The massive bulb of the gigantic erection glistened just a tongue's length from her pursed lips. Its heat warmed her chin and nose. In spite of the warmth of his hands manipulating her breasts, stroking the nipples into miniature replicas of that mighty sign of love he displayed, she shivered. Shivered then, opening her mouth, plunged the shaft-like organ into her moist mouth.
"Feeling the slick head probing the red, throbbing area at the back of her oral area she moved her tongue up and down on the rest of the root of love. Then she curled her tongue tightly about it, constricting the shaft until it shuddered.
"She slipped her mouth slowly away from the pubic hair covered base of the cock, moistening it with both her tongue and spittle as she made the long, drawn out retreat to the bright shining head. Before it slipped away, however, she paused to nibble with her lips on the ever reddening head.
"Then, with another shiver in spite of the heat that was now flooding from her pumping breast down into her rounded belly, she engulfed the length of cock again.
"Again she tongued its length. She curled her red bud of a tongue around it, squeezing it to make her throbbing head pulsate against the back of her palate.
"Somewhere above her the man's gasps and deep breathing told her she was being successful in her ministrations to his swelling penis. His rough squeezing of her swollen breasts, as she performed a new trick on his prick, was further proof to her that he was being well pleased with her actions.
"She pursed her lips to nibble the flame red head. The heat that had only seconds before reached her belly now flooded between her legs. She spread her thighs apart so that her own flaming pit could press firmly against the man's bared, hairy leg.
"Then, for the third time, she shoved her head down the length of his cock. Only this time there was no shiver twitching her body. The passions aroused by her sexual act, the shoving of the cock over and over into her waiting mouth, the oral contact of tongue and swelling prick had moved her into a fiery state which could know no cold. She was going to make this, her first blow job, one that both she and the man would remember forever."
* * *
The above material is quoted directly from the most shocking piece of literature I have ever read. If the language shocks you, the reader, you can perhaps imagine how it hit me. I picked it up from a pile of sophomore high school English literature papers I was grading as part of my job in the languages department of a small southern California high school.
Quite frankly, I reread the story once more just to make sure that I hadn't gone completely out of my skull. Also, quite frankly, I reread it because of the exciting detail. Then, returning to the more objective outlook a teacher is supposed to have, I read the name at the top of the first page to see just who this student was.
The name was Carla K. I decided to have a serious talk with Carla K. after class the following day.
I didn't know it at that time, but the talk was going to lead me down a path of sexual desire, degradation and depravity that would dip into the wallowing pits of every known-and some unknown-passion.
Little fifteen-year-old Miss Carla was going to give her teacher an educational tour of her own that would set his mind askew and shatter that outer appearance of academic contentment.
CHAPTER One RAPE OF DONNA
When Carla K's English class filed into my classroom the following afternoon it was the second session in the first week of fall semester, I looked a little more closely at each well-scrubbed youthful face. It was too early in the year for me to have matched faces and names, and I wondered just which one of these budding young girls was the Carla who had written with such detailed knowledge of a girl's first administration of a blow job.
Miniskirted, tight sweatered, showing off in that special way of the young coming into womanhood, the girls smiled and moved quickly to their seats. Blondes, redheads, brunettes; long-haired, short-haired, curly headed and ironed locks glistened. They all moved into the room rapidly, filling the seats as class time neared on the ticking clock.
I glanced again at my seating chart. Carla would be the girl to occupy the first seat in the window row. There the bright California sun shimmered into the classroom.
The seat was still empty as the wall clock clicked to one minute before class would start. Would Carla have the nerve to come back to class? Maybe she had had second thoughts about her literary production and would ask for a transfer to another class. If she were the shy sophomore, like many of her counterparts, I could readily see why she wouldn't want to make an appearance.
Every seat in the room was now occupied. The minute hand of the clock hung balanced, ready to skip from one dot to another and blend its moving with the class starting bell that would announce with its jangling clamor the start of the ten o'clock sophomore English class.
But before it could make its pronouncement, Carla marched into the classroom. It had to be my sex ridden authoress for two simple reasons. :
First, all of the other girls were present and accounted for, by my checks on the seating chart. I didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduct that one.
The second reason, however, was a far more subtle one. Subtle and yet shattering to me because I knew something of her already from the short piece she had turned in to me the day before. This reason was the girl's beauty. She was the most adult looking fifteen-year-old in the classroom-in the sophomore class for that matter. She exuded a miasma of sex. Sexuality surrounded her like tempting, drawing, clinging perfume. Not the blatant type that most of these young things tried to pull off. But real, knowledgeable sex.
Her shining black hair cascaded down in the style of surfer bunnies clear to her hips; peaches-and-cream skin still bearing that olive hint of summer sun; high, well molded breasts, sleekly curved hips extending down to long limbed legs that swung confidently and freely.
Seating herself in the sunlit seat, she presented a dazzling symbol of ripened feminine beauty. Seating herself also revealed another hint of her sex. She didn't plop down, like so many of these young girls. She swung smoothly into the chair, squared her body and neatly swung her calves to the side to present a picture of perfect poise. But she had managed also to let her miniskirt slip the merest hint of distance up her thigh as she executed the motion. I was sure she knew the value of slowly undressing to excite a man into the ultimate peaks of passion. I was sure, too, that the written material she had submitted to me the day before was more than imagination. She had been the girl who had performed that oral copulation.
The clock had made its final tick and the jangling bell brought me back to my duties. Addressing the class in general, I thanked them for the fiction pieces they had given me yesterday, assigned work for the following day, and moved along in the morning's class work.
My mind was on the job only because of years of discipline. I gave Carla only the number of attentions that I gave to any of the other students. I knew that with her looks, and background she had provided me in her avid writings of sucking on a man's organ, she was a girl who would have to be handled carefully-and with delicacy. The slightest slip on my part might trigger an episode that would be professionally damaging to me personally, and more than a little embarrassing to the school.
I lied to the class by telling the youngsters that I had not finished looking over all of the initial reports. I did not want to give any individual story attention because Carla would wonder why I didn't discuss her story-or the class would wonder just what was going on, if I did.
Just before the clock signalled the class end, I casually said to the striking, long-haired brunette that I would like to see her that afternoon when she had study-hour, and I would be holding office hours.
"I thought you might have something we should talk over," Carla said calmly as I made the request. Her tone did not carry any qualities of smart-aleckness, nor was it a challenge. It implied only the placid acceptance of a fact. A fact which needed open and frank discussion.
I managed to get through my eleven o'clock class and headed right for the student records office at lunch time, rather than to the cafeteria. I had some information to pick up that was much more important than the chit-chat or backbiting of a faculty lunch session. I wanted to find out all there was to Carla, and her school records were a familiar area for me with which to start the finding out.
In the record's office I dallied at my mailbox, chatted with another and, in general, got a firm hold on myself before walking over to the student personnel desk to ask Miss Chatterton to see the Carla K-file.
"Carla," asked Miss Chatterton. "I hope you're not having any trouble with her?"
"Why, no," I replied. "Should I be?"
Miss Chatterton nodded her short cropped blonde hair to the negative in response, "It's just that when a teacher evinces an interest in a student on the second day of school, it mostly means that the student is already acting up somehow." Hers was a proper assumption, but, somehow, her answer contained just the element of more than normal intention why I was checking on Carla so soon. Miss Chatterton seemed to have a protective interest in the girl herself. In future talks with Carla I was to discover some unrecorded facts that explained this interest on the part of Miss Chatterton.
Rummaging through the file on Carla, I was able to put together a fairly accurate scholastic and sociological picture of the young girl. First, she was closer to sixteen than fifteen, with a birthday party coming up in just another three weeks. That explained her feminine development a little. Most of the girls in the school did start really maturing at sixteen.
Her family life seemed as adequate and normal as you could expect. Father: an aerospace executive, earning a good living, residing in one of the more expensive areas of the community. Mother: socially active, came to school parent-teacher discussions, took an active part in her daughter's education.
It was in the scholastic sector of the varied reports that I discovered the broken pattern that tipped me off to what questions I might want to ask Carla in the coming meeting. She had been an exemplary student throughout elementary and junior high school, academically at the very top of each class, popular, and enrolled in special education classes after psychological testing placed her well into the genius category.
The first eight years of school life had indicated a general progression of the highest caliber. Then, at the end of the eighth grade, there was a six-week's long shattering of the formerly straight path she had led. Notations of absences, arguments with teachers, warnings to parents that grades were falling well below her proven capabilities. I noted, too, that there had been attempts at erasures in this period of the recordings as though someone had physically attempted to expunge the record, to tidy it up and not show the remarkable, although brief, fragmenting of such an overall smooth scholastic achievement.
I knew that if I were to find out anything from Carla, I must ask her about the six weeks at the end of eighth grade when she was thirteen-years-old.
I took the file back to Miss Chatterton. She seemed to be slightly anxious to obtain my judgment regarding Carla.
"How does she look to you?" she asked as I handed the file back across the desk.
"Looks great to me," I commented. "I'm only afraid of one thing."
Miss Chatterton gave a visible shudder as I ended the comment without adding what I was afraid of. She nearly hissed out, "What's that?"
"I think I've got a little genius on my hands and that I'm going to teach like the devil to stay ahead of her," I answered casually.
"Oh," sighed Miss Chatterton as her shoulders sagged visibly at the relief she must have felt in hearing my joking response.
"Didn't notice anything else, did you?" she asked as her confidence seemed to return.
I thought immediately of those attempts at erasures, but decided just as immediately that perhaps Miss Chatterton and I wouldn't share this little bit of knowledge-at least until I, too, knew as much as all the other characters in this drama. I was, I thought, well prepared to accept Carla's revelations because I knew of her background. I didn't know anything.
"Sit down, Carla," I suggested when the young girl entered my office.
She repeated with the smooth assurance she had shown earlier that morning, the graceful sitting ritual and, again, performed her diminutive baring of just an enticing portion of her mesh stockinged leg. The confidence in her movements spelled out my course more assuredly than if she made an outright statement that she wanted a frank, cards-on-the-table talk. There would be no beating around the bush with this little charmer.
"I want to talk to you about two things," I said quietly. "One, is that story you turned in . . . "
"And the other?" she put in, running her hands down her hips, pausing at the middle of her now nearly completely exposed thighs.
"The other has nothing to do with your obvious try just now to make me think of making love to you," I answered matter-of-factly.
The answer was something she hadn't expected. It was as frank as I dared to be. I didn't want her to think that she was dealing with sex-slave underling who couldn't think beyond getting his hot cock rammed into her in the backseat of some parked car. If I were to be frank with her-she was going to reciprocate.
The look she shot at me told me she understood our comparative roles in this dialogue completely.
Without changing my tone of voice, I continued the openness of our discussion by stating, "The other thing is-what happened to upset you in the last six weeks of the eighth grade?"
"What good will it do me to tell you?" she asked pointedly.
"At this point, I don't know," I answered honestly. "But if we are to make anything of this teacher-pupil relationship I'm going to have to know. You've got a wonderful mind. As a teacher I want to offer you opportunities to freely use it. If you have some sort of psychiatric problem, don't expect me to come up with any medical answers.
"I am strictly interested in you as a potentially top-notch student, and my role in your life at this time is to see to it that you manage to make the most-for yourself-out of the skills and intelligence with which you are naturally endowed."
It was my manifesto to her. She could take it or leave it, I figured. But I was also sure she would accept it. She must have been sick and tired of having people tell her what to do and how to do it.
She paused, carefully considering my statement. I liked that quality in her. She wasn't jumping to a decision. She was balancing the pros and cons before making the final judgment which either let me enter some deep seated part of her mind-or leave me out of her life forever. I awaited her answer.
"I was forced to take part, along with one of my girl friends, in a gang rape," she finally stated. She didn't blurt it out as if in a confessional. It was straight reporting of fact.
"Knowing that much, I want you to know it all," she continued. "You're a man and you'll never really know what that experience did to me as a thirteen-year-old girl who had never necked before. But you're smart enough, imaginative enough to know. I'll tell you.
Here is what she told me. It made her earlier writing sound like the Saturday matinee.
* * *
"I had gone downtown with Donna, my girl friend, on a Saturday afternoon to go to the movies. In the show we sat in the balcony where we always did, but there was a new crowd of " boys up there that day. We got seated before the show started, and about seven or eight of these new boys took seats around us so that we were completely surrounded.
"When the lights went out and the show started with a cartoon, the boys started right in making all sorts of cracks about other cartoons they had seen. One said something about 'humping dog-fashion' being better. All of them had something to say in language that I didn't understand at all. Donna must have known something about it, because she began squirming in her seat and breathing more rapidly.
"The main feature was a love story about some adventures in the jungles, and again these boys made remarks all through it. I still can recall the more lewd ones. 'Look at the boobs on that babe. Stop kissing her and start screwing. Look at the whang on that elephant! I'll bet some starlet would like to mount that.'
"The boisterous shouts went on throughout the movie, and Donna's breathing was faster and faster. She didn't know it, but she took my hand and dug her nails into it so that it hurt. Then one of the boys put his arms around me. I pushed him away. He whispered to me something about maybe I'd like the elephant better. I didn't know what he meant.
"Then one of the boys on the other side put his arms around Donna. She didn't push him away. She just snuggled up against him and I could just see his hand sneak up the front of her blouse. His other hand, draped around her shoulder at first, went down the front of the blouse and I could see it was moving slowly. Donna moaned. He did this to her for a couple of minutes, then he leaned in front of her and kissed her. I watched that because I had never been kissed before. I knew I would be going to high school the following year and would probably be necking, so I thought I would lay a little ground work by observing just how a kiss was given, and received.
"Donna's mouth was wide open. So was the boy's. Their jaws seemed to be working. Whenever they moved I could see wetness in small spots that escaped from their lips. They were really kissing, and his hands continued to feel her underneath and on top of her blouse. She twisted in the seat, and I saw her hand move over on his side of the arm that divided the seats. Then it disappeared and I couldn't see what was happening. It must have felt wonderful to him, though, because he really started kissing her.
"I just didn't understand what all this activity was concerned with, but the boys had quieted down and were watching, too. They weren't making remarks about the movie. They just sat there, all tensed and leaning forward. Their eyes gleamed.
"Then the boy who was kissing Donna stiffened out, and his whole forearm went down the front of her dress. He didn't say anything, he just sat there stiff as a board with the muscles in his arms all tightened and the veins stood out of his forehead. Then I saw Donna pull her hand away. She just sat there smiling at the boy. He had slumped back in his seat and started pumping his hand underneath Donna's blouse again. I heard someone behind our row of seats say something like, 'Keep her pants hot for me, Al.' Again I didn't know what was going on, but I could tell both the boys and Donna were enjoying themselves.
"A boy punched the one called Al in the shoulder and said, 'Move out man and let a stud shoot his wad.' Al crawled over the back seat, while the new boy sat down beside Donna and the whole performance went on again.
"By this time, another boy, the one sitting beside me tried to put his arm around me again. I tried to push him away, but someone behind me reached over my shoulders and held my hands. Then the boy sitting beside me put his hand on my breast and made that pumping motion that I had seen Donna responding to so desperately and with such obvious pleasure. He was rough it hurt me. He stopped when I let out a little yip.
"The boy who had fondled my breast looked behind us and said to the unseen boy there, 'Let her take it easy, she'll go big for you later on.'
Just at that moment the show ended and the houselights came on. I saw Donna move her hand quickly back to her side and the new boy seemed to be pulling awkwardly upwards on his trousers.
"Donna had a real dreamy look in her eyes. She turned to me and said we were going to go with the boys to one of their homes . . . that there was going to be a great party. It was still early afternoon and I had promised to be home by seven o'clock, so I agreed. A Coke and a sandwich at the party would taste good. Because the boys had been so active with Donna, we had not gone downstairs to the theater's snack bar, like we usually do on our Saturday afternoons out.
"The boys told us they were all freshmen or sophomores at the high school, while we ambled three or four blocks to the one boy's home. I knew that it would be nice to know some fellows when school started, because Mother had said I would only have to wait a year for my real dates. I could go to school dances in my freshman year. The walk to the house only took a short time, because Donna and the boys were in a real rush. I rushed, too, because of the sandwich I wanted to fill my belly.
"When we got there, and got inside, there were three much older fellows there. The boy whose house it was, Bill, said one was his brother, who had just gotten out of the army, and the other two were his buddies. The three of them were about twenty-one or twenty-two-years-old.
"The older brother laughed as he looked at the crowd of us kids coming in and said, 'Look, brother Billy's as good as his word. He did go out and bring us home some snatch.'
"I know now what all the words I heard that night mean. But it was perplexing for a newcomer to understand what was going on, because the language just didn't make any sense, at that time. But each time the boys or the men looked at us, they were laughing. I was sure that the party was going to be a lot of fun.
"I even remember laughing when one of the boys made a joke that ended with the word 'cock-sucker'. Everyone else was laughing, too; everyone, that is, except Donna. She didn't seem to think that word, or maybe the joke, was very funny. But she had laughed at one story that wound up with the word 'screw'.
"I asked if there was going to be anything to eat. One of the older men put his arm around my shoulder and said, 'You bet your sweet life there will be, babe. You just bet your sweet life there will.' Again, the men and boys laughed.
"Someone said, 'Let's get this party on the road, fellows.' Two of the younger boys took Donna over to the couch in the living room. The three of them sat down with her in the middle. Immediately, one started kissing her like she had been doing it in the theater, while the other put both arms around her from the back and began squeezing her breasts. She kissed like mad, and I saw her pulling on the pants zipper of the boy she was kissing. Her hands were trembling as she tugged at it. She wasn't making any headway at all, in whatever she was trying to do. He pulled away from her mouth, it was all moist, and did the job himself.
"Then Donna's hand disappeared inside his trousers. She was pumping her hand at the same speed the boy behind her was manipulating his hands on her breasts. They matched stroke for stroke until the boy with his fly open jerked stiff, just like the one in the theater had.
"Just as Donna's boy stiffened out, one of the older men squeezed me and said, 'How about a kiss to start off, honey?' I had only seen Donna kissing. Since this seemed to be some sort of a kissing party, I stood on my tiptoes to give the man his kiss.
"Our mouths were wide open, when our faces came together, and it was a tremendous feeling to feel his wet lips cover my mouth. Then he stuck his tongue clear into my mouth and laved the sides and. the palate and up under my lip. He did this forever, it seemed. Then he drew on my mouth until my tongue was pulled into his mouth. I licked at the sides of his mouth. As he had done to me, because I was sure now this was how you kissed. We kept it up, just standing there.
"Then I felt something hard being pressed against my stomach. He began hunching his belly forward to mold its shape to that of mine. His hand dropped from my shoulder and clutched my breast. This, just like the time in the movie, hurt and I pulled away from his mouth to tell him to stop. But instead of stopping like the boy had in the theater, this man kept squeezing my tit. It really hurt and I cried out in pain.
"He just laughed and said, 'A little pain will make you jump, honey. I'm going to remember that later on.' He pushed his belly back against me and started the kiss again.
"With all this action, I had completely forgotten Donna on the couch and I opened my eyes to glance over in that direction. What I saw produced, up to that moment, was the shock of my life.
"Donna was absolutely naked! You could see every part of her, she was so spread out. So was the boy who was poised between her legs! Donna was smiling up at him. She held his sex in her hand and was stroking her other hand between her own legs. Her legs were so wide I could see the fingers of her hand sinking into her body. She was masturbating right in front of the bey I had done that, but in the quiet of my own room, and at night, when no one could see. The hand she had on the boy wasn't rubbing his stomach, it was moving back and forth on something I couldn't see.
"Suddenly, she pulled him toward her. Her eyes rolled toward the top of her head as they came together, belly to belly. Something seemed to have given her the most outstanding of pleasures. She moved her legs upward and around the boy's back, locking them there by crossing her ankles, her hands were now free and she ran them up and down his bare back, scratching with her nails once in a while to leave red welts on his white back. Then her hands moved right down his spine until she spread her grip over both cheeks of his butt. She said something to him, and he leaned forward to lay his chest right on her bouncing breasts, then started kissing him.
"Suddenly her arm muscles swelled and she pulled on his butt, while he kept rotating on her belly. Their heads twisted back and forth in wild gyrations to match their twisting bellies and legs, but she never broke the vice-like lock of that sweltering kiss.
"I lost track of their action because I was drawn back to my own predicament. The man I was kissing had never stopped grabbing at my breast or pushing that hard thing of his against me. The breast crushing hurt, but that hard pushing on my belly and then between my legs was giving me a sense of warmth that seemed to course throughout me. It was a complex feeling of wanting and not wanting at the same time and the continuing laving of my mouth with his tongue was adding to the heat that hardness was producing in me.
"Then I heard a voice behind me say, 'Here, I'll strip her, if all you're going to do is French her.' I felt someone pulling at my own blouse and then my skirt. The man I was kissing backed away, his eyes blazing into mine. 'Let's all strip her.' I was pushed onto the floor and it seemed as though a hundred hands were working to get my clothes off. They were going to undress me. I was going to be nude just like Donna. But I wasn't going to masturbate in front of them, if that was what they wanted, I decided.
"My clothes were in shreds or tossed in tangled bundles around the room in what seemed only seconds. Now my teats were right out in the open and they were fondled and rubbed wildly. I twisted to get away from the pain, only to fall into another set of hands that massaged them, tweaked the nipples, cupped them in a wild melee which I knew I couldn't stop.
"Someone yelled, 'Right on the floor. Grind her ass right into the floor,' and then a man was on top of me. He had taken his trousers down, but his shirt was still on and it hid the lower part of his body from my view as he lay on me. Two men had grabbed my legs and were holding me spread-eagled with my knees pushed hard against my breasts.
"Then the man who was on top of me let his full weight down on me and I felt something pumping, pushing between my legs. It wasn't hard like that other feeling when I had been standing and kissing. But it was awfully hot and it seemed to be probing that delicate private area between my legs. Then the man on top of me gave a tremendous push with his hips and the probing became and outrageously sharp penetration.
"I felt the heat sore up into my belly and jam against the deepest part of me. The pain of the teat-pulling was nothing compared to this.
"I screamed until someone clapped a hand over my mouth. He held that heat against the most inner part of me. I could feel heat all along the channel of my body which he had penetrated with that telling push of his hips. He had put something in there that was hurting me and giving him pleasure.
"It swelled once, then twice, then began to pull slowly away toward the channel's entrance. I thought he was going to remove that tremendous source of heat. He didn't. He pulled it back until some sort of a blazing hot ball was poised at the torn entrance to my body. Then he fell forward again and the whole blazing pain shot through me again.
"As he started to withdraw again, I heard a voice shout :'C'mon don't take all day. There's a lot of others waiting for some of that twat.' The cry seemed to arouse him because he quickly pulled away again and then shot forward. He did it time after time and all I could think was that the pain would go on forever and ever. His long strokes were coming faster and faster and the time he took to withdraw wasn't so long. In fact, he took less and less of that blazing shaft out of me each time.
"Suddenly, he jerked quickly three or four times and jammed completely home again, pulling down on my shoulders to make the driving probe seem deeper than ever before. I felt a new heat, a wet heat, fill my belly where his shaft rested against that deep inner crevice. He shivered and seemed to want to stay with me in this position, but another voice shouted, 'Can't you get off and give another stud his whack?' He pulled back and I thought I was going to get another shafting, but this time he withdrew entirely from between my legs.
"Just as he stood up I saw my first cock. It was long and dangling. It was neither hard nor soft, but full and reddened all down its length.
"I barely saw it before his shirttail covered it and a man came between me and the view I had. He looked down at my face and muttered, 'I'll have some of the same, sweetheart.'
"There was another probing, then that excruciating penetration again. I was being raped the second time, while my first attacker's juices were still hot in my belly. This rapist was one of the younger boys. He had hardly gotten to me before I felt those quick jerks the first man had produced after pumping me for so long. I felt the bubbling of new hot juices, then the boy clambered back quickly, apparently finished and obviously satisfied with what he had done to me.
"One of the youngest boys we had met in the theater now walked quickly toward me, his eyes agleam as he peered into the now torn and sweating crevice between my legs. He didn't have the body hairs that the older boys had. He was smooth all over, like me, except for a downy collection of pubic hairs at the base of his cock. Seeing his cock (it was only the second one I had ever seen, you must remember) shocked me.
"While that first one I had seen-when it had been withdrawn-was wrinkled and reddened from the plumb-like head to the hairline, this one seemed to be all pink with only the thinnest blue lines appearing in a spidery pattern of veins. That gigantic red head was not there. Now, of course, I know he had not been circumcised.
"He was trembling practically as much as I was and he seemed to have difficulty controlling his knees as he knelt between my legs. His cock, hardly four inches in length, appeared to be about three-quarters of inch in diameter. I couldn't understand how something so closely resembling my own middle finger could cause me such pain.
"Someone shouted to him, 'Skin it back! Skin it back or you'll never get it in!' The boy pulled on his foreskin and pulled that hood of flesh away from the bulb. Now, at least, I had some understanding of why some of the rapists had those massive red knobs at the tip of their piercing penises. But his act of skinning himself back prevented him from having the pleasure of sinking his little peter into me.
"Aroused by what he had been watching, and the thought he, too, would ravage me, the youngster was too far gone to wait. He ejaculated onto my belly. Frightened as I was (and suffering the rips and tears that I had), I gained another bit of insight into what was going on. His sperm, spreading in slowly broadening pools on my stomach had the heat, the fluidity of those discharges I had felt inside me.
"The premature discharge angered one of the men who was to take the next turn on me. He yelled at the youngster, 'Wipe her off, I'm not going to fuck her lying in your come.' It was his turn.
"He pulled me by the arms to a straight-backed chair saying something like, 'You'll get an aching back down there on the floor all the time, sweetheart. Let's try something different and we'll both enjoy it.' He sat down on the chair and yanked me roughly to him, grabbing one of my breasts in his hand and using his tongue to draw the nipple to a point. He had positioned me so that I stood with my legs apart, and over his erection.
"Looking down at his cock, I quickly saw the difference between a young boy and full grown man. His probe must have been at least seven inches in length and at least two inches in diameter. Circumcised, its red head glistened even in the shadow my crotch produced over his loins. It would split me in two if he were to put it in me. My already tender private parts would be damaged beyond repair if they were to receive that monster.
"But I was amazed when he forcefully pulled down on my sweating hips and his shaft disappeared slowly into the enfolding lips. There was no pain. In fact, I moaned gratefully at the pressures it produced as it penetrated and spread upwards into me. The earlier rapes, his own sucking on my swollen teat, even watching Donna's performances with her hands-all these things had finally aroused me to the point that I was enjoying this episode of rape.
"He looked at me, his glazed eyes close to my own, and said, 'Enjoy it sweetheart. Set your own pace and we'll make a trip to the stars together.'
"I found myself obeying his soothing voice, his sensuous command of the situation. I slid down his pole slowly until I felt our hairs enmeshed. I rose slowly, savoring the vacuum-like pull of my vagina against his swelling rod. Lowering myself more quickly, I sped up the stroke with each penetration and pleasurable withdrawal until we reached a whip-like pace that brought us to the peak of our sexual demands on each other.
"Wave after wave of fulfillment struck me. I could feel his cock expanding. I moaned as the heat of his juices filled me. I slid to the absolute base of his cock so as to milk myself of the last drops of enjoyment-of rapture, a final spectacle which drew shouts from the rest of the gang.
"After that there was a never ending shifting of sex partners as the men showed their pleasure at watching a former rape victim turn into a demanding, active playmate. I can't even recall all of the positions in which I placed myself so as to attain climax after climax, wild sensual pleasure, sexual stimulation to the greatest extent.
"But at some point in this carnal capering, I remember Donna's voice-I had even forgotten her presence-saying to a man who was kneeling over me, rubbing his cock against my breasts, 'Why don't you see how she-likes it in the ass?' The debasing suggestion halted my passions like someone had thrown cold water on me. I screamed.
"The man who was pumping his erection into my breasts, which I had cupped for his pleasure, looked down at me and said, 'How about giving you a choice, kid? Either take it in the ass or the mouth?' Somehow, I don't even know why, I knew what my choice would be. I couldn't stand having my asshole reamed as these vicious beasts had earlier ripped at my cunt."
* * *
At this point Carla paused. She had completed her story. I knew the rest. I was what she had written in her opening day class assignment in high school.
Now, defensively, she looked at me. We stared at each other until finally she lowered her eyes, then her shoulders. Then she cried. I sat quietly watching her. Watched until her shoulders no longer wracked with sobs, watched until she looked up at me again.
"You must think I'm the lowest form of slime," she finally managed to whisper through lips that hardly parted to release the words.
"No," I answered. "I think you've had the worst of a lousy deal. Donna set you up like a virginal target for that crowd. Even rape can become pleasure, I'm sure."
"You don't despise me?" she asked.
"Of course not," I replied. "Would I hate you if you contracted cancer, heart disease . . . had a stroke? You didn't ask for what you got, you only succumbed. I don't hate you. No one would who knew your experiences that day.
