go
down there and embarrass herself in front of him. But damn! Roger was
all she had now, and she couldn't stand to lose him too. Instead, she
would take another sleeping pill, count sheep, and cry herself to
sleep. But never, never would she humiliate herself in front of him.

The pill sipped easily down her throat and she turned off the lights
...

One floor below, Sandy's hips were moving with a savage rhythm now,
grinding up against her landlord's hairy loins with increasing speed as
he stepped up the dual pace of his cock and finger ravaging both hot
hungry holes down there between her quivering legs.

"Yes, yes, Goddamn it yes! Fuck me, oh, shit, yes. Fuck me, darling!"
she cried, squirming her body lewdly around beneath Roger's pelvis,
knocking the sofa cushions askew in her mindless passion.

The wanton young girl opened her eyes ... she could see the clear
unmistakable silhouette of a man hovering over her, but the face was a
blank shadow. She raised her neck slightly, looking down between her
upturned thighs and saw the long, glistening shaft of his hardened cock
sliding easily in and out of her wildly quivering cunt. A cold chill
raced along her spine as he thrust his hips forward, driving the thick
gleaming pole up into the hot wetness of her tightly clasping tunnel.
It didn't matter that his face was invisible; in fact, it almost seemed
right ... she needed a man, any man, his face was of no importance.
What she needed -- what she yearned for -- was buried deliciously now
up between her smooth bare thighs.

The ecstasy soon reached a bone-shattering peak. "Oh, God, yes, don't
stop! Fuck me like this forever, baby! Don't stop! Yes, oh yes, fuck
me!" She grunted her words into the chill darkness, grinding her naked
young ass up against him faster and faster, trying to keep up with the
monstrous pole of hot flesh that was skewering her like a heavy hunk of
meat, pounding its long way deeper and deeper up into her belly with a
frantic, animal tempo.

It was impossible to keep up the heated pace any longer; she felt too
goddamned good. Roger could not hold back another second, and he took
one lustful look at the abandonedly writhing young brunette pinned
helplessly beneath the weight of his body and began fast, pushing
thrusts that buried his powerfully pulsating prick right up to the
pubic hairs on his pelvis with each and every deep, skewering lunge.
Faster and faster he pounded, far up into her hot raging little belly,
every muscle tensed, sweat dripping from his chest and thighs, faster,
harder, deeper ...

"No, no, please! Wait! Please wait just a little longer ...!" Sandy
cried, as she realized he was about to cum. But it was too late, for
Roger's lips parted and a long low groan of relief escaped as his
sperm-swollen balls heatedly pumped spurt after spurt of white hot cum
deep into her quivering cunt. The brunette girl ground her frantically
writhing loins up tightly against his pelvis in a futile attempt to
halt the warm flow, but she was betrayed by her own eager cunt which
hungrily milked his jerking cock, until every last drop of his viscous
load was sloshing deep up inside her passion distended womb.

Roger pulled himself off the still squirming girl, his cock slithering
wetly from her heated depths as the thickly bearded pink lips of her
cunt reluctantly released their prize. A thin string of white
stickiness hung momentarily from the tip of his limply dangling cock
before it fell onto her smooth unblemished thighs.

Sandy lay quietly, at least as quietly as she could considering the
sexual turmoil churning in her loins, as Roger stretched out beside
her, his prick lying uselessly between his wide-spread thighs. Her full
young breasts rose and fell rapidly as she gasped for breath to fill
her passion-emptied lungs and still the flames of undiluted passion
raging uncontrollably in her cunt -- a scorching inferno of unfulfilled
animal desires that still painfully awaited relief. Without any
conscious effort, as if in a dream and she was alone with no one to
witness her shamefulness, her own hands began to ease slowly along the
flat expanse of her belly, drawn as if by magic to the fluffy little
vee between her thighs. The fingertips of both hands brushed lightly
over the puffy hot lips of her wetly hungry crevice, and a jolt of
excitement shot through her torso as she began caressing the incredibly
sensitive folds. One outstretched slender finger slipped inside the
sperm soaked opening as if it had a mind of its own, and she could feel
the softly moist walls close involuntarily around the invader, hungrily
gasping at anything to fill the painful void.

She jerked her hand away quickly as she felt the sofa move ever so
slightly; and she saw Roger kneeling at the other end, still completely
naked, his long penis clutched between the clenched fingers of his left
hand like some menacing weapon at the ready. Above her like that in the
nearly blackened room, he towered over her like some medieval giant.
She couldn't take her eyes off his rubbery cock, and he watched her,
pleased with himself, as she kept her attention focused on the fleshy
pole dangling from his wet, hair-covered loins. As she stared,
mesmerized, it began to swell, only a little at first, in a tiny
quivering crawl, then more, in pulsating movements of new growth as the
momentum of desire grew stronger within him.

"You don't have to play with yourself, baby. I've got all the cock you
can handle," he lewdly grinned. "Now turn over like a good little girl,
and I'll show you what I mean ..."

Sandy rolled over obediently on the couch, smearing the sticky trail of
sperm from her thighs onto the sofa cushions. She lay quietly on her
stomach, waiting for him to tell her what to do; she knew men like to
give the orders, and she didn't mind obeying, particularly if it meant
another taste of that magnificent penis. Anyway, she'd always liked it
dog-fashion from behind; on her knees the penetration seemed even
deeper, and that was perfect as far as she was concerned ...

Twenty minutes had passed in that lonely, rucked up bed with only
Margaret's mature body messing it up with tossing and turning. Her mind
was like a movie camera, clicking off mental images of herself with
Roger last night. Oh, what she wouldn't give for an instant replay of
that wonderful, wonderful cock of his in her hungry mouth. It had felt
so good. She'd give anything to have it there right now!

Why not? her tranquilized mind asked. Why not go down there, knock on
his door and offer her mouth for his pleasure. The Swedish pride melted
with hot desire. Yes, yes, damn it, she would do just that. All he
could do was refuse, and she believed, needed to believe that Roger
would never refuse her. He was her man.

She slipped out of bed, pulled her robe over her floor length nightgown
and ran a comb through her hair and, opening the window, for a breath
of fresh air, drew in a deep breath for courage, and left the door
slightly ajar after her ...

"Now kneel," Roger commanded, grabbing impatiently at her hips and
helping her to her knees. She rested panting for a moment on all fours,
her firmly rounded young buttocks shoved high and vulnerable in the
air, waving temptingly before him like a flag before a maddened bull.
In the dim light, he could see that the moistly pouting little lips of
her pussy were puckered in invitation as she leaned forward, resting
her head on the opposite arm of the sofa, her softly fleshed little ass
jutting up at him completely unguarded and available to use as he
wished. Sandy's reddened eyes were glazed with the ravishment her body
had endured, and her pulse quickened at the thrilling prospect of this
man's steel-hard cock imbedded once again deeply inside the hungrily
quivering walls of her pussy.

Suddenly, her dream-like anticipation was shattered as she felt the
insistent probing of Roger's fully erect cock at her backside ... not
at the moist, eagerly waiting lips of her cunt, but at her anus!

Uncertain, she waved the trembling half-moons of her roundly fleshed
buttocks back at him, feeling the blunt, swollen head of his cock
pushing in against the tiny puckered hole of her rectum.

"Roger, darling, not there, please," she pleaded, not knowing of her
landlord's fetish. "You're too big. You'll split me in half!"

There was no answer from Roger, but in the fleeting instant before the
searing pain blanked her thoughts completely, she was certain she heard
a muffled chuckle from somewhere behind her. His only other response
was immediate and to the point ... with a grunt, he shoved his powerful
loins forward increasing the already intolerable pressure against the
tightly clenched little rectum.

Abruptly, without warning, the anal ring bent inward -- hot hotly
throbbing thick pole invaded her tiny rear passage in one vicious lunge
and almost a half of the long rigid length of his cock disappeared up
into her hideously stretched anal mouth.

Sandy attempted to crawl forward, yelling in surprise and agony,
"Awwwww, please! You're hurting me! It hurts, pull it out. Please,
Roger, Please!''

"No, baby, I'm not going to take it out ... but you've got the tightest
asshole I've ever felt." He laughed lewdly and grabbed the fleshy rims
of her hips like a couple of handles and forced her frantically
thrashing buttocks back against him with all his strength, gasping in
pain himself as his massive staff sank to the hilt in the warm anal
passage. His balls swung forward and slapped against her dripping wet
pussy, brushing ever so gently against the sensitive ragged lips just
below the obscenely-stretched rim of her rectal lips, where his pole-
thick cock was plundering her mercilessly.

He gripped her so tightly that the tortured girl was unable to jerk
away from this incredible agony. It was as if the blunt end of the
softball bat had been somehow rammed up between her open buttocks,
shoved far up inside her belly until her stomach tightened with nausea
from the excruciating pain ...

With her ear to the door and her knuckles white from knocking, Margaret
Sorenson clutched at her bathrobe with the other hand, her mind reeling
with confusion and a drug-induced stupor. He was in there, she
insistently reasoned, but he wasn't answering the door. Maybe he had
fallen asleep in front of the television set, she hoped, grasping at
air. She didn't, couldn't believe that he wouldn't let her in if he
were at home. No, that would be too painful to believe. Margaret set
the door arattle with one final knock, before padding down the hall in
her fleecy slippers, her head downcast and her spirits plundered. She
took the carpeted stairway -- faded and worn through to the burlap
lining, half dragging herself up the stairs to her apartment and there
opened the window and slipped out to the fire escape. Roger's living
room window was accessible from the fire escape, she knew from past
experience.

