The doctor sat stiffly watching the attractive young woman masturbating.
Sweat dripped off his forehead and he felt flashes of heat patting at his cheeks as the woman's slender finger pushed into her vagina and pumped.
"Oh, God, Doctor Jennings. God."
She moaned, tossing her head from side to side. One of her hands crept up and massaged her peaked breast.
"It's good. It's good," she hissed, clenching her teeth and arching her hips as her finger jacked faster and faster into her wet, slimy hole.
"Do you know what you're doing?" Doctor Bernard Jennings asked, trying to take his mind off the woman who lay on the leather couch a few feet from him, her supple, succulent mounds quivering in the air, her dress hiked sensually up to her creamy-white waist, her panties clinging to her sun-ripened thighs.
She didn't answer. She never did when she was masturbating. She only grunted and threw herself up to meet her dancing fingers. Her hair spilled out around her contorted face like an auburn nimbus, accenting the sharp, sculptured lines of her face.
Dr. Jennings nervously tapped the pencil point against the pad as he studied the gentle sweep of her hips curving out and tapering back to form a double scoop of flesh, one for each buttock cheek. Her arms were slender and toasted by the sun, her shoulders sloped slightly as they turned the corner, making her thin neck look like a pedestal for the finitely designed head.
Her cheeks were long and angular, caving in near her lips and highlighting her full, red mouth as it moved rotely, making no sound.
Tiny dark pools, shimmering with the disturbed but passionate problem that had caused her to come to his office in the first place, stared fixedly up at the ceiling.
"Justine? Miss Conrad? Justine?"
She pretended not to hear him. The finger worked in and out like a piston. Her hips ground around in a circle, her lips curled over her thick, well-spaced white teeth.
"Fucking me. They're fucking me. All over. All over my body."
The words sibilated out. Her hand yanked at her breast, tugging at it as if it were a piece of clay. She rolled on her side, her eyes wet, piercing, as she stared at Bernard Jennings.
"They want me. All of them. Like you do. Like Mark does. All of them. Fucking me."
On her side, she lifted one leg in the air and continued her masturbation, a half smile playing on her lips as she looked at the young psychiatrist trying to appear cool and detached in his chair.
A strong musky odor wafted through the interview room, teasing Bernard Jennings' nostrils. He fought the desire to stand and take the writhing temptress on his couch. She wanted that. She wanted someone to help convince her all men were evil, all men were after one greedy thing-her body. Smiling, he looked away from her, pretending she was no different than any of his many other patients. But he was wrong and he knew it. Justine Conrad was different. Beneath all that hatred was a real woman, a woman he would enjoy dating, sharing good times with and perhaps even marrying.
"Justine? Is there anything unusual about the feeling?"
He watched her face twisting from pain to passion as she continued to drive her finger inside herself. "Shut up!" she shouted. "I'm ready to come!" He leaned back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. Her tongue snaked out of the corner of her mouth and her face pinched. She brought her leg up and down as the rhythm of her hand increased.
Doctor Jennings shut his eyes and listened to the soft, fast squishing sound of her fingers plunging into herself. Such a waste, he thought, such a waste of beauty and talent.
"Fucking me. All over...deep inside my ass...my mouth...big cocks..."
He listened as she pumped her finger to orgasm speed. Her words became unintelligible even to his trained ear as he heard her breathing filling the room. The odor increased and he twitched his nostrils nervously.
"Ah...God...God...Fuck..."
Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw her putting the finishing touches to herself with her finger. She slid it slowly in and out, sighing and rubbing her upturned breast casually.
Doctor Jennings wiped his brow and shifted in his chair.
"All right, Justine. Put your clothes back on and let's talk."
"You sound disturbed," she said coolly, looking at him, her hand still cupping her vagina. "Maybe you wanted my body again."
"You know better. Now let's talk, Justine."
"I still think you wanted me. I think you sat there looking at me and wanting me. That's what all men want, my body. They want to get me to go to bed with them so they can touch me, rub their penises on me, shoot their cream into me."
She slapped her head back against the soft leather and bit her lip. She had been right, Jennings thought. He had wanted her. She had that primitive, wild air about her, like something brought out of the jungle and placed before civilized man. Something that man wanted to understand completely, something man needed to press himself against and feel the bizarre vibrations seeping out from her and giving him new life.
They were dangerous thoughts, Jennings knew that, but he had no control over them. Not after all the months she had lain on the couch masturbating in front of him.
"Justine," he said, clearing his throat.
"All right. All right."
She slid her hips around and pulled the panties up over her crispy pubic hairs, hiding for the rest of the day her inviting vagina.
"There. Does that make you feel better?" A bitter smile marred her attractive face.
"Do we have to go through this again, Justine?"
"You're the puritan, I'm not."
Jennings mashed the point of his pencil into the paper. "Look, Justine, when you first came here I told you you could do anything you wanted to in my office. If you wanted to masturbate, scream, beat your fists, that was your privilege. But you've been taking advantage of me and you know it."
"Advantage!" She laughed. "You're taking advantage of me, you mean. Why did you tell me to let it all hang out in here? I'll tell you why. So you can watch me. You're no different from the rest of them."
Her eyes flashed angrily at him and she balled her fists against her smooth stomach, accentuating even more the sharp, pouting outline of her jutting breasts pressing against the loose, white blouse she wore.
Jennings waited for her anger to ebb before he spoke.
"How long have you been coming here, Justine?"
"Six months," she spat, tugging nervously at her fingers. She smoothed her short skirt and pulled at the hem, patting the dress against her thigh and avoiding his eyes.
"Do you feel any different now, than when you first came."
"Bored," she snapped, shifting uncomfortably. She rubbed her finger on the couch and felt the dried, sticky fluids from her vagina stick to the cool leather.
"You don't feel freer, less inhibited."
"I'M NOT INHIBITED!" she shouted, sitting up and glaring at him. "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU!"
"Easy, easy, Justine."
She sank back down on the couch, her eyes jerking around, her eyelids snapping open and shut. She felt a wave of shame and embarrassment come over her.
"Did you dream last night?"
"No."
"Did you dream last night?" he repeated. "NO! NO!"
A twinge of irritation rimmed his voice. "Come on, Justine. You dream every night. Don't hold it back. The only way we can help is if you tell me everything. Everything."
She tugged at her slender, spearlike fingers.
"All right. All right. I dreamed."
"What about?" His voice was low and soothing, detached and careful not to needle her sensitive feelings.
"The same thing as last week."
"The eyes?"
"Yes." She turned on her side, facing away from Jennings. Her hips formed a half-moon as she pulled her knees up against her chest and hugged them.
"Tell me about them?"
She was silent for a moment. Her skin prickled with fear as she thought about the nightmare.
"They were watching me undress. They followed me into the bathroom and looked up at me from the floor. They were in the mirror staring at me. Evil eyes. Filled with lust. They looked at my breasts and my vagina and..." Her voice trailed off.
"And?"
He heard a low sob catch in her throat.
"And...they were in the bed with me, resting between my legs, looking at my hole."
"What did you do?"
"I MASTURBATED!" she screamed.
"Then what?" The same practiced indifference filled his voice.
"The eyes...they...they crawled up inside me." "Inside what?"
"Inside my vagina. My cunt. They crawled up inside me and looked at me. I could feel them. Two round, evil eyes crawling inside me, looking at the back of my breasts."
She shivered and put her hands behind her neck, scrunching her supple body into a smaller and smaller ball on the couch.
"Then...?"
"I...don't remember."
"You remember, Justine. Tell me what happened next?" Bernard Jennings knew the story by heart. It was the same tale she told every time she visited him. He listened as she talked about the faceless men who had come and touched her body with their scabby hands. How they lifted her up in the air and mounted her on a giant black phallus and sucked on her breasts. In detail, he listened to the descriptions of their bodies as Justine sketched the horrible, distorted memory for him in the same pattern as before.
"They shoved their penises in my mouth and ears. I tried to scream. But I couldn't. My mouth was full of the living worms. They held rny hands and shoved my fingers up their rectums. They urinated on me and made me swallow their semen. It was horrible, horrible."
She buried her face in her hands and wept. "What about Mark and myself. Were we in the dream too?" Silence.
"Yes." Her voice shook.
"What did we do?"
"You ate me," she sobbed.
"Both of us?" Jennings felt a chill running through him. This part of her perpetual story bothered him the most. Not that he had ever been immune to such close identification with a woman's fantasy, but because he liked Justine, and under different, less bizarre circumstances he might have broken his ethical rule and tried to date her. She had a magnetism about her that seemed to draw him to her as no other patient he had ever treated, or for that matter, any woman he had ever known.
Her problem wasn't that complex. She was frigid, frightened of men and as brittle as a thin sheet of ice. He was almost sure now, after the long months of treatment, that she would never return to normalcy. He had tried everything to break through to her but it was hopeless. She remained locked in her shell of horror and fear, as firmly protected from intrusion as the Crown Jewels of England were guarded from thieves.
Hhe had passed a stage he knew well from experience. She called him frequently at night and during the day, telling him about the eyes and the men who followed her wherever she went. At first he thought it a hopeful sign. She was relying more and more on him. But it was only a facade to torment her even more, to try and drag another person down into the roiling quagmire of sexual grotesqueness her mind had made for itself.
"You were cutting my breasts off and handing them to Mark. He bit the nipples off and spit them into a long cellophane bag, filled with other nipples."
"Were you alive, Justine?"
"Yes," her voice rang distant, in another world.
"What happened then?"
"Mark took the knife from you and cut my vagina in two. He handed you one half and kept the other. You plucked out the pubic hairs before you ate your piece. He ate everything, the bastard. HE ATE EVERYTHING."
She bucked, her body gripped with sobs.
Jennings had never met Mark Pelich. Yet he knew him in the most bizarre fashion. Justine worked as a fashion designer assistant. Mark was her boss. Justine had described him once, without the context of the horrible dream.
She said he was handsome and cool. With silver slivers of graying hair mingling with the dark, brown hair of his temples. He always tapped a pencil when he was nervous, she said. And he never looked at her except when he had something for her to do.
Justine had said he was married and had three children and that he was one of the few men she had ever wanted to go to bed with, to love passionately.
Jennings guessed that that was why Justine hated him so intensely-because he paid her no attention other than the professional attention it took to direct her work.
She obviously hated him because he knew-Doctor Jennings knew what her problem was. But unfortunately, he had no answers. His attention drifted back to Justine.
"...and you were sucking on my toes. They were melting in your mouth. Mark was eating my stomach and my ass, licking at them like a thirsty dog..."
Justine rambled on and on and when she had finished Bernard Jennings' notepad was blank. Her story was a carbon copy of the story she told each week. Her reactions aped previous reactions to a tee.
"Sit up, Justine," he said finally, as she tied the final knot into her fable.
He watched as she swung her maple-colored knees toward him and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Was there anything else? Anything at all about the dream?"
"No. It ended with Betty, the girl at the office coming in. She's a Lesbian, you know. She swept up the pubic hairs and put them in her purse. Then she picked your teeth and Mark's teeth with a fork."
"Just like before," Jennings said solemnly.
"Yes."
He swung his athletic form from the swivel chair and picked a cigarette from the silver box open on his desk.
"Cigarette?"
"No."
The match flared in his face and he studied it a moment before touching it to the tip of the cigarette. He heard the paper sizzle and tobacco crackle as it ignited.
"You know, Justine," he said, pacing the floor and looking at his feet. "Your problem is like this cigarette." He raised the slender cylinder in the air. "You were made to be lighted, for someone to strike a match to you and let you burst into life for however long you live. You weren't given that body and figure and your talented habits with a pencil to sit locked in some mental package marked caution, may be hazardous to your mental health."
He stood before her, punctuating the analogy by drawing a deep breath of smoke into his lungs and watching the coal suddenly burn brightly in the dimly lighted room.
"But instead of burning up and enjoying your life force, you're letting it mildew inside some horrid container deep in your mind. The tobacco in your body becomes staler with each passing day. You're growing older, more cemented in your ways. You aberration is becoming more acute, more realistic. You're unable to dissociate it from what reality is."
An ash grew on the tip of the cigarette and Jennings flicked it, watching it rain to the floor and splatter into minute gray particles.
"If you don't try to help yourself, and do it soon, Justine, you're going to end up like that ash. You're going to crumble into a billion tiny particles and no doctor is going to be able to piece them back together. Live, for God's sake, woman, fight yourself. Don't let your mind-that cancer that's eating at you deep inside your brain-devour you with hatred and vindictiveness. Try, Justine. Try to break through."
He tossed the cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his toe.
"You mean," she said surlily, "I should pull my panties down and screw every man who looks at me!"
"If that would help. yes. But it wouldn't. You'd only become more frozen, more frigid. You couldn't cope with that approach."
"What do you suggest?" she said, leaning back on her elbows and throwing out her chest so that her nipples pressed tautly against her blouse. "Do you suggest I spread my legs for you? Let you get your kicks with me, would that help?"
"If I wasn't your doctor, it might. But you hate me, Justine. We both know that. No. I say find a man, some man you might like. A single, available man. Not a man like Mark with a wife and children. A man like Mark you know you can't have, still you want him. That just torments you even more than you already are tormented. Find someone, find him and let your feet get wet. Make love to him-not just sex-but honest love. Share with him your secrets, trust him."
"Shit," she snarled, brushing her hand through her hair. "I don't know why I listen to you. You tell me to go out and fuck anything I see, calling it love. You...you men don't know what love is. All you know is you have to get your kicks. I've seen you operate. I've listened to your jokes and braggings. I've let you touch me and beg me to go bed with you. Men." She spat, her pretty face suddenly ugly with hate.
"Then find a woman," Jennings said bitterly. "Find anything human and love it. Love anything but your finger and the dreadful nightmares."
"So that's your therapy? Fuck anything, man or woman. How about animals? Should I try on a dog, or a monkey?"
"Don't be vicious, Justine. Try to be rational. Sometimes you're very rational. Very kind. Very tender. That's the real you. Not some prisoner of desire."
"Desire!" She threw her head back and laughed. "What would you know about desire? You, a filthy pervert getting fifty bucks an hour for watching someone masturbate and then telling them to go whore around with men and women."
Her eyes aflame, saliva flying from her lips as she shouted out the words, she stood and started for the door.
"You. You and your goddamned psychiatric philosophy can go get screwed. I thought you could help me. I was wrong. You're no better than the rest. You're worse. You're slimy. You're dirty. Let it all hang out, Justine," she mocked. "Do anything you want. Feel free to let your inhibitions run wild." She wagged a manicured finger at him.
"But you forgot to add, dear doctor, that you got your kicks watching. That you're as crude and vulgar as the next man."
Her throat was dry but she coughed and spat at him.
"That's what I think of you-and your goddamned suggestions."
Bernard Jennings watched the flash of her skirt fly out the door and heard the door slam shut. He sat back in his chair and looked at the crumpled cigarette butt on the floor.
"Poor Justine," he said aloud, picking up the lifeless cigarette and dropping it in the ashtray.
She had been racing through the countryside for three days, stopping only long enough to eat and catnap. The Porsche growled under her as she piloted through the tortuous roads snaking themselves around the arrow-straight freeways connecting one teeming town to another.
Justine had decided to go nowhere in particular, just to drive and keep away from the mad rush of tourists and the bustling coldness of the cities. She chose the county roads, driving them as she might the Monte Carlo-always pushing her foot down when she should have hit the brakes.
Maybe the wind and the snarling of the engine would help drive the thoughts from her mind. Maybe death would come around a blind corner and she would never know it when they stood face-to-face, splattered on the highway in the midst of crunching metal and breaking glass.
She had her chance at death and passed, as she knew she would each time. The low-slung auto screeched around the corner, spewing chunks of gravel in high trajectories as the car hugged the road like a frightened woman and righted itself down the center of the lane. The car she had nearly driven into the vertical embankment disappeared around the corner and she sighed, glancing from her rear-view mirror back to the white lines jumping beneath the front bumper.
She slowed and relaxed her tense muscles for the next few miles, smoking cigarettes and beating the dashboard with her fingers to keep her mind from Dr. Jennings, Mark, the elevator boy.
A loud, wailing shrill cut through her thoughts and she glanced up into the smoke-colored mirror. A sheriff's car was looming up behind her, its fat dome flashing red, its lights blinking on and off.
Sighing, she pulled to the shoulder of the road and killed the engine.
"Drivin' mighty reckless, young lady." Justine looked up at the tanned face, its eyes hidden from her view by mirrored sunglasses. The man leaned down, resting his elbow on the car's open window.
"Don't lean on it, please," she said haughtily. "It's too expensive for a man's elbows."
"Mighty bold for a woman who just about killed a man, aren't ya?" He leaned harder on the door, making the car sag on its springs.
"I don't know what you mean, officer."
"Back there at that corner. You came barrelin' around it so fast, you just about killed Mr. Wallace."
"Who?" Justine felt the oppressive heat settling in the cockpit of the car and wished the man would hurry up and ticket her.
"Mr. Wallace. He owns our little town up ahead. Mighty fine man, Mr. Wallace. Lots of people here think a whole lot of him. He don't tell any lies and he radioed me and said a car, just like your car, nearly killed him. I got to take Mr. Wallace's word for it, lady."
"The name is Conrad, officer. Miss Conrad. Do you want to see my driver's license?"
"No siree, lady. I want to see you."
Justine swung her head around to face the man. He was looking at her dress drawn up to her thighs. A drop of black saliva dripped down his chin and he smiled, revealing a mouthful of yellow, Copenhagen-soaked teeth. Justine winced as he spat a long viscous stream of juice over her head. A thin strand of saliva dropped down on her face and she wiped frantically at it.
"For Christ's sake," she stammered, pursing her lips in disgust. "Are you an animal."
The man laughed.
"Depends on who I'm with, Miss Conrad."
"You're obscene," she snapped, grabbing the wheel tightly in her hand and looking straight ahead. "If you are going to give me a ticket, please do so I can be on my way."
"Where you headin', Miss Conrad?"
"That's none of your business, now please-"
"Don't get so haughty, Miss Conrad. You see, you're in a heap of trouble. Mr. Wallace says he wants to issue a complaint against you. Said for sure you was drinkin', nobody drives that way sober, he says, right over his own private telephone in his car."
"Well, I obviously haven't been drinking. And I don't know anything about trying to kill Mr. Wallace. I may have been speeding, but that's all."
"Better let me smell your breath, Miss Conrad."
"I refuse. I haven't had a drink for three days. Now please, officer."
"Rules say I gotta smell your breath, lady."
He shifted his weight so his back leaned against the side mirror.
"Just lean up here and blow in my nose and I'll follow you anywhere." He slapped his thick thigh and laughed crudely. "Well?"
"I'll do no such thing. I'll walk a white line, pick up dimes, take a blood test-but I will not blow my breath in your face. What kind of a test is that?"
"That's the kind of test we use on pretty things like you, Miss Conrad."
Justine's skin crawled as she felt the man's eyes peering down the front of her blouse. She nervously pulled at her scarf, tucking it down the front of her blouse.
"You got a real fine body for a criminal, Miss Conrad."
His voice was rhythmical as he ran a heavy, calloused finger along the door, touching it against Justine's elbow. She jerked her arm inside the car, suddenly more frightened of the man than the trumped-up talk about "killing someone."
"Please," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I'd like very much to be on my way. I'm sorry if I was rude."
"Ho, you weren't rude, Miss Conrad. I was rude. Spittin' over your head the way I did. Touchin' your arm. Lookin' down your blouse. Now, them things are rude, Miss Conrad. Real rude."
Justine squinted and saw the fresh hint of manhood creeping across the man's dark face. He looked no older than twenty-one or twenty-two. A class ring covered half the second joint of his right ring finger, his face was smooth and freshly shadowed with youthful whiskers.
But his voice was deep and masculine, teasing her with a practiced air of oppressive forcefulness. "Are you going to ticket me?" she asked tartly. "No, lady."
"Well, then, can I be on my way?" "No, lady."
"Why can't I?" she whined, infuriated with the nonsensical jabber.
" 'Cause you're going to jail, lady. Until Mr. Wallace decides what he wants to do with you. But I got a pretty good idea."
"What! This is ridiculous."
"No, it ain't, Miss Conrad. Now either you move your pretty self over or I'll have to ride you in my lap all the way to town. And I'd like that, Miss Conrad. I'd really like that."
He spat another stream of the seedy tobacco juice over her head and opened the door. Justine stepped out, carefully pulling her dress down as she did and climbed into the driver's seat.
"Voom. Voom." The sheriff leered at her and started the car, driving it as fast as it would go into the sleepy dreary town of Collinsville. * * * "I want to call a lawyer," Justine demanded, jumping to her feet in the sweltering sheriff's office.
"Sorry, lady, no calls to anybody until Mr. Wallace says so. Like I told you, he owns this town, and the people in it. He got me this here badge." He flicked the star on his left breast pocket. "And he gets me just about anything I want. Anything."
The man leaned forward and stared at Justine's legs, his eyes roving up them to her breasts which she tried to hide by sloping her shoulders forward and turning away from him.
"He's gonna like you, Miss Conrad. He's gonna like you a lot."
Justine shut her eyes, angry and afraid, and thought of Dr. Jennings. If she couldn't call a lawyer, then maybe he could help. Yes, he could help.
"I don't feel well," she said, holding her forehead. "I have a bad heart. I'm supposed to call my doctor when I'm ill. May I call him?"
She forced her voice to crack as she spoke, and leaned forward as if her stomach were cramped.
"Hey, don't you worry your head any, Miss Conrad," the sheriff said, his face lighting, the smile perking back to his sunburned lips. "We got our own special doctor here in town. He can fix anything from a cow's leg to a raped virgin. I'll call him."
Justine jumped up. "No, I have to talk to my doctor. He's a specialist."
"Yeah, with a body like yours Miss Conrad, I bet he's real special with you. Real special."
Enraged for a moment, Justine started to stand and lash out at the precocious youth. But she checked herself and looked around the room. She felt like a prisoner locked in a dank cell awaiting execution for a crime she didn't commit. As the sheriff dialed the number and the phone whirred through the numbers, Justine studied her cell, scanned the dusty windows and listened to the creaky wooden desk sagging under the boy's weight as he leaned his elbows on the worn top and looked at her, the phone shoved against his ear like a transistor radio, his fingers tapping the top of the desk with a disturbing, disjointed tempo.
The hard wooden bench she sat upon seemed to push against her, kinking the muscles of her buttocks and making her still more uncomfortable than she already was. Dust balls rolled around the floor, dancing around her ankles and brushing against her skin like ethereal tumbleweeds, teasing and taunting her. The air around her was stolid and she sucked deep breaths in to satisfy the thirst in her lungs.