"Maybe you can't ever forget all that happened. I couldn't. But like any traumatic experience, time will blot out a lot of it-if you'll help. You've got beauty, brains and the fortitude to make something out of yourself. Give it a try."
Carla stared at me again. Studying my face. I hoped that the truth of what I had told was engrained in my countenance. I hoped beyond hope that this bright child would, like a bright wind, rise out of the pit into which she had been placed and head for the pinnacles I knew she could attain.
Looking me straight in the eye, she quietly said, "You are right, you know." She stood quickly, squared her shoulders and smiled at me. Her decision was written all over her suddenly childish face. She would make the try to soar. I knew she would try. But neither of us fully comprehended the obstacles that would soon be placed in her path.
Looking at her, the late afternoon sun lighting her dark hair, I'm glad that I was not clairvoyant-that I couldn't see what the future held for her.
CHAPTER Two
THE CARLA THING
For the first time in two years, Carla slept that night without recurrent dreams of men holding her, using every part of her body to vent their sexual demands. There were no coarse, rough hands twisting and tweaking her young breasts; painfully arousing her passions and desires. The image of the twisted mouth of the man who had pushed her head down his belly and muttered, "Suck it, sweetheart, suck it," did not come back to terrorize her either.
Nor did she awaken, as she had for nearly two years, to find herself truly physically aroused by the dreams. She did not spread her own legs, weave her hands down the sheer nightgown to that dampened mound between her legs to find relief from her own penetrating fingers.
What she did dream of were things that normal young girls have dreamt. Spring days, blue skies, floating clouds, a picnic with friends in a green wood. She dreamt jf being held in the arms of Mel King, the high school's hard-plunging football hero. Mel was carrying a straight-A average and sure to obtain an athletic scholarship to the university of his choice. He held her, in the dream, and told her of his love, his ambitions for a career in politics and how a lovely young girl like Carla would fit well into those plans.
When she awoke in the morning, after her long discussion with her English teacher, she felt refreshed by sleep and brightly looking forward to the day. It was a feeling she hadn't enjoyed since, she thought, I can't remember when.
She rolled out of bed and smiled as she realized she still had on her nightgown. For years, ever since that mass rape that had twisted her whole life, she had awakened to find herself naked, the nightgown wet and rumpled beside her bed, smelling of the sexual orders she had imparted.
She pulled the nightgown over head and, standing nude, she let the fresh autumnal air of an early morning in California wash over her body with a new freshness.
"Oh, I feel good," she laughed, addressing the whole world. "I feel wonderful. I'm free. I'm changed." Still standing nude, she ran her hands down her belly, outward to her hips and then down her fresh, full, creamy thighs. There was a tingling sensation, but it was the sensation of a young, healthy feminine body with blood surging into action. It was vitality and joy.
Skipping into the shower, she turned on the hot water letting it boil the last vestiges of sleep from her sleek body. She soaped herself, scouring, rubbing every inch of skin as if to purge herself of any last remnants of the dreams and actions of the past two years.
Laving soap over rounded breasts, she almost laughed in joy as she thought fleetingly of those other showers she had given herself. Showers that started with the soft creaming of her body, and ended with the bodily creams of her inner body spilling down her warm thighs as she wildly drove three maddening fingers to their depths inside her.
"I am free," she laughed again. "This is the end test. I'm not sexually excited by this shower and the soap. I'm just cleaning myself. I'm just getting ready for the day."
After the shower, she toweled herself to a tingling red with long sweeps of the big shaggy bath towel, her skin reflecting her new attitude with its own healthy glow.
From her closet and dresser, she selected the clothing she would wear a bright colorful plus, the cotton miniskirt that would show off her long, slender legs, a red ribbon to sweep back her long black hair. For underclothing, she picked her white things; a white bra, white panties, white garter belt. She smiled gaily when she found the bra that had the little red rose tacked on where the bra would join the cleavage of her breasts.
"It's spring, it's not fall," she giggled. "And I'm wearing spring flowers next to my heart."
Digging through her stocking drawer, she passed by black-mesh stockings, the patterned red ones so closely associated with her "old life." She chose a pair of the sheerest of the sheers, so sheer that they looked like her own fresh, strong and healthy young legs, rather than a skin tight covering for them.
No lingering to study how sensuous each item of clothing made her appear as she dressed this morning. She moved swiftly and surely into each particle of clothing from the nylons she smoothed over her supple legs, to the wispy white panties which she molded over her hips, to the bra which cupped the sparkling, bright nip-pled breasts. Nothing could go wrong today, she knew. Carla was as new as a brightly minted new penny.
She swung out of her room, down the stairs toward the kitchen and the hearty breakfast she planned to relish. She could hear her mother talking on the telephone. Breakfast might be delayed until the end of that conversation, Carla thought to herself. But it didn't matter as she entered the kitchen where her mother was leaning against the wall talking.
Mother looked sweeter, too, Carla noticed. Hair a bit rumpled, but dark and sleek like her daughter's. The housecoat was happy and frilly, but with just the right amount of well-used familiarity to it. Her mother gave her a quick smile of greeting and held out the telephone.
"This is for you, honey," her mother said. "It's Donna."
CHAPTER Three
TELEPHONED SEX
Carla blanched as her mother pronounced the name of the girl with whom she had been forced to participate in the gang rape. The sunshine that had brought her happiness only minutes before in her room, now beat down foretelling a hot day. The white clouds of her dreams of the night before rose into massive thunderheads, blackening into the forerunner of a storm. The green woods and the picnic turned into the back seat of a wine-smelly auto with men holding her, clutching her, forcing her into the most carnal of sexual activities.
How, she asked herself, could that simple sentence, "It's Donna," turn her whole new world back into the same pattern of degeneration she had lived for two awful years?
"Are you alright?" her mother asked.
"Yes," Carla lied. "I think I ran downstairs too fast and got out of breath. I'm just fine." She limply took the telephone from her mother, placed it to her ear and murmured, "Hello, Donna."
"Listen, Carla, don't give this away if your mother is watching," said Donna's voice from the other end of the line. "Mel King is here, and so is Fred. Mother and Dad are gone and we're humping all over the place. How would you like to join in a nice, first-thing in the morning, fuck?"
The words actually stung in Carla's ear. The stinging burned. Its burn spread down her throat, swept throughout her body, and wound up with a shudder that stabbed like a gigantic rod between her legs.
"Mel's got his car and can be by for you in a couple of minutes," Donna's voice continued. "All he has to do is get his pants on." There was a giggle at Donna's end and the sound of a cupped hand slapping bare flesh.
"Ouch," squealed Donna to both Carla, who was listening to all this on the phone, and to whoever the person was who had administered the swat. "I'm going to keep my pants off."
"I don't think I should," Carla said listlessly into the telephone. "School starts at nine o'clock. I don't want to be late for class."
Donna sensed the reluctance to pass up a party in Carla's voice, and pressed her argument for the early morning session of fun and games.
"Oh, c'mon, baby," she cooed. "It's just past seven. If we can't tire out these two studs in an hour or so we'd better turn in our cards."
"C'mon, Carla," a youngish male voice put in over the telephone. "This is the best yet. Donna's hotter than a pistol and Fred and I are sprouting hards like they were rhubarb coming out of the ground."
Carla correctly guessed the voice to be Mel's-the tender companion of last night's dreams.
Last night, and the earlier hours of this morning, seemed long ago and far away to Carla as she listened to Mel's voice urging her to come back to the past-the past that was sex; upside down, on the side, over backwards; wet, hot sex, passion spilling out in turgent pools of semen and panting sweating bodies.
"Listen," Mel said, "you've got to come over. I'm driving over to pick you up right now. Donna wants to talk to you again."
"Honey," Donna's husky voice continued. "You've just got to get over here. It's really the maddest. Red's absolutely nude and so am I and I'm sitting on his lap.
"His rod is a yard long already-just having me rub my ass against him. The head looks like a plum and he's got it up between my legs so that it looks like I've got a prick of my own. Hmmm, I can just move-up and down and slide it in and out."
"But he won't let me stick it in until you're here to watch, Carla. Please come over. I've got to get that thing in me."
Carla, listening to the description being rendered by her girl friend, leaned back raptly against the kitchen counter, the picture of the girl and her boyfriend impressing itself upon her mind-driving out the "new" Carla and drawing forward the "old" Carla.
"Carla," asked Donna, her voice growing-even huskier, "are you still there? Can you hear me?"
"Yes," responded Carla, her own voice throbbing now.
"Carla, I'm running my fingertips over Fred's cock now and it is a yard long, I swear it," Donna whispered excitedly. "It's a yard of the longest, hottest cock I've ever squeezed in my life.
"Carla, I'm going to shift off his lap and get down there between his legs and play with him. Listen, this is something new. You can't see us, but you'll hear us. You can use your imagination about what we're doing. I'll tell you and you can hear and you can just imagine how hot we are.
"Did you hear my ass squeak when I got off his lap, Carla? We're both sweating like Niagara Falls. His belly and thighs are all sweaty and the hair on his legs is sticking to the flesh, he's so sweaty.
"Carla, I'm down between his legs now and I can hardly see his face, his prick is so big in front of me."
For Carla this "audio voyeurism" was all too real. She could imagine herself in that position, kneeling obediently before a man's cock.
"Donna," she whispered seeing that her mother had left the kitchen for a moment, "let me hear you suck it. Make a big wet smack with your lips when you pop it out of your mouth."
"Oh, no, Carla," Donna shot back. "I can't do that. You know I hate to do that."
"I know you hate to do it, that's why I want to hear you do it," Carla answered. "Put Fred on the phone."
"What do you want, Carla, baby," asked Fred after there had been a short pause on the line.
"I just told Donna to take you in the mouth, and she says she's not going to," Carla said. "If she doesn't, I won't come over there. You make her do it-and let me hear it."
"When the queen orders, her subjects obey," Fred said with mock majesty.
"Let me hear the whole thing," Carla demanded. "Let me hear or you don't see little old Carla in action this morning. Hold the telephone between you so I can hear both your voices."
"The queen commands again," chuckled Fred. "Okay, Donna, we both know what the queen wants to hear. Stick it in your mouth."
Carla waited breathlessly for what was to come. She could hear the young couple at the other end of the line. She could hear the whole orgy and let her imagination run wild.
"I won't," said Donna. "Please, no, Fred. Let me tickle it with my hands; let me stick it in me; but please, no, not in my mouth."
"Stick it in, baby," came Fred's response. "The queen has commanded."
"No, Fred, no," moaned Donna. "Please, no, I hate that. Let me jack you off, anything-but not in the mouth."
"Stick it in, baby," Fred said again.
"No, no," cried Donna.
"In," commanded Fred.
Then Carla heard the loud slap, followed quickly by Donna's whimper. Carla knew that, even though the slap probably wasn't too hard, it had made Donna's move imperative. Fred was thinking of the pleasure of screwing with both the girls, and he wasn't going to let Donna's qualms cut off this morning's passions.
"In the mouth," she heard Fred demand once more. "In-and make it quick, Donna, or you get ji real belt."
Over the telephone Carla heard Donna's soft moan of dismay. A real beseeching sound, not the little whinnies she gave when she knew a man wanted to hear a girl cry out in pain.
"She's getting up off her ass," Fred said into the phone as if he were giving a play by play report of a high school football game. "She's crawling back over between my legs. I've got them spread real wide so she can really cuddle up in there.
"She's got my cock in her hands again. She's running her fingers and palms up and down it and around it. She's looking right at it now. She's just twirling her right tit in her other hand and staring at my cock.
"She's getting herself ready, Carla. She's got her nipple between her forefinger and her thumb and stretching it out. She's moving it toward her mouth. She's got her mouth open and about an inch away from the head.
"She's put it in."
Fred's report ended in a long drawn out sigh of pleasure, and Carla nearly swayed off her feet at the picture pouring through her mind. Fred's cock plunging upward into Donna's sweet, moist oral opening, her one hand kneading her own breast while the other cupped Fred's rock hard testicles or slipped up and down whatever part of his cock was not buried in her mouth.
"Let me hear something wet," moaned Carla. As part of the long distance sex act herself now, she felt moistness spreading between her own legs and dampening the white panties that molded to her hips.
"You heard the queen, Donna," came Fred's voice. "Give us a wet sound."
The gurgling that followed maddened Carla as she imagined how she would make it herself. Donna had to be smacking her lips and licking her tongue on that bulging tool of active, aroused manhood. Her tongue would be lashing just behind the head, while her puckered lips closed and parted right on the tip of Fred's passion.
Fred's faintly heard' fast breathing, spaced between loud gasps of delight, added to the truth of the picture that Donna was visualizing. Carla was sure he would have to try to plunge his whole cock into Donna's mouth at any moment. The surging pressures in his loins would drive him to it.
"Ah," came Donna's voice, muffled as though she had just stuffed an entire hot dog into her mouth. Fred had done it. He had rammed home and Donna couldn't enunciate a protest because her mouth, her tongue, her palate, maybe even her tonsils were impaled on that plummeting rod.
"Lord, I just rammed her," confirmed Fred's voice. "I've gouged her out like the Grand Canyon. Her lips are right on my hair. She's got it all the way in her mouth and her tongue is working it over inside there.
"Carla, I don't want her to blow me. I want to put the biggest fuck in her she's ever had. Can I let her off it now?"
Carla, weak, inflamed, boiling, heard her subjects begging to mount for the real ride they both wanted and took pity.
"Go ahead," Carla said. "But keep that phone between you so I can still hear."
"Don't jerk it out, Donna," Carla heard Fred's voice. "Just slide it out an inch at a time. Keep it as hard as it is. That's it, honey, slowly. Move your tongue. Stop. Hold it right there, just half in and half out. Suck like you had a straw in your mouth. Now take away your mouth some more. Now some more. Now the last bit and hold it with your lips on the head. I want to see the red of my cock with the red of your lips."
Then Carla heard one more of the delicious wet sounds she had commanded earlier. It must have slipped out.
"How are you going to do her?" questioned Carla.
"I don't think I'm going to do her," murmured Fred. "I think she's going to do me, and I'm not going to have a lot of choice about it."
"You damned right he isn't," Donna's voice snapped sounding both peevish and great at the .same time. "I'm coming right up off this carpet and ride the hell out of that damned thing. I made it like a rock and now Donna's going to get her own joys."
"What's she doing," demanded Carla trying to regain the sights as well as the sounds of the depravity.
"I'm still in the chair by the telephone, and she's standing spraddle-legged right over me," Fred came back in answer to Carla's urgent demands for information.
"She's got me by the hilt and she is spreading herself with two fingers on her other hand. Her pussy looks just like her lips, all red and wet.
"Now she's put the lips of her pussy just around the tip of my head. Now she's . . . "Fred's voice trailed off into a wandering sigh of joy.
"Where did you ever learn to do that, Donna?" Fred's voice came back in a moment. "What a trick. Oh, do it, Donna, do it . . . hmmm, ohhh, hmmmm . . . "
"What's she doing? What's she doing?" Carla nearly shouted.
"Her pussy," Fred imparted excitedly. "She's got the muscles in her pussy or her belly working so that the lips of her pussy are just like the lips of her mouth. She's got her cunt sucking my cock into it. She isn't coming down on it or anything. She's just sucking the head up into her cunt.
"Oh, this is wonderful," Fred continued contentedly. "This is wonderful, this is-Ouch!"
"How do you like to get rammed, you big pronged bastard?" came in Donna's cruel edged voice. "How do you like it all at once when you're not expecting it?"
"I just jammed myself home on Mr. Big-Cock. I lulled him off with a sexy stunt," laughed Donna. "He thought he was going to get it slow and easy. He got tore up instead, just like when I got the whole shaft buried to the tonsils.
"How about it, big stud?" Donna's voice continued. "You like the whole business at once?
"Here, have another."
There was the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and another startled cry from Fred. Then another and another cry.
Carla, listening, not seeing, but seeing in her mind, shuddered for Fred's sake as she imagined Donna driving herself with sledgehammer force down and down on his shaft. Even if it were steel plated, instead of flesh and blood, the driving cudgel of Donna's vagina would be ripping it to shreds. The slapping sounds of the couple's bellies meeting with each plunging blow as Donna took her revenge on the now howling Fred.
Carla, her real physical needs now obviously aroused, hung up the telephone as the sounds went on without abating. She would wait out in front for Mel to show up in his Volkswagen.
"Mom," she shouted gaily, "I'm not hungry today. Mel's coming by to pick me up so we can study math over at Donna's before class. See you tonight.
Carla was hungry, however. As she walked out onto the lawn to wait for Mel she had a good idea of what she would be eating.
CHAPTER Four
WHEN CARLA BLEW MEL'S LITTLE MIND
It was with a sense of relief that Carla saw Mel's car pull up to the curb just as she closed the front door of her house. There wouldn't be any waiting now. After the telephonic arousal she had just been subjected to, it would have been too much. She needed Mel as quickly as possible. Only sound had been her aphrodisiac so far today, the sounds of Donna and Fred driving each other to the limits of sexual endurance. Now she would have the flesh and blood feel of her own aroused man to draw her to what she knew would be a satisfactory conclusion.
"Hi, Mel," she called remembering to clear the sex inspired huskiness from her voice. "All ready for-school ? "
The short pause between her loudly pronounced public intention, and the privately shared knowledge of what was coming up, was a nuance that Mel caught quickly.
"All set for some educating," he grinned looking hungrily at Carla as she swayed toward his car.
Getting nearer the small compact, she peered down into the front seat. She opened the door and nearly fell forward into the car. Mel had unzipped his fly and was boldly sitting in the driver's seat with his cock partially dangling, partially raised.
"Get in, silly," he piped. "You'll be jealous if some other girl sees this thing and hops on it before you do."
The words "hops on" immediately recalled to Carla what must be happening right this instant over at Donna's home, where Donna was punishing Fred by hopping on to him with all her strength. They triggered the thought of some sort of punishment for Mel in Carla's mind. Maybe a little punishment is something we could both use, she thought. And getting into the little VW could be just the way to pass out a little punishment to pay off Mel for his visual display. She would put on a little show of her own.
So instead of swinging backwards into the front seat, she boldly placed her left leg so that her miniskirt became micro-mini, hiking up well beyond the dark band of the nylon top and exposing her whole crotch to Mel's view. Standing with one leg in the auto and other on the parkway, she paused just long enough to let Mel take in the whole scene-garter belt, thigh slightly bulging around the nylon's top band, panties swelling smooth up over the mound of her delight.
The well thought out pause was timed just for that fleeting second that Mel's punishment should last. A passer-by might have chuckled at a young high school girl hung out to dry, so to speak, awkward in her change from tomboy to young lady. A man catching the brief sight might later have mentioned, during a coffee break, that "They didn't make 'em like that when I was in high school." He might have later, pumping home a once-a-weeker to his wife, have thought of how it would feel to have that young girl under him instead of his wife.
But the show being put on by Carla wasn't for passers-by. It was a one-shot, scene-stealer cooked up to drive Mel right up the wall. It did.
Mel, the eighteen-year-old man about the world, well versed in bedroom manners and eroticisms, gulped like the youngest freshman on campus getting his first peek at a strange girl's sexual adornments. A natural born athlete, his reflexes on the ball field or the bed were immediate and to the point. Carla's show hit his eye and his exposed penis froze to a rigid pole.
That male response was something Carla, for all her knowledge of carnal pleasure, hadn't planned on and it was her turn to register both physical and mental pleasure. Her left leg buckled and she just barely swung her rounded buttock onto the car seat. She quickly drew her other leg into the car and slammed the door. She lost her balance and leaned over the driver's seat.
To regain her balance, she grabbed the handiest balancer she could-Mel's massive organ. The shudder that ran through it, it's heat in her soft palm topped off by freshened memories of the telephonic orgy conducted by Donna and Fred, almost produced an orgasm for Carla right on the spot. Only a deep breath on her part, and an intelligent control of her will, saved her from flooding them right out of the little car.
Taking another deep breath, and righting herself, she moistened her lips with her tongue and calmly said to Mel, "I'm going to suck you inside out."
Mel put the car into gear and pulled carefully away from the curb. "You're the teacher until school starts," he said picking up speed as the car pulled out of sight of Carla's home.
For the most fleeting moment of time, Carla thought of the teacher, of the talk only yesterday that seemed to have changed her life, pulling her up from the never ending orgies to which she had turned over the past two years.
But the memory was short lived. Mel's stiffened erection was right there before her eyes, her hand resting at its base, tickling it casually. Her own dampness at the gates to her own pleasure was calling in a fiery manner for attention.
"When you get up the hill toward Donna's, pull over in that grove of trees where we went last Saturday night," Carla said in a straightforward manner. "I'm going to go off just sitting here thinking about us. I'm going to have the fun of sucking you off at the same time."
The little car swept forward. Mel had no ideas at all about waiting either. He headed down the side road, found the little lane and stopped the car.
"Slip out of your pants, Carla, we'll go sixty-nine."
Pulling her panties down, she watched Mel undo his belt. Carla had one more detached memory. A memory of that time a few months back when Mel had first fucked her in the confined back seat of this same little car. In an almost animal attack, he answered the flirting, titillating attention she had showered on him to get him aroused.
Flat on the seat, with one leg draped over the engine cowl, and the other spread at an uncomfortable angle over the back of the bucket seat, she had both pleasure and agony as he twisted her body to fit his passion. Finished, he pulled out immediately, leaving her aching with the longing to have him remain in her.
"You're sort of rough," she said.
"Hell," he answered, "you wanted a fuck. How the hell else are you supposed to do it?"
To Carla's trigger-quick brain his question, and the way he had posed it, pinpointed Mel's problem for her-he had no imagination.
"Tell me something honestly," she asked. "When you masturbate, do you think of any one girl?" She was grateful when her question didn't shock him. He gave an honest answer.
"I've got a couple of dirty pictures in my pocket," he answered calmly. "I look at them."
"Let me see the pictures."
Again, Mel took an honest intellectual stance.
He pulled out his wallet and showed Carla his pornographic pictures. One was of a man and a woman lying face to face smiling as they screwed. The other was of the same couple orally copulating each other. In this photo the smiles had been replaced by the most rapturous (eyelids half closed) look on both of their faces.
"Did you ever do it this way with a girl?" questioned Carla, continuing the frank, open discussion with her lover.
"Oh, no," he responded.
"Why not?" continued Carla, staying to the point.
"Only a whore and some guy dumb enough to pose for such pictures would do things like that. A nice girl would get mad as all hell and never put out another fuck for you as long as she lived," Mel answered.
"But look at the faces in the two pictures," Carla continued. "Which photo do you think shows that even the whore is enjoying herself?"
For probably the first time, Mel actually studied the photos for more than their obvious meaning.
"Okay, the one where she's got it in her mouth," he had finally conceded. "But still she's a whore. Try to get a regular girl to take it that way, and a guy's going to lose a piece of ass every time. No good girl would do that."
"I would," Carla said.
Mel's body, his arm was around her, stiffened at her blunt statement. Perhaps, Carla thought, she had carried their newfound frankness too far. Maybe Mel's lack of imagination had been the real him. Maybe he was simply a stupid lout after all.
"You would?" he finally murmured.
Relieved that communication was again flowing between them, Carla placed a touch of shyness in her voice to smooth the pathway as she had answered, "For you, yes."
The silence settled about them in the darkness. If thinking were a noisy process, Carla imagined that Mel would have been clanging and banging as these new ideas raced through his mind.
"I don't know if I could," he finally said.
"You didn't think you could fuck the first time you did?" Carla had gone regaining the conversational ball.
Another pause, and then Mel answered, "You're right. I was really worried that I wouldn't know what or how to do it. I guess it made me rough. I've been rough ever since."
Carla, her intellect and intuition reassured by Mel's responses, decided in favor of action over words. She leaned forward, taking Mel's recently used tool in her hand and kissed it hotly, blowing with her open mouth so that her warm breath swept over his still naked loins. Deftly moving both hands over the entire area of his sexual arousement, she drew him into a complete state of erection. She paused her sucking action only long enough to softly moan, "Do me, too."
Mel shifted down on the seat, dragging her head with him, until his target was roundly and fully in sight in all its splendid moistness and quivering desire. She placed one leg on the car's floor, spreading herself into a wide V at the hips; wide enough to accept Mel's broad shoulders and head. Bobbing her head up and down, working her jaws, she orally tended his now fully roused needs. She swallowed his whole penis when she felt his mouth close on her slit of desire.
The burying of his shaft in her mouth triggered the unknown quantities of Mel's mind, and he responded in the only way he could conceive at the moment. He daggered his tongue into Carla's readied vagina and probed its depths, using his darting tongue as he would have his penis.
The ecstasy they gave each other, in the same male-female way with their mouths replacing their sex organs, shattered them shortly. She plunged down on his near-hard tongue just as he ejaculated completely in her mouth. They thrashed wildly in the last drawn out throes of their orgasms, then collapsed still with the others organ casually near the mouth of the fulfilled partner.
That had been their first soixante-neuf. Now Mel was again laving his tongue about her thighs before plunging it into her. They had changed slightly in that this time Mel was on top plunging his tongue into her, while he gave her stroke after stroke in the mouth with his organ.
As their pleasure hotly rewarded each partner with the sweet juices of completion, they scrambled back into the front seat. Now it was up the hill to Donna's.
CHAPTER Five DONNA'S SWEET SEX PAD
Pulling into the driveway of Donna's luxurious hillside home, Carla and Mel parked the VW in the open garage, squeezed closely together for one more mouth-wetting kiss, and walked to the doorway. The door would be open, Carla knew, because Donna would not want to be interrupted in any thing she was doing with Fred. Donna had called this her "open door" policy. It meant that when she was in the mood to satisfy her diverse sexual appetites, she didn't care who came in to join her-or satisfy her.
Carla had been through that open door several times. She and Donna had taken part in the mass rape of two years ago. Each entrance had been awe inspiring to Carla. She never could guess in advance just what form of depravity Donna might have in store for her. Today was to be no different.
"In here," called Donna, "in the living room by the telephone."
Her voice had that tension-packed timber which shook it when she was near that point of attaining sexual release which she seemed to crave in unlimited quantities.
Mel put his arm around Carla's waist, resting his hand on the curve formed by the joint of her thigh and hip. The two of them entered the living room.
The telephone communication of her oral sex act (and her subsequent punishment of Fred for his forcing her into it) must have impressed Donna as much as it had Carla. Carla had been the willing long-distance director of much of what the participants had performed.
The young redhead was lying spraddle-legged on the sofa with the instrument placed so that the receiver rested on the nippled tip of one breast and the speaker rested on the other. One of Donna's hands carefully cupped one breast into a magnificent globe of peaches-and-cream whiteness, while the other ripened melon was cupped in the same manner by Fred's hand. Adding to this unusual pleasure was Fred's kneeling position between Donna's legs. He was kissing her with long rapacious rakes of his tongue. Donna was responding to the peaks of passion she was being brought to by Fred's oral manipulating of her pounding vagina.
Carla and Mel stood transfixed for a moment watching the other couple animalistically gyrating to the intensifying pace of Fred's puckering tongue. Carla felt her thighs moisten even though it had been only moments before that Mel had drained her of the slick dew of her heat in the parked automobile. She thought she had spent every delicious drip of her sexual juices in that outburst, but she realized that watching Fred and Donna writhing on the sofa and floor had produced in her a new sense of demand for sexual gratification.
Mel, turning slightly sideways so that his hard-on probed Carla's thigh, also let it be known that there was more strength in his body to produce fresh highlights of carnality to be shared with any young girl ready to accept them. Carla lowered her arm so that her hand could slide up and down on the building erection. She wanted Mel to know that she was ready too.
Donna's sharp, breath sucking, cry of, "Eat me! Eat me!" brought Mel and Carla out of their small reverie. They watched the redhead bang her belly full into Fred's lunging face. Donna had reached her peak, her legs locking around his shoulders to hold his spearing tongue into position to drive her lust wracked body. A final gasp and the girl seemed to fall apart completely. Her legs slipped away from Fred's head and dangled widely. Her ankles bent sloppily where they rested on the sofa pillow and the floor. One arm draped wearily to the floor while the other, bent at wrist and elbow, swept languidly against the softness of the leather couch. Fred leaned back from his previously crouched position to smile weakly at Mel and Donna.
"Mel," Fred said looking at the couple who were now rubbing their thighs passionately together, "I want you to do your old buddy Fred a great big favor."
"What's that, old buddy?" asked Mel.
"I want you to rip up that little bitch you've got on your arm," snapped Fred. "I want you to put the boots to her like she's never had them put to her before."
"I hadn't planned on sitting around talking about English class this morning," laughed Mel, slipping his free hand up the front of the blouse which he had pulled out of her miniskirt.
"That's not what I mean," Fred said staring icily at Carla. "Little Miss Smart there put one stunt over the telephone, while you were going to pick her up, that just about killed me."