The metal was cold on her feet, even through her slippers. Carefully,
she guided her hand along the icy railing and descended down one flight
of barred steps that cut into he tender feet. As she neared Roger's
living room window she could plainly hear moaning sounds. Yes! He was
watching television. Her spirits soared until she was close enough to
peak in. The she saw it -- graphically.

"Oh, please, please, Roger, pull it out! I can't take it any more ...
please, I'll do anything you ask. I'll suck your cock, do anything,
please, but not this, I'm splitting apart!"

The words sunk into Margaret's consciousness like a brandished sword.
Closing her eyes against the tear-inciting sight, she watched as Roger,
her man, fucked a young girl in the buttocks. A clammy hand flew to
Margaret's mouth and she stood on the fire escape reeling, holding onto
the railing for fear of loosing her balance. The emotional pain seared
her heart, and a growing ball of nausea swept over her body, warming
her stomach, then her throat. When it hit her, she couldn't hold back.
Bracing her arms on the lifeless railing, she let the sorrows, the
loss, and the agonies of a lost love spill over the railing to the
empty streets below. A figure in the night, she pulled herself up to
the third floor where her lace curtains danced in the window, inviting
her to her self-chosen solitude.

Tomorrow she would think about what she had seen. Tonight she must
rest. Margaret put her robe to rest on the bedpost and slipped into the
cold sheets, then picked up the picture of Sandor and kissed it before
turning off the light ...

Down below the lewd vignette continued. Roger was deaf to Sandy's
pleas, his eyes were wide with astonished disbelief as he watched his
thick white cock slide back and forth, first back until just the
swollen tip alone remained between the tightly stretched band of her
anus, then forward again, inch by throbbing inch, until all of his long
hard shaft was nestled deep inside her hotly constrictive hole. The
feeling was incredible! It was as if a warm hand covered in soft brown
velvet had grabbed his throbbing penis and was pulling it far up inside
the helpless girl's belly.

Like a man possessed, he rammed his rock hard rod of flesh home harder
and harder, pushing aside the tender pink walls of her rectum as he
shoved his massive cock as far as it could go up into her heatedly
quivering belly. As if torn by demons, he plowed into her backside
again and again, his whole body trembling with the fury of his
unnatural lust.

But for Sandy, something weird and wonderful was happening, a change
was taking place that was transforming this barbarous act from
excruciating pain into a wildly exciting delicious pleasure. Slowly,
her pain and fear were being replaced with the overwhelming feeling of
total and absolute subjugation, total ravishment at the hands of this
near-stranger. The mental picture of her quivering young buttocks being
so ruthlessly plundered incited spasm of forbidden pleasure throughout
her nakedly writhing body. The unanswered hunger in her belly began to
rage out of control again, and she started to undulate her buttocks in
tiny teasing circles, squeezing with her strong rectal muscles at the
impaling shaft imbedded so hotly inside her, milking eagerly at the
long fleshy cock savagely boring into her from behind. She wanted to
drain it, to fill her heretofore virginal little anal orifice with this
man's seething load, to feel his hot sticky flood fill her rectum until
cum ran in torrents down her sweat-soaked thighs. She had never been
sodomized like this before; always, somehow, she had been able to talk
her way out of it, whenever one of her lovers had suggested it.

Tonight, though, she had regretted ever having had second thoughts in
the past, for she was wallowing in the wild intensity of this delicious
pleasure-pain, savoring every second of the delectable torment he was
inflicting on her ravaged back passage. The writhing young girl tightly
clenched her buttocks, intensifying the masochistic thrill that had
taken control of her body.

Nothing mattered now except this, nothing but this long hard pole of
masculine flesh that was bringing her such incredibly wanton ecstasy.
God, she wanted its hot load inside her! She wanted to feel its
scalding warmth flooding her very intestines with an unending torrent
of life-giving sperm until it sloshed in her belly and ran through
every pore of her naked body in gushing rivers of wicked pleasure.

And an instant later, Sandy's erotic fantasies were fulfilled as Roger
suddenly let out a loud grunt and his enormous cock rammed far, far up
into her ravaged rectum. Almost immediately, she felt the awesome wave
of her own orgasm, so long in coming, sweep over her, bringing an
anguished moan to her lips.

"Aaaaggghhhh, God, yes! Aaawww!" she wailed loudly, her savage moans
filling the darkened room and reverberating from the walls as,
suddenly, his wildly jerking penis grew even larger and began spewing
its white hot load deep up into her hungrily clasping back passage. His
cum ricocheted heatedly around inside and spurted from the ravenously
sucking hole to stream in a thick white river down the young brunette's
firmly trembling thighs, soaking his own balls as they slammed tightly
in the sopping wet crevice beneath her wide-stretched anus. The oozing
liquid flowed warmly down over his leathery testicles as they continued
to lightly brush against the glistening lips of her pussy. Violent
shudders of excitement ran through her naked body as her orgasm built,
crested and intensified.

"Aieeee ... I'm cumming," she shrieked. "Oh, God,. fuck harder, I'm
cumming!"

Sandy screwed her buttocks tightly back against the still spewing cock
buried deep in her flooded rectum and abruptly, as a loud scream burst
from between her clenched teeth, she felt her whole body explode with
the pricks of a million red-hot needles as his last punishing thrust
took her up, up, and over the brink into a chasm of complete ecstatic
pleasure. Her strength was suddenly gone, and she fell forward on the
sofa as his long glistening cock slipped with a lewd wet sucking sound
from the fist-like, grip of her tightly clinging rectal walls. She
shivered once more as the cool air swirled around and up inside her
unplugged, still dilated opening, chilling her very insides with the
cold blast.

Roger weakly collapsed on the floor beside the sofa with a gasping moan
that seemed more of relief than of pain, amazed that his body had not
come to pieces and exploded from the fury of the last few minutes. He
lay very still beside her, his hand resting on her nakedly trembling
thigh as she heaved and gasped for breath, and for a long while, there
were silent.

* * * * *

"It's damned good, money, sugar," said Roger, dressed now except for a
shirt. Sandy was lying on her naked back smoking a cigarette, pondering
the amenities of Roger's proposed career for she and Chris. She looked
totally refreshed and renewed, like an entirely new person, glowing
with the special radiance that comes to a woman when she's been really
and truly satisfied by a man. And satisfied she was, not remembering
when she'd enjoyed a fuck since she was twelve ... but no, her mind
protested. She shouldn't think about that.

Roger played with one taut nipple. "Baby, we could make a fortune.
Hell, it's not prostitution anyways. It's going out on dates, that's
all. With my connections and your ass, we could make a couple thou' a
month. And you won't have to rely on foodstamps," he laughed.

"Sounds good to me," smiled Sandy. "But you're going to have a hard
time convincing Chris. Chris has always followed the straight and
narrow, but don't get me wrong," she immediately filled in. "Chris is a
great girl, my best friend and I don't want to lead her into anything
that she'll regret later."

"Simple enough. We put her up with the mild ones until she gets used to
it. Then we'll turn her on to something that'll make her want a little
more ... if you know what I mean."

Sandy didn't reply, just stared at the lit end of her smouldering
cigarette. "Okay," she grinned in her impish way. "I'll talk to Chris
tomorrow. But let me tell you this. She's always stuck by me and I
don't want to see her hurt."

"No sweat," reassured Roger with a tweak of her right nipple.

Eleven stories above, Chris O'brien lay in her bed, trying to sleep
despite the deafening din of the buses and traffic outside of her
bedroom window. Minutes later she sat upright in bed, hearing the
familiar midnight sound of Sandy turning her key in the lock and
listening to the footsteps shuffle in the direction of her bedroom,
turned on the bedside lamp in time to see Sandy emerge through her
door.

"We're going to be out of debt in no time," giggled Sandy, collapsing
on her roommate's bed. "And we start tomorrow night!"



Chapter 6


Chris O'Brien took a glance around her, the plush red velvet draperies,
the crystal chandelier casting glimmers of light over the potted palms
in the corners of the restaurants ... and wondered why she had been so
reluctant to give up a night alone in her dumpy apartment for a French
meal at Fisherman's Wharf overlooking the San Francisco Bay.

She glanced around the restaurant again. The lights were low, the
atmosphere hushed. Waiters moved across the deep carpet as quietly as
cats. And Francois, her date for the evening, with his lean, handsome
face, his classic features, the touch of gray at his temples that made
him look even more distinguished than his accent could attest to. He'd
sat opposite of her, choosing the perfect wine to go with the perfect
meal he would select. Yes, Chris thought, there was no reason for her
being so afraid when he'd come to the door.

She would try to act the lady, conversing fluently in French with this
mysteriously good-looking gentleman, and remember her etiquette,
squeezing her lemon with the prongs of the fork, dipping the soup spoon
away instead of towards you ... those tiny, yet consequential vignettes
of cuisine that separated the more sophisticated from the lesser. And
when the Chateaubriand for two would be served, she would not stuff
herself, though it had been two weeks since she'd anything as
delectable as a piece of piping hot meat steaming in front of her.

Between sips of her Fuisse Pouissy, Chris and Francois stared out over
the blackened night, watching the ships slip by announced only by the
low throaty moan of the fog horn. He'd been in merchant marine at one
time, he told her through his mellifluously enunciated accent, and
since then had made yearly trips back to the old sea port by the bay
where he's spent many a memorable evening parading up and down Broadway
Street, watching the pimps, the barkers, and the prostitutes.