"Hello... Doc... This is Pete... Got a customer for ya...pretty one...says she's got a heart condition...nah...I'm holding her until Mister Wallace gets back...nearly killed him with her fancy little car...nah...she ain't dyin'...she looks as healthy as a whore in heat...yeh...see ya..."
"Is that how you treat all your violators?" Justine lifted her ski-slope nose and stared aggressively at the smiling youth.
"Just our pretty ones. We got different rules out here than most people. We tell it like it is. You mind hearin' how it is? It ain't as bad as you think, lady. You're gonna like Collinsville. Honest. You're gonna like it real fine."
Two cigarettes and an interminable silence later, a wizened, craggy-faced man in his sixties poked his head through the door, his hair slicked back with grease giving him the appearance of a poorly groomed rat, his small, beady eyes darting around the room, his scrawny hand holding the door half-open.
"Pete? O.K. to come in?"
"Sure, doc. Come on."
The rest of his body slinked in after the head. He was thin. His wrist bones protruded like ball bearings stretching the ancient flesh of his arms as tautly around his arm as a turkey's skin that has cooked for hours. A frayed coat dangled off his skeleton frame as he gingerly stepped in, his shoes creaking loudly in the oppressive silence.
"Meet Miss Conrad, Doc. Says she has heart problems."
"I feel much better now," Justine stammered, sliding to the end of the bench and gripping the wooden arm. "Much better."
The greasy-faced man looked at her and opened his mouth. Justine gasped as she saw the rotten cavities and black, decayed shards of once-white teeth clinging to his fetid gums. The rank odor of cheap wine wafted through the room as he coughed and then wiped his slobbering mouth with the back of his dirty jacket sleeve.
"Better take a look, though, Pete. Don't want the county coroner coming down here telling me I don't know my job."
As he spoke, his eyes wandered over her body, stopping to savor her breasts which she again tried to hide by crossing her arms across her chest and pinching her shoulders forward.
"R...R...Really...I'm much better. I took a pill."
"Don't make no difference," the old man said, stepping closer and staring at her through his slitted eyes. "Law says I got to check you out, lady. If you die, then it's my neck. I don't want you dying on me."
"Doc's right, Miss Conrad. Better follow me."
Justine's frightened eyes jerked from the grotesque man to Pete.
"I refuse. I refuse to be examined."
The Doc laughed, a shrieky, ratty laugh that convulsed into a series of throaty hacks.
"Can't refuse, Miss Conrad," Pete said, standing and dangling a ring of keys in his hand. "Law says that the doc's gotta check you. Besides, I have to check you too, see that you don't have any weapons or dope on your body. You know, stuffed up any secret places."
He finished the sentence and stepped from behind the desk to block the door.
Justine's full, red, trembling mouth hung open in awe. This couldn't be happening, she thought, it must be a dream. It was straight out of some maddening story, a page of fiction.
Pete rattled the keys, making them clunk together.
"Are you gonna walk back there to the examinin' room, or do we have ta carry you?" The smile on his face dissolved into a threatening grimace.
"You mean you will force me?"
"We mean just that, Miss Conrad. The law is the law."
His stern face remained immobile. The Doc weaved, holding on to the edge of the desk for support.
"I'll scream if you try," she said, testing their response and pulling herself closer to the edge of the bench.
"Fine. Like to hear a woman scream. People in town like to hear a woman scream too. So scream. Go ahead. Right now. Scream."
It wasn't a hard task. Justine opened her mouth, hesitated and then let the scream rip out of her throat, filling the room with an agonizing, frightful sound that contrasted sharply with Pete and the Doc's coarse, jovial laughter.
Red-faced, Justine stopped and felt the blood draining from her face like rainwater from the roof of a house.
"Only gonna ask you one more time Miss Conrad, you comin' with us by yourself, or are we gonna have to carry you?"
She watched Doc rub his bony hands together and squint at her.
"I'll come. But please...please..." "Please what, Miss Conrad?"
She stood without finishing her plea. She didn't know what she was pleading for. She didn't know why she was even here or what the men had on their minds. It could all be up-and-up. It could be procedure. She had read about the ways jails worked. Maybe it wasn't what she thought. Maybe it wasn't what she feared.
Pete stepped ahead of her, unlocked the hatch leading into the cell and waved her in. The smell came before the sight. The rancid, acrid smell of damp urine burned up into her nostrils as Pete nudged her into the narrow hallway.
The sight came second. The dirty cells were disheveled. Mattresses lay thrown on the food-strewn floor, urinals were overflowing, the polluted water seeping along the floor and into a crusty gutter chiseled in the shape of a U which ran in front of the six cells. Tin dishes in the first cell floated in a wet blotch of chunky vomit left by a previous tenant.
"Pretty, isn't it?" Pete said shutting the hatch behind him.
Justine froze in her tracks. Her hands felt numb and lifeless dangling at her sides.
"This is horrible," she said, clutching her nose and scrunching up her face in disgust. "This is wretched. I thought you said there was an examination room."
"There is. Any one of these pretty little apartments will do."
"No. My God. They're filthy, vile."
"You got it all wrong, lady. These are the finest lodgings you'd find anywhere."
"I'm going to get sick." Her stomach heaved and she felt woozy; grabbing the sides of her head and pushing her hands hard against her temples, she staggered back and bumped into Doc's thin frame.
"Go ahead. You won't be the first," Pete laughed as Justine lurched from Doc's body into the middle of the cell block.
"Don't touch me," she called, backing down the cell runway, her hands clutching her sides.
"Got to," Pete said smoothly, "it's the law. Can't fight city hall."
"Then call a matron. A woman. If you have to examine me, call a woman." Justine sobbed out the words, backing still farther down the runway.
"No women around. In Collinsville the men do the examinin', you know what I mean?" He edged closer, his eyes fiery, the keys dangling in his hands noisily.
"Please don't. Don't touch me," Justine begged, bending over and sobbing, backing up until her rump met the cold concrete wall.
"Got to touch you," Pete said advancing closer with Doc stumbling behind him, peering over his shoulder and around his side. "Both of us got to touch you. Old Doc has to check you medically. I gotta check you for the law. Can't stop us, lady. Sorry, can't stop us."
"Please!" Please!"
Justine was sobbing hysterically, crumpled against the wall. Her fists were balled and her elbows punched into her stomach, her thumbs formed a gothic arch over her nose as she buried her face into her fists.
"Please! Don't touch me. Please! You have no right. No right."
"I gotta have a right or it wouldn't be legal, Miss Conrad. And we don't do nothin' in Collinsville that ain't legal. Right, Doc?"
"Right," the man squeaked, rubbing his scurvy mouth again with the back of his sleeve.
"No," she sobbed. "I'll report you. I'll report you."
"Go ahead, lady. We're just doin' our jobs."
Justine gasped as Pete's hand gripped her arm like the jaws of pliers. He shoved her into an open cell and threw her on the damp, sooty mattress.
"Undress!" he snarled. "Or we do it for you."
"All right. All right," she cried, sitting up and glaring at him through the tears in her eyes.
Slowly, her hands shaking uncontrollably, she began to unbutton her blouse. She turned, facing the cracked wall with the obscenities scrawled on it, and pulled the sheer material off her creamy, smooth shoulders. Clutching it over her breasts, she turned back toward them.
"All right. Examine me."
Pete laughed, slapping his oak-thick thigh with the key ring. "You got it all wrong, lady. We mean everything. All that garbage you got over that pretty little body of yours. That bra coverin' those juicy tits, that skirt hidin' your pretty panties. The panties nestlin' around that hungry little cunt. Everything Miss Priss. Everythin'."
"You filthy beasts!" Justine screamed, her face suddenly scarlet with anger. "You scum."
Pete's hand exploded across her face, sending her sprawling and sniffling to the wet floor. Her head spinning, she pushed herself up and stared at the men looking down at her and laughing.
"You saw her try to scratch me, Doc. I only did that in self-defense. Thought she was gonna claw my eyes out, the little vixen."
Justine put her hand to her face and felt the stinging cheek, hot and flushed, meet her cool palm.
"You hit me!"
"I defended myself, lady. Now, are you gonna take them off by yourself, or do we help?"
He pulled her to her feet and stepped back, viewing her breasts pinched together in the constricting bra. Trembling, she stepped out of the short dress and stood, her clothes in her hand, looking from the sheriff's lighted face to the doctor's swarthy complexion.
"All of them!"
Justine closed her eyes and bit her lip as she reached behind her back, her breasts strutting out in front of her, arching up proudly, and unhooked the bra. She held it a moment, hoping that in the ticking seconds someone would come and stop the debauchery, pull the men away and let her free of their piercing eyes and insane clutches. The fantasy ended with Pete's hoarse voice.
"Let it drop!"
She released her hold on the bra and felt the cup sag away from her mounds, felt the shoulder straps loosen and slide down her arm, felt the torpid air swirl around her nipples as the bra slithered down her front, catching for a moment on her thumbs before skidding the rest of the way down her spread legs to the soggy floor.
Justine opened her eyes and saw the men's eyes bulging as they feasted on her flesh, eyeing the upturned nipples and sharp under curve of her breasts protruding handsomely from her small chest.
"The panties. The panties." She looked at the doctor's fetid eyes, yellowish in the sallow light filtering lazily through the small windows overhead.
"You heard him, the panties. Take 'em off."
Justine hooked her thumbs in the elastic band, sucked in a large breath of air and wriggled free of the material. As she stepped out of the silk protection, she felt a sudden wave of total helplessness settle over her.
"God, look at that."
Their eyes riveted on her soft, glistening black pubic hairs forming a downy iridescent V just below her smooth abdomen. A faint trace of furlike hair formed a thin line from her navel to the top of the pubic delta.
"All right, Miss Conrad. Lay your pretty ass down and let the Doc check your heart."
"Isn't this enough? You've seen me, now let me get dressed. Look," she said desperately, her hands outstretched toward them, "I have some money with me. A few hundred dollars. Let me go and it's yours. All of it. I don't want it. I won't say anything. Honest. Just let me go. I'm not well, really. Please. Call my doctor, Bernard Jennings, in Los Angeles. He'll tell you. Please?"
"He the heart specialist?"
The Doc stepped forward, cocking his head to one side and looking at the coral-colored nipples.
"No. I lied about that. I'm not well. It's my mind. Really. I'm unstable. I'll go crazy if you touch me. Please. I hate men. I hate them."
She shoved her face into her hands and wept, the tears squeezing out from her puffed eyes.
"Why do you hate men?" the Doc asked, reaching out and touching her shoulder with his scabby hand. Justine jerked away, falling back against the wall and pressing herself tightly against it. Her eyes were wide ovals of terror as she screamed.
"DON'T TOUCH ME! FOR GOD'S SAKE DON'T TOUCH ME!"
Doc shuffled forward, his back bent, his long face and heavy eyebrows wrinkled with excitement.
"You're afraid of men, ain't you? Ain't you? You're afraid they're gonna fuck you. You don't want them to fuck you, right, lady? Right?"
Again his bony, deathlike fingers stabbed out and grabbed her shoulder and again she shrieked, stumbling against the side of the cell and pressing her back against the bars.
"YES! YES! I'M AFRAID. LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"
"Does your doctor or anybody know where you are, lady, so's they can come and help you?"
"NO!" she screamed. "NO! LET ME ALONE! LET ME ALONE!"
"Come on, Doc, we haven't got all day," Pete said impatiently.
"Better come lay down, lady," Doc said, a sneer on his face, his rotten teeth massaging the side of his tongue as he bit down on it. "Better get it over with and then you can go. If Mr. Wallace says it's okay. Then you can go."
Her eyes flitted from side to side. "Do you mean it? I can go after the examination?"
"Sure," Pete added. "If Mr. Wallace says it's okay, you can go. It usually is okay with Mr. Wallace."
"All right. All right." Justine pressed against the wall and edged toward the bunk "I can leave after you examine me."
"Sure enough, lady," Pete said putting the keys on the bottom of the bunk.
Eying them carefully, she sat on the edge of the bunk.
"Lay back," Doc said, shuffling toward her and taking off his jacket. Sweat soaked his soiled white shirt, matting it against his skinny chest.
Justine lay back, craning her neck to see them. The gritty surface of the mattress scraped against her back-as she shifted, tense, afraid, her eyes wide with fear.
"Got to check that heart." Doc placed his hand suddenly on her left breast and squeezed. Justine screamed.
"DON'T! DON'T! WHAT KIND OF A DOCTOR ARE YOU!"
"Shut up, bitch," Pete warned. "You say another word and I'll put a gag in your fucking mouth."
He raised his fist high in the air and threatened her. Justine stiffened as the doctor's hand massaged her breast brutally, squeezing it until the nipple was stiff and protruding a half-inch from the rosette aureole.
"Heart feels fine," he said clinically, squeezing the nipple and rolling it between his two dirty fingertips. "Guess I better listen to it, though."
He took his hand away and pressed his ear over the nipple, breathing hard as he felt the turgid tip grinding inside his unwashed ear.
"Beatin' pretty fast, lady. Pretty fuckin' fast."
"No. No. No." Justine closed her eyes and beat her fists on the dirty mattress. She couldn't believe it was happening, that an ugly, gnomish man with greasy hair and a dead man's hands was touching her, massaging her body with as much liberty as she had to breathe.
"Better taste it, Doc. Better see if you can taste any-thin' wrong."
She started to sit up and push the man away, but Pete's hand covered her face and pushed her back down.
"Now you leave the Doc alone, Miss Conrad. Until he's through."
Whimpering, biting her lip, beating on the mattress with her clenched fist, she tensed and felt the old man's mouth cover her breast and begin to suck. She gagged as she felt his rotten, broken teeth grating over the nipple, tugging at it between the sharp gnaws he made with sickly gums. He pinched the nipple between his widely separated front teeth and she felt the nipple stick between the broken teeth.
Looking down, she saw his gleaming dark hair shining with oil as his head bobbed up and down, pulling on the nipple forked between his teeth. He was making low guttural sounds, rubbing his groin against her other breast as he suckled like a starving rat on her teat.
Justine had no control over her fists. They suddenly jerked up and beat at the man's head, smashing off his skull with sharp thwacks. It worked. He released his hold on her breast and howled, stumbling back against the bars and clutching his knotted head.
"Bitch," he hissed. "Ought to kill her for that, Pete. Ought to kill her."
But Pete only laughed, looking from the doctor to Justine's frightened figure.
"You over-examined the poor girl, Doc. Look at the tit. All puckered up. All stiff. All hot. Now it's my turn. I gotta check you out, Miss Conrad. Part of the law."
He moved forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, rolling her over to her stomach.
"Better that you don't try to hit me, Miss Conrad. I hit back. I get real mean when a woman hits me. Better you just lay there and moan real nice, like you like bein' examined."
Sobbing, Justine buried her face into the filthy mattress and sobbed as she felt Pete's hand rubbing down her back, squeezing at her buttocks, spreading the cheeks.
"Gotta check to see you don't have any thin' in your asshole, Miss Conrad. Lotta you criminals bring in dope and things in your asshole."
His leathery hands pulled her waist up, making her body jackknife. She cried out as she felt the sheriff's fingers rub up and down the crack of her anus.
"Real nice ass, Miss Conrad. You ever been fucked in the ass?"
"Please don't? Don't touch me there? Please?" Justine closed her eyes and saw the nightmare playing before her mind. It was like the dreams she had had, the men were touching her all over, laughing and teasing her, poking at her. She whimpered as she felt Pete's finger push in against the slit and nudge her anus. Again and again he poked, pushing the tip of his finger inside her. INSIDE HER! God, no. No. NO!
Her body tensed, her muscles tightened. The cheeks of her buttocks snapped around Pete's finger, "Kinda like that, huh, Miss Conrad? Kinda like old Pete Quigley to stick his finger up your ass?"
"No. You're filthy. You and the doctor are perverted."
The sheriff laughed, his deep resonanting voice bouncing off the walls and ringing in her ears.
"Gotta get way up there and see what might be hidden," he rasped, pressing his chin against the small of her back and shoving the finger in farther, stretching the tissues of her small, virgin anus, making her cry and weep and curse at him as he slid it in and out, hooking the tip against the sides of her membranes and rubbing it back and forth until Justine grunted and gasped.
"Feelin' better, Miss Conrad?"
His finger plumbed faster and faster inside her.
"Feelin' better?"
Justine screamed as the ripping pain seared through her body, erupting out of her mouth in a long, forlorn wail.
"Guess there ain't nothin' hidden up your ass, lady," Pete said drawing the finger out. "But you still got a couple of holes I ain't looked at yet."
Grabbing her roughly, he rolled her onto her back and pushed her legs up in the air with his shoulder "Hold these for me, Doc."
Tears welling in her eyes, she saw Doc's wavering figure hobble over and felt his clammy hands grab her legs and hold them tightly.
"Sometimes you women hide razor blades in your cunts, Miss Conrad. I gotta check to see what you got up there."
Justine felt her vagina spreading open as Pete's fingers pushed the lips apart. "I ain't gonna hurt you, Miss Conrad. So you don't need to scream."
But Justine screamed. She opened her mouth wide as she saw Doc's beady eyes glaring down at her, his mouth drooling, his tongue sliding across his cracked, aged lips. She screamed and tried to twist away, but only succeeded in helping drive Pete's probing fingers deeper and deeper into her vagina.
"I'll be goddamned. She's a virgin."
Justine gasped as she felt the man's thick fingers pushing at the head of her hymen. She felt the tingling sensation as her clitoris became excited by the man's touch.
Her breath came quickly, in short, lunging gulps as she tried to twist free of his finger. Pete laughed, tickling the walls of her vagina, rolling the clit against the side of her snatch, pushing it roughly against the wall of her virgin slit. She began to breathe heavily, trying to fight off the desire building within her. She closed her eyes and began to imagine the fantasies she had experienced with Dr. Jennings.
It was as if her finger were in her, as if she were in the psychiatrist's office, alone, safe, secure. She began to buck and whimper, this time from passion, not pain, as the man's incessant finger drove her to the edge of an orgasm.
She opened her eyes and saw Doc's ratty face leering down at her. She felt the flush of blood course through her cheeks, her breasts, make her loin burn with a fiery rage. Her hips thrashed wildly, driving the digit in deeper and deeper.
Her body stiffened, arched high and she trembled, trying to fight the impending orgasm.
"Jesus," Pete Quigley moaned, looking in awe at the bucking woman. "Jesus, she's a nymphomaniac."
As Justine was swept into the anxious world of an orgasm, she heard the voice yelling harshly.
"What in the hell is going on here?"
"Mr. Wallace!"
"Miss Conrad? Miss Conrad?"
Groggily, Justine shook her head and opened her eyes. The room was blurred for a moment as her eyes adjusted, then brought everything into clear focus.
A heavyset, middle-aged man sat on a chair next to her, his eyes traced with concern as he pressed a damp cloth against her forehead.
"Miss Conrad? Are you all right?"
"Yes," she answered, trying to sit up. The man pressed heavily on her forehead, holding her down.
"Don't move for a minute. Relax. You fainted."
She sank back against the couch and closed her eyes, savoring the cool feeling of the cloth.
"Where am I?"
"I'm Clayton Wallace, Miss Conrad. You're at my home."
Jie pulled the cloth away, dipped it in a bowl of chilled water and replaced it on her forehead. Startled, Justine suddenly jerked up and looked at her body, expecting it still to be naked. A white, satin robe covered her.
"Easy, Miss Conrad. You've had a terrible shock. A terrible shock."
The man's voice was paternal as he eased her back down on the couch and gently dabbed at her swollen cheek with the icy cloth.
"Those men, they..."
"I know, Miss Conrad. And I'm ashamed. I'm going to see to it that they get everything they deserve."
"Oh, thank you," she said, starting to sit up again. "I'm feeling better. I'll be all right."
He released his pressure against her forehead and let her sit up. She looked around at the large, spacious living room. A tall, dark-complexioned woman dressed in a white uniform smiled at her and nodded.
"Miss Conrad, this is Linda Steadman, a nurse from the county hospital. I called her, she lives just down the road, to come and see if there was anything she could do."
"Hello," Justine said, trying to smile gratefully. She looked into Clayton Wallace's face and began to sob. "Oh, it was terrible. Terrible."
"There. There. Don't think about it, now. Just res! and relax." Clayton moved the chair closer and held Justine, pressing her tear-stained face against his heavy shoulder and patted her head.
Wiping the tears away and sniffling, Justine sat back.
"Is it true no one knows you are in this area, Miss Conrad?" the nurse asked, pulling out an official-looking notebook and perching a pen over the paper.
"No one. I was just driving. Getting away from the city."
"Do you have any relatives we could call, a boyfriend, mother?"
"No," she replied, pressing her fingers against her sore cheek. "Just my doctor. Bernard Jennings in Los Angeles."
"Is he a GP?"
Justine paused, a flash of embarrassment rushing through her.
"No. He's a psychiatrist."
"Have you been under his care long?"
"A few months." She dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex Clayton offered.
"Anything serious?" the nurse asked, diligently scribbling on the paper.
"A personal problem."
"The sheriff said it had something to do with sex, is that correct, Miss Conrad?"
Justine looked furtively from Clayton Wallace to the nurse. "I don't see where that is important."
Clayton smiled, a small wart on his right cheek dancing as he forced a smile onto his wattled face. "I know these questions may sound personal, Miss Conrad. But there are some very serious charges involved here. We have to know everything to be able to proceed against the sheriff and the doctor. You understand that your answers are all very confidential. We not only have to worry about the legal aspects of this situation, but also your health."
He smiled wider.
"I'd just as soon leave," Justine said, "and forget everything. Really. I want to get far away from here."
"I'm sorry, Miss Conrad," Clayton said, patting her knee gently. "But we are obliged to present the facts as objectively as possible. Your side of the story is very important. There are other citizens to think about. One can't be selfish in a situation like this. Now, please, answer the questions as honestly as you can."
"Was your problem sexual. Miss Conrad?" the nurse asked again with an antiseptic look on her face. "Yes."
"Did it involve any crime?"
"No. No. I just..." She looked at Clayton's smiling face.
"Would you like me to leave, to talk more freely?"
"No, Mr. Wallace." she sighed. "It's nothing to bo ashamed of...it just doesn't seem important to the situation."
"Everything is important, Miss Conrad," Clayton said, wringing the washrag out and patting his own forehead. "I'm a lawyer, you see. And I'll be pressing charges, presenting the case and everything. I have to know all there is to know."