Fred then told Mel how Carla had demanded that he force Donna to give him a blow job as Carla's price to take part in this pre-school sex party.
"I don't see what your gripe is," said Mel. "If little old Donna doesn't like blowing you, sure looks like you've changed her mind for her. I notice you're both all smiles right now."
"Oh, she'll take it in the mouth okay. But she paid off Carla's little game by nearly skinning me alive, tromping my cock with that pussy of hers, and then she whipped me with my own belt until I had to eat her," scowled Fred, again glaring alarmingly in Carla's direction. "I don't go for this whipping stuff. And as far as I'm concerned, pussy is for fucking and that's it. I got treated like a damn slave or something and I'm just damn mad about it.
"I want to get even with that bitch of yours And I want it right now."
"Boys, boys," cautioned Donna still gently moving her languid arm back and forth on the sofa. "We're not here to fight."
"Mel, I agree with Fred. Carla pulled a pretty lousy trick on me, and I admit I cut Fred up with that belt to make him do something he didn't want to do. Since Carla started it all, it just seems fair that we pull a trick with her that isn't number one on the list of things to do. And I know just what Carla doesn't like to do."
Carla stiffened at the cruelty and malice that charged Donna's voice. Carla's mind flashed back two years to that mass raping which had been arranged in advance by Donna. She recalled the threat made upon her that had resulted in her performing fellatio, rather than submit to the second choice the sweating, lust ridden men had offered her. Only Donna knew the choices she had been offered.
"No, noooo. . . , " Carla simpered, shivering against Mel's arm. "Please, Mel, take me away from here. Donna's cruel. She's the one that got me started on all this. She'll make you hurt me."
Mel's imagination, always led by Carla's skillful directing, could not picture his doing anything to Carla that would actually hurt her. He and the beautiful, long-haired girl had done everything he could ever think of together.
He bent low over Carla's head and whispered. "Don't worry, honey. I won't hurt you. She's just mad. Whatever she had us do, I'll be careful. You just moan and pretend it's hurting you, and we'll square this rumble without all of us going off the deep end."
"Mel, you don't know what she's going to demand," Carla pleaded, her voice trembling with fear rather than passion. "It will hurt. It will hurt terribly. If we stay, she'll make us do it, I know."
Mel, his passions aroused as much by Carla's new weakness, as by the promise of a full morning's sexual raptures, grabbed the quaking girl roughly. He pulled her miniskirt high enough to reveal her undergarments and began a slow, revolving movement of his belly against hers. His hands worked up and down her back from her shoulders to the molded cheeks of her butt.
"I say we stay," he hissed in her ear. "If we break this up with a fight, the parties are going to be off in the future. There won't be any more swinging for us. I'm not to give up all this just because you're afraid of something. I'm not going to hurt you."
Donna and Fred, listening to Mel's commanding voice, smiled at each other in mutual knowledge. Donna had already told Fred of Carla's choice that night of the orgy.
"Let's warm up these young lovers so they'll be able to put on a good show for us," murmured Donna. "Fred, you undress Carla and I'll put Mel into his birthday suit."
"Great idea," laughed Fred. "It should charge Mel up to see how his girl looks while she's getting stripped. And I'll bet you can add to the voltage while you're getting his duds off him."
Mel grinned acceptance of this bit of swapping. He and Carla had shared partners before, and he knew that he enjoyed watching the young girl's passion rise as her clothing was removed.
For Carla's part, she merely shrugged and lowered her head. She knew the other three were now so aroused that she could not have fled. Donna and Fred were set upon revenge, and poor Mel just didn't know how he was going to be told to use her body.
Limply, without any display of enjoyment or even fear, she let Fred take her by the hand to the couch. He was already completely nude. She could see that the anticipation of the event had already rejuvenated some of maleness that Donna had supposedly taken out of him.
"Here, baby, "Fred said. "Hold onto this while I get you out of that little girl outfit you're wearing."
Obediently she reached between his hairy legs and palmed his rapidly rising penis. He slipped her clothing off, pushing her pliant body in the directions necessary to remove each article after he had unbuttoned it. As the stripping continued, he became more and more aroused and displayed his arousal in the lengthening of his stiffening organ.
Carla, deciding that she had to be as aroused as possible, if she were to survive this morning's depravity, stroked him harder and harder seeking to build herself to some sort of a sexual peak. She ran her free hand around his neck while constricting and loosening her hold on his penis.
Mel derived most of his pleasure from watching Carla's lithe body being revealed in ever broadening portions, as Fred swept or pulled away layer after layer of clothing. But Donna was adding to the pleasure with the supple strength of her body and her own delving hands.
Donna, having completely stripped Mel, glanced at the couch where Fred had worked Carla down to her white panty girdle, sheer stockings and shoes.
"That's all, Fred," she ordered. "Let's leave the rest of her. Carla, roll over on Fred's belly and let's see you two have a little fun together."
Carla, now aroused herself, moved to obey her tormenter's demand. But Fred cruelly grabbed her hips and moved her at the same time. The effect was an almost magical insertion of his hardened organ into her vagina, since both she and Fred were in a state of frenzy.
Mel, who knew that Carla had taken on boys other than himself, was still amazed at the sight of her kneeling on top of the rapidly pounding Fred. His shaft disappeared to the hilt in the soft hair knoll between her legs. The twin globes of her now sweat covered buttock shivered with each driving thump the youth placed to her. The tight fitting stockings, and the straps of the panty girdle, added to the mad scene. Stepping slightly to one side, he could see the bounteous orbs of her breasts bouncing rapidly to and fro in front of Fred's sex twisted face. Fred was trying to slip one of the pink tipped globes into his mouth, but he was unsuccessful because of the speed of Carla's driving motion.
"Come with me, Mel," beckoned Donna. "We're going to give Carla the stab she's been dodging for so long."
Donna pulled Mel by his penis to the couch. Still, he couldn't picture what was to happen that would be so unusual. He had had it dog fashion with Carla before, and she certainly had never feared that. Mel pictured himself as waiting until Fred had spent himself in Carla, then he would mount up. Donna's soft fingering on his own penis even made him wish for an early end to Fred's pleasure with Carla. Mel began to think that Donna's revenge on her girl friend would take the form of having two penises in her in rapid succession. He didn't realize that, while he was thinking of the act being in succession, Donna had primed Fred on how to make the act run concurrently.
Even Carla, veteran of beds, beach blankets and back seats, had not thought of what Fred and Donna had cooked up. She knew she would get it in the rear, but she, too, was out of step with the orgiastic thinking of the couple who had earlier forced her into acts they, themselves, had not wanted to commit. She pumped herself down on Fred's hard-on to obtain a peak of passion which would permit her to submit to Mel's penis, to accept it into her rectum. Her thoughts, too, were of first one boy and then the other.
Donna, guiding Mel's penis as though it were the joy-stick of an airplane, moved the boy into position behind Carla's now writhing buttock, looking straight into Mel's eyes, she told him to watch closely what she was about to do.
Mel didn't have to be told to observe the tight knit scene going on only a hand's length from the purpled head of his penis. He watched the scene through passion glazed eyes.
Carla's buttock rotated slowly as she and Fred savored a moment's lull in their stud like plunging. Donna held Mel closer to the rounded fullness of the madly thrashing girl and then, without another word, she plunged her middle finger right into Carla.
The charge was immediate in Carla. The outraging finger pierced her with pain. She would and Donna had prepared for this maddening force on the girl. His hands on both Carla's hips, Fred drove his own forceful organ deep into the girl and pushed her toward the rectum ravaging finger of Donna.
Carla screamed. Fred clapped a hand over her mouth. Donna plunged her finger further into her. Mel stood dumbfounded.
Donna plied Mel's organ with one hand, while she gouged an opening in Carla's rectum with the other. Donna was careful to apply almost boa like constrictions to his penis to keep him at full arousal. Inserting another finger, Donna massaged the opening for a moment or so, then drew Mel's massive organ to the portal of this channel to Carla's tortured body.
"Do it," she said looking at Mel. "Put it in the back way. That's the one thing the little bitch would never do. She sucked her first cock, rather than take it in the ass. Now you do it."
She had inserted the gleaming red plumb that was the head of Mel's penis, while she incited him with the crass description of an earlier party. The head slipped in, easily for Mel, excruciatingly for Carla.
"All the way," hissed Donna. To force Mel into it, she got behind him and attacked him with a piercing finger. His pain drove him away from the blistering finger, and plunged him to the hilt in Carla's crazily swinging buttock.
Donna's revenge was complete. She stepped back to admire her handiwork. Fred, still not at his peak, was once again giving it to Carla who sprawled over him, while Mel reluctantly mounted at her rear, worked to free himself. Although he tried once or twice to pull away from the howling Carla, he could not. Each attempt at withdrawal brought a dementing prod with Donna's long nailed finger.
Then, his own desires completely triggered by the hot, tight sweetness of his girl friend's vagina, Mel gave way to complete, vicious enjoyment of the pleasure the new turn of events had produced for him.
For each partner, in this writhing sexual triangle, there were now carnal satisfactions that drew from each of them animal sounds of pleasure.
For Fred, upon whom Carla's now madly twisting body lay sprawled, the long strokes his penis was taking in her moist vagina were the sweetest ecstasy. Looking into her face, he saw the look of both pain and pleasure playing across it. Glancing over her bare, rolling shoulder he could see Mel's face twisted in passionate rapture.
For Carla, sandwiched between the two boys, the experience had gone beyond her ken or her yen. Her attempt to arouse herself, so that she could somehow accept the rape of herself, had proven successful beyond her wildest plans, with a rapture that offset even the most gouging stabs. The two penises, separated by only the narrow strand of tissue and muscle between her rectum and vagina, were now matched in pace to blend rape and rapture into one maddening cycle of increasing enjoyment for her.
For Mel, mounted stallion like at Carla's rear, the picture of her sweat dampened back, her moist neck, her rising to accept the absolute length of his erection, brought him close to ejaculation.
In a last move to peak the vitality of this three-way orgy, Mel reached around Carla, rubbed her belly, moved upward to one of her breasts and slowly pushed it forward so that Fred could suck on it. Carla responded with a sound that audibly displayed her satisfaction with this effort. Mel then placed his other hand on her other breast, applying pressure on the nipple with his thumb and index fingertip to bring another gasp of delight from her.
Their orgasms were simultaneous. Mel and Fred both drove home with massive final plunges of their stabbing penises. Carla spread herself wide to receive all the two boys sent through the steaming passages of her body.
Weakened, they sprawled haphazardly on glistening leather sofa. Donna managed to stand up, however weakly, supporting herself on wobbling legs.
So spent were they that they only managed to twitch, not start, when an icy voice penetrated the room.
"I thought I'd find you here," snapped a woman's voice. It was the harsh voice of Miss Chatterton-the high school's personnel clerk.
CHAPTER Six THE HIGH COST OF SEX
"I suppose you know," said Miss Chatterton, her voice cold, her thin lipped mouth spitting out each individual word, "that it is after ten o'clock in the morning.
"I suppose you know that I've been busting my ass trying to cover up for you while you've been having your little joy rides on each other-or whatever the devil you've been doing here this morning." She paused to let the import of her message-and the anger in her voice-sink in on the sprawled, nude high school students. None of them moved, frightened lest a movement might trigger her anger for any one individual.
"Mel! Get off Carla . . . Carla! get off Fred . . . Donna! Take your damn fingers out of your twat and sit down . . . Mel! sit up . . . You, too, Fred. Carla, you and Donna get away from those two studs," Miss Chatterton snapped at them in a series of rapid-fire commands. The commands that were instantly obeyed as the four youngsters snapped back life from their almost trance like attention to the woman.
"So, you decided to do a little swinging on your own without even giving me a thought," Miss Chatterton continued. "You just go ahead and have your fun and don't even think you have to tell me anything. What the hell are you trying to do? Get me fired? Get me jailed? I can't just run into the office, you know, and patch up your sorry records at the drop of a hat."
This is an interruption in the morning's chain of events, but I should explain that I later found out Miss Chatterton had been doctoring several students' records, eliminating absences and tardiness, raising grades so that the youngsters involved in a high school sex ring would not be caught by school authorities who might want to know what was going on. She had made the crude attempt at obliterating the Carla K-file which I had examined. Later she learned technical skills which permitted disguising records.
"You're lucky this time," Miss Chatterton continued. "I spotted the first late slip on Carla, and I was in the office when the rest came through. So far as the school is concerned now you have all been authorized to attend a juvenile education seminar at the state university today.
"And now," she grinned mirthlessly, "you are going to get a juvenile education on what happens when smart alecks cross up Miss Chatterton."
The four of them, Carla, Donna, Fred and Mel, sat tensely while the woman had raged at them for their thoughtlessness. Then they relaxed when she informed them she had been able to cover up their absence. But the manner with which the woman spat out the single word, "education", made all of them tense once more. The word had an ugly tinge to it the way she had said it. They all feared just what educating Miss Chatterton might have in mind. She didn't make them wait long.
"Mel," she ordered waspishly, "put on your shirt and pants, go out to my car and get the case in the back seat."
Mel moved quickly, hoping that a cooperative and contrite attitude on his part might spare him some of the "education". He was gone only a moment and returned carrying a shiny black leather case. He placed it upon the table, where Miss Chatterton's finger pointed, and stepped back near the sofa.
"Take your clothes off and sit down," ordered Miss Chatterton as she moved to the table. She unclasped the locks on the case and slowly, deliberately, began removing articles from it.
The four young people were mesmerized by both her actions and the devices she was putting into view. Their staring eyes showed the awe. Their twitching muscles and the butterflies flittering inside their bellies revealed their terror. Miss Chatterton's "education" was going to be painful.
The woman first withdrew a tawny-hued whip with a long handle and a short, perhaps six inches in length, knotted thong. The handle was shaped much like a male sex organ, smooth for its length, ending in a bulbous, rough form at the base of the handle.
Next she pulled out a ping-pong paddle which had a series of holes, about an inch in diameter, drilled at various points.
The next item was a razor strap which had been cut off, making its length about one foot. She slapped this down on the flat table top making a whacking sound that produced shudders in the beholders.
Reaching into the case, which she had carefully placed so that the youngsters had to wait before they could see anything in it, she slowly extricated a V-shaped pair of leather pants long enough to cover a person from waist to crotch in front and to the bottom of a small butt in the rear.
Miss Chatterton stared at them, savoring the effect the producing of each iterh had reflected in their faces. Then she dipped into the case one last time to bring out the last articles-a pair of high heeled, hip length shiny plastic boots. Taking the boots, one in each hand so they could be easily observed, she turned her back on the youngsters and walked into the study which led off the living room. She closed the door behind her.
None of the four made a move to escape. They were like dumb cattle standing in line at the slaughter house awaiting their turn to walk up a wooden gangway-to no one knew exactly what. Their eyes were still on the study door, when it opened and the woman stepped back into the room. Each jumped visibly at what he saw.
Miss Chatterton had removed all her clothing except her black brassiere, black nylon panties, garter belt and black stockings. The stockings were just barely visible because she had removed her street shoes and donned the leather hip boots.
Her figure, a great one perhaps five years ago, was that of a woman who has added just the few pounds that provide a roll of fat here, a small sag to the bust line there, a slight bounce to her belly as she walked toward them. Her ample breasts bulged slightly beyond the limits of the confining bra, and her panties glistened where her hips pushed against them. The straps of the garter belt made slight indentations in her pink thighs.
Moving cat-like to the table, swaying her hips with each provocative step, she stood for a moment eyeing her four charges. Then she let her eyes drop to the articles on the table top, relishing each in its turn, touching each with sinewy movements of her fingers, as she selected the right one after careful study.
The strung out moments were emphasized by the nearly complete silence in the room. The only sounds were her own deep breathing and scattered gasps from the youngsters.
Glancing up at them again, Miss Chatterton picked up the razor strop. The "educating" was about to begin.
CHAPTER Seven PAIN IS THE NAME OF THE GAME
"Mel, put these on!" Miss Chatterton demanded flinging the V-shaped leather pants at the boy.
He scurried to where they had dropped on the floor and tugged his way into them quickly. Accomplishing the job in a matter of seconds, he stood almost at attention awaiting the next command.
"Bend over the back of that chair," the woman said, indicating a low backed, overstuffed chair. "Donna, kneel down on the seat and put your arms around him so he can't squirm. Carla, you and Fred hold his arms."
The other three sprung to obey, producing an erotic scene of nude skin clumbering about the now quaking Mel. Donna's bare belly and crotch were pushed against the back of his head while the other two clutched him in vice like grips.
Miss Chatterton stepped behind Mel, carefully eyeing the distance from her booted left foot to his leather covered bare behind. She moved the strop forward, like a golfer taking a practice swing, and then let it plop casually on the leather target.
"Hold him down!" she snapped suddenly and wielded a stinging shot at his buttocks that resounded loudly through the room, drowning out Mel's yip of dismay. The spanking went quickly through ten strokes, but did not leave a mark on him. The woman carefully aimed the blows at the leather pants. She could make the lesson painful without marking its recipient.
Finished with her first student, the woman ordered him to move away from the chair and remove the garment.
"Your turn, Fred," she hissed in a voice that cut the air like the strop had.
Fred had more difficulty getting into the unusual garment because he had been watching Mel's head twist and turn during the flogging until his face had actually been buried in Donna's stomach. He had also observed Carla's wildly flailing breasts as she struggled to hold Fred's twisting arms. The views had produced in him the start of an erection.
But bent over, subdued by his three captors, he adjusted himself to accept the forthcoming whipping-with only one slight adjustment: he placed his face onto Donna's belly.
With the first sting of the strop, he laved his tongue on the kneeling girl's belly then jabbed into her navel with it. He was going to have something to do to take his mind off the whipping, if he could. At each jolt of his rump, he changed to another section of Donna's bared front. The girl, in turn, twisted her own body to accept his ministrations on those parts she most desired to have taken care of. When the ten strokes ended Fred's butt was blistered, but Donna was on fire.
"Let's teach Donna next," ordered Miss Chatterton.
The young girl practically leaped to her fate. Her hips wiggling wildly to get into the leather panties, her breasts swinging as she sped her actions, her insides moist with the past action-she wasn't looking forward to punishment, but to pleasure.
Arraying her three human "bindings," Miss Chatterton again positioned Carla on one arm and Mel on the other. Fred knelt in front of Donna, placing his arms around her back, his now flaring erection shed softly at her smooth cheek. Donna turned her face to avoid contacting it with her lips.
Miss Chatterton put the strop back on the table and picked up the ping-pong paddle to administer this odd "education" session. Positioning herself, she again took a practice pat on the center of the two shiny globes of Donna's buttock. Then she struck!
The first whack, hard as it was, produced no sign of pain in the young girl. Rather, she mewed kitten-like. The second drew the same response, as she appeared to raise her hips to better receive the blow. Her passions mounted with the third and fourth smacks and then, without realizing what she was doing, she moved her head, opened her mouth into a red, wet tunnel and absorbed Fred's hard-on into its boiling depths. Bobbing her head back and forth on his pads, she took the fifth and sixth blows and then let the blazing shaft drift from her mouth.
"I love it," she moaned. "I love it."
Whether she meant the paddle descending in pounding slaps on her backside or the jabbing penis, was impossible to tell. Having made this statement, she reared to the paddle once more and repositioned her mouth so that she could once again devour the stabbing erection.
When Miss Chatterton delivered the tenth and final blast to Donna's now pumping rearend, Fred stiffened, his neck muscles standing out, his head tossed back. He shot the hot bolt of his manhood into Donna's mouth and spent himself. Donna collapsed limply over the chair.
"And now for Carla," Miss Chatterton stated calmly.
The boys had to hold Donna while Carla herself removed the warmed leather panties. Donna was too weak to move.
Reluctantly, Carla took Tier position. This time it was Mel who held her body while Fred and Donna lashed onto her twisted arms. She smiled a weak smile as she saw that Mel was in the same state of sexual build up that Fred had been in when he had settled before Donna. Why not? Carla mused. Someone might as well have some fun out of this.
She reached forward with her mouth to enfold the head of Mel's penis. Before she closed her eyes, she saw that Miss Chatterton was returning from the table. This time she was carrying the little whip.
Slipping Mel's now throbbing prong from her lips, Carla looked at Fred and then Donna. "Hold my arms so I can get my hand on it," she pleaded.
They nodded and moved her arms. Carla cupped Mel's testicles with one hand, kneading them slowly. With the other, she slid the organ toward her mouth again. When the hissing whip landed its first stinging slash, Carla was working mightily to give oral delight to Mel. He tried to help get her mind off the beating by grabbing her hanging breasts and working them.
Again the last blow of the "education" session produced an orgasm on the part of a boy. But it was only a welcome relief for Carla. She had not spent as had Donna. The pain had been there with each cutting blow, and it had only been partially offset by the attentions she paid Mel.
Carla arose, rubbing her behind. She took another look at the other bared butts in the room, and was relieved to receive confirmation that no welts had appeared.
Now that the "education" had ended the younger persons almost forgot the presence of their tormentor, Miss Chatterton. But the woman's next action regained their notice immediately.
The forty lashes she had delivered had sexually aroused the woman-especially those delivered on the young girls. Now finished with the need to deliver punishment, she obviously sought to relieve the emotions she had brought out in her own body. She ripped the nylon panties from her own body with her strong hands and, spreading her legs wide as she stood there, plunged the phallic handle of the little whip into her own body.
She jabbed only four or five times when she pulled it out and rushed toward Carla.
"Do me! Do me!" she blubbered through her gaping, working mouth. "Do me!"
The woman pulled Carla to the floor, shoved the handle into the girl's hand and guided it back into the hot slit of her passion.
Carla, shocked by this turn of events, could only follow orders. Afraid of hurting the woman, she eased the dildo into the feathery mound presented wide spread to her.
"No, no," moaned Miss Chatterton. "Do me. Do me hard. Drive it in. Plunge. Jab. Poke. Fuck me!"
Carla still could not send the evil looking device plunging into the woman. The slowness of her motion, the rough bulb touching the clitoris, drove Miss Chatterton to outrageous peaks of desire.
"I'll make you do it," the woman breathed. She grabbed Carla's leg and pulled the young girl's hips to her head. Then roughly spreading the splendid young legs, she raised her mouth to Carla's own tunnel of delight and harshly plunged her tongue deep into it.
The voracity of the move surprised the young girl with its violence. Her automatic response was to ram the whip handle gougingly into the woman. Then, like a concert master directing a pounding Wagnerian theme, the woman took control of the orgiastic festival. Instead of a baton, she wielded a far more demanding leadership with her tongue.
As Miss Chatterton drove with her rough tongue into the tenderest of Carla's privacy, the young girl jerked to deliver the same response with the phallic whip handle.
If the woman rolled her tongue, the girl screwed or twisted the instrument buried in the woman's body. If Miss Chatterton cloyed to the edges of the girl's moistening vagina, so did the girl. Action and counteraction were the sexual equivalent of the concertmaster's musical counterpoint.
The sighs and moans of the two females provided a swelling chorale to the directing. Sounds from the instruments so fully inserted in one another augmented the noisy merging of passion.
In a last crescendo, Miss Chatterton licked a staccato drum beat on the now gaping vagina while Carla shoved down on her eager mouth. The phallic whip worked like a piston on the woman.
A last weak cry from both females ended the mad scene. They clasped each other tightly as they spent in great floods of passion.
Four students had received their "education".
So had their instructor.
CHAPTER Eight SEXUAL HANGOVER
Worn out by the erotic, sensual "education" session, the five participants sprawled languidly about the living room. Motionless, except for the heavy rising and falling of their chests and breasts, they gulped oxygen to steady their nerve wracked bodies. They stared off into space relishing the memories of the lash-marked orgy. Each remembered his own moments of ecstasy at the wild sights-or the actual participation.
It was Miss Chatterton, the group's domineering leader, who finally broke the silence and the lack of action. Stirring from her reverie, she emitted a massive sigh, got up off the carpet and walked slowly to the chair which had recently served as a flogging post. She sat down and looked at the youngsters benignly.
Carla lay spread-eagled on the floor, the whip handle still clutched tightly in her hand.
Donna was curled up in Fred's arm, her head nestling on his chest. He casually trailed a finger along the sweeping curve of her ivory hips. She rested her hand just as casually between his legs, idly stroking the dangling, wrinkled thing that had only a short while ago been a pounding pole rammed nearly down her throat.
Mel stretched on the sofa, hands clasped behind his tossled head, eyes half closed, nearly drowsing.
"Well," said Miss Chatterton, "have we learned our little lesson? Either let Miss Chatterton set up the parties-or at least tell her in advance you kiddies are going to be cutting classes?"
A raised hand languidly waving acknowledgment; a nod of a head; a mumbled, unintelligible grunt, were the answers she received. No one had the actual strength left to form his lips into the shape to make a clear cut response of, 'Yes'. "
Smiling with a warm smile for the first time since she had entered the room that morning, Miss Chatterton accepted the varying acknowledgments. She knew the youngsters had been milked dry and were incapable of any physical action at this point.
"I didn't mean to be cruel," she went on addressing her companions in a matriarchal manner. "I really like all of you, but a mistake could land all of us in one big pack of trouble. We've had too much of a good thing going and we can't let it get away just because of an irresponsible oversight. No more mistakes-no more floggings, okay?"
Each of the youngsters again nodded acceptance with the exception of Donna who frowned. She had enjoyed her shipping. It had provided the impetus she had needed to achieve a climax. It had even made the once abhorrent sex act of oral copulation become pleasurable. She wanted the beatings to become a part of her parties.
But she didn't show any reaction beyond the little frown that momentarily crossed her face. This wasn't the time to backtalk Miss Chatterton, Donna decided. Somehow she would get across to the older woman her new found desire.
"Well," said Miss Chatterton, "now that we've cleared up this little misunderstanding, what say we all take a shower and get cleaned up."
Her brisk return to directing the group into action-the ending of a difficult time for the sex oriented group-was greeted with smiles from the four youngsters. They smiled because they all realized the double meaning of the directions. For Miss Chatterton always ended their parties with a group shower. When she said "all", that was exactly what she meant. They all took their shower together, boys and girls, and Miss Chatterton. The showers always refreshed them enough to have one final fling.
Already undressed, the little group moved into the hallway leading to the master bedroom where the shower was located. The walk down the hallway was accented by grasping hands, plunging fingers, laughter and small cries of anticipation from the younger girls. Miss Chatterton brought up the rear like a mother duck directing her brood to the water. She smiled as she watched the girls snuggling against the boys in response to their plying a bare buttocks or slipping an arm around a waist.
Miss Chatterton never ceased to admire the vitality of her charges. Their recuperative abilities were amazing. They seemed to be able to swing from one orgy right into another.
"Ah, the young," she mused.
Entering the master bedroom, which was dominated by a large, oval bed upon which had been placed a satin, padded spread, the actions of the youngsters became even more dynamic.
Carla, pleased with a massaging of her left breast which Mel had given her just before entering the bedroom, laughed loudly and ran at the bed. Just before reaching it, she flung herself in the air and slithered, belly down, across the sleek material.
Mel, racing after her, also dived and slid right after her, ending his path with his head and shoulders slammed into Carla's upended body. He grabbed the warm padding of her hips, and pulled her down on his shoulders even more firmly, before he released her. They looked at each other and laughed and headed toward the shower room.
Fred had already gone into the shower and set the water flow at the warmth he had discovered, from past experiences, all the group seemed to enjoy most. He, Mel and Carla immediately joined together in the first round of washing and scrubbing at each other's bodies.
Donna had held back at the entrance to the bathroom. Miss Chatterton, now in a jovial mood herself, moved up behind her and said, "What's the matter, Donna? Embarrassed?"
The older woman laughed at her little joke and popped Donna on the bared cup of the cheek of her butt to move her along.
Donna stiffened at the swat, light though it was. "Do it again," she said leaning against the door of the bathroom and moving her ass outwards.
"Uh?" asked Miss Chatterton not quite sure of what the young girl had meant.
"Please, do it again," was all Donna could respond, as the first shudders of a newly aroused passion quaked through her entire body.
"What?" asked Miss Chatterton, now completely perplexed by Donna's husky-voiced begging.
"That," whispered Donna. "Hit my ass again. Please?"
The older woman stared amazed. A little love tap on the ass and here this girl was going out of her mind in obvious desire.
"Please?" whined the girl who was now squirming, twisting her well round, pink butt.
"Hit you? like I did in the living room?" asked Miss Chatterton.
"Any way at all," begged the now passion wracked girl. "Just beat me. I didn't know I could need anything like it before. I love it."
Miss Chatterton, attuned as she was to the times and needs of these youngsters, stared unbelieving for a moment. She had always known that her own minimal sexual desires had followed the pattern of sadism. She had relished the few times she had had to bring her little group into line with whip or strop.