He asked about her background; the obvious questions a man who's paid
for an evening of womanly companionship wants to know. Had she
traveled? Had she gone to school? And through it all, he hadn't pried,
hadn't insinuated or demanded.

Even when he walked her to her door, he had remained a perfect
gentleman, kissing her hand delicately and wishing her a good evening's
rest. Chris went to bed that evening of a full stomach and a prayer in
her heart for Sandy. Sandy, maybe this once I misjudged you. A free
meal and a few drinks, and I'll be out of this mess you got us into.
Yes, maybe for once you were right, Sandy.

* * * * *

Stories below, Margaret Sorenson completed her nightly ritual of
watching Johnie Carson on television while sipping a small glass of
sherry. On the kitchen table sat two place settings; only one of them
used. Roger had not shown up for dinner, despite the note of invitation
she'd tacked to his door. When she had gone down to investigate at
eight o'clock, just as she'd taken the roast out of the oven for the
second time, she'd heard the unmistakable grunts and groans of
lovemaking.

Roger was cheating on her again, she sniffed, blinking back a tear.
Didn't it matter she loved him? Didn't he care after all she'd done for
him? And the pain to think she'd let him take advantage of her like
that ... forcing her to use her mouth on him like some common whore.

Well, let him have his whores, his fast women who had to sell their
bodies to stay alive. At least she still had her dignity, she resolved,
getting up to switch off the television set and turning off the light,
her apple cheeks reddened, partly from the sherry, and partly from the
fury of her emotions.

Margaret Sorenson was a proud woman. No landlord could take advantage
of her like that and get away with it. She would have her revenge. Time
was on her side.



Chapter 7


The stereo ground out an old Beatle's tune, slowing now and then with
the power failures typical of poorly wired urban apartment buildings.
It may have been two high school girls dressing for their first dates,
judging from the excitement and expectations, matching lipstick and
nail polish, changing stockings and shoes.

"... It all went well last night then?" asked Sandy, stroking the hair
brush through her long, thick locks.

"Perfect. Just perfect! In fact," confessed Chris poking an earring
through her pierced ear, "he was a real doll. Very mature and dignified
and he didn't even try to kiss me! God, maybe I have bad breath or
something," she chuckled, never loosing sight of her profile in the
dressing mirror.

"That could almost get to be a drag," mused Sandy, with raised
eyebrows. "That has never happened to me, so I wouldn't know. "

Chris snapped the earring shut. "Tell me about it, Sandy." she said
light-heartedly, but with a sting of sarcasm.

"Come on. I can't help it if I like to make love. It's the neatest
thing in the world. Can you think of anything that feels any better?"

Chris laughed. "Its been so long I couldn't say ..."

Sandy turned from her girlfriend and searched through her big leather
bag until she found the foil-wrapped packet she had stashed there for
emergencies. Actually, it was Roger's idea, but she had to agree it was
a good one. "Chris, come on, this will get you in a party mood."

Chris looked up, saw that Sandy was holding a lighted cigarette in her
hand. She held the lighted stick of marijuana in offering and Chris
accepted it, though reluctantly. Too many times she'd let herself loose
control while stoned; it was a vice she had grown wary of.

"I'm no sure ..."

"Don't be such a prude!" chided Sandy, taking a deep puff herself.
"Here, smoke a little. C'mon." She held the hand-rolled cigarette to
Chris's lips; first the blonde turned away, but then when it was
obvious that Sandy would persist, she reluctantly took one tiny puff. A
tingle of warmth followed the sweet-smelling smoke down her throat and
along the nerve channels of her body; just the one puff was enough to
bring a wave of relaxation to her excited body. She felt her mind
loosen as if obeying some secret command; another, deeper drag
followed, then still another ...

Soon, in minutes, or in hours, they had finished the joint and Sandy
had produced another from her tin foil packet. Chris didn't hesitate
this time; the nerve-soothing drug seemed to answer a deep inner need,
and the inbred instinct to resist it had been destroyed.

"There, you feel more like partyin' now without getting goose bumps?"
Sandy asked her shy friend.

Chris nodded. "Yes, thanks. I feel a lot ... a lot better now." Her
words were beginning to blur together, and she hesitated at places that
needed no pause.

"Now about tonight. We're getting paid one hundred dollars each since
this is a private party that Roger is giving for some business friends.
Is that cool with you?" asked the brunette watching her friends eyes
sparkle with dollar signs.

"That sounds okay to me!" burst Sandy, stepping into her platform
shoes. She always waited 'til the last minute to put them on out of
consideration for the neighbors below who had to listen to the heavy
clump, clump of her wooden heels. Bending over to secure the straps and
buckle the tiny metal fastener at her slim ankle, Chris lost her
balance and fell on her buttocks, with a groan.

Sandy looked down at her stoned friend. "For god's sakes, Chris, get
your act together. We're supposed to be calm and sophisticated
debutantes, remember? Not a couple of burned out hippies."

"All right, all right," snapped Chris defensively before bursting into
giggles.

Sandy headed toward the living room and called over her shoulder to
Chris, still in her bedroom. "Why don't you make yourself a cup of
coffee! I'm going down to see if everything is cool with Roger." The
door slammed behind her and Chris, kicking off her uncomfortable shoes,
padded in her level bare feet to the kitchen.

"Roger!" Sandy knocked on the door and was greeted on the second knock,
but she didn't step in; there wasn't time.

"Howdy, Sandy. Everything set?"

"Just like you said. A few pulls on the grass and she's ready for
anything. Grass does that to her." Sandy leaned against the door jam
and stared at a scrawled note that lay on the doormat. Stooping over,
she picked it up and handed it to Roger. "Looks like this is for you.
Must have blown off the door."

"Thanks," said the landlord, scanning the pencil-written note. His eyes
narrowed disconcertedly, a gesture Sandy did not fail to notice.

"What's the matter? Somebody's tub overflow?" she giggled.

"Naw. It's from Margaret ... she lives upstairs from me. Christ, I wish
she would stop nagging me. Goddamn women, can't leave me alone," he
chuckled egocentrically. "Ah," he sneered. "She's just a dumb immigrant
from the old country," he said, mimicking Margaret's Swedish accent.

"Anyway, I came down to see if everything's okay. I'm sure I can handle
those friends of yours, but I'm not too sure about Chris. She's pretty
shy, you know."

"Just keep gettin' her loaded. She'll be okay."

He kissed her on the forehead and she sauntered down the musty smelling
hallway, passing by door after door, hearing muffled sounds of the
evening news, mixed with low conversation and the heady smell of dinner
wafting out from under closed doors. Sandy had one hand on the railing
when something behind her made her jump.

Appearing from nowhere -- she had to be hiding in the hall to go
unnoticed -- Sandy spied a blonde haired woman, mature and buxom in her
tight fitting cotton dress. Smiling, Sandy turned to greet her, to say
hello, but the woman stiffened and brushed on by, her mouth turned down
in a hateful grimace at the sight of the young black haired girl who'd
replaced her in Roger's life.

Margaret's low-heeled shoes pounded rhythmically on the threadbare
carpeting of the steps, then silenced as she reached the hallway above
and charged for the quiet of her modest apartment. The tears she's
struggled to hold within burst free and she collapsed on her bed.

She'd heard it all. So that's what Roger thought of her? A stupid Swede
from the old country. Margaret took one loving glance at Sandor's
photograph and plotted her revenge. And, she the goods on him, she
mused with a sudden taste for retaliation. In the last three days that
she'd been following him, she learned enough about him to make a
complaint to somebody. Who, she wasn't certain of, but there had to be
laws against pandering women and reading other people's mail as she'd
seen him do through the window of his living room where she'd stood on
the fire escape.



Chapter 8


Chris' mouth just sort of hung open for a minute as she mindlessly
climbed the last of the carpeted steps and walked into Roger's
apartment where the blaring sounds of music could be heard, along with
the wafting smell of sweet-smelling hashish being burned in a pipe.
"You didn't say anything about dope, Sandy. You know what happens to me
when I get stoned. I loose control and do things I shouldn't. I don't
want these men to think I'm a common whore."

Suddenly there was a tall, well dressed Spanish-looking man standing
before her, looking very grim at first, but quickly smiling warmly.
"Hello, I'm Jose. You must be Chris."

"Yes ... uh, how do you do?" she managed weakly.

Before either of them could speak again, there was a loud booming bass-
drum of a voice from inside. "Bring 'em on in, Jose! The party's on in
here!" They were quickly hustled to the living room in the back where
Roger had replaced the normal lightbulbs for red ones. Chris was
astonished to see that she and Sandy were the only women at the party.
In the living room several men -- she couldn't count -- sat around
smoking hashish and cigarettes. Jose introduced the girls to each man
individually.

One man, taller then the others, held out his hand and Chris took it
instinctively. His name was Neil. Typical of the Spanish, he had large
brown eyes and perfect white teeth. Chris' grimace faded to a slow
growing smile. These men looked undemanding and well-dressed; there was
no reason for her to feel like a cheap date. Whatever happened would be
worth it, wouldn't it? After tonight, she could forget about paying the
rent, forget about having to find a job; and for all that she'd do
anything.

"Let me get you a drink," Jose offered, heading for the kitchenette to
pour two glasses of wine for the girls. Chris felt uncomfortably like a
harem girl on the sale block, but she resigned herself to enduring it.
There were whispered asides and chuckles from some of the men who sat
busily eyeing the two girls. The opinions of a bunch of strangers meant
nothing to her, not in the face making one hundred dollars for being
sociable!