"Well, all right. I've been seeing the doctor about my relationship with men. I can't relate with men, that's all."
"But in the cell, Miss Conrad," Clayton queried, patting the cloth against the loose flesh hanging down from his chin, "you used some very rough language, coarse to be exact. And you seemed to be enjoying what the men were doing?"
"I WAS NOT!" Justine snapped, blood rushing to her cheeks. "They forced me, humiliated me. I had no control over myself."
"Is that the root of your problem, Miss Conrad," the nurse asked, sitting like an immobile automaton. "You have no control over yourself."
"Yes. No. I have control. I'm still a virgin. Please, is this necessary."
Clayton Wallace grunted, his knees creaking as he stood and wiped the back of his beefy neck with the rag as he paced the floor in front of her.
"Every thing is necessary in a court of law, Miss Conrad. Believe me. The most insignificant piece of information sometimes throws a case a hundred and eighty degrees off course. You have to understand that when answering the questions."
"My problem is a personal one. It involves no one but myself."
"But you are seeing a doctor?"
"Yes. I want to know what I can do about it."
"You want to relate to men, is that correct?"
"Yes," she sighed, becoming angry with the line of questioning. "Yes, I want to learn to relate."
"Hmmmm." Clayton held the cloth against his puffed jaw.
"What about the sheriff and the doctor. Did you question them?" Justine asked, trying to derail the subject from her.
"Yes. They say while they were examining you, you forced them to attack you, to masturbate you. They said you offered them money, then threatened that if they didn't do what you told them, you would say they tried to rape you."
"They're lying. That's a lie. They told me a phoney story about how they had to inspect me."
"Did they try to put their penises in you?"
Justine wrung her hands nervously. A chill crept up her back as she recalled the horrible experience.
"No."
"Did you encourage them in any way, use any words which might excite them, make them think you wanted them to touch you."
Justine was silent for a moment. She recalled saying something, something terribly vulgar, something terribly wrong when Pete's finger was in her.
"I don't remember. I don't think so. I hate them. They're both ugly beasts."
"Try hard to remember, Miss Conrad. At any time, did you say anything that might spur them on, make them think you were enjoying the inspection?"
"NO! NO! she cried, burying her face in her hands and sobbing.
Clayton patted her on the shoulder. "There. There. Take it easy, Miss Conrad. I think we had better give you a sedative and then have a doctor come look at you. I've a specialist, have him over here by the time you wake up. Now relax."
She felt the stinging sharpness of a needle jabbing into her arm, and then the sinking sensation of unconsciousness as she sank into the dark world of sleep.
"Miss Conrad?"
The gentle hand shook her shoulder. "Yes?"
Her head ached as she propped herself up on her elbows and rubbed her eyes. The nurse stood over her, looking down with a smile on her face.
"The doctor is here. Mr. Wallace asked me to wake you. Let me help you get the robe off so he can examine you."
"Yes. All right."
Justine shrugged out of the robe and pulled the sheet over her jutting breasts.
"Here, why don't you lie on top of the sheet. Raise your legs up. There. That's good. The doctor will be in a moment."
Justine looked up at the ceiling. Her naked legs were cocked up and her chest rose and fell as she breathed evenly, wishing the doctor would hurry and examine her so she could be on her way. She wanted to get as far away as fast as she could "He's coming," the nurse called from across the room. "He's coming."
Justine looked quizzically at the excited nurse. The door opened and her face grew white with fear as she saw the bony fingers inch around the edge of the door, then the sharp, sleek greasy nose and chin, the beady eyes, the slick-backed hair.
"Come in, Doctor Beck. Come in," the nurse said, her hands on her hips, a glint in her eye.
Justine began to scream hysterically, ranting and crawling off the bed, unaware for the moment she was naked, only concerned with the grotesque figure of Doc shuffling toward her, his hands outstretched, his mouth agape, the rickety teeth broken like a rotted, old wooden fence, his wine-stench seeping through the room, assaulting her nostrils with its mephitic odor.
"That's him," Justine howled, pointing at the advancing man. "Stop him. He's the one who attacked me in the jail. STOP HIM!"
"Yes, stop him, Linda."
Justine saw Clayton Wallace's heavy face peer around the door, then the rest of his corpulent body ooze through the doorway into the room. "Stop him, Linda "
"Mr. Wallace. Help me. Please. This is the man." She wagged her finger accusingly at the Doc who moved slowly towards her, backing her into the corner of the room.
"I know," Clayton Wallace said calmly, wiping at the perspiration under his arms with the cloth he still held. "I called him. He's a very good friend of mine. I trust his advice with my life."
The fat man reared back his head, his flesh sloughing against his neck, and laughed.
"You don't think for a moment we believed your ridiculous story about the sheriff and doctor attacking you. You're a pervert, Miss Conrad. A filthy sex pervert and we're going to cure you. The Doc and the sheriff and Linda and I are all going to help you get well. In fact, the whole town of Collinsville is going to help you get well."
He wrapped his arms around Linda Steadman's waist and pulled her to him, humping his pot-belly against her shapely ass as his hands crept up the front of her white uniform and rolled her large mounds of flesh like doughballs.
"Not only am I the only lawyer in town, I'm also the justice of the peace and I hereby declare, Miss Conrad, that you be contained and confined within the city limits of Collinsville until you are sexually cured again. And I appoint my good friends Doctor William Beck and nurse Linda Steadman to care to your every wish."
Justine screamed as the Doc's hands scrabbled for her breasts, shoveling themselves under-her clamped arms and squeezing the breasts until she cried in pain.
"Would you suggest eating a little pussy for the first session," Clayton laughed, unbuttoning Linda's blouse.
"Yeah. That's a good idea, Clayton."
The shriveled man yanked at Justine, dragging her to the bed where he pushed her down.
"Take your clothes off, Doc. Makes it look so much more exciting." Clayton had Linda's top pulled down to her waist and her bra off. His fat hands toyed with the dark woman's breast, digging in harshly against her olive-colored skin. Linda closed her eyes and mewed, reaching behind her and grabbing at Clayton's soft, round balls.
"My God," Justine gasped, watching the pair as Doc stripped his clothes off with shaking hands. "My God, what have I got myself in to."
"Don't feel so bad, Miss Conrad. You could be facing a manslaughter charge for drunken driving and hit-and-run. You got off real easy." Clayton buried hi: porcine mouth on the nurse's neck, sloppily kissing her shoulder and ear as he watched Justine shiverim on the bed. Doc took his limp prick in his hand anc-stripped it.
"Now, don't try that," Clayton barked. "We'll be here all night before you got a hard-on. Just eat it Doc. Just eat it."
"But if I could only..."
"Now, Doc. Remember last time? Remember when we let you try. It took three hours and it was only ha! hard."
"But I want to. I do want to."
"If you want to drink next week, you bettor just ea her and be happy with that," Clayton snarled. "Yeah. Okay."
"Get away," Justine yelled, slapping at the man': frail form as he crawled over to her.
"I wouldn't suggest fighting, Miss Conrad," Clayton warned. "You see, we treat violence with violence You know, we don't turn the other cheek. Every time you hit or bite or claw, you get the same in return."
He pushed Linda forward. Her eyes were ablaze as she padded to the bed, her breasts swaying magnifi cently against her chest. "This is for what you did t[ the Doc," she said, slapping Justine across the face "And this is one in reserve in case you plan on trying it again." Another blow cracked across her cheek, knocking her head against the pillow.
"Bitch," Linda hissed, "high-class bitch. You just lay your wet, sweet ass there and let the Doc get his fill."
Justine cried, holding her smarting face and sobbing as she felt Doc's hands groping at her vagina. She tried to faint but couldn't, so she reached up behind her and gripped the iron posts forming the head frame. Gritting her teeth, she tried not to think of the ugly little man who was bent over between her legs, licking at her thighs, fingering her vagina. She tried to imagine herself far away locked in the security of Dr. Jennings' interview room. She tried to think of herself lying on the couch imagining the stormy atrocities. But this was not her imagination, this was her reality, the ugly reality that she felt snaking inside her snatch, crawling up the sides of her uterus, knocking against the head of her cervix.
The Doc's tongue was experienced as it lashed around the outer sides of her hole, teasing the strip of spongy flesh covering her clitoris. The tongue moved as if it were a being unto itself, thriving off the spasms her vagina uncontrollably squeezed off.
Justine grimaced as the man's spear-shaped tongue banged against her hymen, stretching it and making her think it would burst any moment. His hands crept up to her chest while his head bobbed between her legs. Her jutting breasts whitened as his fingers dug deeply into them, squeezing and kneading the mounds.
He shifted and straddled her with his legs, his ancient, limp, nasty penis flopping between her breasts as he sucked on her cunt and massaged her breasts until they ached. Like a propeller sputtering inside her box, the Doc twirled his tongue one way, then recoiled it back, driving Justine higher up the bed, making her breath come in unwanted gasps of mixed fear and desire.
"She's getting hot, Doc. Keep it up."
"The bitch," Linda snarled, feeling Clayton's hands pushing down her uniform, exposing her buttocks. "Look at her laying there, pretending she doesn't like it. Look at her eating it up. Fucking bitch."
Clayton sank to his knees behind Linda and spread her cheeks. Linda moaned as she felt the fat man's skinny tongue shoot into her anus, filling her like the nozzle from an enema bag. Reflexively, she bent over, spreading her cheeks farther apart. Clayton's tongue drove up into her bowels, setting her mind on fire as she ground back against his slurping, ass-sucking, tongue-stabbing mouth.
"See...bitch...you'll get...your ass...reamed...ugh...like ...this...if...you're lucky..." Linda tossed her head and laughed, reaching up and fondling her own breasts which dangled like overweight waterwings from her voluptuous chest.
Justine looked at the revolting sight; saw Clayton's hands fumbling for Linda's vagina, saw his chin dangling between her legs with the loose flesh of his throat wiggling as he lunged his tongue into the nurse's ass, clubbing her colon with the blunt sides of the organ.
"Deeper! Deeper!" Linda cried, humping back into Clayton's face, her mouth frothing with bubbles of saliva, her hips jerking back, her face twisted in the agony of hedonistic pleasure.
For a moment, a second, a blink of the eye, Justine forgot about the wretched man between her legs and was mesmerized by the obscene spectacle taking place for her benefit. Doc's roaming hand as it shoveled beneath her ass and stabbed at her anus reminded her with horrid lucidity of her own tormentor.
She looked down and started to cry as the pain of his intruding finger jabbed brutally into her anus, twisting and grinding itself with insatiable force deep into her rectum.
The cry was suffocated in her throat by a groan, an animal groan triggered by the warm, tingling sensation that swept her body and made her toes curl, her back arch, her lungs ache for more air. She stiffened as the Doc's rotten teeth caught the tip of her clit and mashed down, squeezing the desire to be fulfilled throughout her trembling rigid body. Her mind softened to clay as she gurgled out one cry after another, urging the man to finish her.
"No! No! Yes! Yes! Do it! Do it!"
Her fingers curled around the iron bars of the bed, her jaw set tight, she thrust her breast up, touching the hardened nipples against the floppy, dark head of the man's flaccid cock.
"Come," she panted. "Come. Come."
"Bitch, listen to the bitch beg."
7 don't care, Justine thought, feeling the rising passion flooding against the dam. 7 don't care what happens.
She released her grip on the bed's bars and let her hands slip down to the Doc's mottled skin, rubbing his buttocks with her hands, thinking of nothing but the sensation of his tongue in her, his gums gnawing on her clitoris.
"Jack him off, bitch," Linda shouted, her voice riddled with passion, the sound of Clayton's face slapping against her supple buttocks ringing loudly throughout the room. "Jack him off."
Instinctively, Justine's shaking hands groped down and wrapped themselves around the old man's penis. As she squeezed, she felt his tongue harden inside her and twitch as though it were having an epileptic fit.
She pulled the limp, necrotic shaft, rolling it between her breasts as she felt the magnificent cloud of her orgasm puffing her up, lifting her out of the world of madness into the serenity and bliss of her imagination.
"Harder," she begged. "Harder."
Saliva filling her mouth, she leaned up and began placing kisses on the man's bony, pasty ass. She closed her eyes and thought only of the warm feeling inside her as her mouth began to move closer and closer to his puckered anus, her tongue dragging wet, sa-livic trails across his gray-haired, grisly buttocks.
"Eat his ass, bitch. Eat him. You want him. Go ahead. Eat him!"
She sucked the flesh on either side of the man's crack, hesitant about delving her tongue in. He helped by hooking his tongue against the flesh of her cunt and dragging it out, slowly, methodically, repressing the full, rapid grotesque growth of her bizarre climax. As she felt the orgasm fade back into her body, she thrust out her tongue, lancing it into the man's smelly orifice, working it past the grit and tiny round balls of gunk that clung to his vile body. Deep. Deep inside him, she began wagging the tip, tasting the brackish fluid as if seeped out of his bowels and leaked perfidiously into her mouth.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but release fn.]!!-the mad desire. She saw flashes of Dr. Jennings' fai i watching her studiously, not flinching, only taking notes, clinically, coolly. Nobody cared. Mark there, watching, tapping his pencil, telling her io hurry so she could finish the tracing. The elevator operator looked at her and the Doc through his convex mirror, snapping his gum loudly and turning away, asking another passenger how the game came out last night.
Nobody cared. Nobody cared.
"Ummmph. Ummph," she cried, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him against her, sucking out the salty juices and swallowing them.
Her tongue matched the Doc's probings, slipping faster and faster into his anus as she felt his tongue doing the same to her. The orgasm was back, teetering on the dangerous edge of explosion. Burning. Massaging. Teasing.
She bucked wildly, driving her arched hips into his rancid, greedy mouth. Her tongue sank solidly into his ass.
It was coming. She pulled her mouth from his ass and began biting his cheeks madly, grating the sagging flesh between her teeth and shaking her head. A low growl formed in her throat as his excitement grew, making his cock suddenly stiffen against her chest.
Her eyes wide with angry passion, her body shivering as the orgasm began to send the first rippling sensations through her, he grabbed the half-hard cock and stuffed it into her mouth, biting down hard on it and drawing back and forth between her teeth, feeling the flesh scrape viciously.
Sucking voraciously, she gulped at the cock, jacking the lower half of the staff with her hands as she slid her succulent lips again and again over it.
It was coming more now, beginning to spark through her, driving her to swallow more of the penis. More.
Doc shook his head from side to side like a rabid dog with a wounded rabbit in its mouth. The woman's prodding mouth excited him. He was overjoyed that his cock was as stiff as ever and he bit happily on her clit. He heard her scream and felt her mouth clamp over his cock, giving it the final, orgiastic tugs. He humped into her mouth and groaned as the painful experience of his defunct come hobbling up like crippled cockroaches from his ancient balls overcame him. Still, he lunged and felt the exciting moment as his juices spurted in jerky streams into her mouth.
Again and again, as if he had the clap and were trying to urinate away a full bladder, the come spat out in short bursts, dripping off the tip of his burgundy-colored penis into her pink, refreshing throat.
"AHHHHHH."
Linda watched Justine thrash through her orgasm.
"Cunt," she whispered. "Dirty cunt. You'll pay for being such a slut. You'll pay."
Arching back, she cried and let the woman-jism flow out of her cunt, run down her legs, stick between her toes as Clayton's fingers drove her to satisfaction. She felt his come spatter against her leg, catch in the crook of her knee and trickle down to her ankle.
The room was filled with a mass of sated bodies when Justine began to cry out and vomit, simultaneously.
They sat back laughing as Justine crawled to the top of the bed and screamed again and again, her high shrills piercing their ears and making Linda squirm uncomfortably.
"Shut up, bitch." She yelled over the din.
"No! God! You've made me do it. God!"
Infuriated, Linda stood and slapped Justine back and forth across the face.
"Stop it! Stop it!"
"Hit her again," Doc cried. "She's a dirty cocksucker."
"Say, that's no way to talk about a woman who made you come, Doc. Hell," Clayton said slapping his leg and wiping the coarse anus hairs from his mouth, "I'd be on the girl's side if I were you."
"Must be a cocksucker," Doc spat, listening to the continued cries of Justine as Linda repeatedly hit her. "Only a cocksucker can make me come at my age." He scratched his desiccated balls and chewed on the edge of his tongue.
"Well, whatever she is, she's going to be a good lay, that's for sure. A fucking virgin one minute, a nymphomaniac the next."
"Bet her doctor fucked the shit outta her," Doc spat, picking pubic hairs from the roof of his mouth.
"You said she was a virgin."
"She is, but I don't know how. Got a cunt as wild as a hot ewe's ass. Damn near tugged my tongue out by the roots, that bitch did."
"We're going to have some fun with this one," Clayton said, slapping his hands together and rubbing them maliciously. "We're going to have a whole lot of fun for us and Collinsville."
Justine was sapped of tears. Her face was alive with welts and she shivered each time Linda threatened her with a raised, open hand. It had been a nightmare, sinking back from the orgasm, feeling the man's cock still dribbling semen into her mouth, feeling his mouth on her vagina, sucking the juices out of her like pop from the bottom of the bottle.
She was sure they must have drugged her, injected some maddening drug into her vein to make her react as violently as she had. And now, she was as vulnerable as ever to them. Now, they had tasted her flesh and she was sure they would come again and again, like foraging ants, eating her to a nub and leaving her bones for the vultures to pick.
"Stand up, bitch." Linda stood away from the bed, her icy-blue eyes drilling into Justine, her arms cocked on her breasts, ready to strike out at the slightest hesitation on Justine's part.
Slowly, obediently, Justine stood, her body quaking with fear, disgust, shame.
"Turn around!"
Justine stumbled around in a circle, trying to cover her nudity.
"Let your arms hang loose."
She relaxed her arms and felt the eyes going up and down her body.
"Bend over and spread your cheeks."
Trembling, Justine bent and gently spread the cheeks of her ass, sobs catching in her throat. The vomit she had coughed up moments ago on the bed burned in her throat.
"Wiggle your ass."
Again, gently, Justine wriggled her rear.
"Now," Linda said hoarsely, "I'm going to eat your ass, like Mr. Wallace ate mine. I'm going to fuck your cunt with my fingers. You're going to rub your titties and milk them, get them real hot so Mr. Wallace can suck on them. Mr. Wallace likes titties like yours.
Nice and pointed, titties. Jazzy titties. Hot titties. When Mr. Wallace sucks on your titties, you're going to reach down over his back and finger his asshole. You're going to stick your finger up as far as it will go. Then, we'll all come together. You hear. We'll all come together.
"Stand up, now." Clayton Wallace grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet. He shoved his corpulent face into hers.
"I've invited some of the respected citizens of our little community to watch, Miss Conrad. And I don't want you to fuck things up by screaming or puking. Is that clear?"
"Yes."
"Now, if you're a good little slut, put on a good show. Come at the right time, we might let you go and forget we ever saw you. Got that? We might let you go."
Justine's heart pounded with hope. Maybe there was a slim chance he was telling the truth, she thought. Maybe if she was...maybe they would let her go free.
"I won't tell anyone, Mr. Wallace. Honest, I won't. Let me go now. Honest, I won't say a word."
He smiled, a sickly, saccharine smile. "I would have let you go a few minutes ago, but I already sent Doc to get the people. I couldn't let them down now. I'm a man of my word, Miss Conrad. Believe me. I'm a man of my word. You put on a good show and you just might find yourself tooling down the road in that fancy little sports car in no time flat. Right Linda?"
"Right, Mr. Wallace."
"Get her cleaned up, Linda. And change the sheets. Don't want to put on a show in a dirty bedroom."
He lumbered out of the room, wheezing and snorting like a boar.
"Come on, Miss Conrad," Linda sniped. "Let's take us a warm little bath. Just the two of us. And then we'll put on the show."
She grabbed Justine's arm and steered her toward the large, old-fashioned bathroom with the mosaic tiled floor and sunken eight-foot-long tub.
"Here." Linda threw Justine a wet washrag. "Wipe your filthy body off first. Then you can get in the water."
Shivering, Justine stood in front of the full-length mirrored wall and looked at herself as she laved the rag over body, patting away the filth and vomit left by the Doc and her own stomach. She saw Linda's supple figure bending over the bathtub, adjusting the water as it flower into the massive porcelain pit. Her hair spilled over her shoulder and Justine could see the woman's breast dangling in the fork made by her left arm and side.
A flash of warmth rushed through her as she thought of the woman's body next to hers. Quickly, she dashed the thought from her mind as the stinging of her cheek brought her mind back to the brutal reality of her situation. Who would believe her? It was so insane, so bizarre! Maybe Dr. Jennings would be the only one. He knew her better than anyone in the world. Surely, if she could only get to talk to him, ask him for help.
"How come you're still a virgin, bitch?" Linda's voice was harsh and cruel, contrasting with her beautiful, haunting face and goddesslike body.
"I don't like men."
"Are you a lez?"
"No."
"Well, what the fuck are you?"
Justine shook her head and bit her lip. "I don't know. I'm a woman. That's all. Do I have to be someone?"
"Don't shit yourself, honey. Everybody is something. Something more than they think they are. I thought I was going to be a nurse, marry a nice doctor. Live in a little house with a bunch of little shits running around. That's a lot of pigshit, bitch. There aren't any fairy tales in the world. No princess. Only the Wallace's and the Pete's and the Doc's. There's a lot of them and they're the ones who'll look after you. Not the goddamn bastards sitting high on the pedestals out there where you come from.
All they want is a quick fuck because you got a body. Then they feed you full of shit that they love you and they'll divorce their wife and marry you. So you keep fucking them and hoping, hoping they're telling the truth, and all the time you know they're lying through their ass. You know it, but you don't think about it. Then one day they come in and tell you they're through, they can't see you any more. They fawn over you, trying to get a last piece of ass. You spit in their face and they stuff your hand full of money, like that made any difference, like that would make everything suddenly change into the fairy tale. And they walk away, like a fucking dog that just pissed on the rug. They walk away muttering that they're sorry. But believe me, bitch, believe me, their cock is hard all the way out the door. All the fucking way."
Linda wheeled away, facing the tub, her face red with anger. "Then you meet a guy like Wallace. He lays it on the line, and you with it. He doesn't pull any phony bullshit. He pays you good, fucks you good, eats you good and you pay him back and get your kicks at the same time. Like with you, bitch. You, with your haughty fucking nose snubbing every asshole you see, afraid you might dirty your little cunt by touching them, afraid you're going out of your mind. Shit.