But looking back now, she also realized that she had never had to apply punishment to Donna. This girl had always done the right thing and bent easily to the domination of the older woman. At parties she always participated actively, keeping sexual appetites at the ultimate pace, delivering her body to any form of carnal taste. Since there had been no need for punishment, the girl's latent masochism had never been tested until today.
Miss Chatterton popped the girls winding ass as it gyrated. It was not a hard crack, but one delivered in a tentative, investigative manner. Miss Chatterton was more interested in testing her deduction of Donna's punishment quotient, than she was in achieving arousement of her own sadistic desires. Donna's reaction to the swat was adequate proof for Miss Chatterton. The girl half sobbed, half moaned her pleasure. She pressed her body against the door jamb.
"Again, please, again," she cried softly.
Another light pop was delivered. The blow made Donna press herself even harder against the door, and the warm wood pressed in turn against the hardening clitoris that was now tingling arousal through the entire vagina. This pressure, and the separation of her breasts where her chest met the door, sent a spasm churning through her belly.
"Harder, please, again, harder," she mewed weakly.
Miss Chatterton delivered a full swinging third crack, and the new found method of receiving sexual gratification exploded in a blinding climax for Donna. Her head thrown back, her eyes glazed over, eyelids heavy, her neck veins showing with the strain, she ground herself mightily up and down the doorjamb as her climax sprung her into a dreamland of fulfillment.
Watching the girl's supple arms embrace the door as she arched her back into a great hug, watching the liquid bending of her knees as she rose and fell on the doorjamb, watching these things and hearing the girl's moan of delight sent Miss Chatterton's fingers swiftly to the warming clit stiffening in the slit between her own legs.
At that moment the showering threesome emerged from the shower to witness all of this-to see it without advance preparation or knowledge of what had preceded the scene.
"What the hell?" yipped Fred expressing in words the amazement shared by himself, Carla and Mel.
"Shut up and get on the bed-all of you," hissed Miss Chatterton removing her fingers from the now well heated private portion of her body. "Go on. Do as I told you."
The three hastened to do her bidding, cowering inside again as the steel edge returned to the woman's voice. Obedience was the only response, they knew.
"Wait there," warned the woman and she hastened from the room to the living room and the opened case containing her punishment devices. She retraced her hastening steps, holding in her hands the paddle, the strop, and the wet handled whip.
Stepping back into the bedroom, she had her chance to receive a visual surprise.
The warming shower, the generous soaping of one another's bodies and now the contact with the sleek satin bed cover had all served to inflame the desires of the threesome on the bed. Both Fred and Mel were pouring kisses on Carla's lips and shoulders. Their hands were fondling the globular breasts and tweaking the nipples into miniature replicas of their own sex aroused cocks. Carla, accepting the attentions readily, had grabbed a cock in either hand and was masturbating both boys with wild abandon. Donna, spent by her own recent turmoils, reclined lazily in a chaise lounge idly caressing a breast with one hand while running her other hand in lingering sweeps over her pooched, heaving belly.
The spectacle turned Miss Chatterton on at once. She dropped her sadistic instruments to the floor retaining only the phallic-handled whip which she immediately rammed into her own body.
Now, with the exception of Donna, the participants ground out their demands and desires singly or one another in an abandonment that was made even more bacchanalian by their being able to clearly see each person's performance.
Carla, being stroked now between her legs by one plunging set of fingers and on her swelling breast by another set, quickened her own frenzied stroking of the two penises she held. First Mel, then Fred gave her passionate, open mouthed kisses that sent their plunging tongues into her welcoming oral tunnel.
The culmination of the sexual frenzy arrived in mere moments.
Fred flattened his back to the bed, flinging his arms out and let a puttering stream of semen pop into the air.
Mel washed Carla's tonsils with his tongue, as he jammed his shooting penis against the pliable flesh of her hip.
Carla, gurgling as Mel's tongue reached its maximum depth, lunged downward to receive his probing fingers as she attained her climax.
And Miss Chatterton fell to a kneeling position on the floor, the handle of the whip rammed both against the carpeting and the uppermost reaches of her flooding grotto.
A blinding flash illuminated the room. For a moment each, in their individual passion, thought the light was a mental stab, but it wasn't. The light was real. It came from a flashgun on the camera held by Morgan Peabody. Film now recorded the scene.
CHAPTER Nine
TO WHIP A STRANGER
"Never saw anything like it before in my life," whistled Peabody. "Never. That was amazing."
Completely bewildered, dazzled by the flashgun's brilliant glare, trying to recover from their monumental masturbation, the naked persons simply turned and stared at the man standing there calmly winding the wide-angled lens camera.
Slowly, dimly they realized that they were staring at the high school's social science department chief.
"Better get dressed," Peabody said off handedly as he completed working with the camera. "I don't think any of you is capable of doing much more right now."
The casualness with which Peabody had made the suggestion brought forth a feeling of embarrassment in the recent orgiasts. They moved as quickly as their tired bodies would permit them to dress.
No one spoke a word and, for his part, Pea-body lounged in the doorway observing with an almost scientific detachment the five persons scurrying to cover themselves.
The dressing procedure took only a matter of moments, even though trembling hands slipped often trying to clasp hooks, pull up zippers and, in general, get clothed.
When the five had gotten into their clothing and were smoothing out wrinkles here or tucking in shirts and blouses there, Peabody, maintaining his detached manner, looked at Miss Chatterton and stated smoothly, "Better send the kids home. We've got some things to talk over, I believe."
The four children looked to Miss Chatterton for guidance. She nodded and they quickly headed for the bedroom exit, scampered through the house and out to the driveway where they got into Mel's VW and quickly drove away.
The couple waited until they heard the car speed away, simply standing in the bedroom attentively waiting for the sound. Miss Chatterton, still stunned by Peabody's unexpected presence, could think of nothing to say or do. Peabody did not want to say anything.
At the sound of the car's motor, Peabody finally looked at her and said, "I think we'd better be going, too. Without Donna here there wouldn't be much of an explanation for our presence in case her parents should come home."
Miss Chatterton didn't even nod. She simply moved to the door and into the hallway where she nearly stumbled over a large black case containing camera and recording tape equipment.
"Sorry," came Peabody's voice over shoulder. "I forgot to warn you about that. You aren't hurt are you?"
"No," was all she could reply.
"Here," said Peabody kneeling, "I'll just pack away this camera and we'll be running along."
Recovering more of her composure by now, Miss Chatterton watched him stow away the camera, snap down the lid and pick the case up by its handle.
"Better not forget that little case of yours," he said with the same tone of practical awareness he had used since making his presence known.
She walked ahead of him into the living room and put her own specialties into her black case.
"May I carry that for you?" he asked.
"No, it's light," she answered.
"Alright," he smiled, "shall we leave?" Walking out of the house to where their automobiles were parked, one ahead of the other in the street, Miss Chatterton paused.
Seeing that she wanted to know what to do, Peabody said, "I'd suggest we both drive so that we get our cars out of the neighborhood. I'll go ahead and you can follow me. There's a coffee shop in the shopping center where we can talk."
His able assumption of command, and the fact that he clearly held the upper hand, activated Miss Chatterton to move to her auto. She got in, started the engine and waited for Peabody to lead away.
Peabody walked behind his car before getting into it, so that he could pack his camera case in the trunk. Then he, too, started his car, pulled out into the street, and drove for the meeting place.
Driving slowly, he looked into his rearview mirror and saw with satisfaction that Miss Chatterton was following. It was only a short distance to the coffee shop and when he pulled into a stall Miss Chatterton slipped her auto alongside his.
They entered the shop, found a booth and sat down side by side. The booth to which he had directed her was in the back of the shop. They sat facing the front so that no one would be able to step up to them unannounced.
Miss Chatterton noticed this careful arrangement and ruefully wished that she had taken as much of a precaution.
The waitress walked over to take their order.
"Just coffee please," said Peabody correctly taking it for granted that Miss Chatterton wanted neither to talk to anyone at that point or have a desire for any food.
When the waitress had completed her work of delivering the strong, black coffee, Peabody reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his wallet. He pulled an envelope from the wallet and placed it near his hand on the table.
"I'd like to first set your mind at ease, Miss Chatterton," he stated without any prologue. "I wasn't there today to take pornographic pictures of you and those youngsters.
"I'm not in the dirty picture business."
Miss Chatterton took a sip of her coffee letting its warmth replenish her tired body. It also gave her time to make a reply if she had cared to do so. Taking a second sip, she decided to say nothing. It would probably be better to let Peabody talk until she had a better grasp of what he was doing.
"I've got to make that perfectly clear," he finally continued. "My interest, and my presence, are for purposes of investigation only."
"Investigating what?" gasped Miss Chatterton.
"For God's sake, Miss Chatterton," said Peabody glancing about to see if anyone in the shop had seen the woman start the way she had. "Scientific investigation, that's what kind of investigation.
"Look, why don't you just let me talk for a bit and you'll have a much clearer picture. For now, simply understand that I'm not snooping on you and those kids for the police or the school board or anything.".
Miss Chatterton leaned back, visibly relieved and said flatly, "Talk."
"First of all, I'm a specialist in the social sciences. I'm trained to see how various social groups tick," he started.
"For some time now we've all observed that high school youngsters seem to fall into two relatively separate patterns-successful ones and the dropouts.
"I've done a lot of checking and the successful ones are primarily those who manage to stay away from the vices which are more and more available to them. They are the ones too active to sample the narcotics, the booze, the sex life which we both know is readily at hand, not only at our school, but, across the nation.
"The dropouts, again I generalize, have just the opposite patterns where it comes to activity in school and community-and the immoral fun and games. This group is up to the hilt in one or more of the available abuses I mentioned.
"Quite frankly, that failure to follow the pattern is what amazed me about Carla, Donna, Fred and Mel. I've known about their sexual activities for the past seven or eight months. Don't bother with how I found out, it's relatively simple for a trained person to spot the signs.
"But, when I checked their scholastic records, I discovered that none of the four seemed to be headed into academic trouble. I had observed at first hand some of their sexual proclivities, and I knew they were swinging enough to begin showing at least the initial phases of becoming dropouts. Their grades were all up, however, and there was no tardiness or absenteeism recorded.
"The very fact that they were all four so perfect is what led to my discovery of what you were doing-eliminating or not entering their faults in the school records.
"You see, I knew that one individual might be able to stand the pace they were setting in their group-but I also knew that not all of them could handle both their brand of sex life and school well."
Miss Chatterton looked at him and asked, "If you were aware of all this why didn't you confront us before?"
"I told you," he replied. "To me this is scientific. I didn't want you to know of my knowledge for fear none of you would continue to act in the sense of freedom from being caught that you enjoyed."
Miss Chatterton nodded, but then posed another question.
"Why did you come out in the open today then?" she asked.
"Because my visual observations are now complete," he answered. "Now I have to ask questions of the participants to see why they acted the way they have.
"I thought it best, since you are obviously leading the group, to start with you. Also, the kids trust you and listen to you. I thought after our talk you could explain my work to them and then they will be more relaxed when we have our individual talks."
"That makes sense," said Miss Chatterton. "Can I promise them that there is no pornography, no blackmail attached to what you have been doing?"
"You can swear to it," came Peabody's quick assurance.
"I imagine you want to ask me some questions then, don't you," said Miss Chatterton "What do you want from me?"
"One thing mainly," said Peabody. "Why do you take part as the leader. You aren't running a prostitution ring, I know that. You're not taking photos to sell. I can't see where you benefit. Tell me, what is your purpose, your role?"
Miss Chatterton stared thoughtfully into the cup of coffee from which she had just taken a sip. She knew she had to tell. Peabody was truly scientifically approaching a problem of youth and would stay with the project until he was satisfied that he had all the answers. She took another sip from the cup before setting it down firmly in the saucer. It braced her.
Turning her head so that she could look squarely into his eyes she voiced her reason.
"I'm trying to keep them out of trouble," she said.
The quizzical look that crossed Peabody's face let her know that her honest answer would need amplification.
"I mean it," she repeated. "I'm trying to keep them out of trouble."
"Perhaps you'd better explain that statement a little more," put in Peabody confirming her assumption that she had made a somewhat startling statement.
"Certainly," she stated. "I found out when they got started on this about two years ago, when Carla was a freshman. That point of yours is well taken concerning the pattern of dropping out coinciding with an increase in some sort of partying.
"I started seeing the absence slips, the tardy reports and their grades were all below their abilities.
"I confronted Donna and Carla first. Girls are easier for me to handle than boys and I thought the girls might give away their secrets more than the boys. When I first talked to them I had only an educated hunch-no evidence at all.
"The girls did break right down, and then the three of us were able to talk to the boys, Fred and Mel. With the girls having spilled the beans, and my complete knowledge of their sexual togetherness, the boys fell quickly into line with my proposal to guide them and to cover up for them. They really had no choice.
"As to why I did this it goes into my own sex life. Frankly, I don't have any. I did once, though."
When she stopped Peabody said quietly, "Please go on. We are getting to the point now."
There was no denying this man's probing investigation, Miss Chatterton thought to herself, and continued.
"I first had intercourse with a boy when I, too, was in high school. He said I had to prove that I loved him. I thought it was the only way to keep him. I loved him, I thought.
"That first night, it happened in the back seat of his automobile, I thought the pain would split me in two. He was quite well developed for a high school boy.
"Once we started, we maintained a steady pace and I came to not only enjoy intercourse, but too even look forward to it.
"He left that summer for a long trip with his parents and I was left not only unloved, but also, bluntly, un-fucked. In only a few months I had come to need sex.
"One night I went out with a girl friend and we were picked up by a pair of men. I think they thought it was rape, but, honestly, I only put my man off long enough to pose some semblance of reluctance. Girls are supposed to, you know. Actually, I could hardly wait to take my pants off, I needed it so badly.
"We wound up in a motel and had one hell of a few hours together. I recall that we switched partners. It was all wonderful. Finally, though, my girl friend and I had to go home and the men took us home. We arranged to meet the next night.
"That second night is still a nightmare. They met us downtown and said they had lined up a cabin in the hill country near my old hometown. When we got up there, there were cars parked all over the place. The lights were blazing and the cabin was a big two-story home.
"I was worried, but we were there. I had built up a good head of steam during the day, so we went in. They had told us it was going to be a party. It turned out to be a whorehouse.
"When we got inside it was horrible. There were men and women all over the place kissing, dancing, drinking, smoking marijuana. Most of the women were nearly naked and the men mauled them on the sofas or floors or shoved them against the walls and rubbed against them. Every so often a woman would take a man's hand and leave the room. There were eight bedrooms upstairs, I discovered later.
"It was all pretty much for me. I had made love only because I was in love and because I had physically needed it. Whoring was beyond what I wanted. My girl friend wanted out, too. She was in about the same boat as I was. She wanted it just like the men she slept with.
"I remember that I managed to hide, to blend into the background, so that except for a few kisses and a feel or two I didn't have to do much. But my girl friend became the center of attraction when the fellow who brought her said she was cherry.
"He just yelled it right out and all the men and women moved in on the girl like a bunch of vultures. They stripped her right in the parlor and made her do bumps and grinds. A man undressed right there and made her lay on him and do the bump and grind.
"They were nude together on a sofa, and when the man got real hot he had intercourse with her right there in front of that whole crowd. She didn't even get the privacy of a bedroom.
"I can't remember all the things that happened to her, but I do remember that in all the frenzy I managed to slip through an open window and get away. I was completely frozen by what I had seen. I never wanted to have another man again. Sex was ended for me-at least what most people call normal sex.
"I couldn't get away because I didn't know the road. I was afraid one of the men might find and bring me back into that whorehouse. I just hid in the bushes and watched through a window.
"My girl friend did quite a few more tricks with various men, then I heard someone shout, 'Have her do a show with Daisy,' and there was a lot of laughter. Someone else yelled, 'Later on, let's let the men enjoy her now.'
"She must have had twenty men, all of them right there in the parlor where I could see everything from my hiding place. They did terrible things to her, and after a while she started screaming and struggling. She sounded like a wounded animal.
"Once I saw her go down under a whole crowd of men, and she screamed and screamed the whole time they had her down. Only her legs would show up once in a while or her head would come out of that pack of beasts and she would be screaming horribly.
"Finally that shout rang out again, 'Let's have a show.' That's when they brought her out of the house to a tree that was only a few feet from where I was hiding. The men were holding her up. She couldn't walk. Her knees had buckled and her feet just dragged along behind her.
"Then I saw a nearly naked woman walking behind, leading the remainder of the crowd of men and women. She had a big, shiny black belt around her waist. It had a big buckle in front, and thick leather thongs stretching from the belt. She was wearing black boots. The leather pieces didn't cover any of her private parts. Her breasts were huge and pendulous and just bounced. Her pubic hair was tufted and was the only covering for that part of her.
"Then I saw she carried a sawed-off razor strop attacked to a handle. Even before it started, I knew what was going to happen. Someone was going to have that lash whipping on her poor body. That was the show.
"The men with my girl friend held her up and took out a bottle of whiskey and forced some down her throat. She coughed and sputtered but it seemed to revive her and soon she was standing under her own power.
"Then they guided her to this thick tree trunk. Two men got on the other side and held her wrists so that she couldn't get away. Then everybody began yelling for Daisy to put on her show.
"She stepped forward and ran that heavy leather strop slowly up my girl friend's thigh until its tip touched her bared behind. Then Daisy just drew back and slashed at the last tender spot the strop had touched. My girl friend screamed.
"Daisy did this several more times. The slow caress with the strop and the snapping slash. Each time she did it my girl friend screamed, and her tormentor obviously relished every shriek and every slash. The woman's eyes were languid when she drew the strop over the now welted flesh. They would blaze when she delivered the blow. I don't know how many times she hit my girl friend's rear and back and shoulders but finally she grabbed the girl by the hair and jerked her face back and kissed her.
"They kissed just like a man and a woman for the longest time, then the whipper hissed, 'Eat me, honey.' The men let the girl go. She turned, fell to her knees and just shoved her face against the other woman's crotch. Her head bobbed and rotated and the woman with the whip just undulated her hips so that her crotch crushed down on the girl's mouth.
"Then someone yelled, 'Do your part now, Daisy,' and the woman just shoved my girl friend away onto the ground where she lay panting. Then Daisy, she still had the big handled whip in hand, spread her legs wide apart and rammed it into herself. She moaned just like I did when I was having a man. She was giving herself her own climax.
"The last thing I saw, the last thing I felt was Daisy having an orgasm on that immense handle-and I had a climax watching.
"Later, days later, I learned that my girl friend had never come home. She had been recruited into the whorehouse. Months later I read that she had been picked up on prostitution and narcotics charges while hooking.
"You ask why I think I'm helping these kids by letting them have their sex ring, why I'm like I am about sex? I can tell you, I think. The only woman I saw really enjoying herself that night was the woman with the whip.
"As for the kids, I just don't want to have them fall into the wrong hands. I'm not taking advantage of their weakness. I am trying to help them."
Now it was Peabody's turn to sit silently mulling over what he had just heard. "I can say that I honestly understand," he finally said. "I may not agree with you, but I do understand."
"You've asked me your question," returned Miss Chatterton. Now I have one I'd like to ask you."
"Ask me," Peabody answered.
"Have you got a lot of pictures of Carla, Donna, Mel and Fred?" she asked.
"Hundreds, both still and movie and some of the movies are with sound. Perhaps you should see some of them so that you will know how much I know," he replied.
Peabody tapped the envelope he had set before him at the start of his talk with Miss Chatterton in the coffee shop. "Here are about twenty or so," he said. "I brought them with me so that I could force you to answer my questions. If I found you reluctant, that is. Would you care to glance at them?"
"Yes," she replied, "but you needn't have thought you would have to force me. Your explanation of your work was really quite enough. You are a very persuasive young man."
He handed her the large, legal size envelope.
"Perhaps you had better keep them and just let me see them one at a time," cautioned Miss Chatterton.
"Certainly," he answered. "However, they are very small pictures. I've enlarged them to only double the 35 millimeter size of the camera film which I used to shoot them.
"You'll find they are in strips of five."
"Look," said Peabody. "You said you have some questions to ask me and I have some sound-color film I've shot of your group. Would you be offended if I asked you to my apartment so that we could kill two birds with one stone. We both have a lot of work to do, I'm sure, and we shouldn't waste time."
"I don't think," smiled Miss Chatterton, "that there should be any spirit of offense between us after all this-and this morning at Donna's house. I know where you live. I'll drive along to meet you there, while you take care of the check."
"Great," said Peabody. "See you in about fifteen minutes."
Lost in the scientific nature of his work, he did not notice the smile flit across Miss Chatterton's face. He would see a lot of her in a very few minutes; just a lot of her, he thought.
CHAPTER Ten A PLANNED SEDUCTION
Miss Chatterton handed back the strip of photographs she had been studying to Peabody. Then she carefully braced herself before she attempted to rise from the coffee shop booth.
My God, she thought to herself, my knees are as weak as a new colt's.
Looking at still photography which had captured the sexual activities of Mel, Carla, Donna and Fred had thoroughly triggered her passions again. Her belly was a volcano of fiery desire. The tingling twinged her vagina, making it into a golf ball sized lump of moist lust which bulged, spreading her legs-or so it felt to her.
She had already climaxed twice earlier in the day. She could not imagine how this new wave of sexual need could be coursing through the sexual channels of her body. Could it have been, she wondered, because she had been sitting in such close proximity to this man who had taken the photographs ?
She looked at him more closely, both to gain time to garner her strength and to see if there was something in him that might have brought her to this third demand for sexual satisfaction.
He was of medium height, thin without being gaunt, tanned in complexion with a head of black hair that he wore in a casual manner that made her want to muss it up just a bit more.
His clothes were the sport coat and slacks most of the high school instructors chose. In short, he was neither a Don Juan nor a seedy character-just a nice, congenial egg was how an acquaintance might describe him.
But still, she thought, it can't be only these pictures that have put me into this state. I've seen the real thing. I was watching flesh and blood creatures put themselves through the libertine paces those youngsters were doing on film and wasn't this aroused. My being in the same room with them, while they held each other in those hot embraces, had been almost academic.
With no real answer to calm her passions, she decided to follow the sunglight to wherever it led her. "I'm ready to go now," she finally said to Peabody to stir herself into action, and to let him know she was ready to see more of his pictorial research.
"Good," he answered. "Meet you in front of my apartment."
She found that by concentrating, she could regain some semblance of control of her emotion lashed body. She took hold of the table top firmly and rose. She walked swiftly out of the coffee shop to her auto, got into it, turned on the ignition and took off for the next phase of what was rapidly turning into adventure as much as revelation.
She drove to his apartment which was located on a small, tree shaded street just a few moments from the high school campus.
He probably keeps in trim by walking to the school each day, she mused. The thought of his long, hard legs swinging along the sidewalks titillated her unexpectedly. Those strong legs, those firm muscles rubbing up and down between her own soft thighs-it was a picture that sprang immediately to her mind.
She sat in the car waiting for Peabody's appearance, she sat letting her mind wander in wide ranging sweeps with all the thoughts linked to sexual fantasies of her and the social sciences holds. She hadn't felt like this since her own high school affair, the first unlimited, carnal response she had ever given. The car seat grew warm as she revolved her hips slowly, thinking always of Peabody holding her in his arms.
"Hurry up and get here," she moaned out loud. "Get here, please. Before I go out of my mind."
At that moment Peabody's auto slid up behind hers. He misjudged the parking distance, slightly, and the bumper of his car nudged the rear of hers.
It was only the slightest of forces, but an image of him mounting her dog fashion, spreading her buttocks so that she could receive his long, hot shaft stormed across her ranging mind.
She leaped from her car and nearly ran back to him. He had stepped out of his auto and was walking toward her.
"Didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked with an amused twinkle in his eye. The way he said it would have been the way he would ask her the same question as his penis slithered to full penetration in a sexual embrace, thought Miss Chatterton. She trembled and caught his arm to support herself.
"No . . . no, not at all," she managed to stammer. "Please, I'm most interested in your work. Let's go inside. Show me some of your filmsthe movies."
Peabody detected the pleading note in her voice which went well beyond portraying any scientific interest in his project.
What the hell, he thought, does she feel the same way about me? For Peabody had had his own troubles at the coffee shop where he had sat showing Miss Chatterton the photographic results of his investigation into the sexual lives of her four students. Miss Chatterton would not be an unpleasant bed partner at all, he had decided.
"Sure, let's get along," he smiled at her. "We're both off the job for the rest of the day, so there won't be any need to rush. I want to show you the whole project as it stands now."
CHAPTER Eleven
BACHELOR GIRL ON THE MAKE
Inside Peabody's apartment, Miss Chatterton glanced around at the furnishings to see if she could ascertain some idea concerning the man's tastes. A bachelor unit, it fitted the description of all such apartments where men chose to live by themselves, she thought.
Not too much furniture, a print or two on each wall, lamps sparsely spaced to provide reading light, but nothing in the way of lighting to suggest the decorative touch a woman would use. Books and magazines in the living room were stacked in a scene of ordered disorder-they looked happenstance, but Peabody could probably go to any stack and pick out a needed resource publication or book at the drop of a hat. All in all, what she could see of the apartment seemed to bear out her previous feelings that he was a well ordered, if somewhat tweedy, individual who felt perfectly at ease alone and engulfed in his studies.
"Care for a drink," Peabody said more as a statement than a request.
"Yes," she answered. "It's been one of those days when a good stiff scotch might be just what I need."
"If you don't mind," he said, "go ahead and fix a couple yourself. I'm going to be busy for a few minutes getting the films set up. The scotch is on the counter. The ice is in the frig; and the glasses are in that cupboard to the right of the sink."
Miss Chatterton felt amused at the homey manner in which Peabody was directing her already. You'd think, she thought to herself, that we were married or something and he was going to be showing me some vacation movies of a fishing trip.
She moved into the kitchen, found the items and began putting together the drinks. She heard Peabody moving about in the apartment, putting together the equipment he would need to show her the movie part of his sex investigations.
"Water or soda," she called to him after she had poured the liquor onto the ice filled glasses.
"Water," his voice came back with a slight echoing sound.
He must not be in the living room, she thought. His voice sounded as though it came from another room.
She was about to add the water to his drink, when she took a second look at the amber-hued scotch in his glass. It was about an inch above the bottom. She smiled and laced his with another strong shot from the bottle, bringing the level well over the one-third marker. Wouldn't want any inhibitions to stand in our way, she mused to herself.
She added the water, picked up the two tall glasses, and walked into the living room. "Where are you?" she called. "I've got two good drinks here."
"Come down the hallway off the living room to the second door," his voice echoed again. "I've just about finished setting up the projector and sound gear."
Miss Chatterton, following his masterful direction again, left the living room to enter the hallway.
The hallway astounded her. It was completely different from the almost staid, mannish living room. Wide enough to have side tables and low bookshelves, its contents displayed an entirely different-and stimulating-side of Peabody.
Upon each of the several small tables were artifacts and objets d'art bearing forcefully into the areas of sex. Sex, it seemed upon closer and more detailed observation, of the most depraved levels that a human could conceive.
The first table bore a statuette of a couple fornicating. The woman was lashed hand and foot in a prone position on her back. The straps had been arranged so that she was literally tied about the glistening figure of the male. She couldn't get away until he had accomplished himself in her arched body. Created out of a clay like material, the lovers were locked by the artist in a never ending embrace.
Moving along to the next small table, Miss Chatterton suddenly noted that the walls of the hallway were adorned with pornography-again depicting pictorially all the mad varieties of passion that mankind had ever created. Both photographs and paintings framed lovers-or groups of lovers-in the gallery of delight.
Her attention was torn between looking at the photographs and the statuary displayed upon the several tables. The diversity of the assembled portrayals not only called for visual observation, but also, for physical attention, she found.
Looking down at the tables and up at the walls, she felt the yearnings that she had attained deep in the pit of her love areas coming back upon her with even greater degrees of consuming passion. Again, her legs seemed to be pushed apart as the hairy mound swelled in expectation.
Dim lights between each display made her look closely at each painting, photograph or sculpture. She would look closely anyway, the lighting seemed to force attention.
A larger piece of sculpture, reaching nearly to the ceiling, stood on the next table. Its natural reproduction of a maiden probing the sweet slit between her thighs and manipulating a bared breast nearly caused Miss Chatterton to spill the two drinks.
The maiden's hand, or at least three fingers of it, was buried in the marble grotto. The artist had caught the frozen figure at the moment of climax.
Her head was thrown back, her hair a massed whirl of action as her orgasm wracked her beautiful body. The marble face was a living picture of rapture, the mouth half opened, drooping, as her slender fingers pulled the last vestiges of emotion from her masturbation.
Miss Chatterton stared, awe-struck. If touched, the statue would give off the searing heat of passion, not the cold touch of the artist's medium, she thought.
She wobbled slightly as she moved two steps to feast her eyes on the next exhibit in this gallery of lust-a painting.