She moved without thinking, following the others like a dumb steer in a
moving herd; and when she was called upon to speak, she opened her
mouth and somehow, the words came out. Another joint was making the
rounds, a different kind this time, something one of the Mexican men
pulled out of his jacket. Chris dutifully took her puff in turn, and
nearly choked at the incredible potency of this grass. Jesus, it was
nothing like the other! This was so strong it made her dizzy as she
held it in her lungs!

* * * * *

Whatever it was that happened next, in the next hour -- or was it two
hours? is anybody's guess, for surely Chris will never know. All she
remembers now is that she took another drag from the tiny tightly-
rolled joint with the pinpoint of glowing red ember on the end, and
before she knew it, the room had changed. Some of the men had left,
gone were the soft red lamps, and in their place was an unused bedroom,
strewn and soiled and cigarette-burned mattresses, lighted with three
candles jammed into the necks of empty wine bottles; it looked more
like a fraternity house, she later mused, than an adult's apartment.

Sandy was there, and both of the Mexican men -- Jose and Neil -- and
three other men from the party, one she remembered. Doug. Just she and
Sandy and five men!

I must be going nuts! What am I doing in this room with these people?
And smoking grass, I've never been so loaded in my life. Have I
completely lost my mind?

"Here, honey, try some," said a voice. It was Sandy, holding what
looked like a tiny silver spoon between her fingers, filled with some
powdery grains.

"What is it?" she asked. "I don't need anything more except for a cup
of strong coffee."

"This is far better than coffee, honey," laughed one of the men. "It's
cocaine."

Chris drew in her breath. "Oh no," she gasped. "I've had enough."

Sandy squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "Chris, it's not hard
stuff. In fact, it's not addictive at all. It'll make you feel a lot
better, clear your head. It's really good for making you think clearly.
Go ahead, just sniff it up your nose and hold it, and don't sneeze, it
you can help it."

Sandy held the miniature spoon under her nostril and Chris, finally,
breathed it up into her sinuses, but she wasn't prepared for what she
experienced. Suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, everything
intensified, all her thoughts seemed ordered and well-contained. And
this room, this whole scene, seemed somehow under control, as if
nothing could happen to her because she knew what was going on and was
in control of every second. It was weird, wonderfully weird, the
feeling of exhilaration and power and confidence that that one sniff of
the powder had given her.

But there was something else, something Sandy and the others knew
about, but Chris had yet to learn. Another of the interesting side
effects of cocaine, and effect the boys and Sandy were quite looking
forward to ... cocaine is one of nature's best aphrodisiacs! With a
little coke ... man, the feelings! Jose's people had a saying, "A
little coke makes any cock bigger!" and it was true, nothing heightened
the feelings and the sensations of fucking better! What Chris didn't
realize was that she had just inhaled enough into her brain to turn her
into a helpless, uncontrolled sex-machine!

Chris was wearing a yellow jumpsuit that perfectly set off the
beautiful curves of her long trim thighs and calves, and she had risen
to her feet, a little unsteadily at first from the feeling of
exhilaration of the coke, and was weaving slowly and gently to to the
sound of recorded music from the large speakers in Roger's living room
beyond. Like every room in the house, the bedroom was wired for music.

Chris felt lightheaded, as if she would float off the edge of the chair
if she didn't hold on. She became fascinated with the red shadows cast
by the red lightbulbs.

Swaying smoothly from side to side, Sandy reached for the zipper that
ran down the front of her garment. She pulled slowly on the zipper of
the jumpsuit, one arm swaying drunkenly above her head, beginning ever-
so-slowly to remove her clothes before these strangers. Chris, like the
two men beside her, was entranced, mesmerized by what her roommate was
about to do. Sandy was a fantastic dancer, and Chris never wearied of
watching her perform, whether it was in front of a bedroom mirror or in
public. The girl definitely had a gift for rhythm.

The anticipation charged the atmosphere like a million volts of
electric current. The brunette's hips moved slowly at first, then began
to bump and grind with a growing lustful intensity as the two men and
Chris looked on excitedly. She tossed her long black hair from side to
side, letting it drape freely and loosely over her shoulders as she
moved with the beat of the music.

She eased the zipper down to her navel exposing enough of her ample
cleavage to start the two Mexicans breathing quickly and heavily. Her
ripely full young breasts seemed to be straining to escape the
concealment of her garment peeking from beneath the fabric in two soft,
inviting mounds of warm flesh. One last tug, and they were free,
swaying heavily as she gently rocked from side to side. Jose and Neil's
eyes were wide with excited disbelief as they watched this incredibly
lascivious display, this beautiful young white girl stripping before
their eyes, stripping herself to her ripe, full nakedness. But best of
all, she was going to be theirs for fucking. Jose and Neil knew why
this had been planned -- they'd have to be fools not to know this whole
thing was set up to be nothing more that the Roman coliseum spectacles,
Nubian savages hauled to Rome to amuse the funseekers. This was what
was expected of them, and they knew it, but it didn't matter -- not
with a couple of chicks like this! Neither of them had had college
girls before, and to start with one like this brunette, Christ, it was
too good to be true. Who cared who saw it! They'd give them a show, all
right, show these other men what a real man could do with a hot-blooded
girl like this. Yes sir, they'd give them a show they'd never forget!

Jose could feel his cock already aching painfully inside his pants,
straining, yearning to be set free and allowed to penetrate this lovely
creature. He tried to imagine what her pussy would be like ... wet and
soft, pink and warm and vulnerable ... just waiting for his long, hard,
big brown cock to fill her like she'd never been filled before.

Sandy lifted one softly firm breast with her hand, just enough to feel
its full voluptuousness as it stood taut, high and quivering from the
touch of her own fingers slowly flowing caressingly over the warmly
supple flesh. Her gleaming tits seemed to be swirling in a dance of
their own, shivering with the beat of the music as it wafted from the
wall-mounted speakers, inviting the two men forward as the others
watched. Their eyes were agog, as Sandy urged Jose and Neil to take her
throbbing nipples in their hotly wet mouths, seemingly begging them to
answer the gnawing, churning animal need in her white belly -- a need
as old as the beginning of time.

Balancing on one foot, she tugged the jumpsuit down to her ankles and
yanked it off, then removed the other side, leaving nothing but her
little pink panties between the eyes of the men and her own delicious
nakedness. Chris was staring, watching with eyes that saw but did not
believe. Sandy's tiny panties were not enough to cover completely her
magnificently formed buttocks, as she spun slowly around before them,
they could all see where the long flowing curve of her smoothly
unblemished back soared inward, then swept out again and joined the
arching fleshy swell of her buttocks. Half of each firm, ivory white
cheek was nakedly revealed beneath the taut sheerness of her panties.
Above, in the deep arch of her back, her two dimples peered back at
them like warm, black eyes at the tip of her spine.

Except for the sound of the music, there wasn't a noise to be heard in
the stuffy, close room as the drugged girl ground her ripely flaring
hips back and forth at her hypnotized audience, daring anyone to yank
the thin filmy panties down from her slender young waist, over the
tenderly sensitive flesh of her smooth inner thighs. Her fingers hooked
in the tight band of her panties, and she began to slowly, teasingly,
roll them over the full ripe swell of her buttocks, her back demurely
turned like a professional stripper might, and her ass poked out in
jaunty invitation toward the perspiring audience.

They gasped aloud, all of them, at their first real glimpse of the
gorgeous young white girl's warmly naked ass, the glow of light form
the candles reflecting as if in a mirror on the smoothly gleaming flesh
of her full rounded mounds. Slowly, she rolled the panties down over
the firmly jutting cheeks of her ass, stretching them as they tightened
in the crevice beneath the smooth curve of her bottom-cheeks, where the
soft swell joined her milky thighs. She leaned forward, pushing out her
exposed buttocks at the two Mexicans, rotating it lustily in an
unmistakable lewd sexual invitation.

She revelled in what she was doing -- offering herself bodily to two
Mexicans, right here in her landlord's apartment! The wicked, forbidden
thrill of it all wildly excited her, and she hungered for their huge
brown pricks inside of her, fucked hard and deep between her white
milky thighs.

She reached back with her bare arms and spread the twin mounds apart,
obscenely displaying the tightly puckered little brown ring of her
anus, the taut nether ring opening and closing as she tensed the strong
muscles in her ass. Over the whispered, excited mumblings of the three
other men, Jose and Neil's heavy breathing drowned out all other sounds
in the small candle-lit room. Nothing was in their minds now except the
hotly beckoning little hole of the young brunette's anus, puckered open
like a small taut mouth just waiting for the long stiff lengths of
their aching cocks to bore deep up into her insides, to tunnel into her
back hole like miners searching for gold.

Sandy's nakedly gleaming ass rotated on its own axis as she alternately
relaxed and tightened the muscles of her buttocks. She turned back
around, facing the two Mexicans, seemingly mindless of her friend.
Chris, sitting stupefied to her right and stoned out of her mind from
the powerful combination of marijuana and cocaine, watching everything
with glazed, unbelieving eyes. With both hands, Sandy lifted the
bountiful fullness of her breasts, offering them wordlessly to the two
brown men. Jose and Neil were the only men standing now; the other men
had retreated to the living room, their hands in their laps to conceal
their aching hard-ons as they watched this nakedly luscious white girl
offer herself like a slave to the boys. They had not paid for the right
to enjoy these two girls, much to their chagrin. But fair was fair,
after all.