"The only thing wrong with you is that you haven't had a good cock or a good tongue between your legs. But that's going to change, bitch. You're going to get fucked every way there is to fuck. And when you're through, you'll be cured. Just like Wallace says. Just like he says."
Momentarily, Justine felt empathy with the woman. An alliance. She saw part of herself reflected in the bitterness of the woman's words; in the fieriness of her eyes; the twitching of her fingers as she lashed out against the world. The bond was whacked away as she cursed out.
"GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OVER INTO THIS WATER, BITCH."
Like a mouse skittering away from a cat, Justine backed away, frightened.
"I said get over here."
Linda stalked toward her, her legs springing, tense. Her fingers curled so her nails took on the appearance of claws. Her eyes were slitted, smoky, sullen.
The words sibilated out of her mouth. "Get your ass in the water or I'll rip your fucking face off."
"All right. All right," Justine replied weakly, stumbling past the crouched woman, knocking her knee painfully against the side of the tub.
She stepped into the tepid water and was suddenly comforted as she sank down to her neck, letting the warm fluid relax and tend her battered muscles. Linda crawled in the opposite end of the tub, her fingers still forming long, nailed hooks; her eyes still angry, rebellious ovals set in the hollow indentions below her smooth forehead.
"Soap me!" Linda commanded, jutting out her breasts.
"Or else?"
"You know, or else."
Justine took the bar of soap from Linda and began rubbing it over the woman's neck, shoulders, arms, trying to avoid contact with Linda's firm breasts.
"The tits. Soap the tits!" Stretching her arm in front of her, Justine pushed the bar of soap between Linda's breasts and began rubbing around.
"Scoot up closer. Drop the soap, and wash my tits with your hands!"
She let the bar slide from her hand as she scooted up, her knees touching Linda's.
"Linda, help me get away. I'll pay you. I'll give you all my savings. I have six thousand dollars and some stocks. Please?"
Linda looked at her a moment, licked her lips and began to laugh.
"You're as bad as the fucking men who shoved money in my hands. You want to buy me off too, with cash. Well, you'll buy me off, baby. With your tongue and your cunt, maybe. Not with money."
Justine felt empty, alone. Everyone was against her. There was no place to go, no place to run.
"My tits, bitch. Sit on my lap and soap my tits."
She felt Linda worm her feet under her buttocks, urging her to slide up and sit on her lap. She went along with the command, slipping up until her pubic hair met Linda's stomach and she could feel the woman's slick thighs bouncing under her buttocks.
"Is that comfy for you, bitch," she asked Justine facetiously, a cattish smile on her face.
"Yes."
"Then rub the tits, squeeze them, push them. Make them clean. They're real dirty titties. Real dirty."
Justine placed her warm hand over the slippery mound and squeezed, unable to keep it in her grasp for more than a second.
"Harder. Rub them harder."
She pressed her palms angrily against the woman's chest, grinding the firm mounds back until she felt the nipples stiffen and poke out against her like marbles.
Linda's hand relaxed. She leaned back, her eyes shut, a serene look on her face. Justine felt her knees tremble as the woman began to squirm, rubbing her thigh against Justine's vagina. The water slapped against her breasts as the bodies sloshed, making the fluid heave back and forth against the sides of the tub. Linda ground her thigh up harder, thrusting out her breasts and moaning as Justine massaged the slippery, greasy flesh.
"Kiss me," Linda moaned, snaking her tongue out in the air and wagging it. "Kiss me hard, like I was a man. Stick your tongue deep in my mouth and suck on my lips."
"I can't," Justine began to sob. "I can't." Her voice quavered, unsure, afraid of the growing excitement in her body.
"I'll love you, Justine," Linda cooed, still keeping her eyes shut. "I'll love you as a man never could. Kiss me."
"No," Justine whispered, her hands moving gently over the nipples, feeling their hardness pulsing against her own flesh. "Please? I don't want to."
"You have to," Linda's steady, low, husky voice intoned. "You don't have any choice. Make it easy on yourself."
The water swirled around her breasts, lifting the mounds like buoys bobbing in a turgid ocean and tossing them up and down, from side to side. Her body seemed to sizzle, her skin prickling with the unknown anticipation of things to come. Linda's arm snaked around her neck and pulled her forward.
She resisted, leaning back, trying to thwart the impending contact.
"Come to me, Justine. Kiss me deeply. Forget about all the things that have happened. Be good to me and I'll be good to you. Even help you escape, Justine. But I need you. I need you."
The word escape flashed on and off in Justine's mind.
"Will you? Will you? Oh, Linda."
"I will. I promise. But I need you now, Justine. I need you to love me. I could force you, beat you, but I want you to want me. It's better that way. Much better. So come to me, Justine. Come to me and I'll help you escape."
Justine, excited at the thought of her new-found comrade's pledge to help, relaxed and let Linda's hand draw her forward. She closed her eyes, that sizzling feeling steaming up from deep within her, and felt her lips press lightly against Linda's. It was a gentle, soothing contact. Her lips brushed softly, like the wings of a butterfly grazing her cheek, nose, mouth on a warm, sultry day. It was a delicious sensation. The apprehension and fear began to melt away and she returned the gentle kiss by moving her slick lips ever so slightly against Linda's.
"See," Linda said, opening her eyes dreamily and looking at Justine. "That wasn't so bad. A woman knows what another woman needs. You give everything to one another. You give her what a man takes greedily. You give her love when you seduce her. You give her compassion and tenderness. Give that to me, Justine? Give me all the love in your body. Don't hold back. Don't be afraid. It isn't bad. It isn't wrong. Besides, you have no choice. But don't think of it like that. Pretend you have a choice. Pretend..."
Her voice trailed off as she embraced Justine and began nibbling softly on her neck. Justine closed her eyes and felt the warm, tingling sensation as the woman's practiced mouth gnawed at the flesh behind her ear, her cheek. Again, her mouth pressed on her lips, only this time it opened and her tongue gently dabbed at Justine's lips, working its way slowly inside her mouth and touching the tip of Justine's tongue.
Justine responded, opening her mouth at the invitation and returning the kiss, cautiously at first; poking testily at the woman's stiff exploring tongue, feeling the ethereal sensation of her body lifting out of the water as Linda's arms pulled her up and mashed her breasts against her chest.
The two women slid back and forth, pushing their tits roughly against one another, rubbing the nipples together, feeling the jutting mounds fighting for command between them.
Justine's tongue no longer held back. It flashed inside her mouth, driving Linda's tongue back, then relaxing and letting Linda's snaking tongue take over. Following Linda's cue, Justine began to moan and rub her hands up and down her seductress's slick back. Together they rocked back and forth, causing the water to spill over the sides of the tub and splash noisily on the tile floor.
Linda broke the kiss and slid her hand between Jus tine's legs, cupping her V and squeezing the lips of her cunt roughly.
"Stick the soap up my ass," Linda panted, talking and licking at Justine's conical-shaped ear. Obedient ly, Justine picked up the bar of floating soap and stretched her arm back, rubbing the slick bar dow r. through the crevice of Linda's ass. She felt the worn:in shift, raising slightly so her cheeks spread and the soap bar slid more freely through the crack.
"Hard. Hard," Linda commanded, whimpering iuv:. driving her rear back against the soap.
Frantically, Justine jabbed the L-shaped edge of the soap at her anus, pushing it as hard as she could until she heard Linda moaning with satisfaction.
"Here, give it to me," Linda sighed, pushing Justine away. Justine pulled the soap from the water and handed it to the red-faced woman.
Drawing her long fingernails down one side of the soap, then the other, Linda cut the bar in half. She threw away one piece and began rubbing the shaft of soap under the water until its sides were rounded. Leaning out of the tub, she scraped one end of the soap on the tile floor until the tip was as sharp as a pencil point.
"Here, use it now. Drive it deep inside me."
Her hands shaking, her body aching to satisfy the woman who had promised to help out of this clutch of horror, Justine willingly grabbed the makeshift dildo and began jabbing it into Linda's anus.
Linda's mouth slobbered as she kissed Justine, her wide, oval-shaped lips closing around Justine's mouth, her tongue sucking wildly at the woman's tormented lips.
Justine stabbed the shard of soap lightly into the orifice, picking up speed as she felt Linda's fingers probing inside her vagina, catching her distended, hot clitoris between her thumb and forefinger and rolling it like a piece of dough.
"Stand up. Stand up," Linda wheezed.
Holding each other to keep from slipping in the tub, they rose, their arms wrapped around one another, the bar of soap firmly implanted in Linda's twitching anus.
Linda dropped to her knees in the water and looked up at Justine.
"I'm going to eat you. You fuck me in the ass with the soap."
Her mouth closed over Justine's water-dripping snatch as Justine bent over, leaning against the cool wall for support and began driving the soap deep into Linda's lapping body.
She felt the woman's tongue teasing the clitoris, licking so lightly at it she wasn't sure the organ was manipulating her or not. But the bizarre, tensing of her muscles and ringing loudness of her brain told her the woman was doing it, licking her cunt, stabbing at it, getting it ready for an orgasm. The thought made her jab the soap as far as it would go into Linda, who grunted and stiffened with pleasure.
Faster and faster Justine jacked the soap into her comrade, and Linda's tongue responded, rapaciously lancing in and teasing Justine's twat to the exploding point.
Suddenly, Linda jerked her head away from Justine's snatch and stood, bumping Justine with her head as she pressed against the wall to keep from falling. Thick webs of silken saliva dangled from the corners of her mouth, her eyes were glassy, her cheeks bright red.
"Now . . . now you suck on me. Give me the soap. Give it to me."
Turned cold by the abrupt interruption, Justine balked, her eyes wide, fear setting in to cloud the knot of passion forming in her stomach.
"I...can't...Linda...I...can't."
"You must," she hissed, her eyes hazy. "You must. I have to do it." "Please...please???" "Get down."
Roughly, she shoved the woman down to her knees, almost slipping and falling out of the tub. "Suck it sweetly. Suck it and lick it."
She took Justine's head and shoved it between her legs, grinding the woman's nose against her wet, dribbling cunt.
The musky smell rekindled the desire and made the knot cinch tighter in her groin. Her nose wrinkled at first, but as Linda began to lean down and shove the bar of soap against Justine's vagina, the smell disappeared and only the squishy, soft tissue of her cunt preyed on her mind. She opened her mouth and licked quickly, tasting the salty juices and feeling the hole widen under her manipulations.
She groaned and lanced her tongue in as she felt Linda push the pointed head of the soap into her cunt. Mixed with the tepid water, the soap eased in gently like a welcomed friend, rubbing against her clit and forcing her tight cunt open. The head of the shaft stopped at the hymen, and Linda was careful not to poke it past the breaking point.
A filling pressure ran through Justine as she felt the hymen giving. Her tongue responded, burrowing deeply into Linda's gash and dragging itself out. The response was so natural it astonished Justine and she experimented again and again, hooking her tongue-tip and pulling it out, sensing the titillation it caused Linda.
The action increased to a bizarre tempo. Justine licked wildly as she felt the soap bar twisting and pumping into her.
"Harder. Harder," Linda commanded, thrashing Justine's vagina with the bubbly bar.
"I feel it coming. It's coming."
Linda cried out, her legs snapped shut, pinching Justine's head between them. Jism seeped into Justine's slurping mouth. She stiffened at the same time, throwing herself back against the soap, trying to force it past the tender hymen, deep into her for full satisfaction. But Linda held it back, teasing only the first few inches.
Justine bit down hard as her come came. It made her shake her head and growl like a beast as it showered her with acrid drops of desire. The orgasm lashed through her mind like a sudden storm, toppling her over, throwing her around in its maleficent wake. Pulling her mouth away from Linda's snatch, she cried; a long, piercing wail, ululating through the hollow bathroom like the cry of a wounded banshee. The sparks showered in her mind, exploding like firecrackers inside her brain, driving out of her body the pressure that had formed eternities ago in her groin.
She shook out the orgasm as a dog does water from his back, throwing her back and hair from side to side, sinking her fingernails into Linda's buttocks, splashing the water out of the tub.
When it had finally passed, she sank down, feeling the slopping water slap at her face.
"You stupid bitch," Linda snarled, leaning back against the wall, her arms akimbo, her eyes dancing mischievously. "You stupid, dumb bitch."
Justine shook her head, trying to comprehend the tone of Linda's cold, foreign voice. She raised up on her knees, looking at the woman's granite face.
"Look over there, bitch," Linda said pointing to the mirrored wall. "Look at your audience."
A voice projected into the room somewhere near the wall. It was Clayton's voice, filled with laughter.
"You didn't really think our Linda would help you get away, did you, Miss Conrad? She's one of us, a good citizen of Collinsville, as are my guests today."
Justine's mouth hinged open as a light flashed on behind the mirror, revealing a tier of seats filled with onlookers. The sat behind the two-way mirror, their faces immobile, eating popcorn and licking at ice cream bars.
"May I introduce some of our citizens," Clayton said, stepping up close to the mirror, a microphone in his hand.
"Miss Smith, our schoolteacher," he waved a hand at an old woman with gray hair and a purple bonnet on. She stood, smiling and blinking, her loose, dry flesh jiggling like the throat of a turkey.
"Mr. and Mrs. Jones, the town grocer." He waved at the next couple, both thin, gaunt-faced persons with narrow eyes and Roman noses. They stood, waved and smiled.
"Johnny, the paperboy." A cherub-faced youth of twelve stood, grinning, his freckles shining under tlr] intense lights.
"And finally, Mr. and Mrs. Washington, cooks at Collinsville's finest diner." Two husky Negroes stood, the woman wearing a polka-dotted red bandanna, which contrasted sharply with her ebony face and brilliantly white teeth; the man smiling obsequiously at her, a gold, heart-shaped medal hanging from his neck against his soiled denim shirt, a piece of candy in his hands.
"That's not all either, Miss Conrad. Just a few of the many people in town, my town, who like a little entertainment. Now, I must thank you for a very wonderful performance."
He turned his back on her and addressed the group.
"As you no doubt saw, Miss Conrad is nothing more than a gutter slut from the city. Naturally, we owe ourselves and our community the task of making her something more than what she is. You saw the way she seduced poor Linda. So, when you talk about this incident to your neighbors, be sure to tell them Miss Conrad is a disease which we must control. I guarantee I will do everything in my power to correct her problem and to keep you safe from her evilness. Now, if you will follow me we'll have some refreshments. You'll all get a chance to see Miss Conrad undergo virginal therapy tomorrow evening a4 the theater."
He turned and stared at Justine's white, shocked face.
"Until tomorrow, Miss Conrad. Pete and Linda and the Doc will prepare you. Good-by."
He nicked the light off and the mirror returned Justine's reflection once more.
"It was all a trick," she muttered. "All a filthy trick."
"That's light, bitch," Linda sniped. "All a filthy trick, and only the beginning, Miss Conrad. Only the first act."
"Oh, my God," Justine moaned, sitting back and holding her ashen cheeks in her hands. "Oh. my God."
"Fuck you," Linda snapped. "Get your crying ass out of the water and follow me. I got something for you you're really going to hate."
Justine didn't move. She sat frozen, afraid to move, afraid to think. Even the smacking blow Linda delivered across her face didn't stir her. She only saw her reflection in the mirror, only the image of her slumped body sitting in the tub of water.
Justine didn't remember her journey to the bedroom. She walked in a trance, lifting one foot after the other as Linda steered her into the room and pushed her on the bed.
Time stood still in her mind, freezing and suspending the sight of the mirror, the faces of the people looking at her, Clayton's mouth open, ready to laugh, the melting ice cream bar in the paperboy's chunky, youthful hand.
It was beyond her. Far above her. Hanging there like . a tapestry, tormenting her, needling her with the obscene, insidious still life of terror.
"Shock," she heard Linda's voice saying through the fogginess. "Dumb bitch is catatonic. Look at her. Arms rigid. Mouth open. Ought to shit in her mouth just for kicks."
"No," Doc's whisky voice rasped. "Mr. Wallace said to get her ready for tomorrow. Got to keep her good and hot. Lotsa fingerin', lotsa talk."
"Yeah, Linda," the sheriff's deep voice answered. "Doc's right. Better not fuck over her too much till Clayton's through with the show. You know how pissed off he gets."
"I know. I know. Goddamn, you don't have to harp on it all the time."
"You know what happened last time, Linda? He really got pissed at you for that."
"Nearly beat me to death. I remember. Shit, you think I'm stupid."
"Get your filthy fucking hands off me. You want to touch something, touch that slut."
"I just want to feel you, Linda. That's all."
"Feel, shit," the sheriff said, "you'd like to eat her ass, like Clayton does."
"No. No. I know that she's Mr. Wallace's. I know that."
"Don't forget it either, you fucking old wino."
"Don't call me that, Linda. Don't call me that."
"Wino. Wino. Wino. There, fuck you."
"You better not call me that. I'm a doctor. I am. I ain't a wino. I ain't."
"Your fucking license is poured out every year by Clayton, you little bastard. If it wasn't for him and his money you'd be cooking with the niggers and washing their asses for them."
"You got no right to talk to me that way. No right."
"Want me to ask Clayton if I got a right? Want me to, little man?"
"Easy, Linda. Easy," the sheriff said. "Everybody cool off. We got work to do. What about her, Linda. She fucked up? Look at her. Eyes open. Looks dead."
"Hah. You want to see how dead she is. Hey Doc? Go kiss the bitch's cunt. Kiss it real good. Like you'd kiss a nigger's cock."
"Don't talk to me that way. Don't!"
"Simmer the fuck down and kiss her, Doc. I didn't mean it."
"All right."
Justine felt the tongue burning inside her. She tried to remain immobile, tried to remain in her rigid state. But she was melting, feeling the coldness disappear and the warmth cover her. Her lip trembled, shaking and jumping up and down.
"AAYYYEEEIII."
Her scream exploded, jarring Doc back against the foot of the bed. Immediately her body came to life, crawling with chills. Her stomach heaved, making her throat burn with the taste of vomit. She crawled up to the head of the bed, covering her nakedness with a pillow and looking anxiously at the three figures.
"See how fucking cold she is," Linda laughed.
"Good work, Doc."
"Easy, lady," the Doc said, his gums protruding from his festered mouth as he smiled. "We ain't gonna hurt you. Honest."
"Justine, dear," Linda said. "We're going to prepare you for a little shindig tomorrow night. We're going to have to tie you up, dear. You don't mind that, do you?"
She said nothing, only pulled the pillow tighter against her breast.
"Now, come on," Linda taunted, "things aren't that bad. You're going to enjoy what we have planned. It's real simple. All you have to do is lay back and enjoy it, like any good whore will tell you. Just lay back and like it."
She laughed, clutching her breast and hee-hawing as a burly man might over a crude joke.
"Tie her up, Pete. Nice and tight. Like a pig before the slaughter."
Pete's strong and Doc's weak fingers snagged her feet and drew her down until she was sprawled in the middle of the bed. Linda handed them the soft, thick rope and they bound her legs to the posts, spreading them so her vagina was exposed. Her hands were tied in a similar fashion to the bars at the head of the bed, making her body form an "X." Linda stuffed a pillow under her buttocks, raising her pelvis up so that her V was aimed toward the ceiling.
Justine pulled at the bonds, but they only tightened as she tried to wrench free.
"Get the tail," Linda ordered.
Shuffling toward the dresser, Doc pulled a drawer open and extracted a long, bristly, stiff object and returned with it to Linda who took it from him without a thank you.
"See this, bitch?" She wagged the tapered spear in fc the air. "This is the tail from a dog, a bitch dog that' used to run around fucking all the male dogs in town, i Someone ran over her and Clayton thought we ought to save her tail for special occasions. Like you, bitch,' you're a special occasion, did you know that?"
"That's right," Pete interjected, seating himself in the wicker rocker and pushing back. The chair squeaked rhythmically as he tilted forward and back, his hands curled around the dark, knobby arms. "She was a real fuckin' dog. I seen her take on ten cock- hounds in one afternoon and then whimper for more.
One time she was so hot she kept rubbin' her ass against Doc until the old fart got down and licked her clean." "I did not, Pete. Goddammit, I did not. I was just checkin' her, that's all."
"Yeah, Doc. With your tongue. You was just check-in' her ass to see how it tasted." He laughed deeply, obscenely. Justine's eyes were fixed on the brindle-colored tail. Her skin prickled with fear as Linda let it flop against her thigh, rubbing it back and forth across her skin in slow, sensuous circles.
"Feel that bitch? Does it remind you of anything?" She pushed the tip of the tanned dog's tail against Justine's vaginal lips.
"Exciting," Pete said, creaking the chair back and forth, watching the scene through his sunglasses. "Don't you think so, Doc."
Doc stood behind Linda, his hand cupping his testicles, scratching them as he breathed quickly.
"Yeah. Yeah. It looks good. Keep it up, Linda, keep it up."
"Don't hurry me, old man. Everybody gets their turn. Have to keep the bitch primed for tomorrow. Nice and primed."
Smirking, Linda shoved the tip of the tail into Justine's vagina. Justine cried out as the hirsute instrument scraped inside her hole. "Hurt, bitch?"
She shoved the tip in farther, the bristles softened as her fluids lubricated them, making them mat together like the cilia of a wet caterpillar.
"Ummph," she moaned, throwing her head to one side and trying to erase the filling sensation.
"The fun's just beginning," Linda said churlishly. "Feel this now."
Slowly, she withdrew the tail. The bristles seemed to stiffen as they acted like barbs, catching against Justine's soft tissues and scraping as Linda pulled the spear out.
"God, stop!" Justine gritted her teeth and yanked at the ropes pulling at her arms. The pain ruptured through her body, cracking inside her mind like gunshots as Linda pushed the tail in again and pulled it slowly out, laughing and watching Justine's contorted face.
"See, bitch. Just like the dog. You act just like the dog. You're getting all hot. Maybe I'll have to sic old Doc on you, have him check your ass like he did the bitch. How about that, Doc?"
"Yeah. Yeah," Doc answered, unzipping his pants and playing with his limp, wrinkled penis. "I'd like that. I would."
Justine felt herself slipping. Her mind blanched, trying to wash away the horrible feeling and ugly scene of the woman tormenting her. For hours, Linda stood over her, shoving the animal tail into her, drawing it out, raising her to a peak and then stopping, letting her drift nervously back to the world of fear and repulsion.
They switched. Pete took the tail, stroking it around her breasts, teasing her nipples with the soggy tip, shoving it between her lips and up her nose until she coughed and started to vomit. Then he, as Linda had, quickly stopped the manipulations and laughed.