Here, a young man knelt before a woman who lay splay-legged on a chaise lounge. His act of love was hidden by her thighs, wrapped as close as she could about his head. But the effects of his oral ministrations were apparent in the adoration her eyes cast down at him, at the manner in which his hair was tangled in her claw like hands. The man was rendered in the pinkish tones of a very young boy, while the woman had been depicted by the artist as older-at that age when the joys of finding a young lover must have been as enjoyable to her as employment of his body.
Step by step, art work by art work, Miss Chatterton moved slowly down the hallway-completely trapped by the arousal which each work brought out. It was almost a planned tour, she thought. Each embracing couple each new rendition, each additional method of having intercourse-or oral expression-took the viewer to the next offering with an increased sensation of desire; sensations of a desire to participate, rather than just to observe.
When he reached the hallway area by the second door (an area at the very end of the hallway), she was perplexed to find the last table held only what appeared to be a lamp-a normal table lamp.
What, she wondered, could this simple fixture be doing in such a gallery? She looked more closely, because this lamp had the dimmest light of all coming away from it.
The scrutiny revealed the lamp's place among these treasures of titillation. Its wooden base, upon the closest inspection by the low light, showed a set of massive, hirsute testicles. The stem of the lamp, as she looked up under the shade, was a pictorially perfect copy of a male organ in the ultimate state of erection. Where the light should have been screwed into a socket at the top, there was instead the orb of the penis' head translucent from the small red light which glowed inside the glans. The light made the head shimmer with the tight stretched glow of a male organ about to be plunged into a woman's soft nest.
Absorbed in her study, Miss Chatterton cracked in every bone in her body when the light and all the lights in the debauched hallway-clicked out.
"Come in," Peabody's voice came softly from the room at whose door she stood. "I think everything should be ready by now . . . don't you?"
The affect was carnally complete for the enraptured, and well prepared, Miss Chatterton. The softness of Peabody's voice did not come from total darkness, she knew, because her eyes had been slowly conditioned in the long, arousing tour down the hallway to less and less light. It made the darkness a twilight in which she could immediately see, however vaguely, each detail at which she looked. Peabody, the searcher into minds, had carefully conditioned her to a point of sexual arousal from which she could only be helped by sex-active sex.
The two glasses clasped in her trembling hands, she entered the darkened room walking slowly as her eyes took in the view which seemed to have an ethereal glow to it. The nerves in her eyes, still attuned to the low red glow in the penis shaped lamp's head, produced a reddish hue in the instructor's projection room.
She could make out major details easily, although some nooks and crannies were lost for the moment. She saw Peabody standing by the movie projector making some minute, final adjustments. A large sofa sat facing the movie screen which had been set up some twenty feet away from the projector. The sofa was about midway in the room (a large bedroom), and there was a silk covered bed at the end of the room away from the movie screen.
Along the wall she saw what appeared to be full hi-fi set with a few small lights dimly illuminating the dials which could be turned to adjust sound patterns. Because the set was obviously connected to the movie making bit, she assumed that the films she would soon be seeing would have both audio and visual reportage of the events which Peabody had set forth to capture for his research.
"Good, you've got the drinks," Peabody said in almost hushed tones. "There are end tables at either side of the sofa. Set them down there and have a seat. I'll be ready with the movies in just a moment."
She placed his drink at one end table and took a seat at the other end of the sofa, placing her drink down after taking a long draught at it. The scotch warmed her throat and she settled herself into a comfortable position. It was apparent that Peabody was in no rush to get to the business she had been aroused to handle by her trip down the hallway.
No matter, she thought to herself, if he wants to show movies first that's his business. She removed her shoes and drew her legs under the warm roundness of her butt. She took a sip of the strong drink.
"There," Peabody said, "that does it. I've an automatic starter on the camera so I can sit over there with you and operate the machine."
He walked toward her. She noticed, somewhat unhappily, that he was fully clothed, except for his sport coat which he had taken off. Even his necktie was still on.
"Did you enjoy my hallway gallery?" he asked settling himself a foot or so away from her on the sofa. "You took long enough getting in here, so I imagine you were looking at my small efforts at collecting the art of the world of sex."
"It was quite startling," she murmured. "It did have a profound affect upon me, I must admit."
"Arousal?" he asked matter-of-factly.
"To be frank-arousal," she responded.
"I know," he said blandly. "I've had most of those items for years, still I find myself getting kicks out of observing them. Sex is a subject about which it is difficult to be objective, no matter how scientifically or profoundly you try to approach it."
Was this his overture, Miss Chatterton pondered. He certainly wasn't pushing the obvious point of her own arousal. He seemed more to be trying to maintain an apartness from her. Though he must have known that her capacities for some form of sex-play were at pinnacles she had never known before.
"We'll talk more about the personal qualities of experimentation in a little while," he continued in a well modified, almost lecture hall voice. He took a drink out of the glass she had left near his seat.
"Hmmmm," he said approvingly, "you make a man's drink."
"I didn't think you would want to be leaving the movies to mix another," she answered.
"Well, settle back and we'll review some of the fun your four little friends have been having," he said.
A bright light, almost blindingly bright, suddenly emitted from the projector as Peabody clicked a small device in his hand to get the show on the road.
A title appeared. It bore the notation of a date, time and the simple statement, "School Parking lot." A second title appeared, "Four Subjects First Filming".
"This was the first time I ever took movies of your group," Peabody explained. "I had shot some earlier stills of their activities with a tele-photo lens from my office it's right above the parking lot, you know.
"I had seen the kids going at it twice before I started doing any filming. It was just chance that they became my subjects. I had been looking for copulating couples for some time, but that isn't the sort of thing you find, so to speak, right in your own backyard."
The second title faded from the screen and a wide view of the high school parking lot came onto the screen in the full color of springtime afternoon. This wide view of about twenty parked cars, shaded by newly flowering shrubs and trees, remained on the screen for a moment or so, then a zoom lens began to center the screen's image to a single parked Volkswagen. It was Mel's.
Seated in the backseat was a girl, half facing the camera. Her shoulders were moving, hunching forward then drawing back as though she were dangling her tits forward, and then presenting them full-on to some obviously pleasurable contact. Looking more closely, a boy's head would appear briefly from time to time partially hidden by her shoulders.
Suddenly the boy's hand moved to the shoulder of her blouse, sliding the soft white material away to reveal a white shoulder strap of a bra. The hand tugged on the strap until it too fell away from the pink tinged flesh of the girl's shoulder. She made her to and fro movements all the more rapidly as the boy bared her charms to his view.
The girl twisted more to a position facing the camera. The great lobe of her right tit now could be plainly seen by the camera. Now her bobbing action became apparent as to its reason. When she leaned forward the breast dangled en-chantingly before the boy's face and he cupped it in his hand pressing it back up against her heaving chest. He moved his fingers, palming the tit, between sliding fingers. Then the girl would straighten up, jutting the tit toward his face. He would make an oval of his lips, catching just the nipple and its rosette background in his lips. He would suckle the nipple while the girl pressed forward to enjoy his rough tongue sipping at the rose tipped buds.
The boy would finally open his whole mouth to swallow as much of the tit as he could. Still, much of the whiteness of the breast stood around his rapidly working jaws and mouth-it was that large.
Now, with the breast bared, she placed her hands on the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his mussed hair to hold him at his task. He did not pull away, but rather leaned more closely to her to gobble each succulent piece of skin upon which he could lay hold.
He dropped his hand out of view and the girl stiffened, holding the breast in one of her own hands to present him as much of the bounty as she could. His own shoulder was now working rapidly to and fro and, even though the camera could not catch it, it was apparent that he was working his hidden hand well into her hot slit.
A second boy and girl walked up to the parked car. It was Donna and Fred. They stared appreciatively at the back seat action between Mel and Carla. Fred placed his hand at the small of Donna's back and began a slow, circular massaging of this comforting area. Donna glanced about, as if looking to see if anyone could observe either of the couples, then she stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Fred's face. They opened their mouths and squirmed more to face each other. They weren't worried too much about whether their kiss was on center-they wanted to have the full pleasure of the contacts of their bodies.
Carla's face suddenly appeared at the window and she said something to the couple standing beside the car.
"There's no sound to this particular footage," Peabody interceded at this point. "Later I got to know their favorite spots, so I would set up sound gear in advance to catch their actual talk while they were making love."
Miss Chatterton merely nodded acknowledgment of his quiet statement. She was too busy watching the sexual build-up being enjoyed by the youngsters in the film.
On the screen, Fred reached over to open the car door and he and Donna scrambled into the front eat. Donna went first. Fred placed his hand firmly on the bared thigh she presented, as she crawled headlong into the car. Donna's forward rush halted at the touch of his hand. She reached back to draw it up under her stretched miniskirt to the wells of her rounded ass. Fred tried the circular rubbing movement he had recently employed on the girl's back and was rewarded by her rearing backwards to accept the pleasure to the fullest. He placed both hands on her butt and pushed her into the auto. Then he got into the car with her.
In the back seat Mel could be seen unzipping his trousers, and Carla lay back fondling her own breast while she watched him perform this now essential mechanical operation. Donna's hand could be seen sweeping up and down the front of Mel's trousers as she rubbed his erection. He took her hand finally and slipped it inside his unzipped fly. She withdrew the shaft which glistened brightly in the sunlight. Donna pulled softly on Mel's penis, directing it pointedly toward Carla who had leaned back with her mouth slightly agape. Her eyes were fixed upon Mel's stallion-like rod, and as it bore closer to her he parted her lips more and more. Her tongue licked at the pinkness of her lips, both top and bottom as if to lubricate them to accept what was coming to her.
Just as it seemed about to move into the prepared oral pit Carla had made ready, Donna's hand paused and slipped backwards down the fully extended organ. The foreskin bared back revealing the full red head which now shown sparkingly to Carla's entranced eyes. She opened her mouth to the widest angle and swept her head forward to grab this massive organ and provide it with the purest of sexual pleasures.
The head, and about three inches of the shaft that supported it, disappeared into the girl's mouth. She let go of her own hot breast to work her hands on the column that was still in view. She massaged the visible portion tightly with both hands, while attending to a concurrent massaging of the buried part with her laving tongue and hard working jaws.
The pace of the blow job picked up. Mel's hands could be seen now caressing Carla's throat and cheeks, molding her face to his trousers so that she could work more of it into her licking, sucking cavity. Suddenly, he jerked, thrusting himself full into her opened mouth. Carla reached an arm behind his taut butt and pulled him close. Her own bobbing head now plainly told that she was accepting the waves of his passion. She had made a vagina out of her oral area and was taking every shot of his passion.
Mel suddenly appeared to relax. He stroked the girl's hair and still rounded cheeks, but the fire was out of his drive. Still the girl's head bobbed, although more slowly. Finally she stopped and the camera recorded the shaft's slow withdrawal from her now moistened mouth. It slid out an inch at a time and Carla's slowly moving lower jaw and puckered lips revealed she was giving it the last ministrations of the oral copulation.
Now Mel lowered himself nearly out of sight. Carla shifted so that her back rested against the door and she lowered her head as though watching where Mel's disappearing head and shoulders were going to take him.
In the front seat Donna was kneeling so that she could lean over the seat to watch what was going on in the back seat. Fred was immediately behind her kneeling on the remainder of the seat. His arms were around her waist and her tits were pushed full out of her own unbuttoned blouse. His hands were making mammoth balls out of her breasts and kneading them so that the nipples tickled together. Donna's shoulder sank as she reached for something behind her. She gave a pulling motion, and then it was her turn for her mouth to stand agape. Fred gave both her tits mighty squeezes and rammed his body forward. Then the couple only glanced from time at the sprawled girl in the back seat. They had both the pleasure of watching Carla's rapture and the surging fulfillment of their own sex.
For Carla's part she had placed one leg languidly on the back of the front seat so that Donna's swollen melons hung over the soft fullness of her thigh. Carla's other stocking leg could be seen draped along the rear of the back seat. She was fully exposing her lower body to the attentions Mel was now showering on her with his own mouth and tongue.
Somehow, the slow pumping of Carla's spread thighs came to match the speed of the couple in the front seat. Carla's thigh massaged Donna's full breasts at the same pace that Fred's belly was now rotating on her back. His hands, too, were out of sight, but the slow up and down motion of his white shirted shoulders told that he was rubbing Donna's own thighs to the rhythm of rapture encompassing the participants.
This blending of visual, carnal passion erupted in a jerking scene in which one of Carla's hands reached out to smooth over Donna's swinging globes, while the other stroked at the unseen back of Mel's head. Donna hunched back to accept Fred's hammering final thrust. Fred clutched again at the swinging pendulums that were her tits as his trip hammer action depicted the emission he was imparting to the now rolling Donna.
The film ended at this point. But the film's ending produced the beginning of a nonscientific approach to sexual study for Peabody and Miss Chatterton.
"How can you watch this without flipping yourself," moaned Miss Chatterton looking for the first time at Peabody. The glance told her that he couldn't. He had his own organ in his hand and was masturbating. It was sex action, but not what Miss Chatterton had thought might take place. His stroking hand on his hardened penis shocked her.
"Morgan," she gasped, using Peabody's first name for the first time since the strange events of the day had tossed them together. "Morgan, don't go it alone like that! Take me with you! I need it!"
"Don't worry, Alice," he answered, also using her given name for the first time. "We'll share this. I'm just priming the pump a bit because I'm sure you're way ahead of me.
"Besides, I thought the shock value might overcome any last minute hesitancies you may have had."
"I haven't got any hesitancies," she said in a hushed voice, placing her own hand on that portion of his penis not already being squeezed and pumped by his own hand. Their fingers entwined about the shaft and joined in a slow, undulating rippling of the now fiery hot organ.
"Can you kiss the head?" he cooed in her ear which was now resting against his chest as she moved to his side.
She gave no response at all. Sliding her body lower, she pressed the glans to her lips in a soft kiss of endearment. She licked at it with her tongue, then French-kissed it, as though it was Peabody's tongue instead of his rock-hard organ in her mouth. She twined her tongue behind the head, deftly, lovingly.
He released his own hand from his organ to move his hands in a lingering series of strokes on her pounding throat and smooth cheeks.
He dipped his hands down the now puffed out front of her blouse to pump her breasts. She partially moved his immense organ from her mouth, only to dive back on it to regain her oral arousal.
"Kneel on the sofa beside me," he asked.
Still holding the shaft in the deepest parts of her mouth, she shifted to accommodate his request. His hands raised her skirt and caressed the downy skin that bulged slightly away from the band of the stocking. A probing finger nudged ahead to the now damp hump between her legs and massaged, through her nylon panties, the core of her passion.
"Morgan," she pleaded suddenly snapping his springing organ from her mouth, "be careful with me. I haven't had a man in years. I'll be tight."
"I know it," he calmed her. "I know it, don't worry."
"You're the first man who has made me feel this way since . . . since . . . " She couldn't complete the sentence.
"Since you saw your girl friend introduced to whoredom," Peabody said firmly, completing the unfinished thought. "Since you saw her beaten, flogged to the point that she accepted what you thought was the animal act of eating that big, leather togged whore."
She stiffened for an instant as the whole nightmare memory came back to her; only to relax again against him as his subtle fingering of her brought relief, and did away with the old fears.
"Since then," she said accepting the fact as he had so softly told it to her.
"You'll want men again after tonight," he whispered in her ear, moving her face once again close to his upright organ.
Just before she slipped her lips over the bulb, she sighed contentedly, "Yes, I will. I'll want you."
With that small statement of complete adoration, she plunged her lips and mouth down onto his shaft gulping at the love it proffered. He reached up above her swaying hips to tug at the elastic pressing belly. They came down to her knees and she twisted to help in their final removal and discard on the floor.
"Get up, Alice," he said after he had his fingers in her blast furnace slit, widening it with his probing, and tickling at the clit which stood small, but stiff, at the gateway to her tunnel.
She arose, once again lingering a moment before releasing his penis from the hot puckered lips.
"Kneel facing the screen," he said in a voice that both commanded and begged in the same instant. She did. Her legs rested on both sides of his hips which were now bare. He had slipped off his trousers and shorts.
"Hold my cock in your hands. Stroke it with your hands," he said.
"Oh, it's been so long . . . your cock is so long . . . it's been so long," she repeated in a pattern of vocal pleasure.
"Put the head against the lips of your pussy and massage yourself," he continued raising his hips to bring the two areas heated proximity.
She slipped it back and forth, like a huge, swollen finger in caresses that brought enraptured sighs from deep in her throat.
The fantastic feeling of his glans slithering just beyond the depths of her drove her into fantasy. She saw, in her sex raging mind, pictures of the whip handle which she had used in this manner only this morning. She saw a woman being lashed into a cowering position before the spread legs of an Amazon female. She saw men, hordes of men, ravishing one young girl in a Roman circus of lust.
But suddenly one picture blotted all the rest. The horrors fled from her mind as the deepest part of her subconscious brought forth the long forgotten, searing remembrance of the first one that ever made the dart like thrust past her pounding clit and into her deepest, most emotion packed, depths.
She remembered the young boy whom she had loved; his belly, pumping with love and passion, against her own as he had plunged himself to the hilt in his sexual statement of love.
Her legs went limp. She felt Peabody's penis slip hotly into her. She fell downward to meet his passion, to tear at her own.
"Fuck me," she moaned. "Fuck me," said a young girl's voice. Morgan Peabody, astute and practical even in love-making, had flipped the remote control to activate the camera just as Alice
Chatterton made her decision to return to the world by riding his organ to reality.
The timing was perfect. As Alice Chatterton pushed her weight down to give Peabody full admittance to her body, she cried out for his lust, and so did the girl's voice in the sound color movie which flashed on the screen. On the screen the girl's mouth flew open. The hard, lean belly of a boy rushed to meet her own rounded stomach in a clash of desires.
"Fuck me; oh, fuck me," begged the girl on the screen.
"Fuck me; oh fuck me," echoed Alice Chatterton in an almost lyrical counterpoint to the symphony of passions.
On the screen the girl, Carla, had her legs locked over the now clearly seen shoulders of Mel. Her hot thighs compressed her breasts, as his weight bore down on her. As he removed himself for another plunge, her legs followed the upward move of his shoulders and the flattened tits seemed to rise to follow the source of the girl's delight.
In the room, watching the movie, Alice and Morgan quickly matched their thorough arousal to the timing of the couple on the screen. Alice rose and fell, controlling the depth of his shattering plunging by the pace of her body. She felt her lover's hands pushing upward on her rotating, lunging buttock as he guided her to the stabbing, blinding joys their sex organs were producing for one another.
The girl on the screen suddenly hunched her shoulders forward so that her long arms could tear down the boy's back. She grabbed the hairy cheeks of his buttocks in her vice-like hands and pulled him into her to the limits of his depth.
"I'm coming!" Carla screamed. "I'm coming!"
Matched to the effort, almost as if directed by the girl's climax, Alice Chatterton gave a massive twitch as the head of Peabody's organ tweaked at the lips of her own vagina. Then she made the last plunge herself. His response was his own orgasm.
"I'm coming!" Alice Chatterton gasped. "I'm coming . . . I'm . . . I'm shooting all over! I'm spilling everything in me!
"I'm coming!"
CHAPTER Twelve THE GALLERY OF DELIGHT
When Carla K. failed to show up in English class that day, I waited until the last possible moment. Perhaps she had only been delayed getting a book or talking to a school friend in a passageway between classes.
When the class bell rang, I still delayed any action. I didn't want to upset our brief, but seemingly well founded, understanding of each other by placing one of those damnable little "T's" behind her name in the grade book to indicate a tardiness.
But the class period wandered on, aimlessly for me as I waited for her to make an entrance, until I had to officially note the tardiness. I think I was still hoping she would appear so that the final mark-at the end of the period-would not be an absence recording.
Listening with one ear to the students' recitations, and with the other for the door to open, I could only wonder why she was not in class.
The door did open finally and a little freshman girl bounced in to deliver some official school notifications, pick up a questionnaire I had filled out on my class program for the weekend my absent and tardy report.
I had seen this child-like girl before in freshman orientation assembly. Shiny faced, short bobbed red hair, that look of wonderment that all freshmen seemed to have as they entered this first major step. She was moving toward adulthood.
Her name was Betty. Betty what? I wondered. Betty somebody who would be taking sophomore English with me next year. I'd learn her name then.
Betty somebody, I thought to myself, don't give me the heartache that Carla is giving me. Be a good kid, make the grade.
I handed her the single tardy-absent I had to report that day Carla's. She smiled at me, shrugged knowingly as she took the little pink slip and glanced at the name.
Betty somebody, I said to myself once more, you're a smart one. You can tell I don't want to turn this in, can't you.
"Thank you," I said as much for her understanding as for her work in picking up all the little pink and white and green and yellow pieces of paper as she made her rounds.
"You're welcome," she answered softly. Whether she had held down her voice to avoid disturbing the studying students or to help me in overcoming my difficulty, I didn't know. I suspected it was the latter.
The clanging bell announced the end of the class. I was as much relieved as the students that we could get out for a moment's breath of fresh day.
Catching a quick cigarette, dragging its smoke into my lungs in an effort to loosen up, I found myself wishfully hoping that Carla had been ill. I pictured her sick and worried at home. Worried because she would be wondering how her absence-so early in the semester, might affect the rapport we had found.
I had to handle a class for another English teacher who had wanted to go downtown to do some shopping and needed both his lunch hour and a class period to handle the task. It meant that it was another hour before I could go into the administration office.
At the close of that class I headed swiftly for the office. I wanted to call Carla's home to see if she were sick. I needed proof that we had not already lost what had just started.
Walking into the office I passed the personnel desk where the day's absence and tardy slips built up in a small tray near Miss Chatterton's desk. The tray was empty. Miss Chatterton was not at her desk. I spotted the little freshman girl, Betty, and walked over to her.
"Haven't you turned in the absence slips yet, Betty?" I asked.
"Yes, there was only that one from your class, sir," she answered.
"Where is Miss Chatterton?" I continued.
"She left just after I came back from the rounds," Betty said. "She told the principal that she might have to be gone for the rest of the day."
My mind flashed back to those partially erased records, the sudden resurgence of good grades and attendance in Carla's file. Was there a connection? I'm not a believer in oddball circumstance. There was an obvious connection. I decided against making that telephone call to Carla's home. I knew she wouldn't be there.
* * *
Carla wasn't at home, nor were Donna, Mel and Fred-even though all their teachers' had sent in absence slips on them. They were in a wooded area on the outskirts of the city drinking cokes and pondering just where fate-and Miss Chatterton-was directing their lives.
"Wow," said Donna, "that was wild this morning. She never whipped us like that before. She was wild."
"You can bet my hot ass on that," laughed Fred still recalling the stinging lashing Miss Chatterton had delivered on his rear.
"But what about old Peabody showing up with the camera?" asked Mel. "How do you suppose he figures in on this? And what the hell are those two doing now?"
"All I can say," injected Carla, "Is that our little bunch is in hot water and I'm scared stiff."
"What do you mean?" asked Donna in a timorous voice. "They won't tell on us. Miss Chatterton sure as hell can't. Peabody has her in that picture, too."
"You don't suppose they'd try to blackmail us, do you?" put in Fred in a worried voice.
"What the hell have we got to pay blackmail with?" shrugged Mel. "Unless they want that shotrod VW of mine."
"I don't think it's blackmail," said Carla firmly. "If that were the case he would have put it to us right there when he had us all bare assed in the bedroom. No there's something else to it. But I don't know what it is."
"Can we do anything?" asked Mel looking once again to Carla for the imaginative guidance she had so often provided him in the past.
"We've got to stick together, that's for sure," said Carla. "And I think I know someone who would help us . . . my English professor."
The other three gasped at the suggestion of going to a teacher with their sexual involvement.
"You're kidding," said Donna.
"Aw, come on now-a teacher?" said Fred.
"Let her talk," said Mel. "She's not going to screw us all up. I want to hear what you've got to say, Carla."
"Well," she started, "first of all, I've already told him about me . . . the rape . . . the love-making . . . the whole ball of wax."
"Good grief," emitted Donna, "everything?"
"Everything," answered Carla in a pointed manner. "He knows all about all you-but not by names."
"I'll bet that tossed him," said Fred.
"No," responded Carla. "he just said we ought to work together to overcome the problem through understanding. I believe him and I think he would listen to all of us."
"I'm game," said Mel at once assured by the sincerity and belief in Carla's voice.
Fred and Donna looked at each other. Each waited for the other to take some stand on what suggestion. Mel and Carla moved closer together facing the yet undecided couple.
"I guess we have to," said Donna slowly. "You are right. We've got to stick together."
CHAPTER Thirteen THE WORD IS OUT
I was home working on class papers after supper when the telephone rang. It was Carla who had placed the call. She was acting as spokesman for the four youngsters.
"If I were just talking for myself," she said over the line, "I'd tell you what this is all about, but I'm representing three good friends so the telephone isn't safe.
"May we come over tonight?"
I looked at the stack of papers to be marked. A long talk with some upset students would surely mean pots of black coffee for me and little sleep. But what would neat grades on papers mean years from now. These kids obviously needed help right away. They could come over, I told Carla.
"Thanks," she murmured. "We do need help."
They arrived in a matter of minutes. They must have driven nearly to my rented house in the suburbs to make the telephone call. It reassured me a little to think that Carla must have been fairly certain that I would again try to work with her.
They clustered closely together in the living room, when I admitted them, unsure of themselves except for Carla who stood looking straight at me.
I motioned for them to sit down, lit a cigarette-offered them cigarettes when their nervous need became apparent-and waited for Carla to tell me what had happened. I was certain it would be Carla, as I looked at the others. Mel sat in my large, overstuffed chair looking more at his own twisting feet and hands than at anything on the floor where his eyes were directed. Fred sat near, but not touching Donna. Both of them stared fixedly at Carla.
Carla fed it to me from the hip, not letting pass a single detail.
She told of the phone call from Donna that had taken her from the path we had both sought for her. She told of the demands she had made on Fred and Donna-the unwanted blow job that had been more than repaid in tortuous act of sodomy inflicted upon Carla by Donna in repayment-of Miss Chatterton's arrival-the floggings that had aroused Donna's ardors to the point that she had offered, voluntarily, to do one of the once abhorred acts with Fred.
The flash gun illuminated entrance of Morgan Peabody, the social science instructor, consummated Carla's knowledge of the events-and left me puzzled.
"What," I asked, "was his angle?"
"That's what we don't know," said Carla. "That's where we really need help. Will you help?"
"My answer was to step directly to my own telephone and place a call to Morgan Peabody.
A woman's voice answered. It wasn't a hunch that made me say, "Miss Chatterton? I'd like to speak to Morgan." I knew the woman had to be the record covering personnel office worker.
"Who?" came the response reflecting a surprised gasp.
"Let's not fool around Miss Chatterton," I said tersely. "Standing right here in my house are Carla, Donna, Mel and Fred.
"You'd best let me talk to Morgan."
"Yes," she answered. I could almost see her shoulders sag, the tremor in her hands, the sap flow out of her. It made me think of Carla's visions as she telephonically commanded the orgy earlier in the day between Fred and Donna.
"This is Morgan," a man's voice suddenly came on the line.
"Get your picture taking, dirty minded ass over here right now," I muttered. "You and Miss Chatterton have got some damned explaining to do."
"I quite agree," Morgan Peabody replied assuredly. "We'll be over as soon as we can get dressed."
"Dressed?" I cried.
"Yes, you puritanical son-of-a-bitch. Dressed. And if you're really trying to help those four kids hold your contentious tones down until we can get over there to explain things."
"I'll be waiting," I countered.
They, too, arrived, quickly.
"It didn't seem to take you too long to get dressed," I said curtly admitting them.
"We only had our pants off," Peabody smiled. "That was all that was important at the time."
If he meant to be jocular, it fell short of the mark so far as I was concerned. Here were four kids in apparent trouble and he was making jokes. I never felt so like knocking a man on his butt in my life.
"Look," said Peabody. "You're edgy. You've got those mixed up kids and you don't know the whole story."
"Let's have it then without the comics," I said shortly.
He did and Miss Chatterton, standing close to him holding his arm defensively, backed it up. Their sincerity, their acknowledgment that the scientific aspects could be lost in a more carnal delineation of the facts, made me believe them.
"I think letting these youngsters face up to the realities will unfetter them," Peabody ended his explanation. "It did wonders for Alice. She will be normal from now-or at least as normal-as we want to be together.
He seemed to want to fully convince me, to obtain my acquiescence if not my acceptance of his work. He told me of his careful documentation, of a federal resources grant he had been awarded to fund his project.
"Wait here," he finally said. "I'm going back to my place and bring over some of the film, the documents, the grant award."
He left quickly, leaving Miss Chatterton-almost like a hostage-and the four youngsters. A few minutes later the telephone rang once more.
Morgan Peabody's voice was on the line. For the first time it was neither calm or assured. It trembled.
"Someone has broken in and stolen a lot of the films while I was at your place," he said. His voice sounded defeated.