Now Sandy tantalizingly opened her palms down over the trim curve of
her waist, over the smooth expanse of flesh warmly gleaming in the
candle light. With her thumbs, she caught the elastic band of her
panties, now covering only the soft thicket of pubic hair at the bottom
of her pelvis, and the moistly heated pink lips beneath. Her thighs
parted as she lowered the filmy nylon garment like a flat of
unconditional surrender, nakedly exposing the vee at the top of her
supple thighs in the flickering candlelight of that heated room. She
continued to teasingly peel the tight-fitting panties down over her
hips and along her bare legs; then she stepped out of them and tossed
them at Jose's feet.

In the closed room, the air was suddenly charged as if by lightning
bolts; she was no completely naked before the two Mexican men and the
men peeking around the door jam from the living room. There was nothing
left to the imagination. Chris was shocked back to reality; she tried
to look away, to hide her face from this wanton spectacle, as if it was
wrong for her to be there, to see her friend degrade herself this way.
But the incredible combination of marijuana and cocaine once again
asserted its grip on her -- she couldn't look away! She was drawn back
to the salacious scene as if by some ancient black magic ritual, to the
wickedly exciting vision of her old friend stripped naked like this in
front of these men, two of them weren't even Americans!

Sandy opened her legs, giving the closest ones, Jose and Neil, an
unobstructed view of her nakedly unguarded cuntal hole and her puckered
pussy lips moistly glistening with her own love juices. There was a
sudden rustling as the three heated men from the living room made a mad
dash, shuffling for positions on the mattresses, maneuvering for a
better glimpse of this brunette's lewd dance. Next time they would know
better; when Roger said he had two hot ones, he meant hot!

"Bet you'd like some of that, huh, Neil?" shouted one hootingly.

"You better believe it, brother," came his fast, unruffled reply. He
knew what they were thinking ... but to hell with all of them! He was
going to get some white pussy tonight, and it suited him all the better
that these other men would bear witness. This way, nobody would ever
doubt his story, and besides, he liked the idea of others watching as
one of their friends got fucked.

Sandy leaned backwards, scraping her long lustrous hair to the floor as
she swept her head wildly from side to side. The tempo of the music
from the speakers had suddenly picked up and with it, Sandy's savagely
wanton dance grew more and more frantic, flickering colors radiated
from the melting candles to cast a thousand different multi-colored
shadows along the warmly gleaming curves and valleys of her ripe young
body.

With a teasing, tormenting grin, she brought her hands from behind and
slipped them down over her body into the warm crevice between her
parted thighs. Her fingers spread the pink ragged lips of her pussy as
she leaned back, opening the moistly hot passage to the hungry stares
of all five men.

Jose could take it no longer -- not that he was any more excited than
his friend Neil, it was just simply that Jose was too far gone from the
cocaine and grass to respond as quickly and he stood mesmerized by the
girl's writhing passion. But not Jose! In what seemed less than an
instant, he moved in close to the nakedly dancing girl, unbuttoning his
trousers and dropping them to the floor as he stepped clear of them.

Baby, oh, baby, this here cock of mine is goin' so deep inside your
sweet littl' white ass you'll think it's comin' out the top of your
head!

"Come here, baby. I've got some good, good meat for you!" And as he
spoke, he pulled off his undershorts and yanked them down his muscular
brown legs. His enormous cock sprang up like a frightened stallion,
hard and gleaming along its full thick length. Sandy looked only at his
huge, frightening cock, sticking out from his rock hard loins like a
flag staff from the side of a building. And suddenly she was afraid ...
It'll kill me! I've never seen a cock so huge! I could never take that
thing up inside me!

He circled her like a lion stalking his prey, sizing up her youthfully
firm nakedness, exploring with his hungry eyes every inch, every
crevice of her deliciously ripe young body. She trembled as she
anticipated what was next, fearful literally for her life as she stared
in horrified fascination at the awesome symbol of his manhood rising
from his sweating pelvis like some vicious weapon. His brown muscles
rippled as he moved, obviously he was in excellent physical condition,
probably a weight lifter or a physical fitness nut. She couldn't see an
ounce of flab anywhere on his body, his legs and arms were thick and
full, with hard curves tracing the lines of his well-developed muscles.
He had the look of power about him, and Sandy suddenly had the
terrifying feeling that she was going to be raped by an animal, that
his awesome sexual energy was somehow linked to that untapped
forbidding well of animal passion, the jungles of the Amazon itself.

He could feel his balls aching with desire as he looked over the naked
young girl; he'd never seen one so beautiful before, as he'd only been
in the states a few days.

"Oh honey, I'm going to fuck you, sweet white bitch, like you've never
been fucked before, you little Gringo! I'm gonna make you wish you'd
been born brown like me so you could have had me all your life!"

He wished he could see into the other girl's mind, know what she must
be thinking as she watched her girl friend about to get fucked by a
Mexican. Shit, she was probably soaked between her legs just from
looking at his cock! Wait 'til she sees it goin' in nice and easy, all
wet and slick and hard, sunk to the hilt in this white bitch's cunt!

"Down on your knees, bitch! I got something I want first ... you take
care of me, and I'll do the same for you."

Sandy obeyed without daring to question his order, dropping instantly
down on all fours at the huge naked man's feet, her bare thighs and
soft white buttocks quivering helplessly as she cringed before him
awaiting his command. She was a bought woman and she knew it.

Sandy was a shivering mass of sensitized nerve endings as she knelt
before him, worked into a sexual frenzy by the fury of her own
lascivious striptease, and now, uncontrollably, she found herself
reaching for the incredibly long shaft of his glistening brown cock;
reverently, in awe, her fingers sought to touch it, to do homage to its
majestic hugeness as it stood out, now fully hard and erect, like a
boom of a sailing ship from his wiry loins. A minuscule seeping of his
seminal fluid poised on the blood-engorged tip of the enormous organ.

He kneeled over her straddling her and wallowing in the reckless thrill
of watching this brunette, sex-crazy white bitch writhing so
voluptuously between his legs, her fingers gently, lovingly, wrapped
around the wrist-thick shaft of his brown prick and he inched forward,
on his knees now, pushing her back onto the mattress until the soft
white flesh of her body was flattened beneath him. He eased forward,
lasciviously rubbing his naked crotch along a trim supple length of her
helplessly writhing form, his brown thighs and heavy dark balls
insinuating themselves over the smooth whiteness of her translucent
young skin; his buttocks pressed down onto the smoothly rounded
nakedness of the white Gringo's bare breasts and he could feel the tiny
pink tips of her hard little nipples rubbing against his ass as she
squirmed in nervous anticipation beneath him. He caught a glimpse of
the three other men out of the corner of his vision, all of them
hunched excitedly on their mattress perches, their mouths hanging open
laxly as they watched this wanton spectacle unfolding before their
amazed eyes. Fuck, he'd give 'em all a show!

"Open those pretty little lips, cause I want a little cock-sucking
first."

Sandy knew better than to resist now; the man's feelings, a long time
of desire and frustration, were all reflected in his dark eyes; and
suddenly, she knew this was to be a long, long night.

With one hand, he lifted her head, gripping the thick black hair and
pulling her up toward his long impatiently throbbing cock. With the
other, he forced the lengthy dark shaft of his danglin cock downward so
that it brushed the girl's wetly ovalled lips. He circled her mouth
with the swollen dark head, brushing a thin smear of the white seminal
discharge from the end of it over her lips and chin.

"Open your mouth ... nice and wide!" Sandy reluctantly obeyed, though
the humiliation of lewdly lying like this before her best friend and
the other men was far worse than she could have ever imagined. Her mind
was still reeling from the drugs, and she fantasized that she was a
Mexican wife, caught as hostage by a revolting crowd of Mexican
peasants. And now, as an example to the others, she was to be wantonly,
inhumanely, ravished and abused ... an outlet for hundreds of years of
denials and frustrated repression.

Jose slipped the thick hard head of his cock along her saliva-thickened
tongue and deep into her mouth, filling it completely as it snaked
slowly down her throat. She clamped her lips around the huge brown
cock, and then began licking wildly at the swollen, throbbing tip,
swirling her tongue over the sensitive little hole at the end. In her
state of drug-induced fantasizing, she felt she was still the
plantation owner's wife and that she had to do her best to please him,
for she shuddered to think what those enormous brown hands of his could
do to her frail body is she displeased him, refused him any favors, no
matter how degrading or disgusting.

Sandy couldn't see Chris or Neil, but she knew they would be watching
as she hungrily licked and swirled her quivering pink tongue along the
full brown length of his glistening cock imbedded in her mouth. It
reflected the flickering candlelight as it slithered wetly from her
wide-stretched, ovalled lips; every thrust forward of his kinky-haired
pelvis shoved the huge throbbing cock further down her bruised throat
passage. The girl explored every pore of the enormous prick, holding
her fingers securely around its thick hairy base as she felt the
shivers of heatedly savage desire rippling through his belly as her
tongue licked the distended tip clean of its sticky seminal emissions.
His deep painful thrusts became faster as she swirled her tongue
tantalizingly around the throbbing head.

Jose couldn't take his eyes off the squirming, totally naked body of
the young white girl lying so helplessly beneath him. He could feel her
warmly taut breasts heaving under him, her nipples poking into the
brown flesh of his ass as she breathed heavily in her wanton
excitement. Her pale-pink lips were stretched grotesquely as she
strained to fit the thick bulk of his brown prick buried to the hilt in
her throat, gagging as she tried vainly to accommodate the hot fleshy
cudgel that threatened to completely choke her any second. Her dark
hair fanned out behind her like a halo; she was a white love goddess
... and she was his to do with as he pleased.