Darkness settled over the room and Linda switched on the light and napped in the rocker while Doc relieved Pete. His scraggy teeth bared, his bony hands gripping the tail nervously, Doc shoved it around her erotic zones, laughing and glowering and cursing at her.
As Pete slept curled up on the floor, Doc worked insanely through the night, constantly teasing her and threatening to eat her, to kill her and then eat her as he claimed he had other beautiful women.
The oppressive nightmare overwhelmed Justine and she tired of screaming, her throat raw, her eyes dried of tears. Her lip bled from where she had pierced it with her teeth, her wrists were swollen and bleeding, badly chaffed by the antagonistic bonds.
She floated through the nether world of semi-consciousness, bumping against the memories of the jail, sensing the first instant of fear when she realized what the sheriff and doctor were up to. She felt the sheriff's cold eyes staring at her as he leaned on the car; she saw the corner speeding up to her, felt the car drift and heard the rocks spewing up behind her as her tires spun, frantically gripping the soft shoulder and righting itself down the narrow stretch of road.
Hurtling through the sooty darkness of her mind, she found herself back at the drawing table, feeling Mark's eyes peeling off her blouse, baring her of her clothes. He leered over her, his tongue outstretched, his penis taking the shape of a drawing pencil, its blue, lacquered surface gleaming: the brown tapering tip honed to a fine, black, graphite point that stabbed at her breasts and vagina, trying to sneak into her.
Behind him, she saw his wife and children laughing, egging him on, calling out invectives against her, spitting in her face, pushing Mark deeper and deeper. The pencil-penis was drilling into her, squeezing through her closed cervix lips, jabbing against the walls of her uterus, sending sharp throbs of pain to her brain.
Doctor Jennings appeared, shooing away Mark's animalistic face, hitting and kicking him. The doctor's arms encircled her, hugging her close. He whispered to her that everything would be all right, everything would be fine as soon as she awoke. She relaxed, comforted, secure and then stiffened. Dr. Jennings' hands were sliding down her naked back, cupping under her buttocks, pulling her up toward his face. His mouth nibbled on her breasts, his penis hardened and poked against her belly as he panted in her ear, calling her nothing but a sick slut who he wanted to fuck. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.
Dr. Jennings snorted and heaved her up, locking her legs over his shoulders and buried his head between her legs. His tongue came out, shaped like the dog's tail, the bristles stiff, erect. He wagged the tail-tongue and laughed as he slipped it into her keyhole, twisting it around and screwing it up inside her, pushing against her hymen.
Justine wept, dry sobs catching in her throat as the last of her rays of hope turned into an ugly, sex-motivated monster chewing on her clitoris, stabbing her with an obscene weapon.
She hated him. She hated Mark. She hated them all, all them who wanted her. Who wanted her.
"Fuckin' bitch."
Justine shook her head and opened her eyes from her troubled sleep. "Cunt. Dirty cunt."
Doc was wedged between her legs, the dog tail in his hand. His mouth was pressed against her cunt which he had spread open with his fingers as he mumbled and then jabbed his tongue in, mumbled and cursed some more, and repeated the tonguing.
Exhausted, Justine's head flopped weakly from side to side as she muttered her useless no's, which only seemed to spur the old man on. Her vagina felt numb from the constant attention.
Long, red welts popped up across her stomach where Doc had tired of teasing her with the tail and had whipped her until she nearly fainted with pain. Linda was still sitting in the rocking chair, her head bent forward. Pete lay crumpled, snoring in the middle of the floor. A patch of morning light seeped through the window as Linda began to stir, rubbing her eyes and looking about the room.
"Doc!" Linda lept out of the rocker and pushed him away. "Get off her, you old fool. You'll give her ra- bies."
I The doctor skidded across the floor, his arms gesticulating wildly as he tried to stop his motion. He thumped against the wall, settling down into a creaky ball of flesh and bones.
"Goddamn old man. He'd eat your cunt out if we let him, bitch," she said, picking up the dog tail from the floor and kicking Pete in the buttocks. "Get up, sheriff. Get up."
"What...what's the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter. It's morning. The old fucker was eating her again. We better see if he popped the hymen."
Grumbling, his cheeks puffed and shadowed with whiskers, Pete pushed himself to his feet and adjusted his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.
"You spread the lips," Linda suggested. "I'll check her out."
Pete's rough hands grabbed Justine's labia and spread them.
"Feels all right," Linda said, wriggling her finger up the slot and nudging the head of Justine's hymen. "But look at her snatch. Fucking old man chewed her till she's raw. Look at that."
Pete stared and whipped around.
"You dumb shit, Doc. You want to piss Clayton off? He'll have your ass for this. Now get some ointment or somethin'. Clayton doesn't like eatin' raw pussy."
Justine moaned, looking at the figures scurrying around her. She didn't care what happened. She was so tired and sore. So tired.
Her eyelids drooped and she tried to sleep. A cold cloth pressing against her vagina woke her.
"Don't let her sleep," Linda snapped. "She's got a very important debut in a few hours."
"Yeah," Pete said, reaching down and tweaking her nipple. "Yeah, Miss Conrad. You're going to get fucked like you never been fucked before. Then, bitch, then, I'm going to get you. After me...well, you'll see. You'll see..."
His hand closed over her breast, mashed it, and relaxed as he laughed, loudly, renewing the fear Justine thought was worn from her mind.
"You're really gonna gel fucked, Miss Conrad."
Clayton Wallace paced back and forth in front of the audience, his hands folded neatly behind his back, his head hung in concern. The bright theater stage lights blazed, making the sweat dribble from his forehead.
"My fellow citizens of Collinsville," he stated loudly, halting in front of a lectern and staring out at the faces he couldn't see because of the intense stage lights.
"I've gathered you all here this evening for a very special reason. A very sad reason." He paused, patting at his leaking forehead with a white handkerchief. "No doubt, most of you know already. I know how word gets around, that's what little towns like Collinsville are for. To keep people together. To give them something to be loyal to. Take our big cities. People there don't give a tinker's damn about anything. You could i kill someone right in front of the police station and chances are no one would say a word.
"Nobody cares in the big city. And you know why? Do you know why?" He wagged a finger at the crowd as they murmured negatively.
"Well, I'll tell you why. Because they're big, that's why. Because they don't have a leader like me who really cares about what the city does. Because their mayor doesn't share with his people everything-and I mean everything there is to know about what's going on in the city."
He moved away from the lectern, waddling down the stage and rubbing the back of his neck, occasionally looking out at the audience and grimacing as if he were in pain.
"When I came here to Collinsville you people were like the big city people. Nobody really trusted anybody else. You smiled and waved hello, but you weren't friends, not really. Not until I brought you together. Not until I got us a good sheriff and a good doctor.
"You weren't very rich before I came here. You all know I used to live in the big city. I had a lot of money, a real lot. I was filthy rich, you know that. Filthy rich. But what did that money bring me? Nothing. Nothing. I didn't have any real friends, friends I could trust and share things with. No, I didn't have a real life till I met you people and invested my money in your town. Till I loaned you money for the things you needed. Till I bought you a new school and a new library. Invested money in your bank accounts and paid for your vacations every year. No sir, I didn't have a damn thing before I came to you. Nothing."
The wart on Clayton's cheek danced jerkily as his flesh jiggled. He rubbed his pudgy hands together and felt the sweat run slickly between his palms.
"You, George? Warren? Martha? Len? All of you. Haven't I made your lives a little better? Haven't I given you something to live for, something that no one else would give just because you needed it? Haven't I given you my money and my friendship and helped Collinsville to grow into one of the finest little towns in the country?"
He waited for the cheers to fill the room. He let them build until he was satisfied and then waved them silent.
"Now," he spoke, his arms still raised forming an overweighted "T", "we have another one of those little problems I bring to your attention every now and then. I know you all know what I'm talking about, but I want to make it very clear to you how I feel about sex perverts in Collinsville."
The murmurs rose and fell across the small theater.
"One of those high-classed women from the city, the kind who sticks her nose in the air at everyone and tries to buy you off with a sickening sweet smile, nearly killed me the other day. She was driving one ol those fast little sports cars like she owned the world and was renting it to the peasants. Well, I almost had a heart attack when she came roaring around a corner and drove me off the road."
Sighs and moans grew from the crowd.
"Naturally, like a good citizen, I called the sheriff and had him arrest this woman. When he took her to the jail, she tried to seduce him, you know, get him to lay down with her so she could go free. When he wouldn't go along with her, she tried the doctor. And when he refused, she threatened to rape all the children in town and to sleep with all the men, ruining their marriages."
A loud prattle of women's voices swelled.
"Now, take it easy, ladies. Wre restrained this woman and interrogated her. After a few questions she breaks down and tells us she is a sex pervert. Been seeing a psychiatrist in the city for months about hor sex problems."
Again the women's concerned jabber grew and died only as Clayton gesticulated for silence.
"I know, ladies. I know. One of the things I've preached since I've been here in Collinsville is sexual healthiness. We're a small town and we don't have anything to hide from each other. If anyone in this room feels like they want to run naked in the streets, that's fine with us, right? We're not going to hide behind our windows and peek at him, push our children in the closet and call the sheriff. Hell no. That man or woman is part of Collinsville's little family. He or she has that right. He shares with us, and that's what makes a little town more than a little town. It makes it a little heart, beating and pumping life to the little body that makes up the town. We all agreed on that years ago. Right?"
Approval rose from the onlookers.
"But we also agreed that we had to look out for our interests, right?" Cheers again. "Well, this woman who nearly killed me and could have easily killed any of you or your children sitting next to you tonight isn't one of us. She doesn't have any right to threaten to rape our town, she doesn't have any right to bring her perverted body into Collinsville and start throwing it around like a piece of trash, does she?"
The cheers grew in intensity and fervor.
"NO. NO. NO!"
"That's right, she has no right at all. But we have an obligation, don't we? Like we did with Malthus when he tried to break away from the family two years ago."
"YES! YES! YES!"
Clayton wiped the sweat from beneath his arms. A baby cried from the audience.
"Listen to that baby cry," Clayton said, cupping his hand behind his ear. "That's what we have to protect. Before I came here you people weren't aware of the threats around you, like this woman I'm talking about tonight. I had to teach you about them, to treat them the only way they can understand.
"Now, I'm not bragging. Don't misunderstand me. I'm just warning you again and again for your own sake. I love Collinsville. I wouldn't want it to be a haven for the hippies and perverts from the city like some of the smaller towns are becoming. Just the other night I brought you here and read you the reports from the papers about the college punks going to that town, raping the people, looting the stores. You know why they went there? You know why?" "No! No! No!"
"Because it wasn't Collinsville. It wasn't a town who kept its thumb on the problem like we do. A town that gets together every night in one big bed and says its prayers together, that shares its sweetnesses and sours together. That's why."
In a fever pitch, the audience stood and applauded, hooting and whistling and hip-hip-hooraying.
i "Quiet. Quiet." Clayton changed handkerchiefs and took a swig of water from the glass setting on the lectern while he waited for the crowd to settle back in its seats and the dying cheers to fade completely.
"Tonight we're going to help cure this wanton woman of her lusts. You're going to watch, as you have in the past. The doctor has instructed me how to cure her. We have to fight this kind of sickness, this kind of insidious evil with its own medicine. You've been through this a few times before with me, and I want you to participate as we planned. I want Collinsville to help me purge this wretched woman of her sins and brand her for what she is. I want all the children to watch closely and the mothers to remind them of the evilness that overpowers a person in the city when there is no love, when a person becomes one of the herd, running from this place to that place without any home, without anyone to turn to. I hope no one from Collinsville will ever turn into something as ugly as the woman you will see tonight, threatening a whole town the way she did, trying to degrade the sheriff and doctor and even myself." .
A startled series of "Ohhhss" sifted through the spectators.
"After the first treatment is over tonight, we're going to turn the woman over to the town for therapy. I want everyone here tonight to keep their guard up. I don't want this woman slipping from our hands until she is cured, as others like her have been cured. You know who I mean. Those who are now full-fledged members of Collinsville. You know you aren't ashamed of your pasts; we certainly aren't. We're proud. Real proud of you. And we want you to think of this woman as you thought of the others. And remember, if any strangers were to come to town and ask about this woman, we know nothing. No one knows anything about her. Because the stranger doesn't care about Collinsville and were we to talk, the strangers might take away everything we have, our homes, our children, our school, our library. So nothing about this woman leaves the lips of the town. It's as secret as our love for each other. Right?"
"Yes! YES!" Again, the crowd stood and cheered, clapping and shouting.
"All right," Clayton said, puffing out his chest and looking elated at the crowd. "We'll begin. Doc, Pete, bring her out."
Whispers scurried around the audience as Doc and Pete wheeled out a long, padded table. Justine was strapped naked on top of it, a blindfold covering her eyes, cotton stuffed in her ears.
The two men unstrapped her and Clayton lifted her to her feet, turning her around before the crowd.
"This is the woman. Her name is Miss Conrad. She looks innocent, but so does sin. Study her carefully, since you will all have an equal opportunity to have her in your homes and continue the therapy."
Leading her by the hand, he marched her up and down the stage.
"You've all seen the movies we took of Miss Conrad in the bathtub with Linda, so you have no doubts about the woman's problem. She is definitely a threat to us, but one which we can handle as we have always handled the others. Are you all ready for the therapy to begin?"
They stood, clapping their hands.
"Well, we shall begin. Doctor, if you'll prepare her?"
Clayton steered Justine toward the table. Doc and Pete lifted her and placed her on it, pushing her legs up in the air and spreading them.
Doc pulled the dog's tail from the black leather sheath he had carried it in and began tickling Justine's clitoris. At the moment of contact, Justine tried to scream. A sensual tingling erupted throughout her body, making her arch her hips and desire more of the tail than just the tip which rotated at the opening of her snatch, teasing her clitoris and making her breath come quickly.
"Notice her hypersensitivity," Clayton said, pointing at her arched hips with a wooden yardstick. "And her breasts, the nipples are hard already. If this woman is touched, or looks at you, there is no telling what she might do. Imagine your child brushing against her on the street. If a mere touch can do this ; to her...I shudder to think what a person might be in for."
Justine lolled her head from side to side, bucking her hips up against the dog's tail as she felt the burning sensation seep throughout her body, flushing her cheeks and making her sweat profusely.
"Miss Conrad is a bomb, a time bomb," Clayton was saying. "Her body is a trigger that when tripped, will cause her to explode. She is an example of what kind of people walk the streets in our large cities. She looks innocent, beautiful, friendly, but I guarantee her to be deceitful, viciously passionate and corrupted. You saw that in the film. But here is the living proof. Remove her gag, Peter."
The sheriff, who had been holding her shoulders down, untied the gag.
Justine sucked in deep lungfuls of air.
"God, don't tease me," she screamed. "Let me go all the way. Don't tease me!"
Her voice was hoarse and weak from lack of sleep. The Doc only smiled and reamed the tail tip around and around, laughing softly so only Justine could hear.
"Three of us will begin the initial therapy. That way Miss Conrad will be introduced to the community standards by which we live. Currently, she labors under the illusion that sex is selfish, which naturally goes along with her perverted sickness. By using three of us, we can assure that Miss Conrad will begin thinking in different terms about her body and its needs.
"Tie her until we're stripped," Clayton ordered.
"Right." Pete strapped her down and began pulling off his clothes. In a moment he stood naked, wearing only his ever-present sunglasses. Clayton grunted out of his trousers, his fat rolls of stomach flesh forming thick bands around his belly. His small penis could barely be seen, dwarfed by his immense paunchy belly slung out like a pregnant woman's. He relieved Doc with the dog tail and stirred the tip around Justine's slimy slot as the frail doctor fumbled at his clothes, anxiously pulling them off. The three took positions around Justine, Doc at her head, the sheriff and Clayton at her feet.
"When we are through," Clayton yelled to the crowd, "should any of you have any suggestions, please stand and yell them and we'll do our best."
The din of applause smothered Justine's weak cry of agony.
"Ready?" Clayton asked.
"Ready," came the replies.
"Okay, Peter, unstrap her."
Pete reached over and unhooked the strap.
"Take your position."
Following his orders, Pete climbed up on the table and rolled Justine on her side. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and rolled back, settling her on top of him so that his half-hard penis shoved up between her legs.
Justine started to look down at Clayton, who was climbing up between her legs, but was stopped by Doc's thin, sticklike hand pulling her forehead back.
He slipped one hand under her chin and pulled back, throwing her head down against Pete's shoulder. Holding her nose so she had to open her mouth, he began stuffing his limp penis into her opening, always laughing and grinning so his rotten teeth showed.
"How's her cherry?" Clayton asked, looking up at Doc.
"Nice and tender, Mr. Wallace. Nice and tender."
"Good. Good. Don't want to disappoint the people with a bad performance." Clayton took his small, fingerling penis between his thumb and forefinger and pulled on it until it began to harden.
"I may not have a long cock, Miss Conrad," he said casually, jerking his little staff, "but my tongue is very ; good. You'll find out soon enough. I just hope I have ! enough meat here to break your cherry."
He grunted, not looking up, as he talked and massaged his microscopic shaft. Justine gagged, trying to ' listen to the man and understand the madness. It was \ useless. She could only feel and hear Doc, who pushed : his pecker into her mouth as if he were stuffing a jar full of cotton. The soggy dong seemed endless as it bent and twisted, piling up like a dog turd in her mouth, pushing her cheeks out, making her jaws hinge ; open like a snake's to take it all.
"Chew it, bitch," Doc wheezed, shifting around. "Chew it like it was jerky. Chew, or I'll get me that bitch's tail and do a little switchin'."
Duteously, she began to gnaw on the pile of cock, forcing her mouth down around it, feeling its tubular, greasy mass slipping and sliding around her tongue.
"That's good. That's good," Doc moaned, rubbing her breasts and squeezing them. "That's good."
"Don't shove down so hard, you old fucker," Pete complained beneath Justine. The sheriff's face was red and he grunted, pushing the girl up so he could adjust his penis against her anus. Pushing her hips up, he crammed the head into the crevice of her ass and waited until he could feel her asshole pucker around the bulbous tip. Releasing her hips, he let her ease down and felt his cock bend under her weight.
"Don't sweat it, cunt," he snarled. "When it gets good and hard it'll be right up your alley."
Justine began to choke.
"Let go of her nose, you asshole," Pete shot at Doc. "Don't want her to die."
Reluctantly, the Doc let loose of her nose and she hissed in a breath of air. Pete's cock wormed itself in her ass a fraction and she gasped as she felt the tissues stretching and ripping.
"Like it, bitch?" Pete asked, shoving the Doc's hands from her breasts and squeezing them himself. "Clayton's gonna finish off filling the holes in just a minute."
Justine felt the massive weight heave against her stomach, driving Pete's trapped cock still farther up her ass as Clayton settled between her legs and pulled his little cock up to her hole. She heard his voice, but was unable to see him because of the doctor's rancid testicles flopping in her face like two decaying pears.
"I'm going to bust your cherry, Miss Conrad," she heard Clayton say. "And we're all going to come at once, like one big, happy family."
He lunged forward and she tried to moan as she felt the tip of his cock shoveling into her. Her lament was smothered by the Doc's prick ballooning in her mouth.
"God, Clayton, you're heavy," Pete wheezed, squeezing her breasts painfully.
"Mind your own fucking business," Clayton rooted, rocking forward and driving the shaft farther into Justine's sandwiched body.
"That was sure a pile of bullshit you handed those people again, Clayton," Pete continued, paying no attention to the man's antagonistic voice.
"It wasn't bullshit."
Pete wriggled, sinking his cock deeper into Justine's ravaged ass. "Oh, now you're believing your own shit smells good, huh?" "Shut up, Pete."
"All right, just jokin'. This is so fuckin' uncomfort- i able I had to do somethin'."
"Well, then just screw the bitch, don't talk."
"Don't get bitchy. Don't get bitchy."
Clayton's eyes narrowed as he threw himself forward. The flesh dangling around his throat heaved as i he puffed his jowels and grunted.
Each lurch the fat man made drove Pete's cock deeper into Justine's ass, making the fiery pain more intense. As the burning grew in her anus, another fire kindled in her cunt. Clayton's small cock made contact with her hymen, poking at it playfully at first and as his lunges became more forceful, the pokes turned into jabs.
"How's it comin', Clayton?"
"I'm getting there, Pete. I'm getting there," he grunted.
Doc's cock tasted like old rubber in Justine's mouth as she gnawed on it, trying to bite it and make him pull it out. But it was curled so firmly that her teeth bounced off the flesh as she set them down and tried to twist them around the meat.
"Cocksucker," Doc panted. "The cocksucker is doin' it again. It's hardenin'. It's hardenin'."
She felt the prick uncoiling inside her mouth, becoming stiffer with each gnaw. Pete was pushing up, his cock sliding deep inside her, hurting her and yet soothing her. The warm, flashing feeling of passion crept unwanted through her limbs.
"I'm gettin' her. I'm gettin' her," Doc babbled, saliva from his black-gummed mouth dripping down into Justine's face, his squishy balls hardening as they sloughed slovenly over her eyes and nose. She could smell his unwashed anus rubbing her forehead, and feel the grit hanging in his buttocks' hairs grate across her flesh.
Between her legs, Clayton smashed his tub-shaped body at her, putting every pound of his massive three-hundred and ten pound frame behind the lancing rod.
Her hymen stretched more with each thrust and then, as he jammed into her like an enraged bull, she felt the tissue tear and the searing pain shoot from her vagina to her brain, making her head swell with the agonizing discomfort felt only once in a woman's life.
"I'm through," Clayton yelled. "I'M THROUGH!"
Justine tensed as the twinge of burning soreness raced through her body. She heard the cheers and claps of an audience applauding her rape, she listened to the goading voices egging her tormentors on to the finish.
"I'm through. I'm through," Clayton repeated foolishly, slowing his thrusts down now and grinding his wide, sloppy buttocks in beefy circles.
The pain between her legs began to ebb away, replaced with the searing similar pain of Pete's cock sinking all the way through her bowels to touch against the soft, thin membrane that separated her vagina from her colon.
"Feel me?" Pete gasped, his breath coming quickly as he lunged up, twisting his prick cruelly inside her.
"Almost," Clayton answered, beginning another series of assiduous lunges.
No one paid attention to Doc's mutterings about his penis becoming hard but Justine. She could feel the dirty snake slinking out of her mouth as the meat began to telescope into hardness. Now, his prick only shoved down on her tongue, stabbing at the corrugated roof of her mouth.
"Suck! Suck! Suck!" he commanded.