CHAPTER Fourteen WHEN A GIRL CAN'T GO STRAIGHT
The six of us hopped into my wagon and drove to Peabody's burglarized apartment. Street signs, street lights, cars, whatever conversation took place in my car all became a blur. I don't think any of the others could think clearly, either, during the short run.
Who were the thieves? But more important, did they know what they stolen from the social science instructor's apartment? Were they after the thousands of feet of film and the other thousands of still photos he had taken of the sexual activities of the four youngsters now huddled silently in the back seat? Or was their loot just something they had lucked into?
Either situation hardly made any big difference to us at that point. No matter why the film was taken, it was now in the hands of the wrong people, that was for sure.
Peabody may have regarded the footage as scientific material, but its new owners would see it as the world would see it-raw pornography. Dirty movies and dirty pictures depicting the most depraved sexual acts. Stag films to be shown at smokers. Coarse laughter would be the background to the twining bodies of young boys and girls. There would be no methodical scientific relationship to the observation-only the vulgarity, the sensual enjoyment of the lewd acts in which these full-bodied young people had involved themselves.
It was a wide open invitation to blackmail at the least; worse, if the holders of the film wanted it to be so.
We entered the apartment in a mass when we arrived. The living room and kitchen showed little of the thieves' work. A tipped over, empty whiskey bottle lay on the kitchen counter and there was an obvious empty area where Peabody had kept more bottles. The burglars wouldn't be casting any sober eyes on the films, that was apparent.
Peabody stood, sloop-shouldered, looking at us. as we glanced about the room. His masterful voice had left him. He could only point with a limp hand in the direction of the hallway-the hallway Miss Chatterton knew well, but with which the rest of us had not yet become acquainted.
Entering the hallway, I think the four youngsters and myself were so appalled at the destruction that we at first missed the explicitly sexual tenor of the ripped, smashed and torn motif. The passage was a shambles of tipped over tables, picture frames swinging askew on the walls with their paintings or pictures ripped agape. Glass dangled or lay dangerously about and we had to step carefully for fear of tripping over the pieces of fallen statuary.
The two or three relatively undamaged pictures, the entwined forms of a pair of marble lovers and the large statue of the masturbating girl quickly brought home to us the impact of Peabody's gallery of sexual erotica. As his possessions, they had obviously reflected his taste and the affect upon his private life of his studies into sexual behavior. As destroyed or damaged objects they were merely trash.
Peabody had indicated we should all go into the bedroom. There he and Miss Chatterton had earlier in the evening found release and freedom from old fears. As we passed the phallic lamp at the end of the hall, Miss Chatterton let out an audible gasp. The shade had been yanked off and tossed against a wall. A painting of a young woman, her eyes closed in some final ecstasy, had been jammed down over the head of the lamp so that the bulb and much of the rod itself split open the mouth of the girl in the painting in a vandal's form of oral copulation.
"The bedroom," murmured Peabody weakly. "The bedroom."
We walked in slowly and were all aghast at this place of ultimate destruction. The fine movie projector, the expensive sound system, the satin covered bed-all were laid waste. Knife slashes or cruel blows had left only a tangle of jumbled materials.
On the floor were more tangles of movie film, hopelessly crimped, crumpled and twisted. Photographs were spilled about like tossed playing cards Peabody's study notes, his notepads were strewn about in crumpled wads or torn shreds.
A large photo lay face up near the stand on which the movie camera rested. It was Carla stretched out between Fred and Mel, her head thrown back, her arms out and her legs distended as the boys applied fingers and laving tongues to the most intimate parts of her taut body.
"It looks like they just wanted to destroy more than to steal," I said hopefully to Peabody, desperately thinking that maybe nothing had been taken-but knowing I was wrong.
"I've checked it over roughly," he stated flatly. "I'd say that two-thirds of all the movie film and the still photos are missing. They must have looked at this, smashed the place up in a fit of unreleased passion, then took off with the remainder."
"They behaved like animals," said Miss Chatterton in a pained, soft tone.
"What will they do with the stuff?" questioned Mel.
"I don't know what will be done with it," said Carla. "But I know what all this has done for me."
Everyone stood still, wondering in their own way, just what she had meant. She continued, in the firm tones of her own knowledge, to explain.
"I've made a miserable mess of my life so far," she said. "We all know what we were doing in those pictures. We all know, too, that we did a lot more that Mr. Peabody didn't catch with his camera.
"I've had it," she said looking pointedly at me. "I told you I wanted to change. I really meant it, but I slipped back into the old pattern when Donna and Fred got me going this morning. I don't blame them, but I'm through.
"I felt fresh last night, I slept. I dreamed wonderful dreams of a real life, not of sexual nightmares. This morning before all this started I felt like a young girl again. I want to be that young girl from now on. I want to respect myself."
Her manner told more plainly than her words that Carla meant every word she had said. Inwardly, I smiled acceptance. There might be problems, but somehow she would attain her goal, I knew.
I knew it, that is, until the telephone suddenly jangled bringing us back to the moment and not to the future. Peabody walked over to the beside telephone and picked it up. He listened for only a fraction of a second before his face blanched and he nearly fell to a sitting position on the rumpled bed.
He tried to say something, but although his lips moved in a trembling fashion, nothing came out. His adams apple slid nervously up and down his throat as he took in deep gulps of air. The sweat suddenly popped out on his forehead.
I walked to him and took the phone from his listless, limp hand and placed it to my ear.
". . .a fuck party like those little sweeties with the big titties have never had before, Ol' buddy, buddy," said a drink thickened voice. "We're gonna show the movies while they screw everyone of us. Then we're going to show them some tricks that'll make 'em shit."
"Who is this?" I interrupted the foul mouthed drunk.
"Who is this?" came the caustic response. "You one of them guys in the fuck movies? We ain't invitin' you to the party, pal. Just the girls. You can go stick yours in a knothole while we're playing in those little hot twats."
"Who the hell is this?" I demanded.
"Well, if you'd really like to know we're the guys who just visited that screwy-dewy movie house of yours-that's who we are," the voice (I nipped. "Why, do you want to call the cops on us?"
"Look," I said trying to sound as reasonable as I could in the face of this none-faced tormentor, "no one is going to call the cops. Let's try to make some sense out of this business.
"Did you know that what you took was really film of a technical nature. That it was being used to provide academic background for a professor's life study, his life work?"
"You mean them fuck movies?" laughed the person at the other end of the line.
"Alright, fuck movies if that's what you want to call them," I snapped, "but they are also of a very practical nature and they could mean help to society, if they are properly interpreted by scholars, specialists in the area of human behavior."
"Fuck movies could do all that, huh?" said the voice.
"Yes," I answered taking a deep breath to hold back from telling this ass what I really thought of him.
"You know what I think those movies and pictures do?"
"They give me a hard-on for those little pussies in them," he shouted roughly. I could hear laughter, coarse laughter, sweep over the room from which the man was calling.
"Listen," he continued, "we took your pussy pictures and copied down your phone number so we could call you to talk about them."
"So, all right," I said trying to gain some rapport with this lout. "Let's talk. You obviously want to bargain. What do you want to return the films and pictures?"
There was dead silence. I couldn't even hear the man breathe.
"What do you want to return the stuff?" I repeated.
"The girls," he answered in a voice that had suddenly lost its drunken quality. I could picture his eyes slitted cruelly, his mouth tight as he spat out the two words.
It was at just this moment-while the unseen caller and I wrestled for control of the situation with our silence-that Donna asked clearly, "Who is that?"
She couldn't have timed it worse. Even as I heard the background laughter from his end of the line, he heard her voice from my end.
"Hey, you got those little hot pantsers there with you right now. haven't you?" the caller nearly shouted. "Put her on the line. I want to talk to her."
"She doesn't want to talk," I said trying to stave him off.
"She'll talk if she knows what's good for her," he said harshly. "You and me are through talking, pal. Put the cunt on."
"No," I said firmly. "You and I will talk. Leave the girls out of it."
"Look, pal," he said with a rasp in his voice that literally hacked at me over the telephone. "Right now, I don't know who you are or who your little whores are, but I do know your phone number. I sure as hell know where you live. I can find anything I want to know about you. I can turn a few of these shots over to the cops, and they would probably like to have a long talk with you.
"And those two broads are high school age so all I do is pass around those pictures until I find out who they are-you think little sweet ass would like that kind of a check-up?
"You put that broad on the phone-catch?"
It was the biggest barrel I had ever been over in my life. No matter what happened Donna and Carla were screwed.
The caller knew it, too. There was no suggestion or request in his tone now-only command-as he said again, "Let me talk to the cunt!"
Now it was my turn to mentally and physically sag, as Peabody had earlier. There was nothing really left to do. I handed the telephone to Donna.
"It's one of the burglars," I said lamely. "He wants to talk to you."
Donna stared wide eyed as she accepted the telephone. I walked to the far corner of the room and stared down at the mess at my feet. It contained the photo I had seen earlier among the wreckage; the one of Fred and Mel working over Carla. The significance of seeing the picture, and knowing the demands that would probably be made upon the girls by the burglars, wasn't lost on me. I wondered if Carla's face would reflect rapture or pain when, not two, but, an entire gang of aroused, cruel roughnecks would be doing the same thing to her.
Donna's voice interrupted my reflective mood as she said, in a voice overpowered by the threats of exposure she, too, must have heard: "We'll meet you in front in fifteen minutes."
She turned to Carla, stretched her palms upward in a gesture of surrender, and said, "I told them we would go with them, and do what they wanted, if they would return the film. It was the only thing I could say, Carla. They've got us where it hurts."
I looked at Carla. I remembered her as she stood before us in this same room and renounced her licentiousness. I remembered that she had slipped back after our conference in the office.
Watching her idly raise a hand to her breast, casually moving it in a circular manner, I knew she was going back again to the most abysmal pits of depravity.
Could this girl ever get out of the snarl she had put herself into? Tonight, I knew, was not going to be the night to find the answer.
"Do they want me, too?" Miss Chatterton said in a quizzical manner.
We had all forgotten that she, too, was on film.
"They don't know about you," put in Peabody finding his voice at last. "I never shot you in any of those pictures. Today was the first time you had ever taken an active role in the sex play. That film is still undeveloped and in the camera case in the back of my car."
"I'll go if you want me to," Miss Chatterton said.
"No," said Carla. "No . . . this is a monkey on our backs. Let's ruin as few people as we have too."
Peabody looked gratefully at Carla, then moved to Alice Chatterton's side. "I want to thank you for that," Peabody said. "Maybe when this whole mess is cleared up, we'll be able to do as much for you."
Carla merely smiled at him, still stroking her breast in a careless, heedless manner. She gave no answer, only stood there before us like some creature who had wandered out of its own jungle. She suddenly gave her breast a tight squeeze and, looking at Donna, said, "C'mon, Donna, let's go get us fucked."
I was stunned by the break between this girl and the one whom I knew to be completely different. Even Peabody and Miss Chatterton could only move more closely together as they, Mel, Fred and I, watched Carla lead the way from the bedroom. A door closed. Carla and Donna were gone to their fate.
I looked out of the bedroom window, down onto the street, and saw the two young girls walk out onto the sidewalk. They stood talking to each other.
Watching them, wondering what they could find to talk about at so momentous an occasion, I didn't notice the headlights of two older sedans moving slowly down the street until the autos had doors opened on both cars and four men moved in around the girls.
One of the men pulled a white square from inside his jacket. He showed it to the girls. I could hear the men's rumbling laughter. It must have been one of the photographs the gang had stolen. He was either showing it to the girls to prove he, and the rest of his pack, had the films-or he was going to make one of the girls perform for him as she had in the photograph.
The man stuffed the picture awkwardly back in his jacket. It fell through the bloused opening onto the sidewalk and then fluttered into the gutter.
The girls talked for a moment more, then moved toward the open doors of one of the cars. The men had different ideas. It was plain that they wanted one girl to a car rather than all the charms of their bodies resident in only one car.
The girls split up and got into separate autos. The men pushed and shoved to crowd into the back seats with them. The doors slammed shut. The cars roared swiftly away leaving a sinister silence on the street.
I left the apartment, walked down the stairs and onto the sidewalk to the site of the action I had just witnessed. I stooped and picked up the photograph from the gutter and looked at it.
Carla's face smiled at me, smiled at me as she sat astride a rock-hard organ aiming it straight at her vagina. Lord, no, I said.
CHAPTER Fifteen
INVITATION TO HELL
Carla was shoved into the rear seat by a pair of hands firmly planted on the soft, giving portions of her hips. As she stumbled forward, a man sitting in the car caught her by the hair and pulled her face to his. He planted a slobbering, full mouthed kiss on her lips, forcing her own mouth open with his tongue.
The hands on her hips swept down the outside curves of her thighs, then started upward again bagging the miniskirt ahead of them to bare her legs to view. Another rough hand began rubbing her spread crotch like a pitcher breaking in a new baseball.
Her shoulders wrenched as, still clutched in a ravenous kiss, her blouse was ripped from her shoulders. The hand mauling the slitted opening to her body, now rose to pull down her panties.
This was going to be all hard, battering, buffeting sex, she knew. The only pleasure to be had would be obtained by the men. Her only role was to supply the flesh to appease their lusts.
The skirt was tugged off. Her bra was unhooked and slipped off her shoulders. A last snapping button and her blouse gave way to a furious tug on what remained of the torn garment. Her breasts plummeted downward as all the restraints of her clothing were removed.
"Man, look at the jugs on the honey," hissed a voice. "Let me get my hands on them and I'll turn her on like a light bulb."
The man who had been French-kissing her pulled his wet mouth away. Bragging her by the shoulders, he raised her higher until the ripe young breasts dangled before his face. He stuffed one into his mouth until his lips were pressed against the fullness of her chest. He sucked its fullness, then let it slowly unfold from his hot mouth. Finally, only the tip of a firm nipple remained between his lips, and he tickled it with the point of his tongue. Carla squirmed with the pleasure she had doubted would be hers in this black night. He crunched down on the sweet tip with his teeth.
She screamed in pain and surprise.
"Shit, baby," he laughed raucously. "If something like that hurts you, you're going to really howl when we get you up to the cabin."
Carla had fallen forward when he released his chomping teeth, and now she gasped again as a stabbing finger penetrated her. The finger probed to its fullest length in her body.
"Bet a girl like you can take more than one finger," said a voice. "Wanna try for two?"
She could feel the finger being extracted quickly. The hand moved forward again. She knew he had inserted two fingers into the throbbing channel because he spread them once inside and stretched the pliable private part of her body.
"Bet if you turn her over on her back she could take three," chuckled another voice from the dark depths of the car.
She was mauled about so that she sat on the seat, her shoulders nearly down to the seat, her neck twisted against the back of the seat.
"She's got to be opened to take three," said the voice. "You guys in front grab her ankles and spread her out."
More hands grabbed her stockinged ankles-she still had on her panty girdle, stockings and shoes.
"Hell, that's wide enough for four," laughed a man looking over the back of the front seat. "Give her four. Give her four."
"Look at this, baby," said one of the ruffians poking four fingers in front of her face. "Watch me give you a four-finger fuck."
He moved the hand inside of her knee, then slowly let it slide down the nerve rasped softness of her inner thigh. He squeezed the meatiness and jiggled her thigh until she shook. His playfulness brought shrieks of laughter from the men. Carla could only look down over the mounds of her breast at his sliding hand, at its nearness to the twisted mound of hair between her legs.
He spread his fingers as he neared the mound she presented him so that both her thighs received the tapping of his flying fingers. Then he pointed his fingers together and drove them into her.
She groaned. The pain, and there was pain, was exquisite. Her knees involuntarily dropped apart and she pushed down with her own body to receive the cruel, manual sex play.
"Hey, the cunt-likes it," called a voice. "She really-likes it. Drive it home. Drive it home."
The probing paw was half withdrawn and then plunged back into the yielding tissue. She grasped a man's arm that crushed beside her and groaned again.
"You got it spread that good," muttered a sinister voice, "See if you can pull her clit out in the open. I hear the damned things look just like a dinky hard-on."
The hand, buried now to the third knuckles in her body, pried her open even further. A second hand wept cross her leg. She could feel a thumb and forefinger touching her clitoris-the quivering center of her now aroused passions.
"Give it a tug," commanded a man. "I'll bet it'll come right out in the open."
The massaging movement of the prying finger and thumb suddenly ended with a claw-like drag on her clit. Again pain. Again she screamed.
"Let's let honey relax till we get her out of town," suggested one of the men. "She knows now what she's going to get."
"Okay with me," replied another man. "I never did like to fuck in a car anyway."
"Here, sweetheart," mockingly cooed a voice. "Lean back and we'll just make you feel good for a while."
"Yeah," snarled another voice, "make her feel good. Rub her tits and belly for her. She won't yowl then."
The men in the seat with her closed in around Carla, compressing her body with their weight. Hands massaged her breasts, tweaked gently at her nipples, slid slowly from her buttock up the back of her thigh to the bend at the back of her knee. Another hand moved casually among the curves and softness of her throat, jaw and cheeks.
From the front seat, an arm extended and fingers tugged at the mass of her pubic hairs. The pain was forgotten in the erotic moments of being fondled by so many hands. Carla mewed, cat-like, at the attentions being showered on the most intimate portions of her body.
"That's it pussy, purr for us," said a voice.
* * *
In the other car, Donna was faring hardly better than Carla's first rough treatment.
She, too, was roughly stripped. Her feminine charms were crudely handled by clutching hands. Her moist channel split by driving fingers.
There had been a short argument about whether to let her keep on her panty girdle and stockings. Some of her tormentors demanded they remain for the sensuousness they added the dark straps and stockings countering the peach-like pinkness of her skin as it shone bare in passing street light illuminations.
But one of the men, bigger and brawnier than the rest, ended the argument.
"Hell, I ain't no fairy," he grunted. "When I fuck, I want my woman naked assed. I don't need no fruitery to get me hot. Strip her off or I'll clean up the whole mess of you bastards."
Donna's body was jerked harshly as the man's companions hastened to do his bidding. The popping garter straps cut at her legs and the belt snapped her as the men fumbled with it in the darkness. The strappings, harsh against her tender hips and belly and thighs, reminded her of the lash in Miss Chatterton's hands earlier in the day.
"God," she thought, "these apes are actually going to make me love this-and they won't even know it."
The snapping and popping of the straps against her flesh more than offset the discomfort caused as the men wrenched her undergarments from her body. Donna moaned in pleasure, but the men mistook her throaty sounds for pain and relished the added novelty of what they thought was her discomfort.
The stripping completed, they made her sit up straight in the back seat so they could gape at the delights her body offered. A hand kneaded one breast into a ball and constricted it until the pinkness of the globe began to turn to red. Then the hand twisted and Donna drew in her breath quickly.
"Here, baby," said the big man who had demanded she be stripped entirely. "You've seen one of these before."
He had unzipped himself and held his nearly stiffened organ in his hand. It nodded slightly, not quite to full erection.
"You know what it's for . . . use it," he commanded.
Donna looked at the immense organ, fully ten inches in length and nearly two inches in diameter . . . and it wasn't even fully distended yet. She tentatively palmed it in her hand and began a slow masturbation, slipping her hand to the hairs at its base. It grew frighteningly in response to her action.
Now stiff and gleaming, even in the crowded darkness of the back seat of the car, the penis seemed to soar, gaining length and a rock like hardness. Donna drew her free hand across her brow to push her sweat damp hair back out of her eyes. Leaning forward she dangled her own moist breasts over it and idly knocked the head against her unfolded breasts. She struck harder with it and found she could achieve a definite arousal by flaying herself with the gigantic cock.
The man was staring at her greedily trying to drink in every naked inch of her.
"Get on top," he ordered slouching down in the seat.
She obeyed, spreading her legs on either side of his body.
"I like that when you beat your tits with it," he growled. "Try it on your legs."
Donna lowered her hand to the base of the gargantuan organ which was now at its full capacity. She skinned down the foreskin revealing the purplish hued glans to full view. She beat it from side to side on her inner thighs, lashing with it.
She was still flogging herself with it when the man grabbed her soft hips and plunged her downward on it. He denied her nothing. It slithered to the hilt in one plunge. She tried to pull up but his strong, vice like hands held her in place. The plunge had completed his wishes. He was ejaculating madly into her on the single stroke.
He was still holding her minutes later when the car pulled to a stop in a well lighted driveway. The throbbing of his drawn out ejaculation had finally triggered her own flow. They were frozen like the marble statues in Peabody's apartment in what could have been a never ending tableau of copulation.
A man's head poked into the car.
"Hey," he chortled, "what we got here?"
"What we got here," said Donna's rapist, "is cunt. How about it? You got The Palace ready for us?"
"You bet I have," answered the man whose head was poked through the window. "Got it all ready right after you guys called and said you had a party set up for tonight."
"How about it?" said a man in the front seat. "Same deal as before. We get it for free if you get to join in "
"Sure," laughed the man who was devouring Donna's shapely body with his looks at her. "I always say if the little lady wants to pay with pussy, instead of cash, it's okay by me."
"Hop in, and we'll drive back," said the driver.
The motel owner opened the back door and got into the already crowded back seat. He ran a calloused hand under Donna's bare buttock and squeezed the cheek.
"Leave her alone," said the man who still had his organ rammed hard into her belly. "I'm still coming."
Donna, crouched over his fully clothed body, moaned confirmation that he was indeed still ejaculating deep in her. His throbbing shaft had not stopped pumping into her.
I must, she thought in her sex heated mind, have a quart of it now. How can he squirt so long?
The car, now followed by the one which contained Carla and her rapists, moved slowly past several rows of one story bungalows then came to a stop in a dark area at the farthest limit of the motel grounds.
In Carla's car, the man who had originally French-kissed her glanced down at her. She had, for perhaps five minutes, been accepting the various manipulations the men had imposed on her. Her head was moving in slow sweeps from side to side as she nodded her approval and delight with the treatments being given the various personal parts of her body.
"Time to get up, baby," said the man. He reached over her head to grab her breasts in his fists. She yelped at the change of pace and sat up to save the agony of his pulling on her breasts.
"Whooeeee," yelled a man in the front seat. "It's party time at The Palace."
All of the doors opened on the two autos like floodgates emitting a stream of humanity instead of water. The naked bodies of the two girls were nearly hidden by the crowd of men getting out of the cars. Only a flash of white skin leaked through the crowd of dark clothed men.
Carla, now being pinched on alternate cheeks of her smooth buttock, glanced about. She counted at least twelve men, maybe more. She couldn't know for sure because the crowd pushed her along, actually flowed her along, to whatever they were calling, The Palace. By the gruff laughter, and hard slaps she was getting all over her body she knew that this palace might be fit for a king-but definitely not for a queen.
The motel owner stood at the door of the largest bungalow in the court and fumbled with the luck. His trembling hands betrayed the excitement which tingled through his whole body in anticipation of the forthcoming party.
Donna was being held by two men, both of them slipping their free hands anyplace they chose on her nude body. Carla was pressed between four men, one in each direction. Hands, fingers, mouths worked over her, searching out each curve, each crevice, each charm she had bared to their desires and lusts.
Finally, the door opened and the entire group swarmed like bees into The Palace. It was party time.
CHAPTER Sixteen PARTY TIME IN THE PALACE
The mob poured into the room. There was no delay in setting the theme for the party.
A rough shove from behind landed Donna on a pile of satiny soft pillows halfway across the room. She fell and a man plummeted like a tumbler to start things-or at least, Donna-rolling.
She was on her belly on the pillows, and as she tried to get up a man, well prepared by his having watched her in the car, scrambled behind her and plunged his rod into her. He hadn't removed his trousers. The zipper on his pants ground her raw, while he twisted and shoved his organ in rending plunges that drew howls of pain and pleasure from her.
Carla, second to enter the room, saw only the briefest view of Donna's attack because she, too, was sent spinning with a heavy clout on the back of the head. She landed on her side on a couch. Two men grabbed her legs and jerked them backward until her toes touched the couch above her head.
"There's your target, boys," guffawed one of the men clutching her, "who wants to sink his pole into that?"
Carla could easily look down between her stretched legs. She grabbed the side of the sofa cushion in terror, as she saw three men, all with their trousers down around their legs, scuffling to be first to penetrate her. Not one, but three male organs, their glans glistening, were pointed directly at her crotch.
One of the men, a loser, was pushed roughly onto her aching thigh-and out of position. The other two attempted to insert their organs into her. Both red, bulbous heads probed for the better position. Suddenly, she felt the first sharp jab beyond the lips of her vagina that told her one had won out.
"Dammit," said the final loser, "you nearly tore me apart."
"I'll sweeten it up for you to make things even," grinned the man above Carla who was now pumping his tool savagely into her.
"Maybe she'll be nice to me up at this end," said the man who had lost out for the pole position. He shoved the man holding Carla's legs aside, and sat beside her so that his penis applied pressure to her soft throat. He held her leg back, as the first man had been doing, so that there would be no interference for his friend who was laying her.
"Want to be nice, honey?" he cooed. "like to take it in the mouth and make me feel good?"
The savagely grinding organ in her, rough and terrifying as it was, was producing a growing sense of arousal in Carla. She cast a heavy lidded look at the shaft rubbing against her neck. She twisted her head, licked her lips, and gave it a slow tonguing.
"Hey, now," said the man who was receiving her oral attention, "you sure live up to the advance billing we got out of those movies."
He groped for his organ with his free hand and raised it so that the plum-like head swept Carla's lips. She opened her mouth wide and accepted him. "Ooooooh," he moaned. "You're a doll."
In a fit of sexual activity-time had lost all meaning for both of the girls-the first round of the party was accomplished. The men, thoroughly aroused, could only rush on and off the girls, spending themselves quickly and moving rapidly out of the way to make room for the next attacker.
One man, pulling his reddened shaft from Carla's now puffed and swollen vagina, looked about in a satisfied manner and chuckled to no one in particular. "Everybody had it once?"
Murmurs of approval came from all areas of the room as the men signified at least one satisfactory act with the girls.
"Let's booze it up a little," suggested another man. "Maybe the girls will do a little show for us to get us ready to go again."
"Hey, great idea," shouted another waving a nearly empty whiskey bottle. "Let's have 'em do us a show."
"You sweeties got any good ideas for a show?" grinned one of the men in the crowd. "Maybe something a little unusual."
"How about girl meets girl?" called a voice.
"How about that?" laughed someone else.
"Yeah, girl meets girl," howled yet another. "You gals know how to do that?"
Carla and Donna, numbed by their experiences, could only stare dumbly at the men. Neither had ever participated in a lesbian act.
"Guess we'll have to give them some acting lessons," said one of the two men taking the girls by their arms and heading toward the bedroom.
"Not in there," warned another. "Have them do it out here on the floor. We want to save the bedroom for later."
"Okay," agreed the man guiding Donna and Carla, "you're right. We'll save the best for last."
He pulled the two girls harshly to the center of the living room area. The other men gathered in a circle about them. Their eyes feasted on the nude girls who stood nervously on either side of their captor.
"So you don't know how girls meet girls?" he asked, leering first into one girl's face, then the other's.
"N-n-n-no," stammered Donna. Carla shrugged her lack of knowledge.
"Well," he smiled, "it's just like boy meets girl. You give each other a big hot kiss."
Both the girls gasped in unison at what they were going to be forced to do.
"Oh, no," wailed Carla trying to pull away. Donna was also wrenching her arm, desperately trying to dodge the now obvious "show" the men had in mind.
Two men rose from the circle to help the man holding the girls. They clasped the girls' heads firmly and forced them to push their mouths together. But neither girl actually kissed. They just stood, held in this unnatural position.
Another man rose and slipped his belt from his trousers. He stepped behind Donna and lashed her bare butt with the leather belt. The blow provided an unexpected result for the onlookers.
Donna, who had earlier that day discovered the wonderous joys of flogging, responded to the man's cracking belt by emitting a low guttural moan from deep in her throat and sagging helplessly backward to receive the rapturous sting again.
"More," she whispered removing her mouth from Carla's.
Perplexed, the man with the belt delivered another cutting blow with the leather. Donna wrapped her arms freely around Carla now so that she could support her position. To the men it appeared she had accepted the idea of making love to her girl friend.
The belt descended in yet another sweep and Donna's passions became inflamed as she yielded to pleasure. When the man who had been holding her head once again pushed her lips to Carla's and hissed, "Tongue her," Donna opened her mouth to a wide angle to comply-anything just so the blissful strapping would continue.
Donna's gaping mouth brought forth in Carla the first nerve endings tingle of sensuality. She slowly opened her mouth to receive Donna's passion driven tongue. Then she returned the tongue with her own, licking Donna's cheeks on the inside as she had done so many times before-but with men.
"Now a little tittie feeling to get better acquainted," commanded their director. He placed a hand of each girl under the breast of the other and wagged them to make the now swelling melons ripen. He even had them just touch each other's nipples to spread the roseate glow surrounding the hardening little nipples.