His balls rubbing over his chin, he stepped up the pace of his assault
on her white face, grinding his pelvis against her until her nose was
rubbing into the hairs above his cock.

It was nearly impossible to swallow, for the thick pulsing head of his
prick filled her tender throat hole to capacity. She waited until there
was a chance, when his cock was nearly out of her mouth on his long,
smooth back thrust, and gulped down a quick swallow of saliva and
seminal juices that were almost choking her. It felt better now, her
throat muscles relaxed, and the thick shaft bored even deeper into her
hotly working mouth. His hands were on her hips, unnecessary now for
she offered him no resistance, and he was grinning broadly as he
watched the naked young girl beneath his sperm-laden testicles gulping
and swallowing to take in every inch of his hardened cock. He suddenly
stepped up the pace faster still, ramming the full throbbing length far
down her throat, as his sweaty pelvis pushed hard against her face. He
didn't look around, but he knew his friends must be going out of their
minds watching a show like this. But dammit, he'd paid enough for this
little bitch to put out for him, and he was going to get his moneys
worth.

Sandy caught a glimpse of Neil, standing just a few feet away. He had
his cock out! It was as big as his friend Jose's, and he looked as
though he aimed to use it!

Jose suddenly jerked back as if in terrific pain, his head thrown back,
his mouth open as if about to scream, sinking his thick brown cock as
far as it would go down the bruised throat of the girl, his sperm-
bloated balls dangling over her chin, his loins pressed tight against
her face. She couldn't breathe -- the huge shaft blocked her throat and
his wetly matted hair covered her nostrils like a damp cloth ... and
then it happened. The final act in this lascivious tableau, the
ultimate humiliation. The enormous brown hose tightly imbedded in her
throat suddenly began to spurt its white hot load deep down into her
belly, spurt after spurt of the thick fluid cascaded down her bruised
throat in wet, oozing waves, soothing the battered and ravaged flesh as
it drained salaciously down into her white heaving belly. Sandy's
cheeks hollowed to contain the flooding sperm, and a trickle escaped
her lips to stream down her cheek to the floor below as she lay on her
back, naked and helpless, her legs apart so that the others could see
far up between her thighs. They saw her naked hairlined slit, as well
as the wanton sight of her milking this brown man's balls dry. And they
all found their arousal growing hotter with each passing second.

"That's it, bitch, every drop! Suck it clean, honey!" Jose crooned, a
satisfied grin on his darkly handsome face.

The pungent liquid filled her mouth as one last time she gulped it down
to join the rest filling her excitedly quivering belly. He gave one
last shuddering gasp, smashing his loins down against her face,
smearing the hotly oozing flow around her nose and cheeks, as the huge
brown organ began to soften, turning rubbery between her tightly
compressed lips. He pulled it free with a lewd sucking sound, and it
trailed a stream of white sticky sperm over her naked young breasts and
along her belly as he rocked back onto his heels. Sandy could breathe
again freely for the first time since he had crouched over her, and her
bulging breasts rose and fell as she gasped hungrily to fill her aching
lungs.

For the first time since he'd started fucking her, there was whispered
conversation again in the dimly-lit room from the other men huddled
together a few feet away, their eyes on Chris as she sat on the edge of
a mattress, her eyes glazed over from the drugs.

"Well, how about you, Neil?" hooted one of the men. "Think you can top
that?" Neil was standing to the side his hand already on his waiting,
eagerly throbbing cock. Chris turned instinctively and gasped as she
saw it, only vaguely aware that it was meant for her. She had fleeting
thoughts of running, of escaping, but for the moment, she was
paralyzed, unable even to stand unaided.

"Hey, honey," came the menacing voice. Chris turned and faced its
source. "Looks like you and me got somethin' to work on."

The befuddled young girl felt hands touch her shoulders, then her arms,
and suddenly there seemed to be strong male hands all over her, pushing
her, prodding her to her feet.

The jeering voices came through the darkness again, over the raucous
roar of the stereo speakers. "C'mon girl, here's your chance for some
meat! Let's see what you can do!"



Chapter 9


At that moment Chris despised her friend, hated her for getting her
into this loathsome situation. As always, it was Sandy who talked her
into it. She leapt to her feet, backing away from the man cautiously,
intent only on making it to the closed door a dozen feet away.

One of the men jumped and blocked the door. He grinned down at her.
"Oh, no you don't, bitch ... you ain't running out on us now. You're
paid for this ... you're a whore ... a whore!" he spat. The words stung
more than her ears, sluicing through the fogged stoniness of her brain.
A whore. It's true, she'd been hired to be a prostitute. All that jive
about speaking French and Spanish ... all of it was a set up.

She tried to struggle away, but his hand lashed out at her shoulder;
she snapped away just as his finger snared the thin fabric of her
blouse, ripping it down the middle as if it were paper. The garment
fell away in tow tattered halves, exposing the white firmness of her
breasts softly resting in the sheer cups of her bra. "No, please ...
let me go!"

Both of the men's powerful arms suddenly snaked around her, and with
one quick, deft move, he unhooked the three tiny hooks of her bra and
yanked it away, throwing it halfway across the room in his frantic
excitement. His eyes widened as he stared at the frightened blonde's
large, ripe breasts, two bulging, pink-tipped mounds just waiting for
his lips. But this terrified young girl wasn't for him now, she
belonged to Neil. Almost reluctantly, he shoved her toward the other
man.

"Come here!" he growled, and this time Chris knew there was no choice
but to obey. Neil was watching eagerly, and he, too, had moved between
her and the door, still stark naked, his arms folded across his huge
chest. Chris took one half-step toward the door, trying to avoid him,
and abruptly found herself in the frenzied, sex-hungry Mexican's
clutches. His fleshy lips locked hungrily on hers as his rough tongue
darted between her teeth, hotly exploring the moist recesses of her
mouth. Chris tried to pull away, to break away from his grip, but he
held her tightly with his big hands clamped like vises on her forearms,
pinching the muscles so painfully she could feel the circulation
slowing in her hands and wrists. His warmly wet lips left her mouth and
traced a line along the curve of her upturned chin, passionately, but
gently, nibbling at the soft flesh of her neck before moving down along
the smooth expanse of her chest. The horrified girl's blood ran cold as
Neil's voraciously sucking lips neared the fleshy swell of her agitated
breasts; another instant, and they were hotly clamped around the
pinkish-brown halos of her nipples. Now his glistening tongue whirled
around the hardening tips of her quivering breasts, and his sharp teeth
nipped playfully at the swelling little nipples. Chris knew Sandy was
watching, she knew her best friend was somewhere there in the darkness,
watching as she was dragged into the lowest, vilest depths of
humiliation and depravity. She was once again, the second time in less
than 24 hours, being treated like a whore. But how unlike last night!
Francois had been such a gentleman. Now she was nothing but a plaything
for these vicious men, theirs to fondle, to caress. Theirs to empty
their seething loads of sperm into, just a lust-receptacle for these
... savages!

Chris was only slightly aware of being maneuvered toward the empty
mattress. now that she was standing, the effects of the drug seemed
doubled, the room was spinning around a central axis, whirling in a
dizzying kaleidoscope heightened by the flickering lights of the
candles. Her calves backed against the edge of the mattress, and with a
gentle push from Neil, she fell flat on her back across the mattress,
her skirt bunching up around her slender young waist, her eyes had been
closed; now she opened them wide in fear as she lost her balance and
tumbled across the mattress. Neil seemed to tower over her like a giant
-- his chest a solid, dark wall of muscle now that he had taken off his
shirt.

"Please don't ... please," she whimpered futilely. She, herself, knew
that her pleas and tears would be unheeded; nothing would stop this
muscle-bound Mexican now!

He leaned forward and nibbled the soft, tender flesh of her inner
thigh, teasing the skin playfully with sharp, nipping little bites all
along the smooth nakedness of her upper leg. He started just above her
dimpled knee and worked his way up, up, up ... stopping just short of
the flimsy panties at the intersection of her firm, fearfully trembling
thighs. Chris tried to fight it -- she wouldn't give this vicious
animal the satisfaction of seeing her respond to his lustful advances.

In spite of her good intentions, the girl had downed too much of that
potent cocaine to remain totally in control of her body; she began to
moan as his hot lips nibbled steadily in one spot, just inches away
from the almost unguarded furrow of her young cunt. His hands slid
easily over her tautly smooth belly and fastened on the jutting mounds
of her softly ripe breasts. Squeezing with his open palms and pinching
the tender flesh in ridges between his brown fingers which contrasted
so sharply with her white skin and blonde hair.

Her mind was reeling! She'd been prepared for the worst ... for
agonizing pain, for abject humiliation and sordid degradation ... the
way it had been with Mark ... but not this! His warm, sensuous
seduction was something she had not anticipated! If only he weren't so
gentle, so skilled in his passionate probings of her naked body.

Of their own volition, Chris long legs slowly parted, opening up the
moistly pink slit of her pussy, easily visible to the man's view
beneath the gauze-like material of her panties. It looked like a long-
sought treasure to him, sparkling, gleaming ruby concealed up there
between her wide spread thighs. "Do it, Neil," one of the men in the
background yelled. "She's just asking for you to eat her pussy." His
remark was greeted with laughter, but the big brown man gave no
indication of hearing it. His hotly voracious mouth moved closer to the
forbidden orifice, his nose brushing the fragrant curls teasing out
from under the legbands of her panties. By now, everyone, including
Chris, knew his goal; the moistly throbbing cunt between her snow white
thighs.