Justine closed her mouth over the pole and drew in deep breaths, feeling the penis harden and throb as she gulped down the cancerous helve.
Both pains, in her anus and vagina, were replaced with a burning desire to be altered. At first she resisted her body's motions, but slowly succumbed as her own complimenting bucks and grinds eased the agony and began to torment in a way her dreams never had.
All she thought of now was cock; the cock in her ass, the cock in her cunt, the cock in her mouth. She was a life tree, feeding the cocks, desirous only of pleasing them.
Her hips began to shift around Pete's prick and her cunt began spasming, squeezing the thin shard of flesh that probed at her newly opened orifice. The dam was ruptured now, and the only fluids gushing out were those of desire. Her mouth closed lovingly around the Doc's weapon as she began her undulations, nearly lifting the fat man off her and making Pete gasp with amazement.
"She's fuckin' us," he said, his sunglasses cutting into Justine's back. "She's fuckin' us."
"Ride her out," Clayton barked. "Ride her out."
Mercilessly, they lunged into her, their tempos suddenly taking on a note of fury. Their voices were silent and they grunted like hungry beasts ripping away at a fresh kill, fighting over it as beasts do.
Clayton sank his teeth into her stomach and bit down viciously. Pete grabbed her breasts as if they were doorhandles on a car and twisted them. Doc, stretching on his tiptoes, rammed his cock so hard down her throat she choked, but continued her voracious sucking and bucking.
The cotton had loosened in her ears and fell out now, tumbling lazily, unconcerned with the events, to the floor where Doc's unconscious foot trampled the white fluffs.
Justine heard it now, the tremendous roar of persons' voices, cheering and rooting, throwing things on the stage, jumping up and down, cursing.
Adults' voices rang out hoarsely, mixed with the shrill, falsetto cries of children calling her names, hateful, deceitful names that sank into her mind like fish barbs, twisting and pulling and ripping her mind to shreds.
Her heart pumped like a piston, driving the blood madly to the aching parts of her body where it pooled, swirling around and pressing the tissues out. Her clitoris bulged, hardening and fighting against the intruder that banged it back against the wall of her vagina.
Defiantly, her nipples stood rigid, swollen balls of brown flesh that rolled playfully between Pete's fingers.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Clayton shouted, lifting his head up and shaking it as he pushed Pete's hands away from Justine's breast for the umpteenth time and grabbed them for himself, sinking his meaty digits into the mounds.
"Everybody come!" he shouted again, his stentorian voice wailing with passion.
The crowd responded with their own bestial cry as Justine felt the semen starting to pour into her. It came from Clayton first, sprinkling into her as from a leaky hose. Then it exploded into her anus from Pete, a massive, hurting blast of the goo bouncing off her colon. Finally, she felt Doc's cock jam to a stop in her throat and the acrid, nasty stream of come splash out, soaking her throat and dripping like thick cream into her heaving stomach.
She was last, arching her body high and grinding her hips. It exploded inside her like a piece of phosphorus exposed suddenly to oxygen. It sizzled, burning and smoldering, shooting off sparks, bobbing, exploding showers of sparks against everything it touched, and then, hideously, as quickly as it had come, it stopped, like a car plowing into a wall, it stopped, leaving nothing to remember.
As the trio pulled their penises out of Justine the ! crowd began to scream.
"Her ear. Fuck her ear. Her nose, bugger her nose. Her toes. Everywhere! EVERYWHERE, FUCK HER!"
They pulled her to her feet, then pushed her to her knees facing the crowd. The lights burned into her face, blinding her as she tried to peer through the white opaque shield.
Laughing, they stuffed their pricks in her ear and nose, her toes, the crack of her arm-everywhere the crowd cheered them to.
The last thing she remembered was Doc standing beside her, forcing her mouth open and then urinating into her face, making her eyes sting and her throat burn as the putrid stream of bright, sparkling yellow piss geysered against her semen-flecked face.
Justine awoke to the sterile whiteness of four walls. She lifted her head slowly, feeling the throbbing pain of a headache try to drag her back down. Panting, she rested a moment and then pushed herself up to a sitting position.
It was a small room, immaculately clean, window-less, with four padded walls and a door cut into one wall covered with the same white, quilted material as the others. Her bunk was soft and also covered with the white, spongy quilt as was the floor and ceiling. Small lights were recessed into the ceiling, washing the room in a fluorescent glow.
A portable toilet, shaped like a child's training seat, sat in the corner near her. Feeling the pressure on her kidneys, she started to stand and relieve herself. Metal clinked as she stood and a heavy weight pulled at her left leg.
She looked down and saw a manacle clamped around her ankle, attached to a chain hooked to the wall. Reaching down, she tugged at it and found it securely locked into place. Hobbling to the toilet, the chain rattling behind her, she relieved herself and washed her hands in a bowl of water setting on the floor next to the stool. Her vagina burned. She scooped a handful of water from the bowl and splashed it on her torn tissues.
"Playin' with yerself?"
Startled, she turned around and nearly tripped as the chain became entangled in her feet. A small, tow-headed boy leaned against the wall, eating an ice cream bar. She guessed he was nine or ten. His rusty-colored hair was ruffled and large freckles spotted his nose and cheeks. As he licked leisurely at the bar, he pulled a yo-yo from his pocket and let it spin down an inch from the floor, then yanked it back into his small hand.
"Who are you? Where am I? Why am I chained here?"
The boy edged along the wall away from her, his eyes dancing over her naked body, the yo-yo spinning up and down.
"WHERE AM I?" she shouted again, lunging at him. She saw his face break into a smile as her feet were yanked out from under her and she spilled headfirst to the floor.
"Gotta watch that chain, lady. Get ya every time."
His pink tongue flicked out and lapped up the side of the icy bar.
Justine began to cry, beating her fists on the mat. "Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why? For God's sakes why?"
" 'Cause ya're bad, lady. I saw ya the other night. Ya're bad."
He slumped to the floor, splaying his legs and leering at her as if she were a caged animal.
"Help me," she begged. "Help me."
"Can't help ya lady, ya're bad. Real bad." His tongue curled around the edge of the cone, scooping up a teardrop of the melting cream that threatened to escape his tongue.
"I'll do anything. Anything," she pleaded, holding her hands out to him.
"Will ya let me touch ya?" he said excitedly.
"Yes," she sobbed. "Anything. Do you have the keys. Can you unlock me?"
"I can get 'em," he said casually, taking another swipe at the cone.
"Get them, then. Get them and let me free. I'll let you touch me then. Honest."
"Hu-uh, lady. Mr. Wallace said not to trust ya. No way, I'm gonna trust ya."
"But...how can I trust you?" she reasoned.
"Ain't got no choice, lady."
"All right, what do you want then, to trust me."
"I wanta touch ya." His eyes shimmered and he scratched his head, letting his eyes fall down to her breasts.
"All right, touch me. Then get the keys and unlock me."
"I wanta touch ya with my ice cream," he said, not moving, only looking, a smile forming on his freckled face.
"Do it then, just do it and get the key."
"Ya gotta lay on your back and scoot up so yar legs are bent back over yar head."
"All right. All right." Painfully, she scooted toward him as far as the chain would allow, then pulled her knees back against her head. The lewd position made her feel sick and the boy's glaring eyes staring at her slit made her skin crawl with disgust.
"Don't like that one," he said, wrapping his tongue around the base of the cone. "Try yar belly. Pull yar legs up by yar ankles, ya know, like a rockin' horse."
Obsequiously, she obeyed, rolling onto her stomach and grasped her ankles, pulling them up as far as she could draw them.
"All right?" she grunted, feeling her muscles straining. She heard a scuffling and tried to look over her shoulder. She could only see the ceiling.
"Are you still there?"
No reply.
"Little boy, are you there..." It was cold and wet, driving into her like a dagger of ice. She howled and released her feet, letting them spring back to the floor.
"Oohhh," she cried, rolling onto her back and sitting up. She looked down between her legs and saw the stick from the ice cream bar protruding from her vagina. Carefully, she extracted it and felt the wet, sticky, slimy ice cream slip out of her snatch.
Looking up, she saw the boy huddled in the corner, his hand over his mouth muffling his laughs.
"Eat it, now," he said, suddenly cool and indifferent.
Justine looked from the dripping ice cream to the boy.
"If ya eat it, I'll get the key. If ya don't eat it, I won't." With a ring of finality in his voice, the boy stood and pulled the blue yoyo out again. He tossed it in Justine's direction, making her duck. The boy laughed as the yo-yo halted in mid air a fraction of an inch from her face and then slapped back into his waiting hand.
"Well, lady, I ain't got all day. Mr. Wallace's havin' a meetin' about you in a few minutes."
"You're not lying to me, about helping me escape?" Justine asked, looking at the boy suspiciously.
"Nope." He puffed his cheeks out and made the yoyo walk along the matted floor, its wooden sides whizzing against the taut string that commanded its actions.
Justine looked at the ice cream bar which was melting rapidly, running down her arm, dripping to the floor. Pubic hairs were stuck to the sides of it.
"Well, lady?"
"All right. All right."
She closed her eyes and stuck the sticky blob into her mouth. The coolness was refreshing and she tried only to think of the ice cream as she bit off a chunk and chewed it, then another until the stick was clean.
"There," her eyes grew wide as she looked at him, "it's all clean. I kept my part of the bargain. Now you keep yours. Get the key and unlock me."
"I'll get the key, lady, but ya have to unlock yar-self," he said, skipping out of the room.
Justine waited anxiously for him to return. She wiped at the sticky residue on her arm and thigh.
"Here it is, lady. See ya."
He tossed the key at her, laughed and shut the door behind him. Justine clutched it and held it against her breast, sobbing happily. Quickly, she grabbed the iron manacle around her ankle and turned it so the keyhole faced her. Her hands trembling with excitement, she pushed the key into the slot and turned.
Nothing.
Again she tried and again. The key didn't work.
"YOU LITTLE BASTARD," she cried. "YOU DIRTY LITTLE BASTARD! YOU LIED TO ME! YOU LIED TO ME!"
Enraged, she threw the key against the wall and lay beating her fists on the mat, crying. The sound of giggling voices made her look up.
The towheaded one stood before the group, holding his mouth and snickering at her. Behind him were lined twenty other children, from toddlers to teenagers, all laughing, all pointing at her.
"NO! NO! NO!" she cried, slumping down into a ball of loose, defeated flesh. "Somebody help, please, somebody?"
"Come now, children," an adult's voice called. Justine looked up at the schoolteacher she had seen when Clayton had watched her and Linda through the mirror.
"You, how could you let these children..." "Don't listen to the trash, children," the woman scolded, shooing them out of the room. "How? How?"
The teacher halted at the door and looked down her nose at Justine.
"I can hardly wait until it's my turn to have you for a week, young lady. I'll certainly teach you some manners." With a haughty flip of her head, the woman closed the door behind her, leaving Justine alone, afraid and wondering what else waited for her in the days to come. Crying softly, she fell asleep.
"Woman. Hey, woman."
A short, thin man stood over her, a plate of food in, his hand.
"What?"
"My name's Zorn. We got you for a week. That was my little boy you talked with today. Funny kid, ain't he?" The man's weathered face beamed with pride.
"Yes, very funny little boy," Justine said coolly, sit- ting up and rubbing her sore shoulder.
"Brought you some dinner. Got to eat, keep healthy."
"I'm not hungry," she lied.
"Sure, you're real hungry," he answered, unzipping his pants. "You're so hungry you're going to eat my dick."
He reached into his pants and pulled out his stiff penis. It was long and lanky, with a foreskin that hooded half of the cock's pink tip.
"That's the rule with a detainee-as Mr. Wallace calls 'em-got to suck cock before they can eat." A faded tattoo of a hula dancer on the man's forearm seemed to wriggle as he flexed his muscles.
"I ain't that bad lookin', am I, lady? Lotsa women in town like me. Say my cock taste better than any cock they ever ate, how about that?"
Justine turned her head away, sickened by the sight of the man's penis and by his crude speech.
"Oh, lady, don't make me have to hurt you. You're really pretty. I don't want to have to hit you, but Mr.
Wallace says if they don't turn on, then turn them on, any way you see fit. I'm a hittin' man, myself. Hittin' ! keeps people in line. Know what I mean?"
He leaned down and grabbed her face, twisting it around to meet his. His breath stank of garlic and i beer.
I "Now, you gonna suck my cock, bitch, or am I gonna have to stuff it down your fuckin' throat?" His mouth was twisted into an odious sneer, his eyes burned, his nostrils twitched. She could see the pores on his face opening before her eyes and the sweat popping out like tiny beads of dew.
"I don't have much choice," she said, her voice cracking, her jaw hurting.
"Right. You ain't got no choice at all." He shoved her face back, sending her sprawling to the mat, the chain wrapping painfully around her ankle.
"On your knees, bitch, and let me hear it for my cock. Let me hear you begging me to suck it."
Tears rolling down her cheeks, she pushed herself up to her knees.
"...please...please let me suck...please let me suck your penis..."
"Cock, bitch. Call it like it is. Say cock. And grab ahold of it and look at it while you're beggin'."
Shaking, she reached up and gently let her fingers wrap around the penis's thick base. She stared at the wet, shiny vermillion head with its sliced slit drooling the milky white seminal fluid.
"Beg!"
"...please, I want to suck your cock...l want to lick it...to kiss it..." She nearly gagged on the words. Her stomach heaved with sobs.
"Is it a pretty cock?" he asked, reaching down and rubbing the side of her bruised cheek with the back of his hand.
"Yes, it's a very pretty cock."
"What does it look like?" His fingers grazed her ear, touching the lobe gently and probing inside. She could feel a tingling in her body, the greatest enemy she had found in the last forty-eight hours.
"It...it...looks like an acorn...a red acorn..."
"Do you want to suck it?"
"Yes...I want to suck it."
She stared at the penis head as if it were a strange, powerful eye belonging to a master hypnotist. A compulsion overcame her to lick off the dangling drop of seminal fluid, to curl her tongue around the cock's head and let her tongue lave it until it shot semen into her face and blinded her for life. Her fingers squeezed the base of the flesh-rod.
"Kiss it, then. Kiss it real soft." His voice was low and husky. His hands were running down her back, gently touching her flesh, making it erupt with goose-bumps. The air seemed thin and she had to breathe; quickly to support, her need for oxygen.
"Kiss it," she heard him say as she felt his fingers rubbing down the crack of her ass, plying through the nest of hairs guarding her vagina, gently resting against the lips of her snatch.
She leaned forward, opening her mouth and licked at the pearly drop of glistening pre-come. She caught it and let her tongue draw up along the pulsing slit of his cock. She felt his fingers come to life. They fluttered around her cunt opening, tapping her cunt opening, tapping her clitoris and raking along her gash. One of the fingers slid into the mushy hole and vibrated, sending chills up her spine.
Grabbing his cock with both her hands, she suddenly plunged her mouth over it, relaxing and sighing as she felt the meaty volume expanding and satisfying her need for flesh.
Her head swam as she rocked forward and back, letting her lips slide over the pleasantly salty-tasting shaft. He worked his finger into her orifice, at first hurting her and making her moan, and then soothing her as the hurt disappeared and the warmth blanketed her mind.
She slipped one arm around his buttocks and pulled him into her, sucking deeply on the prick, trying to swallow it. Her cheeks caved in and her eyes were glassy as she looked up, seeing nothing but the buttons on his shirt and his wide, leather belt. His body was bent over her, his fingers driving the beast out of hiding within her, drawing it up to the surface where it could howl and scream and give her that moment of exploding satisfaction she had learned to look forward to with ambivalence.
"My ass," she heard him whisper. "Rub my ass."
Instinctively, her hand began rubbing up his ass, pushing against the coarse material of his denim trousers. She pressed the heel of her hand against the crack and heard him moan. Releasing her grip on the cock-staff completely, she wrapped her other arm around him and sucked wildly as she dug her fingers into the seat of his pants, pushing them as hard as she could against his anus.
His cock dragged against the upper part of her mouth, thickening as the blood pounded into it. She let her mouth slip back and pushed his cock-head between her molars and then began to chew on it, gently at first and then more harshly as his fingers shoved deeper into her cunt.
'Tm going to come," he panted, jacking his finger in her as fast as he could. "I'm going to let my come go in your mouth."
She jerked him toward her, driving the cock deep into her throat. Her jaws ached from sucking, her hands trembled, exhausted from squeezing his buttocks. She shivered all over and began to make loud slurping, sucking, popping sounds as her mouth slid off the end of the cock, only to regain its vacuum grip a moment later.
"I'M COMING! COMING IN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!" he enunciated loudly, jabbing at her and knocking her back onto the floor. She held him tightly, drawing him down with her, never losing her tight hold on his dong.
"GOD!" he cried, twisting his finger in her cunt like a Marine shoving a deadly sharp bayonet into a dying Viet Cong. "GOD! GOD! GOD!"
His cock felt like a red-hot poker in her mouth as it began to spit out its semen, shooting the creamy, thick fluid down her throat. Her teeth closed over the staff, pulling back and milking the last drops of the come off the lolly-cock staff. She exploded.
The beast inside her began showering her with its fiery breath, flailing its obscene legs and thrashing its dragonlike wings.
Drawing back, she let her mouth slide off the pecker and screamed.
"FUCK ME! FUCK ME!"
Her mind seemed to explode, tumbling every thought away from the single idea of satisfaction thai branded her like a scarlet "A". Slowly, her mind relaxed, her body stopped shaking and she heard things again, felt things, smelled things.
Beer and garlic.
It hit her nostrils as she looked up at the man undoing his belt and shrugging out of his shirt.
"What are you going to do?" she asked weakly, holding her arm in front of her face to shield her eyes from the light.
"I'm gonna fuck you, bitch. That's what you want ed?"
"No," she cried, disgusted with herself. "No, I don't want you. I don't want anybody. Leave me alone. Please leave me alone."
"You gotta be shittin' me, lady, you want everybody."
He grinned again and rolled her over onto her back.
"Not again?" she moaned, rolling to her side and panting.
"Sure, bitch, gotta. I got this problem. My cock's hard all the time. All the fuckin' time. Gotta keep it busy. Come here."
Zorn grabbed her by the breasts and pulled her to him.
"I'm gonna fuck you dog style, this time. And I want you to be real nice to me. You know, say dirty things, tickle my balls, all that shit."
Wearily, Justine tried to beg him off. It was the fifth time he had seduced her, each time taking longer and longer to reach satisfaction, and each time the beast exploded more violently inside her, making her succumb to its will, fawning at his feet, forcing her to lick the man's balls and cock clean.
Her vagina felt like a raw wound and each time his cock slipped into her, the pain became unbearable. And each time the ambivalence, the fine line between love and hate of the act, became more confused, more illogical.
He had her on her knees, her breasts dangling down, her legs spread, her arms holding her torso up. His hands wrapped beneath her, clutching her breasts, milking them down to their turgid, sore nipples.
"You got fine tits, lady. Real fine tits," he said, wriggling between her legs and sticking his constantly hard cock into her ravaged twat. She bit her teeth and moaned as he unceremoniously shoved it to the hilt, letting his long swaying balls slap up against her belly as he smacked into her.
"You got a fine back, lady," he said, licking up her spine, nibbling at her side.
His weight pressing down on her made her arms buckle.
"Stay up, bitch. Stay up."
Mustering her strength, she pushed up, regaining her balance as he rocked forward, thwacking his cock against the head of her cervix.
"Why?" she grunted between his slow, casual strokes, "why do you go along with...ugh...Wallace. The whole town, why?"
"You mean, bitch, aren't we afraid we'll all go to jail?" He stabbed viciously into her, punctuating his question.
"Yes, I guess that's what I mean...ugh..."
"Maybe we all been there." He grabbed her tits and wrenched them. "Maybe Clayton Wallace sprung most of us from jails and prisons. Maybe everybody who's gonna fuck you-like the whole town-owe Clayton Wallace a helluva lot."
His fingers dug into her mounds, making her cry out in pain.
"That's crazy. How could he build a whole town for..."
Zorn smashed into her again with all his might, his balls slapped against her stomach loudly.
"Maybe he bought most of the property, told the people to leave. Then sprung us. One by one. Brought our families here. Gave us dough. Gave us jobs."
His speed increased and Justine could hear him panting.
"But why? Why would he...?"
Again Zorn stopped her question with a painful lunge.
"Why don't you ask him, lady? I just do the fuckin', like everybody else. I'm just a real nice fucker."
They said nothing for the rest of the session. Zorn pumped in and out, grinding his cock into her with a bizarre thirst, an endless thirst.
Slowly, against her will, she began to respond. Her face flushed, her body tingled, the deep stirring in her womb began to haunt her like a ghost, rising up and laughing at her, calling her names and spitting into her face. She tried to banish the thing, but it came back suddenly, swishing before her mind's eye like a cobra, hypnotizing her into responding to the rape.
"Deeper, deeper," she heard herself say, egging the man on. "Give me all you've got."
She heard him laugh and grunt, felt his hands cincli around her breasts like steel bands, pinching off her breath, making her gasp and throw herself back, hoping his prick would split her in two.
"Harder. Harder."
She heard his guttural sounds, his deep growling as he reamed her again and again with his truncheon-like cock. There was no lubrication left in her cunt and each stroke was like sandpaper shoving into her body. She cried as she felt the terrible force taking grip of her. Moaning, she threw her head from side to side and began to scream, hoarse, weak screams signaling the sparks of passion still burning inside her.
He came, shooting his wad of puslike semen into her and she slumped to the floor, no longer able to support herself, no longer caring whether he beat her or not, only wanting the restless security of sleep.
For two weeks Justine was moved from one house to another, each with its own "special padded room just for her, each with its family of sexually powerful residents who used her as they wished, when they wished.
She was brought to parties, entertained in the most bizarre fashions imaginable and then returned to her cell where the children teased and taunted her while the adults continued their partying.
In the middle of the third week she was brought to Clayton Wallace's home, moved in the cover of the early morning by an aging farmer and his wife who had bred her with their pigs and spread chicken feed over her body and laughed while the hungry hens pecked her body clean.
Linda had met them at the door and taken Justine upstairs for a perfumed bath and rubdown. She had forced Justine to eat her and afterwards had made Justine beg her to do the same, to which Linda only laughed and handed her the silk robe.
"You must look somewhat like a lady, Miss Conrad. Even though you aren't."
Now, Justine sat waiting in Clayton's office with Pete, Doc and Linda flanking her.
"Havin* a good time in Collinsville, Miss Conrad?" Pete asked, shifting his sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to the tip and peering at her over their metallic rims.