Now inspired, the girls pressed their bellies tight together and ground their flesh into sweaty adhesiveness. Their pubic hairs meshed in a crazy jigsaw puzzle and the sweat spread and glistened on their thighs.
"Now a little fingering," chuckled the man who was now directing the girls like a practiced maestro. They obediently reached between each others legs to administer, by hand, to the growing needs of their partner.
The crowd shouted their enjoyment of the debauchery, and Carla was somewhat surprised when the men parted she and Donna; until she saw what was next to happen.
The men placed the girls so that they were in a sitting position facing each other. Then they pulled on the two sets of lithe legs until the girls were prone, their legs spread, and their vagina in hot and immediate contact.
"Spread the lips" hooted a man who seemed to know how the details of the girls lesbianism should be handled. "They'll go out of their skulls."
Rough fingers hastened between the girls' legs to lie open the inner linings of their delicate sex organs. Then other hands pushed down on their hips to force together the two girls. The girls, now fully aroused, accomplished the remainder of this part of the show-they bumped and ground as if they were trying to ram their tiny clits into the other partner. They were at full passion-or so they thought.
"That's enough getting acquainted," suddenly snapped their director. "Let's get right down to it now."
Once again the girls were pulled apart by excited, rough hands. Both girls groaned their reluctance to give up this new delight, but the men placed them, prone still, face to face but with their feet in opposite directions.
"Let's have one last Frenchie," demanded their mentor.
The girls kissed hard and full, each enjoying the salty taste and hot, probing tongue of the other.
"Now kiss down," the man said, satisfied that the girls would follow the route to satisfaction without further direction.
Their mouths slipped apart reluctantly, but each knew now what was expected and planted blazing, moist kisses on the body parts they passed on the way to their final destination. Their lips made loud, sloppy sounds as tits were sucked, navels laved, and the first bits of pubic hairs licked.
Their legs flew apart at the same time and each buried her face in the others crotch in full blown lust. Wrapped now in a tangle of long limbs, pumping bellies, bouncing breasts and roving hands the girls provided the men the ultimate spectacle as they dug their tongues into the sex swollen vagina of the other.
Carla was amazed at the sweetness of the taste, how well it acted to offset the sex-odors of her partner. She was inspired by the hugs she received when she stroked Donna's clit with her own wet, rough tongue. Donna, deep inside, had shot off just like a man. A shiver ran through Carla's body as Donna brought her off just a second or so later. Carla thought of Donna's dart like tongue and climaxed in waves of passion. They fell apart to the wild, enthusiastic shouts of the men. But the applause was not an end-it led to the previously dodged bedroom.
CHAPTER Seventeen
THE DEVIL'S BEDROOM
The bedroom parade was strange. Carla completely spent by Donna's laving of her, had to be carried in a fireman's carry. Her breasts bounced on the hairy back of the man lugging her, her arms hung limply down separated by the sweat-wet strands of her long dark hair Donna, wrung out by Carla's powerful, emotional swabbing, couldn't walk either. Two men, their hands clutched roughly under her arms pits, supported her while her legs drug loosely behind. A man already in the room laughed uproariously as Donna raised her head in awe at what she saw in the bedroom.
Why the name "bedroom" was tagged upon it escaped her. There was not a single bed in it, not even a sofa bed. From the ceiling, in the center of the room, hung glistening leather straps which, in turn, were suspended by hooks driven into the ceiling. The straps dangled nearly to the floor. Several of the men had moved in to start moving them about into some sort of an intricate, devil's ladder of a network. The room's temperature rose from the crowd, and the heavy breathing of the men who looked forward with relish to the entertainments.
The girls were expertly hoisted into the network of broad thongs. The loose ends became tethers to lock them in the positions in which they found themselves. Their soft flesh pushed beyond the harsh restrictions, adding voluptuous rolls of charm to the scene which further added to the mens' kicks.
The straps held them so that they swung about hip high above the floor-facing down. The dangling straps left their arms and legs swing freely beyond the strappings which rigidly constricted their torsos.
The men then gathered about the hotel owner who had a stack of cards with words printed on them. He dealt the cards out to the men.
"Let's show our sweethearts what's printed on the cards so they'll know why some of us are happy and some disappointed," said one man. He placed his card in front of Donna's eyes smiling at her. The card read, "Blow job." Another read, "Fuck", another, "Up-the-ass", another, "masturbate". The cards directed how each man would receive this round of enjoyment. Donna shuddered.
Two high-legged cots were pulled out of a closet unfolded and placed beneath the girls. A naked man lay down on his back on each cot, his erection nestling between one of the girl's legs. The other men took the positions they had won at the draw of the cards placing their rigid organs into feminine hands. They waited as if for instructions.
"Okay," a man's voice finally called out, "you guys know the rules. It's a race to the finish. The last one to come-off with the girl he's with, has to eat her.
"One-two-three, go, go, go, go."
Neither Carla or Donna had ever had so many men ram them at one time-or in so many ways. Not one orifice, not one crevice, slit or crack, of their bodies were to be denied these breasts. All the men who had drawn cards permitting them to penetrate the girls, did so at once.
The girls, spurred by jabs and rentings, became, for all practical purposes, perpetual motion sex machines designed to satisfy the wild lusts of five men at a time each.
One by one the men accomplished themselves in this wild, ten-stud sex race. As each finished his orgasm, he stepped aside to crazily cheer on the remaining contestants. The race neared its climax.
Finally, only two men were left on each girl. Carla was jacking madly on one of hers with her hand, while the other forced his hard-on in and out of her mouth with savage fury.
"I beat," shouted the man whose delivered organ was now beginning to deflate in Carla's hand. "The hell you did," yelled the other. "I couldn't pull mine out so everyone could see it go off like they did yours."
Carla's eyes switched from man to man, as they started a full scale argument over who had won. She nearly laughed, it was so preposterous. They both stood nude just beside her hanging head, their organs now hanging limply, their naked, hairy legs taut with anger.
"Let's not have a fight over a photo finish," guffawed the huge man who first raped Donna in the car and who appeared to be the real leader of the gang. "You guys tied while you were getting it, so you can pay off together at the window."
The humor escaped Carla who knew she would have to suffer no matter how the potential fight was settled, but it drew a gale of haw-haws from the men who had finished with the girls.
The argument settled, the crowd moved around Donna who was striving to bring off the last two men enjoying the debasing of her body. Her two finalists were both buried in the sweat covered channel of her crotch. One, on his back, was trying to get-off in her before the other, standing behind her, could rid his passions into her.
She was completely numb from her waist down from the poundings of the evening, but still her rounded hips swayed about from the uneven rhythm the two men were exerting on her. One would be sliding back down the pinkish channel, while the other rammed home deep into her anus.
Worn down completely, unfeeling, haggard, Donna swung to diverging forces thrusting themselves deep in her dulled body. She lolled her head slowly from side to side looking at her hands. She could only wonder when the ordeal would end. The unfeeling tunnels of her body, the nerve endings raw to the point of insensitivity would never message her brain when the men spurted to their conclusions, she knew.
But howls of laughter and derision from the men who surrounded her strapped form told her that one of the men had won the race.
"Look who gets to eat sloppy old pussy," one man haw-hawed.
"Hey lover, take your time now and enjoy it . . . you've got a job ahead of you," called another.
"You're out of the money, but you're going to be in the honey," rhymed another to the raucous amusement of his buddies.
The loser, giving Donna his final hammer-like thrusts, stepped up his ramming savagely, pulling down on her hips until his fingers bulged the satiny flesh into ugly, red mounds. She could look down into his face and tell by the dreamy look of his eyes that he had shot his wad-now he would take his turn.
The three losers, Carla's two and Donna's one, staggered to a row of liquor bottles and upended them in gurgling swigs.
She had enjoyed enough of the sexual orgy not to make such a silly wish as she wished she were dead. She could live and come back for more, but she knew, absolutely knew, that she was spent so far as this night was concerned.
But the unexpected happened and in what started out to be the most casual of ways. The man, resigned now to becoming the next performer, gave her upraised, bared butt a hard slap as he said, "Let's go at it, sweetheart."
The harsh rap caused Donna to gasp, to slightly wiggle her hips in invitation to the man to hit her again. He wasn't going to because he simply didn't realize that this girl received sexual arousal from the pain of being struck.
But the leader of the group, who had earlier discovered her fetish on the drive to the motel, noted the reaction the slap had produced.
"Give her another pop," he ordered.
"Huh?" questioned the man dumbly.
"Slap her ass a few times hard as you can and watch her perk up," said the leader. "Go ahead, I mean it. She's a nut for getting hit."
The man who was to eat Donna shrugged stupidly and hit her a tremendous wallop. She cried out for more. He struck her again and she howled in rapture. Soon, several of the men gathered around, began striking her now pumping butt in a stacatto beating that caused the girl to writhe in pleasure.
Donna, poor, spent Donna-the girl who couldn't hope to feel arousal-was moving to a pitch of sexual demand that she had never reached before.
The loser from the five-man sex sprint had been standing in front of her when the spankings had begun. Donna, revived and ready to go all out again, frantically reached for him and rubbed her small hands over his exposed, tingling organs. Donna, who only that morning had been forced to do a blow job, now slipped the soft head of her tormentor's organ into her mouth voluntarily and pulled on it as she would a soda straw.
The man's responses to the wild sight of the girl's buttock bobbing up to receive the swat-tings, her deep groans of rapture, and her manipulation of his sex organs were immediate. His penis literally sprang to erection and he ground his hips to penetrate as much of her oral cavity as he could.
Both Donna and the man had traversed the grounds of sanity and were sexually tearing at each other's organs in a mixed fit of passion. As Donna took a particularly lingering, long suck of his penis, the man, for the first time, plunged his own rough tongue into the yawning depths of her vagina. It was at exactly the right moment for the girl-and the man.
He thrust his hands down to grasp her head, to steady it so he could drive the full length of his manhood into her gaping mouth.
She stiffened her spine so the full balloons of her hips rocketed upward into his now wide open mouth.
The moment was so gigantic, so complete for both, that neither heard the crowd shouting hoots of appreciation and delight. They retained the other's sex organ in their mouths until, fully released, fully milked, they slipped apart in exhaustion.
CHAPTER Eighteen
SEXUAL LOSERS
The pulsating, driving, conclusion of the perverted act between Donna and the man who had performed cunnilingus on her was the signal for the others to move to re-do the strappings that had held Donna heels overhead for love-making. Carla's bonds had been switched earlier, before Donna's copulation had become the focal point of the gang's attention.
Now Donna swung face up, while Carla was slung facing toward the floor. They were side by side and could move their heads to glance now baleful glances at one another. An inaudible question formed on the lips of both girls as they stared at each other-when would this ever end?
They quickly discovered that their wild handling of the losers had not written finish to the orgy.
Man after man presented himself to their young, aching bodies to make sexual demands upon them that reached lower and lower in the abysmal depths of the ultimate obscenities. A never ending chain of indignities were heaped upon the girls. The men kept in a continual state of arousal watching the perversions practiced by their predecessors, and tried more and more lewdly to outdo each other.
Thick-skulled and brutish as the gang's members were, they had observed that each girl had a particular aversion and the men seemed to take particular pleasure in practicing that aversion in the girls. Donna, who still had to be flogged into performing fellatio, was subjected to a series of blow jobs. Carla, who quaked only at the thought of receiving a man's pleasure in her rectum, was bent to the will of drunken lout after lout as the men went at her anus in the vilest of novel methods.
One man, couldn't wait his turn to mount Carla. He masturbated in front of her. She screamed from the pain searing through her raw nerved rectum being cored by another man's madly plunging rod.
Donna, her face held sideways by the strong hands of one man, had to watch while a second dipped his penis into a glass of wine.
"It'll sweeten up the taste for you, honey," he laughed evilly, pulling the wine covered head from the glass and drawing it across her cracked lips. "C'mon, I'll bet you're dying of thirst. Here's your chance to have a drink and make me happy at the same time."
The man holding her head reached under her jaw and yanked her mouth open. As if to punish her, the man who insisted she take it in the mouth pushed as much in as he could on his first move. She didn't even have to tongue the shaft with her mouth held agape as it was. Her mouth had become nothing more than a receptacle for the men's pleasure. They merely rotated their penises in her mouth.
But the drinking, and the sexual excesses of the night, finally took a growing toll of the men. They began to drift away or merely looked on stupidly at what the more prodigious of their mob could still ram into the girls.
Finally, the toll was complete. Men clothed themselves reluctantly like boys being tugged away from a tray of tasty pastries. Even the leader, who had spent the juices of his loins repeatedly in both girls, was tucking his shirt into his trousers preparing to leave.
He walked between the girls. Grabbing Carla's hanging head by her now dank, sweat dampened hair he twisted her face up so that he could look at both girls.
"We've got to be going now cuties," he grinned down at them. "You stay and pay the tab with the landlord like a good pair of cunt."
He held Carla's head for one last instant, then let go of her hair. Her head fell loosely back supported only by the same thongs that held her body rigidly open to carnal usage.
The girls, barely on the edge of consciousness-and sanity for that matter, heard the door close. There was silence for the first time since they had been pushed so harshly in The Palace's "bedroom". Carla, concentrating on the effort, managed to raise her head enough so that she could once again see Donna's puffy, grayish face.
"What," she whispered through thick lips, "do we have to pay? . . . I haven't anything left to ' give.
"You will, kid," intruded the lecherous voice of the motel man. "You will."
Both the girls twitched in horror at the cruelty that almost physically came through the man's intonation.
"I'll bet you little sluts are uncomfortable hanging in the same position all this time," he taunted them. "How'd you like it if I turned you over?"
He didn't wait for an answer but merely stepped forward to begin rearranging the harnesses which were now the only force that could move the girls. He placed Carla on her back, still about hip high from the floor. Donna, he rotated to a belly down position. Then utilizing the labor saving pulleys and straps, he raised Donna so that her final position was directly over Carla.
Both girls tiredly observed that they were inverted once again so that each faced the vagina of the other.
"You act tired," commented the man as he finished removing his clothing. "I think I've got something for each of you to get you back in the swing of things."
With that statement he reached into the closet and pulled out a sinister looking, long-handled whip with a short thin thong hanging loosely from its end.
"Now," he muttered grimly, "the three of us are going to do a little private partying. Start eating each other."
Lifelessly, the girls opened their mouths to do his bidding. But the listlessness of their tired effort made him chuckle.
"Come on, cuties," he snarled. "Let's put some life into this."
Neither Carla or Donna had the spirit left to do more than go through the motions of the perverted act. The man spurred them on with the plan he had been formulating all through the earlier part of the evening.
He stepped to Donna's head which was nestled in the wide spread nest of Carla's crotch. Then, taking advantage of his ill gained knowledge of what tormented or aroused either girl, he jammed his now rock hard penis squarely into Carla's pain wracked anus and flipped the whip's mean, thin lash in an arc to strike Donna's bare buttocks. He twisted his organ cruelly in Carla's tortured rectum and flayed savagely at Donna.
The whipping did what it had done all night, whether with bare hands or belts: It rekindled her desires, and made her lust for the joyous pain of the biting snaps on her flesh.
The newest reaming of Carla's anus produced the greatest pain she had known all night. The man was not only a monster mentally, his tool was at least ten inches in length and he plunged it to the hilt with each rending stroke.
"Eat your girl friend!" the beast screamed at Donna. "Eat her, damn it! Eat her!"
Donna, enraptured by the painful lashing he administered, fell to the task delightedly actually wrapping her arms under Carla's body to bring the succulent wetness of her into full contact with Donna's rapidly working lips and mouth.
"You do the same, baby," he hissed at Carla, "or I'm never going to take my cock out of your, ass. You get it this way until your girl friend comes."
The mixture of pain, produced by the man's jamming rod, and the pleasure caused by Donna's now whole-hearted participation in their lesbian sixty-nine, triggered Carla into action. She, too, clutched at the girl above her to bring her mouth into the closest contact possible with Donna's distended female sex organ.
The motel man, gauging the emotional peaks the girls were reaching, dropped the whip at the ultimate crest of their passion. He also jerked his ramrod-like staff from Carla's squirming rectum. Then, as Carla showed her climax in a series of twisting jerks, he roughly pulled Donna's face away from Carla's spilling organ and shoved his organ into Donna's mouth.
Donna accepted it actively, bobbing her head up and down so that the pole-like length of it ran through the channel she made of her mouth. She stayed with it throughout his lengthy orgasm. She kept her mouth constricted about it even when the massive first emissions had subsided, drawing upon it to suck out the last traces, the last rivulet of subsidence.
Finished with his act, the man methodically undid the straps restraining the girls. Carla fell first with a soft thud on the pillows that had been placed beneath the girls. He swung Donna slightly to the side before releasing the final tether. She plopped limply beside Carla's inert form. Both girls were asleep instantly.
The man dressed unhurriedly, casting occasional disdainful glances at the two pale, white forms.
A few hours later he called a cab to have them taken away. As the girls waited in the motel lobby he moved grimly to their sides and muttered, "I wouldn't go shooting my mouth off, if I were you two . . . we're going to hold onto those films."
Still worn from their visit to The Palace, the girls merely shrugged acceptance that they were completely in his power. They stared silently until the cab drove up. There was no end to this play.
CHAPTER Nineteen A SEX PARTY THAT'S NEVER OVER
After the cars bearing the two girls pulled away, and I had gone down to the street from Morgan Peabody's apartment, there was little left to do. Holding the crumpled photo of Carla crouched over the immense organ she was about to descend, I just stared down the street in the direction taken by the cars.
I was still standing there when Peabody and Alice Chatterton suddenly appeared at my side. Peabody took the photo in his hand, studied it for a long moment, and then handed it to Miss Chatterton.
I don't think any of us saw the obvious sexiness of the photo. What we were doing was taking a last look at the smiling portrait of a young girl whom we had all come to know from our variety of contacts with her. It was almost like looking at a death mask. What she would look like the next time we saw her none of us could even guess.
"We should have stopped the girls," blurted out Miss Chatterton, "we shouldn't have let them go."
"What could we have done?" lamely asked Peabody whose photography had supplied the chain that entangled the girls on the road they were now bound along.
"He's right," I said. "With the film for blackmail, the gang had all of you right over the well-known barrel. There was nothing to be done."
"Do we know they will return the films?" asked Miss Chatterton.
"No, we don't," I answered.
"I'm sure they won't," suddenly put in Peabody. "If I know their type, and I'm trained to know something of their type, they're going to make the girls to do anything they demand of them. They'll even take the time-after the girls no longer satisfy them-to look me up and heaven knows how much money it will cost me to keep their slimy mouths shut."
"That would mean the end of your career. You would probably have to go along with them, even if they made you take pornographic movies," said Miss Chatterton looking at Peabody.
"It would mean that," affirmed Peabody.
"Morgan, I can't have that happen," she said, emphasizing her mood by moving close to him, placing her hands on his coat lapel. "We've found each other. You've given me back my life . . . and I know you love me."
Peabody wrapped his arms around her as if to provide a secure barrier against the shattering blows we had been receiving from every sector.
"I do love you," he said. "I honestly do."
She buried her head in his chest as he said the words. She held herself close to him for what seemed eons, but was actually only at most, the fleeting moment of time. Then she turned her face toward me, her eyes were moist, she swallowed hard before she could ask the question she had come to feel she must ask.
"Would you think we were selfish, weak, if we simply ran away?" she finally said in a barely audible voice.
Perhaps King Solomon could have come up with an answer to her almost plaintive request of me. I suddenly discovered that this entire predicament had gone beyond any words. But she remained, clutching the man who had returned to her her sense of full womanhood, waiting for my reply.
"I honestly think you would be a pair of heels," I shrugged. "You've more than helped create this mess.
"On the other hand, I can't honestly say that I could think of a better thing for you to do."
She looked quizzically at me. Peabody also appeared puzzled by the contradictory solution I had found to answer the question she had posed.
"Look," I said. "Those two girls are lost for all intents and purposes . . . and you two will be, too, if you stick around. You've made your mistakes, but I'm not going to be the one to condemn you.
"If the only way you can make something of your lives is to get to hell away, then I think you should do it. Staying around here just to absorb some kind of purgatory for years and years and still wind up in some kind of sludge doesn't seem to me to be right.
"Take your chance. That's what I would do."
Alice Chatterton sank her face back into Peabody's chest and went limp with relief. Morgan Peabody held her tightly and lowered his lips to her crumpled blonde hair to plant a tender kiss. Then he looked at me and smiled a message of gratitude for my trying not to make them live through hell-for what was past.
"I can pack my things in just a few hours," said Alice Chatterton.
"I'll cram all the notes I have left and my clothes into a few bags and we'll leave tonight," Peabody said firmly. "They didn't take the notes, thank heavens. Perhaps I can make something useful of the study . . . something so useful that it will pay back in part for the wasted lives of those two girls."
In the years since all this happened I have read his published works in scientific journals, and heard of his campaigns for redirecting the sexual attitudes of adolescents into constructive channels. He became an expert in the field of family life, and Lord only knows how his well read treatises on every aspect of family life have saved marriages and lives. It was as though he drew strength from the shattered base that the three of us lived through with Carla and Donna.
I also heard, through occasional cards and letters, that he and Alice have had three children-children who are growing into strong, sure adulthood because of the help and knowledge their parents bring to their home life.
As for Mel and Fred . . . what is there to say. The photos in the wrong hands could never bother them . . . the girls passed out of their lives and even their memories after a few years. They went on through high school and out of my life. What and where they are I don't know. Who keeps track of affairs after the fire has gone out of them? They didn't, I know.
CHAPTER Twenty
VENUS' PLAYGROUND
Carla and Donna had the taxi driver take them to Donna's home after he picked them up at the motel. Donna's parents were still gone and it seemed the best place to go to patch up the damage rendered by their ordeal in the motel's infamous-"Palace".
They walked into the living room where only twenty-four hours ago they had pleasured themselves with sexual diversions that now seemed like Sunday school picnic partying.
Carla, rested after the few hours sleep on the Palace's floor, felt refreshed. Her vivid imagination recalled all of the depravities she had so recently endured. For no reason at all, the pictures, the orgiastic scenes flew through her mind at a maddening pace.
Good Lord, she thought, just because I'm here again, here where it all started, I want to have sex.
Recalling how they had been forced into their lesbian oral copulation the night before, a spine-tingling plan ran through her mind, blending passionately with the visions of the bacchanalian night. She looked at Donna who had sprawled in a chair.
"I'm dirty as a pig," smiled Carla. "Mind if I take a shower and clean up?"
"Go ahead," replied Donna. She moved tiredly to get up. "I'll go get the towels for you."
The two girls left the living room to walk down to the shower in the big bedroom. As they walked side by side through the passage, Carla placed an arm about Donna's waist and hugged her close to her.
"It wasn't really so bad, was it?" she chuckled.
"It was horrible," muttered Donna. "I don't know what I'll do if they make us come back. It was mad what they did to us."
"But you and I learned something about each other, didn't we," murmured Carla, increasing the pressure of her arm around Donna's waist.
"Oh, Lord, Carla," blurted Donna. 'That' was the worst of it. I hated to eat you. I just hated it. Can you forgive me?"
"Forgive you?" laughed Carla. "I should be thanking you."
"What?" emitted a shocked sound from Donna.
"I should be thanking you, I said, "responded Carla. "You just have your thing about not liking to take sex in the mouth, but I loved it."
"Oh, no," sighed Donna. "Please don't say that, Carla. Fucking is one thing, and I'll admit I love it but doing those things with our mouths . . . "
Carla smiled absently at Donna's remonstrations. This was the time, she decided, to put her plan to work.
She moved cat-like, withdrawing her arm from Donna's waist, and gave the girl a tremendous swat on her buttock with her hand.
"No, Carla," pleaded the now wide-eyed Donna, "no . . . don't do that."
Carla whipped her arm about to plant another resounding smack on Donna's buttocks as the girl leaped to try to avoid the blow.
"No, Carla," she nearly screamed.
"We found out something else yesterday and last night, too, didn't we?" cried Carla administering swat after swat. "You get your kicks by getting flogged, don't you?"
"Stop it, stop it," begged Donna who was still trying to run away.
"You love it, and you know you do," Carla continued raining open-handed slaps to whatever part of Donna she could strike. Donna stumbled in the hallway and clutched at Carla's legs in a vain supplication to Carla to stop this wild form of arousal.
But the blows kept coming down on her. Carla shoved the other girl flat on the floor and sat on her shoulders, spanking her now with both hands as rapidly as she could.
It was too much for Donna. Her screams for mercy subsided into deep breathing and then turned about completely to become husky-voiced begging for the beating to continue.
"I do," she moaned as her seared flesh seemed to transport fire into the pit of her slit. "I do! Do it! Do it harder, Carla. I'll do what you want, only beat me harder. Flog me . . "
Carla delivered a few more blows and then stood up. Donna twisted in a sweet agony of desire on the floor and crawled to Carla's feet.
"Please," she whimpered, "more. Hit me more."
"That's better," hissed Carla, "but let's get undressed first."
"Please," whined Donna, her voice rasping with the need that burned up through her whole being. "Please."
"Not until you get undressed," said Carla curtly.
Donna rolled on her back and began unhooking and unsnapping with flying fingers. Carla grinned down at the simpering girl at her feet and slowly, sensuously removed her own clothing enjoying the feel of nylon slipping away from her soft skin, the baring of young, firm charms.
"You know what you are, don't you?" she asked Donna. "You're a slave . . . a damned groveling slave. You'll do anything I command because I own you and can do whatever I want with you."
"Yes," said Donna abjectly, her mind mesmerized by the harsh, slow cadence of Carla's denouncement and the still glorious stinging of her body where Carla's blows had fallen upon her.
As she said the single work admitting her role, she removed the last shred of clothing and rolled over on her belly.
"No," snapped Carla who was now fully enjoying her own part in this debased new phase of their relationship. "Crawl into the bedroom on your hands and knees.
"Crawl slave! Show me the back of your rump and I'll hit you."
Donna scurried to the position and groveled through the bedroom door, her hips twisting as she made simpering sounds of sexual delight. Carla bent to deliver the promised punishment and Donna swayed her back to bring her buttock into better position to receive the loud, smacking open-handed spanks that Carla tattooed on Donna's reddening rump.
"Crawl to the bed, slave," commanded Carla haughtily as she stopped following the writhing girl so that she could look in the clothes closet for a moment. She rummaged through the clothing and then found what she had hoped to discover-the silken belt to a dressing robe belonging to Donna's mother.
She let it drag through the palm of her hand, its silken length feeling satiny smooth. Glancing at Donna, now kneeling beside the bed and balefully watching her own actions, Carla slowly made several granny knots in the belt shortening it to the length of a short whip. Completing the knotting, she walked assuredly to the bed, dangling the knobby silken whip casually by her long legs.
"Now we can get down to some serious business," she said bouncing onto the bed. She sat on the bed facing Donna, her vagina posed tunnel-like before Donna's eyes. Then she slowly moved toward the edge of the bed where Donna waited. Donna stared at the now yawning slit which she knew she would have to devour with love. Carla paused her shuffling, twisting path and snapped the knotted, silky lash onto Donna's back.
Donna's head bent to the lash and she waited for another inflammatory slash. It didn't come. Carla merely laid the unusual whip on the sphere of Donna's curved back and drew it slowly, soothingly across the bare flesh.
Donna sucked in her breath as the full intent of Carla's plan suddenly became clear to her. The delightful feeling of the silken knots, the tasseled end of the cord maddened her with passion. Carla was going to torture her as much with the feel of the lash as with the cut of it. Donna moaned in sheer delight at the through of this blissful blending of pain and pleasure.
The silken thong stopped moving its soft path along her back and Donna looked up. Carla was slithering toward her face again with her vagina twisting like a pair of questing lips as it was shifted from side to side in its forward motion.
Carla raised the thong and brought it down harshly on Donna's back again and the whole performance was repeated in deliciously delayed steps; repeated until the last time that Donna lifted her face-Carla's vagina was at its final nestling place. The nest of downy curly hair tickled Donna's lips.
"Wait, slave," hissed Carla as the other girl made a move to close the final distance. Donna froze. Carla placed the silken belt on Donna's back once more. Donna gasped. The sweet curled hairs, the shimmering clit, the darkening passage as it faded from sight into the grotto. The gasp was the final breath she needed. Donna, her mouth distended like the vagina which it swept to meet, roared onto her target, her tongue flailing, her lips nibbling the well of moisture.
Carla delivered a cutting slash with the whip at the moment of penetration, so great was the relief of her churning, fiery passions. The lash spurred Donna to even greater efforts and she pulled Carla's legs even wider, shoved her own shoulders forward so that Carla's legs rested around her ears and down her back. Each massaging laving of her tongue caused Carla's legs to tense in pleasure.