She jerked harshly as she felt another pair of hands touch her face and
shoulders. Her eyes popped open ... it was Sandy!

"Here, Chris, take another deep drag. It'll loosen you up." She held a
brightly glowing joint between her fingers, and before the young blonde
could answer, touched the cigarette to her lips. Chris inhaled, filling
her lungs quickly with a slow powerful puff, then held it until her
chest seemed about to explode. Sandy then disappeared again in the
darkness around the mattress, but that didn't matter. Chris could feel
the potent drug rush straight to her brain; the flashing colors from
outside suddenly intensified, burning brightly now like tinted
floodlights shining into the smokey room, her hands had been by her
side, but now they were moving of their own accord to the flat plane of
her belly, just above the gentle mound of her pelvis with its thinly
covered blonde pubic mound.

Abruptly, she pulled the crotchband of her panties aside and began
rubbing herself tenderly, caressingly, her fevered young body
responding now fully to the man's carnal probings up between her long
slender legs.

With surprising gentleness, Neil removed her hands and then brushed
apart the softly curling pubic hair guarding her exposed pussy, using
his thumbs to gently spread the heatedly moistened layers of pink
flesh. He leaned forward at the same moment and without warning,
clamped his hungry lips on the pearl-like bud of her clitoris. Chris's
whole body suddenly arched off the bed, shattered with a searing blast
of animal desire that shot out her loins as his lips made their first
hot contact with her naked pussy. Again, he began the tormenting
nibbling of her clitoris, while, at the same time, his hands were
hungrily ripping the soft flimsy crotchband of her panties all the way
open.

"Oooohhh ... please ... ppplleease ..." But her cry was more one of
anguished helplessness than of pain or terror and, then as the panties
were ripped in half, behind held together only by the elastic band
around her waist, her hips began a wanton response of their own,
grinding upward against his brown face as he chewed ravenously on her
fevered cunt-lips. Chris was strapped in a swirling, soaring surging of
drug-heightened rapture and wanton delight.

Neil's quivering red tongue snaked into the hotly moist tunnel between
her widespread legs, worming in between the soft warm walls, then
licking along the wet furrow of her pussy until his tongue brushed
electrically again over her throbbing clitoris. One brown hand was far
up between the shadowy cleft of her whitely trembling buttocks, his
fingers caressing the tight puckered ring of her anus, the other hand
was climbing back up to the damp slit of her cunt and on reaching it,
he slid his outstretched middle finger easily into the warm shelter of
her violently trembling pussy, pushing back the tight fleshy walls that
clamped so hotly around it.

"Christ, she's got the tightest pussy I've ever seen man, it's gonna be
something else pumping my meat into this hot little bitch," thought
Neil.

He pulled his finger momentarily from her moistly heated tunnel and
spread even wider the pink, ragged lips of her pussy, burying his face
tighter against her writhing loins as his lips clenched tight around
the pulsing nipple of he clitoris. His tongue licked hungrily at her
wetly perfumed slit, lapping at her seeping cuntal juices and
swallowing them down eagerly, relishing the young feminine taste of her
naked pussy against his lips.

Chris opened her mouth as if to cry out, but only a mournful hoarse
moan escaped her lips, a soulful whine from deep in her throat. She was
frantically writhing now, quivering at his agonizing touch, slamming
the whole of her lust heated loins up against the man's face, grinding
her fleshy pink pussy lips hard against his full lips.

Oh God, what's happening to me? Have I turned into some kind of animal?
Why can't I make this all go away? Oh my God, I can't stop myself ... I
can't stop myself!

Her empty cunt was now aching with wild, insatiable passion ... aching
for the one thing that would answer the torturing, lustful desire that
were fanning hotly in her naked belly ... aching for the hard, soothing
thrust of his cock ... aching for his long, throbbing manhood buried
deep in her burning hole. She had to have it, she had to have its rock
hard firmness rammed up inside her -- there was no other way to quell
this frenzied riot of savage passion burning out of control in her
quivering belly.

Neil's two strong hands suddenly gripped her ankles as she pulled away
from her, and with one twist, he rolled her over on her belly, "Get up
on your knees," he commanded, and Chris obeyed. She would have done
anything right now to get rid of that wanton desire rippling
incessantly from her cunt. The mattress was soft, and it gave under her
weight, but she gripped the edges securely, bracing herself as she rose
to her knees and hands, her naked white buttocks waving like a red flag
before the man on his knees behind her.

Sandy had dropped into the chair by the door, her naked legs dragged
over the arm, and Jose was preparing to fuck her hungry waiting cunt,
holding his huge throbbing cock with both hands as he guided it toward
the waiting white girl's wet, juicy sheath. Neither of them would have
taken their eyes off the action on the other mattress for a second, but
they had withstood the torturing flames of naked lust as long as they
could stand it ... there was no holding back now. Sandy cried out in
pain and exaltation as the long glistening shaft eased between the pink
flanges of her pussy, stretching the tender lips wide as the blood-
filled head sank out of sight in the young woman's cunt.

Fighting the pain, Sandy gripped the arm of the chair and shoved her
ravenous pussy back up against the Mexican's hard lunge; she gasped
aloud as his thick cock sank six inches in her hotly stretched cunt
pushing aside the soft moist walls like rippling waves as he burrowed
deep into her open cuntal hole. He paused, then thrust the rest of his
enormous fleshy rod up all the way to the hilt in her belly, ramming it
into her so hard that tears filled her eyes from the painful agony.
He'd waited too long already for this -- there was no time now for
building up slowly, he pumped into her like a stallion mounting a mare
in heat, thrusting in hard and fast in a frantic rhythm that threatened
to split her in half with its fury. He'd been led too far -- the
delicious thrill of having the beautiful bought girl sucking his cock -
- the wildly exciting lewd spectacle of her young friend's naked pussy
being cannibalized by his friend, Neil. Suddenly, the man's head went
back and a surprised, anguished shout came from his lungs ... his
brown, fleshy hose again spewed its load into the girl's belly, only
this time it pumped in staccato bursts into her hungry, receptive young
cunt, filling it completely and oozing whitely out onto the arm of the
chair. Sandy's pussy-lips milked every drop of the hotly jerking sperm
from the huge shaft, sucking the warm viscous liquid deep up into her
hungrily absorbing young belly.

Neil had now crawled up behind the nakedly quivering blonde and grabbed
the soft flesh of her buttocks, turning her wetly glistening cunt back
up at an even more acute angle. Chris felt one hand slip away from her
ass for an instant, and then it was spreading the soft pliable lips of
her pussy. Neil looked down at his massively throbbing cock poised just
an inch from the white girl's hot little cunt. Then, never taking his
eyes off his rigid staff, he watched as his painfully aching cock moved
closer and closer to the moistly quivering opening.

Sandy, only partially recovered from her wild fucking session, had
swung her long legs around and was sitting, enraptured, on the edge of
the chair. Jose was sitting behind her unconsciously resting his
mammoth cock on the girl's bare white shoulder. An insistent oozing of
semen dripped down onto her flesh, trickling in a lurid stream down to
the upthrusting swell of her warm, naked breast.

Neil eased forward now onto the young body of the girl on her hands and
knees, his eagerly pulsating cock first touching, then slowly slipping
into her tight little pussy, parting the soft pubic fluff with the hard
shaft of his mighty organ. He could feel the warm, resilient folds of
her pussy close tightly over the bulbous head of his cock as he held it
there, immobile, just barely in her clasping cunt, rocking it in and
out, teasing her and intensifying the uncontrollable desire in her
wantonly writhing body.

My God! What a tight pussy! He couldn't believe how good it felt as his
strong muscular walls wetly gripped his aching cock like a clenched
fist, pulling him deeper and deeper into her hungrily sucking cuntal
depths.

He kept his rigidly long cock there for several minutes, only an inch
or two of it nestled in the moist tightness of her cuntal hole, rocking
it in and out, driving the naked white girl on her hands and knees
insane with his rhythmic, insistent strokes. The walls of her pussy
seemed to have come alive; they were throbbing, pulsing, grabbing at
this invading maleness desperately trying to pull its long length into
her shamelessly aroused hole.

"Oh God, I can't stand it! I can't stand it! Fuck me, oh, please, fuck
me! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!" Chris suddenly groaned, her brain spinning
wildly from the combined effects of the marijuana and the tormenting
probes of his huge fleshy staff skewering into her from behind.

The young blonde's lewd entreaty acted as a goad to the perspiring
Mexican, and suddenly nothing counted except his pleasure-giving cock
rammed up deep inside her starving hole. With a quick, smooth snap of
his hips, Neil sent his long cock to the hilt in her cunt, slamming his
loins forward until his balls slapped between her thighs. Chris
screamed out, an animal cry of pleasure and pain, and then uttered a
long, low moan of anguished relief as he began to thrust in and out
with a pounding, savage rhythm, with each instroke ramming deeper and
deeper in her wildly rippling belly. Her whole body jerked and squirmed
in an obscene abandonment, a constant cry escaped from her half-open
lips, her face contorted with primitive, savage lust as madly raging
desires took over her body. Beads of perspiration ran down her smooth
naked thighs and mingled with the rivulets of sweat the brown man was
beginning to shed where their legs ground together.