"Oh, marvelous," she snapped, sarcastically. "I can hardly wait to write home about it."
Doc laughed, his vulgar gums gleaming like ebony wood. "Still got a lot of spunk, that cocksucker has. A helluva lot of spunk."
"She'll have spunk up her ass when I get my turn at her," Pete snarled, infuriated at her remark. "Easy, Pete, easy."
All eyes turned toward the door where Clayton Wallace stood, a paradoxically skinny Lancero ,cigar spearing from his porcine fingers.
"You wouldn't buy a broken down horse would you? I didn't think so. And nobody wants a pitiful, spiritless woman, either, right Linda?"
"I guess so."
He lumbered to his desk and oozed into the wide chair.
"You look refreshed, Miss Conrad. Life seems to be treating you gently."
"Hardly," she sneered, feeling an intense hatred for the man.
Clayton laughed, slapping his hand on the mahogany desk top. "That's good. Wouldn't want the people of Collinsville to misrepresent me."
"Oh, they don't, they certainly don't. Mirrored reflections," Justine added, "Mirrored reflections."
Clayton laughed again and then turned to Doc. "Well, does she look healthy, old man?"
"Looks that way. I watched her eat Linda, she was all right."
"No broken bones, Linda?"
"No. Her vagina is broken in fine. A few raw spots, but they'll be gone in no time."
"Sheriff, what about Miss Conrad's car."
"All taken care of. Never find it in a million years." He tipped his glasses and smiled at Justine who had turned in her chair and looked at each of the persons.
"Then we agree to keep Miss Conrad on for an extended visit."
"Yes."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
Justine looked at Clayton Wallace's beaming face. He rubbed his hands together greedily.
"Welcome, then, Miss Conrad. We usually keep a Detainee for three weeks or so, then decide whether or not she's worth keeping or not. Luckily, we've decided to keep you. That means full integration into our little community. The whole program, Miss Conrad. No more of this flip stuff with Zorn or those crazy farmers and their chickens. You know," he blew a cloud of smoke in her face and leaned forward, "that those farmers' chickens killed a woman one night. Left her in the coop with those hungry hens and they pecked her eyes out-woman bled to death, right under their noses."
He laughed, sucked in a cloud of smoke and blew it up at the ceiling. Justine's momentary spree of humor and antagonism escaped her. She felt the clammy hands of fear gripping her heart.
"Are you going to kill me?" she asked suddenly, without measuring the question's impact.
"No. No. No," Clayton said, obviously disturbed by the question. "We never kill anybody or anything. Accidents may happen, but nobody is ever killed."
"No," Doc said, reaching out and touching her arm, "we want to keep you. You're a real good cocksucker. Never had such a good cocksucker come into town before."
"At ease, Doc," Clayton interrupted. He put the cigar down and shuffled through a stack of newspapers lying on his desk.
"See these?" he said, holding them up in the air. "These are all clippings about racial equality. Now our town has about a little of everything, including racial equality. Our program for you begins with integration with THE Negroes. I hope you're not prejudiced?"
Justine shook her head; the blood drained from her face.
"What are you talking about," she asked, the insanity of it all too much for her. "I don't know whether I'm coming or going."
"You don't need to know, either, Miss Conrad," Pete said, shoving his foot against her buttocks which showed through the crack of the chair. "All you need to know how to do is fuck.
"Just like a man, fuck-fuck-fuck," Linda snapped, "How about talking about some sucking sometime. Sucking cunts!"
"Any time, baby," Pete said, touching Linda's arm. "Any time."
"Children. Children." Wallace stood, raising his arms over his head, signaling for quiet.
"Times have changed. We must make our additions different. More rounded."
"But she's not ready sexually yet," Linda whined. "You heard the way she talked."
"I know, but we incorporate the two. Look here, Justine. See the headlines," Clayton said holding up the tattered newspaper: RACE RIOTS TEAR CITY "There's hate in the city, really ugly hate. We don't want any hate here in Collinsville, do we?"
Doc was the only one who shook his head no.
"So," Clayton said, smiling, "we teach our detainees not to hate. To love their black brothers, just like everyone else. That's where you come in, Miss Collins. You're our experiment. We'll see how it works with you. How would you like to live with a couple of real fine colored folks for the next two weeks?"
"Clayton?" Linda stood, her face white. "Not them. You can't."
"Sit down. Sit down."
Justine was confused. She looked at Clayton and then Linda.
"I asked you to sit down," Clayton restated.
Linda sank down, her face white with anger, her lips drawn tightly across her face.
"Where were we," Clayton mused, punching his finger into his flamboyant face, letting it sink through an inch of loose flesh before it rested against his jawbone.
"Oh, yes, Miss Conrad. We were talking about your education. Since most of the reports so far indicate you're doing especially well, we've decided to use you as our pilot study. I've chosen the Washington's to start you off with..."
"Clayton?" Linda's strained voice cut through the silence in the room. The heavy man ignored her.
"So, we're altering your itinerary to include them. They're very nice people, very nice. We want you to love them very deeply, Miss Conrad, very deeply. Doc and Pete, why don't you take Miss Conrad over to meet the Washington's again." He looked at Justine's puzzled face.
"Oh, yes, Miss Conrad. You met them once. In the bathroom, when you were seducing Linda. They were there, with Miss Smith and the others. Have a good time with them, Miss Conrad. I'm sure your experience will wash away any traces of prejudice you have."
Smiling, he stood and waved Pete to take Justine.
Pete stood, a doubtful look on his face. "But Clayton, they don't have a room. We never built one for them?"
"Just make her secure, Peter. Very secure." "But...."
"Now, Peter, please, I don't like asking twice..."
"All right," Pete said, shrugging and taking Justine by the arm. "Come on, Doc."
The skinny man stood, scratching at his testicles and followed Pete and Justine out of the room.
Linda sat silently watching Clayton shuffle through the papers. She looked at his unconcerned face, his bloated cheeks, his red, fat fingers.
"Why are you doing this, Clayton?"
"Doing what?"
"Sticking all of our necks out." "I don't know what you mean."
"You know damn well what I mean," she said bitterly, standing and sitting on the edge of the desk. "We've never sent anyone to the Washington's before. You know how they are?"
"Are you prejudiced, my dear," Clayton said, leaning back in his chair and sucking on the cigar stub.
"Jesus, Clayton, are you cracking up? I think you believe that line of bullshit you were pawning off a few minutes ago."
"I do," he said calmly.
"Why? It's so risky. The Washington's don't know what's happening. You don't have any hold on them. They were never in jail."
"Precisely the point, Linda. Everyone in this town is here because I helped them get here. Everyone but the Washington's. I want our town to be fully integrated, that's why I've always invited them to the meetings and let them watch, and that's why I'm taking another step in their direction by letting Miss Conrad visit them."
"And what do you think is going to make them keep her locked up? What if she talks them over to her side? What then?"
"She won't. I've been good to the Washington's, explained the whole situation to them. I trust them."
"So do I," Linda hissed, "but not with my neck. It's all of our necks, Clayton, not just yours."
"I've promised the Washington's two boxes of candy each day if they do what I tell them, Linda. You know how they are about candy. They'd kill someone for a box of candy."
"It's too weak, too risky, Clayton. They can't under- stand the danger involved, not like the others. The others have rotted in jails. They know what it's like. They don't want to go back, ever. But the Washington's, they're just overgrown children. Retarded, silly overgrown adults."
Clayton laughed. "You certainly sound prejudiced to me, Linda."
"Come off it, Clayton. The only thing I know is that I'm scared, really scared. I don't like it. I don't like it at all."
"You don't have to like what I think, Linda, just what I do."
He reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her across the desk to him, knocking the papers and pens and books off the desk top.
"No, Clayton, let's talk about this."
He laughed and began rubbing the small of her back, letting his fingers slip into the crevice of her ass. Linda's voice began to trail off, to whine.
"You used to be like Miss Conrad," he said, pushing his fingers against the soft material of her capris, shoving them against her anus and vagina. "You used to hate me, to be afraid of a man's touch. Remember?"
"Clayton? Please? Listen to me? You're going too far."
He rubbed harder, feeling her tense body relax.
"I'm going to eat you, baby, eat you like you've never been eaten before. I'm going to stick my tongue so far into your ass you'll be begging me to fuck you with a baseball bat."
"Clayton?"
His thick, rubbery mouth mashed against hers. His hand fumbled at the zipper to her trousers, pulling it down. His hands slipped beneath her panties, touching the passion button of her anus.
"Clayton..."
But he had her on her stomach, her legs dangling over the side of the desk, his mouth kissing the cheeks of her ass.
She gripped the desk and gritted her teeth, feeling nothing but the wonderful, wet, wild excitement of Clayton Wallace's tongue massaging the worries out of her mind.
Justine sat shivering in the back seat of the sheriff's car, cringing as Doc's hands felt her breasts, pinching them and twisting the nipples as if he were dialing a station on a radio.
Collinsville was fast disappearing behind them as the car roared down the highway.
"You don't mind a little ride before you visit your new housekeepers, do you, Miss Conrad?" Pete laughed, pushing the accelerator down.
Justine said nothing. She tried to creep away from Doc's brutal fingers but was stopped by the door of the car.
"Since Clayton changed the plans on us, set us back a couple of weeks in gettin' you, we figured we'd have us a little joyride, like in the old days, right Doc?"
"Right," the weasel-faced man answered, licking his decaying lips and pulling Justine down in the seat. She struggled, but it was no use. The Doc's hand wedged between her legs and began massaging her clitoris. Instantly, she felt the ugly warmth stealing over her as the man's mouth mashed down on hers, kissing her roughly. His tongue lanced down her throat, hitting against her uvula and making her choke.
"Don't kill her, Doc. Save some for me."
Justine was thrown to the floor as the car veered off the paved highway and bounced along a dirt road. Doc sat up, pulling Justine with him, his hand still toying with her split.
"Just about there," Pete said, slowing the car and looking off to the side of the road. Sage brush spotted the open field as the car moved along in the wake of its own dust.
"There, Pete. Right over there," Doc said gleefully, pointing to a single tree that rose like a stranger from the sagebrush.
"Right."
Pete pulled the car to a halt and opened the back door for Doc and Justine.
"Always have to come out here to find the kids," Pete said, dragging Justine along by the arm. "Kids have a helluva good time out here playin'."
He pushed her down, sending her sprawling to the rocky ground.
"Got the honey, Doc?"
"Yeah."
He pulled a small jar from his worn coat pocket and handed it to Pete.
"You hold her, I'll put it on."
The Doc knelt down and grabbed Justine's arms while Pete spread her legs. He opened the jar and stuck his middle finger in, pulling it out and watching the thick, syrupy substance dripping from the tip of his finger.
He smiled mischievously at Justine's ashen face and began sticking the gooey finger up her vagina until it was filled with the substance.
"Honey," he said, licking his finger and smacking his lips. "Honey for the honey."
Doc laughed.
"Over here. Come on."
Justine trembled as the men dragged her to a pyramid-shaped mound.
"Ants," Doc screeched. "Thousands of hungry little ants."
The plan smacked lucidly into her frightened mind. Her eyes grew wide with fear as she looked at the crawling hill of red creatures, scurrying her and there with tiny bits of food gleaming from their mandibles.
"I love ants," the Doc said shoving Justine's face closer to the mound. "I love them. I love to eat them." He licked his lips and breathed on Justine's prickled neck.
"Ants are good for the Doc," Pete chimed irr. "Says he can't live without foric something or other..."
"Formic...formic acid...my body craves it, cocksuck-er," Doc whispered in her ear. "But I just can't eat ants without some candy around them-cunt candy."
He threw back his greasy mane and let a shrill laugh out.
"Get on with it, Doc," Pete urged, shifting from one foot to the other as he watched Justine's face grow whiter.
"Sit down on the ants," Doc ordered. "Spread your legs and squat down." "NO!"
Doc's hand slapped her face. "Sit!"
"I can't...I can't..."
The Doc laughed and shoved her shoulders down. She screamed as she felt the soft mound meet her buttocks. For a moment she felt nothing as she tried to clamber back to her feet, only to be pushed down more solidly onto the antpile.
Something stung her thigh. Another and another. She twisted and screamed as the bites continued up her thigh, getting closer and closer to her honey-soaked vagina.
She tried to beat her fists at the Doc, but Pete grabbed her arms as the skinny man pushed her shoulders down, glueing her to the spot.
The stinging pain rifled through her, making her howl each time the jaws of the tiny, red insects pierced her flesh and caused a large, red welt to appear and itch madly.
Time passed as slowly and deadly as it does for a condemned man. Each time an ant bit her, it seemed that two more bit her the next time, four the next, eight the next.
They were inside her vagina, nibbling wildly at her clitoris, sinking their tiny fangs into her red, sweet-soaked meat and making her cry in agony. A thin, red trail of the ants milled up and down her chest, biting occasionally as they foraged, seeking more honey. Her legs were covered with the beasts.
"That enough?" Pete asked, slapping at an ant that had crawled up his leg.
"Yeah," Doc said, licking his lips and pulling Justine away from the pile, pushing her a few feet away near the base of the tree.
Pete held her hands as she fought to push the crawling ants from her body. She cried out again and again as the pain pressed heavily on her mind.
She didn't notice Doc's tongue beginning to lick her legs, scooping up the ants and honey and munching loudly on them.
Standing, ants and honey dripping from his mouth, he looked at her.
"Want me to get rid of the ants, cocksucker?"
"Yes! Yes!" she screamed.
"Beg me to." He said, pushing an ant that dangled on his lip into his mouth and chewing it.
"I beg you," she yelled. "I beg you. Please, get them off me."
"Will you love me, cocksucker, if I do?" "Yes! YES! YES!"
Laughing childishly, smacking his black gums and snarled teeth together, the Doc shed his jacket and began the long, tedious process of licking and eating the ants from her body.
He cleaned them from her thighs and stomach, relieving the pain in those places and then began to lap at her vagina, making long sweeps up her crevice with his tongue. He cleaned a path free of ants to her snatch and then sat up and began picking at her pubic hair, pulling the wriggling red bodies one at a time from among the black patch and ceremoniously popping the squashed bodies into his mouth.
The relief seemed religious to Justine as she felt the stinging of their bites disappearing. She looked lovingly at Doc, as if he had saved her life.
"There's still some more, cocksucker," he said, anticipating her vote of thanks.
Leaning down, he spread the lips of her slit and buried his tongue deeply into her, drawing out the last remaining, matted bodies of the ants trapped inside. Slowly, he feasted, taking his time with each one, licking his fingers and smacking his lips, pulling the few ants that crawled along his neck and cheek off and dipping them in the honey of her cunt before he ate them.
Finished, he sat back, leaning on his elbows and let out a loud, logger's belch.
"Delicious," he said looking at her. "You are delicious."
Doc handed Justine and a bottle of calamine over to the Washingtons, who bowed and smiled and led Justine into their small living room.
Pete came in a moment later with two boxes of rich chocolates.
"Mr. Wallace sent these over for you, Marvin."
The tall, thick-shoulder Negro smiled and bent at the middle, extending his strong, black hands to accept the offering. The gold, heart-shaped medal hanging from his neck swung like a pendulum.
"Ah thanks yah," he said, smiling again at Justine who had been pushed into an overstuffed chair by Doc.
"Thanks go to Mr. Wallace," Pete said, shifting his sunglasses up and down the bridge of his nose.
"Ah thanks Mistah Wallace," the man said, handing his hefty wife the boxes.
"Ah thanks him too," she said, bowing down and clutching the boxes against her mammoth breasts which spread from one side of her chest to the other, appearing to be one mass of flesh. Her red and white polka-dotted bandanna was tied neatly around her head, offsetting the glistening black sheen of her skin.
"Mr. Wallace told you about the woman. What to do with her?"
"Yahsir. He done tole us everthin 'bout the mis-sums."
"Good. Keep a close eye on her."
"And rub this on her," Doc said, handing the bottle of lotion to Marvin. "We took her to dinner and she got ants in her pants." He screeched out a laugh. Waving, the two men left, letting the screen door slap shut noisily behind them.
"Mah name's Marvin. Mah missus name's Belle. We happy to have yah, missums."
Justine tried to smile at the strange couple looking at her curiously. They were different from the others. They were polite.
"Somethin's cool to sip, missums?" Belle asked, setting the boxes on an end table and smoothing out her print dress.
"Water will be fine," Justine said, reaching down to scratch at her thigh. Marvin sat across from her and opened the box of candy, popping one into his large, pink-colored mouth. His white teeth flashed as he gobbled down the candy and stuffed another and another into his mouth.
"Here yah is." Belle carried the glass to Justine and handed it to her. It felt cool as it slipped into her hand. She took a deep swig and coughed, spitting out the fluid and gagging.
"Salt water," she spat, hacking and coughing violently.
Marvin looked at Belle, their faces expressionless.
Infuriated, Justine threw the glass. It shattered against the wall, the shards flying across the room.
Slowly, Marvin rose from his seat and walked over to her. Justine cringed down on the couch, putting her hands over her face to protect her. With an ironlike grip, the Negro's sinewy hands lifted her up and turned her over his knee. His hand crashed down, smacking against Justine's buttocks until it was numb with pain. She sobbed and cried, kicking her feet and cursing.
Finished with the spanking, Marvin lifted her again and set her back on the couch.
"More water, Belle," he said, smiling at Justine.
Justine said nothing. She sobbed quietly, shifting on the couch to lessen the pain he had inflicted on her buttocks. Belle returned from the kitchen with another glass.
"Best drink it, missums. Mistah Wallace tole us yah had to drink it."
Gently, Belle placed the glass in Justine's hand and stepped back, lifting a piece of candy from the opened box and eating it as she watched.
Crinkling her nose, Justine gulped the brackish fluid down, coughing and sputtering until she had drained the glass. Her mouth puckered and she felt her stomach growl.
She had been wrong, she thought. These people were just the same as the rest. Just as vicious, just as cruel.
No one spoke. The three stood studying one another.
"Turn the machine on, Belle. Best hear what Mistah Wallace wants us to do."
Marvin sat slumped in the chair, his prognathus forehead sloping over his deep-set, brown eyes; his wide flaring nostrils pulsing as he breathed in and out.
Belle walked heavily to the television and pushed a button on top of the small recorder. Clayton Wallace's voice boomed into the living room.
"Hello, Miss Conrad. I see you've been introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Washington. They are going to be your caretakers for the next few weeks. I'll be stopping in from time to time to check on your progress. The Washington's will be taking their orders from this recording, helping to train you into Collinsville's way of life. They love me very much, Miss Conrad, so please don't force them to do something you would regret. The glass of water you just drank was more or less a test of their loyalty. The next test won't be so gentle or restricted to your buttocks. Have a good time, Miss Conrad..."
There was a pause in the tape before Wallace's voice returned.
"Marvin? I want you to take Miss Conrad upstairs into your attic and I want you to play with her. I want you to stick your penis between her legs and wiggle it around inside her until she begs you for more. Belle, I want you to go along and watch what he does, very closely. Take the candy with you and if he can't keep his mind on Miss Conrad, tell him you will eat all the candy. Then lock Miss Conrad in the room and I'll give you more instructions tomorrow. Understand? Good. Enjoy yourself Miss Conrad."
Clayton's laughing, metallic voice was cut off as the tape whipped through the machine, ending the message.
"Follow me, missums," Marvin said, pushing his massive, muscular frame out of the chair.
Justine could still taste the salty water in her mouth as she followed the man upstairs to the small attic.
The ceiling was open-beamed, sloping down toward the floor on one side. Old trunks and clothes were piled in a corner. The other corner was neatly molded into a sleeping area, with a wide mattress resting on the floor, a water basin and one of the portable toilets she had used in the cells was stationed at the foot of the mattress. Posters lined the walls, with graphics of famous black leaders staring out at her. A "BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL" sign hung from the ceiling over the mattress.
"Pretty, ain't it, missums?" Belle said, looking around the room.
Justine said nothing.
"Mistah Wallace put it there. All of it. Says yah don't like us 'cause we's black."
"That's not true," Justine snapped. "I don't hate anybody."
"Mistah Wallace don't lie," Marvin said, rubbing the box of candy under his arm lovingly. "He tole us all about yah. Ah knows he doesn't lie. Do he, Belle?"
"Mistah Wallace never lied in his life," Belle said proudly. "We knows. He give us candy all the time. Make us real happy, missums. Real happy."
"Take yahr clothes off, Marvin," Belle said, pulling the box of candy from under his arm. "Best get done what we gots to get done."
Marvin reached for the box, but Belle pulled it out of his reach.
"No sir, Mistah Wallace says you can't have none till youse through. Now get on with it, Marvin."
Grumbling and reaching out like a snake for the box, Marvin began to undress. Belle teased him with the candy, holding the box out toward him as he tried to get his shirt off. When he would reach for it, she snatched it back, hugging it against her bosom and telling him he would get some only after he finished what Mr. Wallace told him to do.
They seemed to forget Justine was there, playing their childish game and laughing like two overgrown children. Belle clutched her sides and laughed at Marvin, who fell on his face as he tried to grab the box. His legs were caught in his half-pulled-down trousers and he landed with a thump on the floor.
"Gracious sakes, Marvin. Youse can't even walk no more."
Rolling and laughing, Marvin kicked off his trousers and pulled down his shorts. Justine gasped.
A long, shank of black meat hung threateningly from his groin, its massive body tapering to a fire-nozzle shaped head that flopped against his thigh a good fourteen inches from his groin. Justine had never seen such an immense penis in her life. Her skin crawled with fear as she tried to imagine it inside her.
"You can't," she stammered, interrupting the couple's play. "Not with that."
"What yah mean, missums," Marvin said, kneeling and looking up at her.
"You know what I mean. You'll kill me. God, you'll kill me."
"Oh, no, missums. We ain't gonna hurt no one. We don't like to hurt things. We're just gonna play with yah. Like Mistah Wallace ask us to. Right Belle?"
"Shore, missums. We ain't gonna harm youse."
Their faces were masked with concern. Marvin looked away from Justine and dived for the box of candy which Belle had set on the floor. As he dived for it, Belle jerked it away and cuddled it against her chest.
"Ain't fast enough, Marvin Washington. Youse got a long ways to go to catch me nappin'."
She laughed giddishly and took a seat on top of one or the trunks.
"Best play with her, like Mistah Wallace says. He ain't given us no more candy if youse don't."
Marvin ovicular eyes stared at Justine. He smiled at her and put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her to him.