Donna lashed her with her pink, dart-like tongue. Carla beat a rhythm of blows on Donna's shoulders, back, the white and pink bubbles of her bottom. The fury of their mutual efforts mounted. Sweat dripped from their foreheads, their bellies.
In the volcanic final madness of their contortions, Carla ripped Donna from her and fell in the position of sixty-nine on the floor. In the final eruption both girls were pressed in a complete agony of rapture. They came off together, writhing, blubbering, slithering in the sweet rapture of their relief.
They stayed together long after the great waves of passion had settled down. Vacuum-like forces kept their mouths glued to the other's organ. Each licked languidly near the exits of Venus' playground.
Separating finally, they twisted so that they lay side by side. They kissed the warm kisses of lovers who have spent themselves in the making of love. They trailed idle fingers over rounded molds of flesh, enchanted with what they had found.
Donna was the first to break the silence. She, who had shuddered at the thought of oral copulation with either men or women, smiled at her lesbian girl friend. "I love this. Let it go on forever."
It couldn't. The phone rang at that instant. The commanding voice on the line was a gang member saying: "Be at the Palace tonight!"
CHAPTER Twenty-One THE SEXUAL ROLLER COASTER RIDE
That was the first of scores of such phone calls the girls were to receive in the ensuing months. Each call was obediently responded to, and the girls suffered through mounting depravities at each show at The Palace.
Their absences from classes-especially Carla's from mine-told the story of how sex had taken over their very existence. They were on the grand tour of the darkest parts of the bilge-like world of carnality.
Several times during the rest of the school year Carla came to me to spill out the deepening story. Once or twice she said she wished she could escape, but without the fervor of that first talk of ours. It didn't take a psychiatrist to tell that she was enjoying telling me of acts that defied description. She wanted me to know-but not to stop her. She had taken the roller coaster ride all the way down.
It was to take two more events for me to write finis to our now touchy relationship. They were both ghastly.
* * *
As the bawdy meetings at The Palace continued they plunged to deeper and deeper depths of depravity. Normality was the abnormal. The shocking became commonplace. Even the dumb brutes who were members of the gang became jaded.
Donna and Carla, who now anxiously awaited the phone calls ordering them to another debauch, were the only two who still received any form of pleasure. Deep seated nymphomania, rooted in their minds over the months of the build up, had taken over their minds and their bodies. Some youngsters become addicted to narcotics. For these two, sex was the monkey on their backs.
It was Carla who brought the ultimate slime to this deepening pit. She had just received one of the telephone calls from the gang and was with Donna making the 'preparations for the party.
"Those hoods are getting stinking," she snarled in a now whiskey-rough voice. "They couldn't muster up a good hard-on between them. We do everything for them and they just sit there like a bunch of knotheads watching. If it weren't for you and me, I wouldn't get my cookies if that whole crowd stuffed their cocks in me at once."
Donna, adjusting a long pair of cold black stockings over her legs, nodded her agreement.
"What can we do though?" she asked. "We've got to go."
"Maybe if we could give them something different," suggested Carla bending forward to catch her hobbling breast in the special bra she had sewn for herself. It merely pushed up her already full breasts into pouches of desirable flesh-most of each breast peaked through the lacy black openings, with the black material and white breast delightfully offset by the bared roseate area surrounding her brownish nipples.
Carla mused as they walked to the bus line to get transportation to The Palace. What would be different enough to put some spunk back into the louts they were stuck with? They got on the bus and walked to the rear to get seats. She glanced down at the slim girl sitting primly looking out the window at the wide rear seat. It was one of the girls from high school.
And that, thought Carla, is just the "something new" we need. She knew the girl well enough to chat with her whenever Carla got to school nowadays.
Carla was like a spider as she sat down next to the girl and smiled hello. She introduced Donna. The three talked. Carla was most friendly-she was spinning a web to entangle the girl in an extended morass.
The girl got off the bus at the same corner where Donna and Carla were due to get off, so it was an easy matter to continue the chatting, the friendliness, as they walked along the street-getting closer and closer to The Palace.
How she would get the girl inside was a question that Carla pondered even as they walked and talked. You just don't invite a young girl into a motel, she knew that. The driveway to the motel neared and still she hadn't come up with this needed solution. But fate provided it for Carla, just as they started to walk across the driveway.
A car, bearing four members of the gang, swung into the driveway ahead of them and stopped, blocking their path. The men were late in arriving. They had stopped off to do some drinking rather than rush to The Palace.
The back door of the car opened and one of the men hooted, "How about a ride the last half block, cuties?"
It was the solution Carla had looked for. The three girls were standing right at the car door. She stepped a small step back and shoved the new girl into the car, then, grabbing Donna's hand jumped in behind. The two men in the back seat were so surprised they merely plummeted under the jumble of feminine bodies that had suddenly blown through the door.
"Somebody hold her mouth or she'll scream," yelled Carla.
One of the men stupidly grabbed Donna and clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Not her. This one."
The new girl's face was quickly smothered with heavy hands and the driver roared down the driveway toward The Palace.
Crammed like sardines in the back seat, the five people made a spider's web of arms, legs and torsos. Even her struggling only added to the new girl's imprisonment as she became more and more enmeshed with each twisting action she made to free herself. Her tussling did, however, produce a scene of disarray for all the girls' skirts and blouses. Shirttails came up exposing luscious strips of bare skin on bellies and backs. A bra strap appeared here, a garter belt there. Legs, contained tightly in stockings, sprawled and skirts scooted upwards to reveal peach skin thighs as the four-to-one battle slithered over the back seat arena.
Carla's face pressed against the front of one of the men's trousers as someone fell on the back of her head. She was pleasantly surprised-in spite of the roughness of the action-to discover that the wild wrestling, the continual rubbing of bodies, had produced a full scale erection for this particular participant.
The driver had reached The Palace at the rear of the motel and made almost an emergency stop. The five occupants of the rear seat were crammed even tighter as the forward motion of the car abruptly ended, tossing them forward in another scramble of twisting, churning bodies.
The girl shrieked shrilly as the hand clasping her mouth momentarily slipped away.
"Shut her up," shouted one of the men, "shut her up."
Her scream blubbered to a stop as three, clasping hands moved to silence her. Her jaws were clamped firmly together as one of the men placed a hand under her face and another on top of her head.
"No," she gasped. The roughness of the hands had forced her teeth into her lip and a trickle of blood ran brightly down her chin.
To secure her mouth so that she couldn't yell again, one of the men located her hips in a tangle of bodies and yanked down her panties. They were stretched into the shape of a gag, then jerked-like a horse's bit-into her mouth and held harshly in place at the back of her head.
"That'll take care of two things," muttered the man who now held the girl in a bridle-like clutch. "Keep her quiet and have things all ready for when we get in The Palace."
The four men and two girls laughed crudely at this killing two birds with one stone explanation, but more from the truth in the statement than from its humor. Certainly, a girl with no pants on in this crowd had no chance-and the white panties would prevent her initial screams of protest at the violations she would endure.
As at that first time when Carla and Donna had been forced through The Palace's entrance, the cramming, shoving figures of the participants produced a river rapids rush to and through the door. The new girl was at the point of the stream of humanity and was shoved roughly into the room with the rest of them urging her forward with shouts of lust and pushing hands placed all over her body.
"Where the hell you been?" snapped the gang's leader, the big, hairy brute who by dint of strength commanded their activities at the parties. "We been waiting twenty minutes or more for you."
"Don't get mad," murmured Carla approaching the man, swaying her hips in an ingratiating sexual manner. "We've stopped off to bring you a present."
She stepped aside while the men brought forward the new girl. Her mouth was still clamped by the panty-bridle and her arms were pinioned behind her so that her young, firm breasts protruded to show the bumps of her nipples pressing against the drawn taut blouse.
Carla, eager to see if her idea of introducing new blood to the gang's orgies might not pay off in greater satisfaction through their amusement and subsequent arousal, smiled at the leader. Then, bending slowly, she reached to the hemline of the girl's skirt and began rolling it up toward her slim hips. At each roll more and more of her stockinged leg appeared, drawing the interest of the crowd which had gathered in a semi-circle in front of the tableau. The stockings' sheen, enhanced by the pinkness of the skin beneath them and the fullness with which the young legs stretched them, produced a dazzling desirable pattern as more and more of the skirt was rolled up. The girl, twisting and turning, trying to stop this whole mad event only added to the sensuousness of the scene as her body rolled and shifted.
Carla paused in her movements when she saw that the next tuck would reveal the Venus mound of pubic hairs.
"You like our little gift so far?" she cooed looking about at the score of blazing eyes fiercely enjoying this prologue to rape.
"Then how about this," she cried pulling the skirt up to the girl's waistline and completely revealing her sex.
The effect was devastating, both of the men who were completely startled and upon the girl as soon as several of them got over the initial surprise. They had expected to see the mold of her panties fitting into a snug "V" at the rounded meeting of her thighs and belly. The completely bare vagina spurred them to action.
The first man to recover dashed forward and began rubbing the pale belly, entwining his fingers in the curly hairs, tugging, massaging them and then he plunged a finger upward into her vagina.
Even the gag couldn't altogether muffle her cry of dismay and amazement as this crude taking of her body's most delicate orifice. Her eyes, tear dampened now in both shame and terror, pleaded for the defilement to end-a plea she now knew was hopeless.
More men moved forward to play with her delicious curves.
Soon the girl had been picked bare of clothing by the carrion-crowd of vultures who acted like birds of prey who have found the tastiest of morsel upon which to feed. In fact, like vultures, many of them sucked at her tits, bit at her throat and shoulders in their advanced state of passion.
"Say, Carla," hooted the leader who had knocked aside two of his gang so that he could twist the girl's breasts demoniacally into knots with his coarse paws, "this is a nice treat.
"Funny you thought of this tonight, because we had planned a little surprise for you girls."
"What was it," cried Carla, her own eyes shining excitedly as she saw that tonight would be a return to the earlier passions of the mob. "Tell me, what was it?"
"Oh," smiled the leader. "That can wait for a while now. Let's have fun with your present first, then we'll bring out ours."
With that alluding to some future delight for later in the evening, the leader dismissed Carla and turned his full attention on the girl who was now trembling, quaking from the pressures being exerted on her contorted breasts.
He undressed himself quickly, leering at the bridle that still held her mouth so that she couldn't audibly plea for aid. He went into "the bedroom" and, completely nude with his pendulous penis springing massively before him, re-entered the front room carrying some straps.
The sight of the straps, and the thought of them lashing at the girl, turned Donna on so much that she quickly undressed herself. Carla had already undressed during the stripping and initial probing of the new girl's body.
When the leader had come back into the room he saw with irritation that one of the gang was standing lewdly in front of the gift girl trying to spread her legs as she stood there. He had spread the lips of her vagina. The leader gruffly knocked him aside.
"Go mount Carla with that prick, Buster," he snarled. "I'm going to take first jollies with this little sweetheart."
The offender looked ruefully at the big man but backed off. He walked over to Carla, his turgid organ clasped in one hand so that it would not swing him off balance.
"You heard the man, Carla," he snapped irritably at her. "Down on your back and spread."
Carla complied eagerly. She knew that the man's state of arousal and his anger would provide her with a solid sticking that would be the source of much enjoyment and pleasure-the first from a gang member in many weeks.
"You, there," muttered the leader at one of the other men, "you look like you're already to shoot your wad. You take on Donna."
The man moved out of the crowd of now naked bodies and grabbed Donna by the hair and pulled her roughly to the pillow strewn floor beside Carla.
"Hold it," commanded the leader as the two men and women made the final adjustments to give vent to their passions. "You fuck when I tell you to."
The foursome froze, knowing that the leader wanted to make some preparations for his upcoming carnality with the new girl.
"You know," he said, looking leeringly into the girl's face, "you look like a young filly waiting in a horse stall with that bridle in your mouth.
"I think I'll just saddle you up and see if you buck when you go to stud."
With that he swiftly began wrapping the straps he had brought from the bedroom about her body until she seemed to be garbed in what looked like a bestial saddle, complete with bridle and stirrups. The crowd laughed at her appearance-laughed cruelly and in a sense of relishing what they would soon see.
The girl was pushed into a kneeling position facing the piled pillows where the two men and two girls awaited the command that would release them for their own pleasure.
"Couple of you guys hold this filly under the belly and shoulders," grunted the leader swinging his legs astraddle her bare, globe-like black leather trussed back. "I'm pretty heavy and I don't want my little mare to buckle under-not yet anyway."
The men rushed to join this arrangement. They wanted their chief's word to be obeyed, but they also wanted to work their hot hands on those parts of the girl's charms not being used by the foreman of this rapacious rodeo. Those holding her shoulders reached lower to squeeze her globular, swinging breasts and those behind at her belly poked stiffened fingers into the narrow slit they found between her saddled legs.
"Okay, now," commanded the leader, slipping his bare feet into the stirrups he had fashioned and sitting down full upon the girl's back as if he were in the saddle. "You guys start fucking them broads of yours. And make it good. I want my little mare to get the full idea."
The men assigned to Carla and Donna, stimulated to the limits by both the delay and unusual "horse" mounted by the hirsute brute who commanded them, plunged forward on their girls. Had Donna and Carla not been well lubricated themselves they would have been split asunder by the plunging. Nothing so delicate as a female could have stopped the orgiastic thrusts delivered by the men.
All four of them quickly moved into high gear in a swelter of pumping, pounding bodies. The girls entwined the men with both their arms and legs to maintain the driving cocks and the men weighed heavily upon the girls as they sought the ultimate penetrations.
The leader, mounted on his girl mare, yelled wildly to spur his men on. He slid his hairy ass back and forth on the girl's bare back, gouging his heels into her sides as if he were actually riding a horse. He waved his arms above his head as though he were fanning the now bucking girl on the greater rodeo like twists and gyrations. One of the men holding her belly felt his fingers slip from her as she reared her buttock pushing her rider forward on her back.
The girl, completely surrounded by sweaty human flesh, watching the bizarre acts going on before her eyes, fell into the bacchanal mood. Only the panty-bridle, now secured by a leather thong held in her rider's hands kept her from screaming-screaming in both terror and passion.
Kicking disdainfully at the men holding the girl from the rear and sides, the leader hauled himself backward from her now sweat glistening shoulders and back and knelt behind her. His distended penis stood shaft-like before him aimed directly at the hair covered center of her sex. He stared at his target for a lewd, transfixed moment. Then hauling back on the bridle so that the girl's body came back to him he plunged himself into her like a great stallion.
The girl, completely inexperienced in even the most rudimentary expression of sex, gave a mighty shudder at the moment of insertion. Her eyes, watching the gyrations of the two couples before her, rolled up under her eyelids. The rending of her body by the mighty rod jammed into her to the hilt was beyond pain, beyond imagination. She felt her hands fly out before her as she lost all control of her body.
The stallion-like shaft was pulled halfway out of her.
A second plunge and the girl realized that she would not lose this great oval thing that filled her with rapture. She relaxed and the plunge went to even greater depths. The in-and-out plunging and withdrawals kept up, sped up, reached a triphammer speed and she ripped and plunged to meet and greet every stroke.
In a final burst of great, jabbing, coupling her stallion expended. He dropped the bridle so that he could hold her by the rounded clefts where her hips joined her thighs. The copulation was complete. He held her tight while he spilled shot after shot into her. At the last emission the girl trembled and climaxed herself. They knelt, quietly joined in the accomplishment.
All, including the two copulating couples who had started the orgy, were now finished themselves, sprawled or stood watching the stallion and mare subside.
The leader, feeling the turgidity of his penis diminishing in the girl, roared out to break the silence.
"Mount up, boys," he yelled cowboy style. "Let's get to servicing these mares."
It was the signal for the men to satiate themselves on the girls. The three of them were mounted in replicas of the leader's stallionesque positioning in teams and relays as the gang, sex maddened by the variety and excitement, went into a fury of action.
The mountings, pleasing to Carla and Donna who had been bored by the previous blandness of the latter orgies, were horror for the new girl. After one or two penetrations by different men she began to scream again-but, strangely, her throat emitted not the high pitched wailing of a woman being defiled. Instead, the sound was almost a whinny-like a mare taking the gargantuan grindings of her stallion.
Clambering away when they were spent, yelling for more speed or action, the men turned the room into a stud farm. Each defiling of the girls called for greater exertion by the next man to mount. The bodies twisted, bucked, reared in a panoply of passions pressed to the edge of depravity-or the border of madness.
Even Carla, who had looked forward to what was happening found herself numb at her crotch from the continual mountings and poundings. Her knees ached and her arms were stiff from supporting the weight of more men that she could count or remember. Casting a glance at Donna's sweaty body molding sluggishly to the men who were taking her in rapid succession, she knew Donna was satiated too.
Carla felt a hard rap on her upturned butt and felt the weight of a man leaning on her back as he pushed himself from her.
"Man," he whistled, "that's it. I couldn't fuck another broad now if my ass depended on it."
Carla fell to her side on the pillows and looked about the room at the sexual carnage. The men were lolling about with bottles in their hands, their legs wide spread, their once turgid organs now wrinkled, red miniatures of what they had once plunged into the girls.
The two girls, like Carla, lay looking at the men. No one in the room could do more than idly move slowly. Satiation, if it could accurately be put into words, would have been the well spent tableau in The Palace at that moment.
The new girl suddenly moaned and placed her hand between her legs, holding her crotch in pain or pleasure-Carla couldn't be sure. The moan stirred the gang's leader. He looked at the young girl huddled at his feet, coiled in a fetal position. He had been the last to use her and she had sprawled away from him when he had completed his final ejaculation. He raised to his elbows and gave the girl a sneering look.
"Hell, honey," he muttered. "You ain't all shot out, are you? The party's just begun so far as you're concerned."
She closed her eyes, turned her head and now placed both hands to the sore, puffed vagina that was compressed ball-like in the sanctity of her flesh.
The leader struggled to his feet as the sight of the tortured body of the girl brought strength back to his great bullish body. He stumbled toward the bedroom.
"I think I'll bring out the surprise now," he laughed menacingly.
The sound of his voice made Carla wonder if the new girl-or even herself-could accommodate the surprise.
Carla groaned involuntarily when the man came back into the room.
He was leading a large, male hound. In his free hand he had a pail. The hound was leaping up beside the man's swinging legs trying to get into whatever was in the pail.
"Couple you guys hold our new girl friend down while I introduce her to Old Blue here," he chuckled. "Might be she won't go for our little surprise-at first."
The men, revitalized by the upcoming ravishment, were galvanized into action. Two of them fell beside the girl, one on either side and pulled her limbs out of the fetal hole into which she had crawled. Dry-mouthed in terror, her body still numb from the sadistic fumblings and plunging of the earlier part of the orgy, she could only moan piteously as the men spread her open to whatever new atrocity she would suffer.
"Hell, honey," said the leader coming closer with the pail and the house, "You're going to thank me for this after a while.
"We've been right rough on that little old cunt of yours and we want to make up for it, don't we, boys?"
Their malign laughter emphasized to the girl that there was to be little atoning for past depravities in what was about to happen to her. Trapped once more in the vice-like grip of her two jailers, she simply twisted her head so that she could better see what was next to happen to her.
She didn't have to wait. Once again the men had gathered in a semi-circle facing her distended legs, they peered at the downy softness of her inner thighs-awaiting the next act like boys watching a puppet show. Only this wasn't going to Punch and Judy-everyone in the room, including the girl, knew that now.
"Carla," said the leader who was now standing stiff-legged between the girl's splayed legs, "come here.
"She's your guest, so's to speak, so why don't you help her with that tender pussy of hers.
"Here take some of this and smooth it down her legs."
He placed the pail by Carla who had taken a sitting position by the girl. For the first time Carla could see what was in the pail-and why the dog wanted it so.
It was honey.
The leader slapped her harshly on the side of the face to give emphasis to the complete submission he demanded of the trio of helpless girls.
Carla dipped her fingertips into the honey and dabbed some on the girls inner thigh. Then she looked up at the man who was now holding the dog back from the pail by sheer force.
"Let him lick your fingers so he'll be able to follow the trail," said the man in a guttural voice of command.
The dog's tongue was rough and hot as it licked hungrily at her fingertips. Carla, almost hypnotized by the thought of what she was setting the girl up for, led the dog's lashing tongue to the honey coated thigh.
"Aaaaaggghhhhh, no, no . . . no," whimpered the girl, her body stiffening against the restraint of the men holding her. The dog's tongue felt like sandpaper against the warm, tender flesh. "No . . . oh, noooooo . . . "
"Put some more on. Only make a trail for him into the woods," chuckled the man.
Carla delayed just an instant, terrified at what this was leading up to for the now struggling girl. The delay cost her another harsh blow on the face. She dipped her hand into the pail again and spread both bared, nude thighs with the thick, syrupy goo.
"Down on her cunt hairs, too," ordered the man. "I want to see if Old Blue is as good a cunt dawg as he is a coon dawg."
Carla spread honey on the hairs and the man, who had been restraining the hound, let it go. Stiff-legged, the long-nosed hound stood between the girl's legs licking first one thigh, then the other as he sought his treat.
Then he was licking furiously at the pubic hairs as he slopped up the sweet honey on the entrance to the girl's slit.
"Now on her legs, on her pussy hair, and some inside," the man ordered Carla.
She obeyed instantly, knowing there was no hope for the girl now, anyway, and wanting to avert more of those bruising blows.
"You ain't got enough honey in her twat," hissed the man harshly. "Spread her clit and let a whole gob drop in."
Carla did, and the pressure of her fingers spreading the honey made the girl dig her heels into the floor and twist her hips in pleasure. The golden honey fell into the dark abyss like a thick stream. Carla couldn't help but wonder if the stream that would come back from this heated volcano would be the same golden hue.
This time when the hound was released it again licked hotly, prickly at the thighs, the pubic area, and then-sensing the delightful aroma from somewhere in the recesses of the girl's body, plunged its tongue inside the now swollen pit opening. Its long tongue sent spasms of tremors coursing through the ravished girl's body that appeared to the viewers in the form of great twitches of her belly and leg muscles. The girl, who once was terrorized at this new, vile use of her body, now pushed her hips downward to take all the tongue she could get.
The dog's keen sense of smell easily detected the well of the sweet nectar still available at the back end of this strange tunnel. It rooted deeper with its pointed nose so that the long, sand-paperish tongue could get at the last vestiges of the treat. In so doing the hound's muzzle acted much like a penis-penetrating the girl and laying open the vagina much more than the long, whiplash tongue had done in preceding the muzzle.
The girl's moans told one and all that she was in the deepest throes of passion. The abominable act had become adorable to her. She gave great heaving breaths of mounting sexual rapture. She rolled her eyes about in great cow-like circles, not seeing the men who stared rapaciously at her writhing. The muzzle, the deep, lashing tongue and the waves of tingling passion in her crotch were all she knew.
It was just at this moment that the dog paused. He sniffed once or twice and could detect only the odors of her sexuality. The musk smell was not what he sought. They honey was gone. He pulled his long muzzle from her and looked about for someone to replenish his supply.
When the muzzle snapped out, the girl gave a little cry of dismay. The two men had long since let go of her, so completely was she enmeshed in this depraved act. They knew she would stay with the dog until she spent herself in a wild, pulsating climax.
The girl sat up. She looked quizzically at the retreating dog, wondering why he had left her.
"Ain't no more honey in there what he-likes, sister," said the man. "He's going to need more if you want to get finished off."
"One of you fuck me," whispered the girl in a voice tinged with both passion and shame. "Please fuck me, I need it now."
"Ain't no one goin' to fuck you, Sweetie," grunted the man. "Only coming you're going to do is when Old Blue finishes you up."
"Please fuck me," repeated the girl pleading now for that which she had earlier hoped to avoid. "Please . . . fuck me . . . fuck me."
"It's the hound or nothing, kid," laughed the man warily eyeing the gang members to see that no one tried to help her out.
She looked around uneasily at the semi-circle of staring men. She looked longingly at the great, hard rods she saw spring from practically every hairy crotch.
Sighing resignedly, she lay back and spread her legs. She would submit again to the hound to relieve the sex-packed tension of her body. Her needs were so great that even the abnormality of this moment couldn't stop her. She placed a hand on either leg to splay herself to the widest angle of acceptance.
"That ain't enough now," said the man grimly. "You got to spread the honey yerself."
For one brief instant horror glazed the girl's eyes as she understood the full import of this new demand. It would be the ultimate debasement. Ladling honey into her so that an animal would follow it to grant her sexual satisfaction.
The victim paused only briefly to contemplate whether or not she should submit to this final indecency. The glitter of fear flitted from her eyes in that instant of thought. It was replaced by a dreamy look of submission-of desire. She lay back fully once more. She reached down her belly to her sticky pubic hairs. She paused for only the time it takes for a clock to tick once. Then she spread herself with her index and middle finger to make a welcoming gap in her body.
"Put the pail by my hand," she whispered.
The command activated the man who had stood waiting her decision. He picked up the pail and placed it by the young girl's free hand. She dipped deep into it coming out with a whole cupped handful of the golden glistening glob. She held her honeyed hand over her gaping vagina and let the honey trickle, first a drop at a time and then into a steady flow until her vagina had swallowed it all. The .syrupy material triggered her lust.
"The dog, my God, give me the dog," she begged.
"Call him" hissed the man through clenched teeth.
"The dog," she screamed. It was the only thing she could audibalize in her sex-drenched mind. "The dog."
"Call him," growled the man once more.
Frustrated beyond all human limits, the girl rose and sat watching her tormentors.
"Alright, you beasts," she snarled. "I'll call him. I'll call him so he'll never leave me."
With that she turned swiftly onto her hands and knees and waved a honeyed finger to attract the animal by the scent of the honey. The dog lunged to get to the location of desirable dew. It licked longingly at the tempting bit on the girl's hand-all that was left after she had filled herself with the syrup.
She guided the dog closely to the intimate pit she wanted serviced. The sniffing, hot breath of the beast told her the moment of relief was at hand. She jerked her hand aside and the dog's muzzle once again plunged into her waiting grotto.
At the exact instant of the penetration the young girl emitted a shrill howl-the howl of a hound bitch being serviced. It was a hair-raising moment well beyond anything anyone in the room expected. She was accepting the hound as if she were a bitch in heat. The howling was incessant. It permeated every nook and corner of the room.
It also penetrated Carla's mind-a mind laid waste over the months by unending debasement. A mind ill prepared to withstand one final, outrageous onslaught.
Carla, the girl's howls scourging her mind, went mad. She, too, began howling like a bitch in heat. She howled at the evil that had come to engulf her. She howled for freedom. She wasstill howling when the frightened gang turned her loose, nude on a downtown street corner because they could not control her.-Their slaps, blows, punches only made her howl the louder.
She had gone completely mad the final-de-bauchment she had seen was the last thing to control her lost mind. She howled and bayed like a hound throughout the ride to the mental ward. She only howled when doctors asked questions. She was a bitch in heat.
Summer had passed and with it Carla K. I had been told of her commitment to the state mental hospital. Now her problems-at least those we all knew of-were to be handled by specialists. Looking out at the fall sky on this first day of a new school year, I wondered if any physician, no matter what his skills, could untangle the dark web of her mind.
Donna had told me something of that last insane night-the girl, the dog and the howls. Donna, who now carefully avoided Mel and Fred, swore me to secrecy and went back to her classes.
For my part I went about the business of preparing for the first session of a new year's classes. I went into the classroom and sat down to watch as the students began to trickle in.
The appearance of one girl in particular pleased me. It was little Miss Betty somebody . . . the girl who had-how many centuries ago picked up that absence notice I had to make out on Carla.
She sat down, strangely enough in the same seat that Carla had occupied by the window. The sun bounced off her bobbed hair which flipped up by her pretty young cheeks. She smiled a greeting to me and I smiled my acknowledgment.
After the introductions, the telling which textbooks and supplies would be needed for the course, I told the class to take the remainder of the period to write me a brief essay on some outstanding experience they had had. It was my old, tried-and-true way of finding out what interested these students as individuals-to see in a capsule what made them tick.
The classbell ended the period and the students filed out of the room heading for their next class. The last student to leave was little Betty somebody. I knew now that her name was Betty F.
She looked for one last moment at the paper she was about to place on my desk tray. The she looked fully at me and firmly placed the paper on the top of the pile. She looked at me once more then walked out of the room.
I wondered why putting a simple English assignment on a teacher's desk called for such an obvious decision on her part. I had about ten minutes until the next gong sounded so I picked hers up.
It nearly fell from my trembling hands as I read the first passage:
"I've spent nearly an entire summer letting a dog fuck me while men watch me," Betty F's essay started. "My good friend Donna helps me when I get so weak I can't make the dog go at my cunt. Donna loves me, too. She loves me like a man must love a girl. She kisses me and fondles me and when the dog isn't there to fuck me, Donna licks me like the dog does. She says it isn't fucking, she says it's cunnilingus or something like that, but I call it fucking . . . "
Could I help this time, I wondered . . or were there already some pictures?