"Oh yes, Harder!" she yelled loudly. "Stick it in me hard and deep."

The tortured girl was mindless of Jose and Sandy watching and had long
since forgotten the other men. The brunette roommate was mesmerized at
Chris' sudden change from a nice girl to a wanton whore, and she could
feel rebirth of sexual excitement in her own loins. Both she and Jose
were standing now, close by the wildly pumping figures of the muscular
Neil and the shamelessly aroused blonde.

"Harder, fuck harder," Chris screamed again, her voice almost
inarticulate through her lust-constricted throat.

Neil had never seen anything like it in his life. This little whore was
so hot she was about to explode. God, they didn't have whores like this
in Mexico. "You asked for it, baby. Here it comes," he groaned and
grabbed the fleshy curve of her pelvis and yanked her back toward his
loins, causing her to cry out shrilly as she was deeply and completely
skewered now on his long, hard spear. He could feel the raw smooth
flesh of her pussy tightly clenching and unclenching in time with his
plundering thrusts, sucking hotly on the long brown length of his cock.
The young girl's breasts were mashed against the mattress, her buttocks
waving obscenely in the air behind her, her eyes and nostrils flaring
wide like those of a crazed animal.

Neil reached under her and lifted her bodily off the mattress as he
pushed back hard against her, forcing every steel-hard inch of his
shaft deeper and deeper up into her belly. Jose and Sandy drew even
closer, only a few feet away now, and even the other men had moved up -
- including, though she didn't know it, the latest addition to the
spectators, Sandy. The hot eyes of their audience were wide with
astonishment as they both watched the long glistening shaft of Neil's
huge cock slither in and out of the naked blonde's tightly clenching
pussy-lips, slipping out on the backstroke until only the lust-swollen
tip remained encased in the hot, moist sheath, then ramming it home
again, crashing hard into her belly as his sweat-matted pelvis ground
tightly against the cleft of her nakedly squirming buttocks.

"Let her have it!" cried Jose caught up in the lascivious excitement of
the moment, fighting the painful hardness welling in his loins as he
stood, naked, by the bed. His arms was around Sandy's slender waist,
and she, too, seemed almost ready to go out of her mind herself as she
watched the man's hardened cock fuck in and out of her best friend's
cunt. Suddenly she yelled, "Fuck her good, Neil! Stick it all the way
up. She loves it!"

Chris knew she was rapidly nearing the first orgasm she'd ever really
had, and she wanted more, more! This was incredible ... she'd never
experienced anything like this in all her life! She was dazed by the
flashing colors that seemed to explode across her brain, by the high-
voltage blasts of electric passion shooting through her body like blast
from a shotgun. Suddenly, this was the way she wanted it ... wicked and
perverted, the filthier and more lurid the better! "Oh! That's it! Oh,
yes, baby, fuck me!"

Her wildly gyrating buttocks swung from side to side in an
uncontrollable savage passion as his powerful brown arms -- muscles
bunched and rippling under the tawny skin -- pulled her writhing ass
harder and harder against his nearly-bursting, lust-inflamed prick.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Aaaaa! I'm cumming," Chris suddenly screamed. Neil didn't
slow his powerfully deep strokes for even a second; instead, he rammed
each long probe to the hilt, straining his loins forward so that not
even a millimeter was left outside the naked white girl's sucking cunt.
Her body arched, her nakedly gleaming white ass went high in the air as
she pushed up and back against her brown lover. She shrieked like an
animal gone mad as her orgasm continued to build in intensity. The
impaled young girl convulsed, quivering all over as her orgasmic juices
flooded his cock and testicles, flowing wetly out of her tightly
clenched young cuntal lips down her smooth inner thighs.

Neil knew this was the end; he couldn't hold back the painful tide in
his loins any longer. His long fingers bit into the soft fleshy cheeks
of her buttocks as he felt the pain intensify in his balls. His strokes
grew more and more vicious, faster and faster ... deeper and deeper.

"Ooooohhh ... ooohhhhh ... oooohhhh!" Chris punctuated his every thrust
with a soulful cry, grinding her upturned ass back against his brown
loins. Then, with a loud, relieved grunt, the wildly throbbing cock
exploded inside the impaled hips of the wildly drugged young girl,
filling her belly with his hot torrents of cum, shooting it far, far up
into her open and receptive womb. Again and again and again his long,
rigidly pulsating rod emptied itself with spasmodic jerks up into her
wetly clasping and sucking hole. Then, after a seeming eternity ...
with a pained grunt, his already deflating cock slipped from her
tightly clenching cuntal grip, and she fell forward on her face, still
shivering and squirming lewdly from his frenzied assault ... the only
sound in the room was the gasing wheeze hissing out of Chris' naked
chest as she fought to regain her breath, and a low groan from the
shamelessly aroused Sandy as her hand closed over the long, throbbing
length of Jose's cock and began to caress it lovingly.

* * * * *

A broad, revengeful smirk burst out over Margaret Sorenson's tear-
streaked face as she peered out from behind her living room lace
curtain to see two squad cars pulling up to the curb outside of her
apartment building. And perfect timing, too, for only five minutes
before she'd watched, from her fire escape perch, Roger collecting the
money from two Mexican men after the other men had left in a scurry,
leaving behind them a lust-ridden scene of empty liquor bottles and
stained mattresses. If her guess was right, Roger should be paying
those two nymphomaniac whores about now, sneered Margaret, her arms
crossed over her heaving bosom, heavy with sorrow and misgivings of an
ended love affair.

She stepped back into the shadows and pulled her bathrobe tight around
her body, a streak of the flooding street lights playing over her
blonde hair. A deep, breathy sigh broke from her chest in a pained
tingle of hate and love. It was over with now -- the illusions, the
hopes, the confusion of loving someone who never cared except for what
he could get, she reassured herself. Sandor had never liked Roger
anyway; he would turn over in his grave if he knew how she'd let her
landlord control her life for the past month. Ordering her to ... to
have oral love with him, she remembered with a pang of self-loathing,
and never returning the affection. And opening her mail, that had to be
against the law, too.

The curtain dropped from her clutching fingers and the lonely widow
padded for the kitchen for a glass of sherry.

Turning toward the shadows, she stared for a silent moment at the black
box lurking in the darkness and reached down to turn the knob, a habit
born of loneliness. No, she changed her mind. Johnny Carson was already
over with, but there would always be tomorrow night and the night after
that, and the night after that. There would be many tomorrows until she
left for Sweden, she realized.

Roger would have used her until she was old and poor. It was better
this way, she sighed, opening the cupboard door and reaching for the
sherry bottle.

A scuffle in the street below and the angry murmur of a man in bonds
made Margaret raise her head, set down the bottle and shuffle to the
window. There below, in the street below she saw the police bodily
throw a man into the backseat of the squad car, two young looking
girls, one crying, the other stoic and stumbling, joined the other
policeman in a waiting car.

Sardonically, Margaret raised her hand to salute the scene below,
waving good-bye to the end of her troubles.



Chapter 10


Three days later Chris O'Brien stood waiting and staring mesmerically
at the Friday afternoon traffic snarling its way down Geary Street.
She'd told the cab driver to pull up to the curb and honk, and
hopefully he would have enough patience to do that. Her suitcases were
too heavy to carry down the long hallways of the apartment building by
herself, and she needed to save her strength for the plane ride back to
Detroit.

The smile was gone from her young face, replaced with grim regret and
adolescent look of a girl hungry for reassuring affection. After the
past two days of hassling with the law, being thrown into the San
Francisco County Jail with the whores, drug pushers, and child beaters,
she would need some love from the people back in Detroit who loved her,
even though she was a tempestuous girl, head strong and too wily for
anyone to advise, yet too moral to play the evil games of the city and
go unscathed.

But Sandy could do that. It didn't seem to bother her when the police
broke into Roger's apartment after the orgy. Oh God, she swallowed
hard, blinking back the tears at the remembrance of her wanton actions.
She'd been a whore, nothing but a common tramp! Hopefully her parent's
would never find out about it.

Chris remembered the eery expression that had broken over Sandy's pixie
face when the two girls were hurdled out to the waiting squad cars. It
was as if she were relieved; a child finally punished for stealing the
cookies. That smile, that vacuous, expressionless smirk had made up
Chris' mind ... this city living was not for her; she would rather
forget her pride, her independent resolutions, and go back to start
over -- like Monopoly, you have to start at go; you can't pick your
spot on the board and think it home. It takes time to build up a
comfortable lifestyle, and crime was not her hour glass.

Chris watched the yellow cab snaking and honking its way through the
tight traffic, pulling up to the curb and honking. She thrust open the
window and waved for the cab driver to come up to help her with her
luggage.

In minutes the heavy door clicked shut behind her; the last time she
would listen to that familiar click of the latch. It saddened her that
Sandy was not there to hug her best friend good-bye, but maybe that was
just as well. They hadn't much in common anymore, and although Chris
still dearly loved her friend as if she were a sister, they had clearly
chosen separate paths. Sandy was probably standing at a bus stop
somewhere in the city looking for tricks. Just as well, sighed Chris.
It would keep her in clothes, dope, and kicks. That's what mattered to
Sandy -- that and men. But she'd have plenty of them now -- her fill.
How many? Ten? Twenty a day?

Sure, she has a job, thought Chris ruefully, lifting her portfolio and
setting in in the crackling plastic of the back seat, but what about
her future? All that talent ... wasted. All she has is a lifetime of
remorse. That was nothing to be envious of.


The End