"We gotta play a game, missums," he said, rubbing her neck with his rough, calloused hand. "I gots to put my thing in yahr thing. See, like dis." He took the shaft in his hand and pressed it against her stomach.
"Only dat ain't gonna work. Mah thing ain't hard. Yah gotta suck it, make it hard. Den I stick it in, wiggle it around, and Belle gives me a piece of dat candy."
He pointed up at Belle who sat swinging her feet and knocking her ankles against the trunk.
"Youse good, missums, and youse gets a piece too, she said, her smile glistening on her oily, pancake face.
Candy! Candy! The insane reward, candy, she thought, her mind reeling as she looked at the two playful Negroes. What's happening to me? How can this be real?
Marvin pushed her down gently and knelt over her, letting his long penis dangle over her mouth. She didn't need to hear the request, she slowly opened her mouth as she had hundreds of times already since the first day in Collinsville and let the shaft sink in.
Her mouth slid over the tool with a frightening degree of practice. Her cheeks caved in and she drew it back, gulping and massing its odd-shaped head in the back of her throat. She felt it lodge at the base of her tongue and forced herself to swallow, letting it fill the tunnel of her throat with its black, menacing goodness.
The mere contact with flesh now stimulated her beyond return. Her body swelled with the passion that had been so brutally dragged out of her throughout the torturous days. Her nipples hardened without being touched and her hands moved up to fondle the black man's grapefruit-sized testicles. She squeezed them together and felt them roll around like meatballs inside their sagging sack containers.
Rolling her eyes to see the man's face, she noticed he was smiling foolishly and looking at Belle. Arching her neck and pulling the prick down into her throat, she looked at Belle who had plucked a piece of the creamy chocolate out of the box and was holding it out to Marvin.
Laughing and kicking her feet against the trunk with a distinct beat that matched Marvin's thrusting hips' rhythm, she popped it into her mouth and smacked loudly.
Marvin moaned.
"Get hard," he said, hitting the exposed shank with his index finger. "Yah get hard so's I can have some candy. Ah's hungry."
The hotness building in her body, Justine grabbed the long staff and began stripping it into her mouth. She felt the pole stiffening and saw the grin on Marvin's black face widen.
"Ah's gettin' there. Ah's gettin' there," he called to Belle.
When the staff was semi-rigid, he pulled it from Justine's mouth and aimed it at her slot. He never took his eyes off Belle as he fumbled the head around Justine's opening until he found it. Pushing forward, he forced it in.
Justine's tissues stretched, trying to fit her orifice to the massive tool.
"AHHHHGGGGHHH," Justine cried as he jabbed it into her. She could feel the flesh ripping, feel the stabbing pain racing like a fugitive through her receptors. He rocked, easing the weapon in and stirring it around like a long swizzle stick deep inside her.
Her clitoris was mashed against the wall of her vagina, smothered by the black serpent driving itself farther and farther.
"Ohhh," she moaned, digging her fingernails into his back as the pole slipped in and out, expanding her canal until she thought it would rupture and her guts would pour out in a long bloody stream onto the floor.
Glacerially, the pain began to subside and she grew accustomed to the bursting bludgeon inside her. Her hands trembled and she breathed quickly, trying to pull his bull-neck down to kiss him. But he pushed up, keeping his face away from hers, his eyes focused only on his wife and box of candy.
Again she pulled and again he remained frozen, only his hips moving as he licked his lips and drooled at the tantalizing candy Belle proffered him, then suddenly ate with devilish glee.
"Youse got to make da juice come, Marvin," she said. "Den youse can have some of dis candy."
Marvin moaned and thrashed his prick into her, driving it against her cervix and making her grit her teeth in pain as she felt the shaft bend.
A blunt, dull, throbbing pain ached from her pelvis to her brain as he pounded into her again and again, smashing the tip of his monstrously long prick against her closed cervix.
Justine had never felt anything like it. It was like a nagging toothache, the kind she liked to bite down on and test the amount of pain she could take before relaxing her jaw and calling the dentist. Each time he jabbed the dong-head against her cervix, the pain throbbed, became more intense, more powerful. And each time she gritted her teeth more harshly, feeling the enamel wearing as she ground harder and harder.
"Ah feels it...da juice...ah feels it comin', Belle."
He shortened his strokes, making the prick jab rapidly into her, no longer hitting Justine's cervix. Her vagina felt like a well, only occasionally clutching the sides of his prick and milking it.
Grunting, she pulled herself up near his corded neck and began kissing his sweating flesh, biting it and licking at it. Her back trembled from the strain of lifting herself off the ground, but the need to taste him in her mouth drove her to cling to him, to run her hand up the back of his neck, to touch the kinky, ringletted hairs that curlicued out from his wide head.
Her breasts touched his chest and another shiver of excitement raced through her. His velvet flesh made her body scream with desire and she found herself wriggling in against him, rolling her turgid nipples across his chest as she felt his saliva dripping down and pooling on her neck.
Her legs were wrapped around his hips and she clung to him as a baby monkey clings to the underside of its mother. Her eyes danced furtively as she hunched into him, trying to make him bang against heV cervix.
"Deeper," she begged. "DEEPER!"
But he paid no attention to her. He stared at the candy, moaning from hunger not passion as he watched his wife gobbling down the mouth-watering chocolates.
"DEEPER! DEEPER!" she yelled, biting him as hard as she could on the shoulder. "STICK IT IN ALL THE WAY!"
Her cervix ached to be punched and tears squeezed from her eyes as she cried. He jacked only a small portion of the tool into her, pulling his hips back suddenly when the tip of his cock grazed her cervix, teasing and tantalizing it. Each time she lunged forward, trying to force herself down the shaft and feel it whack her, he correspondingly pulled back.
"Ah's comin'. Ah's comin'."
His strokes became shorter and shorter. They worked rapidly into her like a piston pumping up and down the greased walls of a cylinder. The faster he went, the shorter and less stirring were his strokes. Justine sobbed as she felt her orgasm sinking away, falling back forever from her reach.
A great, roaring growl began in his throat. It ripped out, exploding from his thick lips and opened mouth, filling Justine's inflamed ears with a deafening madness. He gave one final lunge forward as hard as he could, spearing his cock in as far as it would go. It was like an uppercut to her cervix, dazing her. She felt it and screamed as the pain pounded into her brain. Again and again he made the mighty, forceful lunges into her, his cock banging like a sledgehammer against her cervix.
"GOD! GOD! GOD!"
She was being knocked into an orgasm, punched to erotic death by the longest penis in the world. Again and again the pain poured into her mind flooding her with the most bizarre thoughts she had ever had. She closed her eyes and thought of hundreds of black cocks beating her. They were detached from their owners, alive, beating her cervix which dangled out of her vagina, begging to be abused.
Justine felt the dream fading as a gush of semen splashed into her stomach, washing the head of her cervix with its hot, lavic fluids. Her body tensed and trembled and then relaxed as she loosened her grip on Marvin and sank to the floor.
"Ah's come. Ah's come." The hulking man stood, his penis stabbing out in front of him like a branch of a teakwood tree. It was wet, slimy, still oozing drops of the thick semen.
"Youse gots to have da missums lick it clean, Marvin," Belle said. "Den youse can have some candy."
Marvin's arm snapped down and caught Justine by the hair. With one graceful motion, he lifted her to her knees.
"Lick dat," he said, pushing her face against his groin. Justine looked up at him with dewy eyes. She saw only a magnificent beast of a man, a man who could hurt her and please her as no other man had yet. A man who sent her on an erotic trip of which she had never imagined, even in her nightmares relived in Dr. Jennings' office.
Fawning over his penis, she began to greedily lick and suck it clean, mouthing his balls and anus, rubbing his bristly thigh, pushing the tip of her tongue in the slit of his pole.
"Dat's good. Dat's good," he mumbled, pushing her away and heading for the candy. Belle pulled it away from him and hid it behind her back.
"Youse gots to say please, like Mistah Wallace says. Gots to be polite."
"Please?"
"Here youse is."
She handed him the box and he sank to his knees, stuffing the chocolates in as fast as his hands could retrieve them from the box. His mouth crammed full, he sat back on his haunches and chewed happily, reaching over every now and then and patting Justine on the head.
"Ah likes yah," he said pinching cheek and twisting the loose flesh like a windkey. "Ah'm gonna keep Mistah Wallace and yah real happy. Right, Belle?"
Belle looked down, her face beaming proudly at her husband.
"Youse always right, Marvin."
As Justine leaned back and looked at the man's jaws muching the candy, she suddenly felt very hungry again. Hungry for another journey to that strangely powerful erotic land she had just visited.
Justine lay that night in the locked room enjoying the feel of the white lotion smoothed on her thighs and vagina by Belle.
In the darkness of her room, Justine felt alone and cold, wanting the feel of someone's flesh to comfort her, anyone's, even Clayton's.
But there was nothing but stillness surrounding her, nothing but the dank inkiness of the room and the stacked trunks to keep her company.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. The thought of Marvin's penis kept slinking back into her mind to haunt her with its hugeness. Restlessly, she stood, bumping her head against the sign hanging overhead, and began feeling her way around the room.
The trunk straps rubbed against her leg as she groped in the darkness, not knowing what she was looking for. She reached up along the top of one trunk and felt the dust gathered there. Frustrated, she stepped ahead, smashing her head against one of the sloping beams. A bug, disturbed by her fumbling, dropped down and landed on her shoulder, making her scream and swat at it. She lay shivering, thinking about the creature crawling on her skin, suddenly fearful of the room and its unknown threats lurking in the darkness.
Crawling, she made her way back to where she guessed the mattress was. Her hand closed around a round, slick object and she jerked back, afraid.
Gingerly, she stuck her hand out again, patting the floor to clear the way. Again her hand touched the round object. It was cool and lifeless. She felt along it tracing out the shaft and its crooked end.
Picking it up, she used what she guessed to be a cane to swipe the ground in front of her until she was back safely on the mattress. Panting, she buried her head into the pillow and sobbed, clutching the cane closely to her as if it were a person. The hooked end rubbed accidentally against her vagina as she shifted, sobbing and whimpering in the loneliness of the room.
She moved the cane again, this time purposefully rubbing the cane against her aching lips. Instantly, her body tensed and she began to breathe rapidly. Her cheeks tingled and she rolled on her back, grazing the wooden shaft back and forth over her gash.
Carefully, she turned the cane so the C-shaped end hooked into the lips of her snatch. Lifting her hips and twisting down, she pulled the cane up, driving the tip deep into her gaping hole. She shivered as the tumultuous sensation filled her. Again and again she yanked at the cane, impaling herself with its tip. But it would only go in so far, stopping because of the bend. Frustrated, she sat up and turned the weapon around. She pressed the blunt rubber tip against her cunt and pushed. It wouldn't go in.
She pulled the rubber cap off and spat on her hands, washing the tip of the cane with her saliva. Then she began to work it in, shoving it deep into her womb, feeling it hit against her cervix and ring out of her that same deadening sensation that Marvin's penis had drawn from her earlier that day.
The wooden cane seemed to fill her as Marvin's pecker had, making her gasp and groan with the self-driving power of feeding herself satisfaction-sexual satisfaction.
Deeper and harder she shoved the cane, thumping it brutally against her insides, nearly fainting as the force of the blows drove her to the brink of unconsciousness. She eased back, sliding the pole in and out, teasing her cervix with the tip as Marvin had done with his penis. She felt the powerful surging of her climax rocking her forward, begging her to drive the cane all the way to a bombastic finale. Still she fought the urge, holding off, savoring the hedonistic delight of torturing herself.
Her mind began to spin, her thoughts becoming confused as she imagined Marvin on top of her, his black face glistening with sweat, his jaw set firmly, his shoulders brawny, arched over her like a statue.
She licked her tongue in the air, imagining his mouth to be there, pretending she was probing deep into his throat. Her free hand clutched the rubber tip from the cane and pressed it against her breast, shoving the indented end over her nipple and grinding it down as if she were cutting a cookie out of the doughy softness of her chest.
Her body began to shudder as she drew the beast of her orgasm out of the recesses of its trapped existence. She could feel it beginning to awaken inside her, tossing its serpentine head, licking out its forked tongue, flexing its taloned feet. Faster and faster she worked the cane inside her until she was sure the beast had come to life. As she felt it tossing its scaled head and starting to trumpet inside her, she drove the cane in as far and as hard as it would go.
She knocked herself back, her head smashing to the mattress. Her body quaked as she spasmed, sticking out her tongue and biting it as hard as she could.
She ground the tip of the cane against her cervix like a screwdriver and then screamed as she felt her body stiffen, felt the beast cough out its fiery breath and singe her spinal cord, sending the shocks of incandescent brilliance through her mind. Her body seemed to be lifted off the mattress. It seemed to float above the ground as she smashed the cane again and again into her cervix, screaming louder each time and demanding that the next thrust be even more brutal.
Violently, the beast in her womb flexed its acidic claws and drew them in long rakes down the sides of her soft flesh, searing her with the ecstatic bizarreness of one orgasm after another.
Her body bucked, thrashed, threw itself around the room as if possessed by the Devil. Her legs banged against the trunks. She heard a creak through her screechings and then a smashing blow to the side of her head before the exploding climax melted into the solitude of unconsciousness She saw Linda's face, blurred, wavering, looming over her.
"She's coming out of it." "Good. Keep an eye on her."
Justine closed her eyes again and felt the pain throbbing against her head. She started to raise her hand to touch the soreness of her skull, but Linda's hands pushed her arm back down.
"Easy. Easy. You had a pretty bad time. Damn trunk knocked you silly."
"Ohhhh," Justine moaned, feeling another pain reaching her brain. Her vagina ached. "I hurt," she whined, trying to reach down and touch the swollen ripped tissues between her legs.
"You stupid fool," Linda said through the cloudiness. "Damn near killed yourself with that cane. It'll take a week for you to heal up."
"Cane?"
Justine fought to remember. Slowly, it came back. The room. The darkness. The banging against her cervix. The mad gyrations of her body. The desire.
"Ohhh," she moaned, rolling her head to one side and feeling the pain pounding at her from her head and crotch.
"Now, don't you move. Justine. I'm going to get some pills from Doc to let you sleep. Stay still."
Justine heard a door open and shut. She lay quietly for a moment, then opened her eyes. The room came into focus. She saw Clayton's desk and the chairs, the window overlooking the street.
Shaking her head, she sat up and looked at her body. Her vagina was swaddled in bandages and her left breast was marred with circular welts. Gingerly, she touched the back of her head and felt the knot. It was soft and hot as she pressed her fingers over it, measuring its size.
She staggered to her feet from the couch and stumbled over to the desk. Her head felt like an iron weight on her shoulders as she caught her breath. Then she saw it. It sat innocently, to the left of Clayton's desk, cradled comfortably on the black base.
Her hand shaking, her heart racing, she picked up the receiver and heard the steady buzzing of the dial tone.
The number? The number? What was Dr. Jennings' phone number? Four-five-six.. .five-four-six...
She pounded on the desk, slapping it with the palm of her hand as she tried to remember.
Four-five-six...yes, she thought...that's it...
Her finger fumbling as she dialed, she let the dial spin through the area code and heard the clicking as the call switched through the circuits.
BRRRRRR...BRRRR...BRRRR...
Justine's hands sweated, making the phone slip in her hand.
BRRRRRRRR.. .BRRRRRRR....
"Hello...Dr. Jennings' office...may I help you?"
"Yes..." Justine sighed, thankful someone had answered. "Quickly, I must speak to the doctor...this is an emergency..."
"Whom shall I say is calling...?"
"For God's sake hurry, they're coming to get me...please..." "...I must know who you are..."
"...Justine...Justine Conrad...hurry...they'll be here any moment...."
"...Oh, certainly...just a moment..."
Justine listened for the sound of footsteps. Her heart thumped loudly as she waited, hearing only the silent crackling of the phone connection.
"Hurry...hurry..." Justine begged.
"Hello, Miss Conrad?"
Justine was disappointed, it was the receptionist again.
"But I wanted to speak to the doctor...don't you understand...she...they...they're going to get me...I'm..."
"Miss Conrad...the doctor said to hold...he'll be free in a moment..will you wait..."
"...I can't wait...don't you understand...they're going to kill me...they're FUCKING ME TO DEATH..." She screamed the words out, immediately sorry for the outburst for she looked about alarmed, waiting any moment for Linda and Clayton to burst through the door.
"... well. ..ummmph... just a moment please..."
Another deadening silence lingered. Justine's mind seemed to balloon near the bursting point as she listened to the electronic cackle of the connection.
"...Justine...Dr. Jennings here...what's the matter...I'm terribly busy..." His voice sounded antagonistic, irritated.
"Doctor, thank God... Help me...I'm trapped... They're all around me...they're using my body...forcing me to have intercourse with them...they're...they're driving me crazy...please help me..."
"Where are you?"
"Collinsville...in Idaho...the whole town...they're all sex perverts...they move me from house to house...fucking me...FUCKING ME EVERYWHERE..."
Her voice quavered as she rasped out her pleas.
"Call the police...get me out of here...please..."
She waited for him to break the intervening silence.
'Justine!" His voice was firm, cold. "Listen to me. Wherever you are, you must stop this madness. Don't let your imagination run away with you. If you do, there won't be any returning to a normal way of life. Get to the closest doctor, have him give you a sedative. Tell him to call me when you're better. Turn yourself in, Justine. You're sick."
"NO!NO!NO!" she screamed. "I'm not sick...why don't you believe me...why..."
Sobbing, she cradled the phone back into place and stumbled to the couch, throwing herself on it and crying. She was still sobbing fitfully when Linda returned.
"Hey, you are in bad shape. Take it easy, Clayton and the Doc will be here in a few minutes."
Linda handed her a cold towel which she took and pressed into her puffed face. Linda seemed to pay no attention to Justine's mutterings: "He doesn't believe me. He doesn't believe me."
Clayton and the Doc stood looking down at her.
"Crackin' up, Mr. Wallace."
"Well," Wallace snorted, "we'll see how much she's cracked up."
He pulled her ass up and buried his face into her crack. As his nose touched her anus, she screamed, her face a scarlet color. She panted; her hands rubbed the leather rapidly. She arched back against him, shaking her hips and begging him not to stop.
Clayton lanced his gourmet tongue deeply into her, twisting it around and making her asshole spasm. She fought to push the bandages away from her vagina, but Linda caught her arms.
"Cock! Give me cock!" she screamed insanely, arching her head and looking at the Doc's greasy face. For a moment he stood undecided, then quickly unzipped his trousers and stuffed his limp prick, laden with head-cheese, into her guppylike mouth.
He jerked as her hands grabbed his staff and tried to cram the complete tool into her mouth. Her eyes were wide and wild, glimmering each time Clayton hit a responsive nerve on her colon. She responded by humming as she drew deep breaths of Doc's cock into her mouth.
"Don't think your patient is going to die, Doc," Linda said, flopping in a chair and watching the scene. She rubbed her finger along her slit as she watched Justine bucking back against Clayton and dragging Doc deep into her hungry mouth.
Linda laughed as she plunged her finger up her snatch and shut her eyes, thinking of the first time she and Justine had their orgy in the bathtub.
The room was filled with grunts and groans, sucks and slurps, smacks and pops as the four people sought their own particular kind of relief.
"Put her back with the Washington's." Clayton said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "They must be doing a good job, I've never seen anybody get so hot so fast."
"I still don't like it," Linda harped.
"You don't have to. Doc, how soon before she can fuck?"
"Week at the most, maybe sooner."
"Looks like we'll have to think of something to keep her busy then, won't we?" Clayton said, laughing and looking at Justine who sat silently, wringing her hands and listening.
She followed Doc back to the Washington's house. They were happy to see her and the boxes of candy Doc had brought along with him. He handed Marvin the candy and a spool of recording tape.
"Ah tole youse she'd be back. Pretty lil thing," Belle solaced, pulling Justine against her heavy breasts and patting the back of her head. "And look, she done helped get us some candy." Belle planted kisses on her neck and the side of her face.
"Sit down, missums." Smiling, Bill pushed har down and picked up a cloth doll from the floor. Like a small child, she hugged the doll, pressing it against her cheek and humming.
"Best put dat recordin' on, Belle," Marvin said slowly, watching Justine. She had avoided looking at him on purpose, afraid she might react in some way to the mere presence of him.
"Missums?" Justine heard him say the words, but didn't look up.
"Missums?"
She heard footsteps heading in her direction, loud, heavy footsteps crashing toward her. "Missums?"
Slowly, she looked up at him. He was smiling, a piece of chocolate caught between his wide-spaced teeth. His nostrils pulsed like gills, his brows arched, his jaw muscles tensed. Justine's heart lept, her body tingled, her breath heaved as she thought of what he had done to her, for her. He was the one who had unlocked the need in her, fornicated her body into a mass of sexual jelly, and he was doing it again.
She felt weak, overpowered by his brawn which made her want to reach out and touch him, claw him, hug him close to her as his long prick probed the depths of her well and jabbed the beast inside her to life.
"Yah all right, missums?" He clacked his teeth together, mashing the candy down easily between his molars.
Happily, he strolled back to his seat and plucked another piece of the candy from the box.
Justine watched as Belle turned the recorder on. Clayton's voice boomed loudly through the room.
"...Marvin? Belle?"
"Yahsir?" they replied, as if the recording tape would answer them.
"Miss Conrad had a terrible time...she won't be able to play with anything in her hole...her pee hole...but everything else...all those marvelous other holes are for playing...I want you to play with them...like you did before...you're doing a real fine job...and there's lots more candy for you if you continue to do a good job...now, some of the school children will be coming over today...I want you to do what Miss Smith says...and she'll give you some more candy...understand...good..."
The recording tape scratched and went silent. "Candy," Marvin said, a silly smile on his face, "Candy."
Belle and Marvin had led Justine to the attic and told her to sit and wait while they played. Marvin was the horse, running around the floor on all fours with Belle whooping and hollering on his back, switching at his buttocks with a rag doll, and occasionally stuffing a piece of candy into his mouth. Marvin neighed when Miss Smith stuck her wrinkled face through the door.
"Belle? Marvin?"
"Yahsmam?"
"The children are here for their instruction." "Yahsmam?"
"Get up like good people and be nice."
Reluctantly, Belle climbed off Marvin's back. The man stood, flexing his shoulder muscles and smiling.
Justine huddled in the corner, her knees drawn up against her breasts, her hands hugging her legs. She saw the children file in, orderly, clean-faced, not particularly concerned with her nakedness.
With the flux de paroles of an aging woman politician, Miss Smith began to read off the facts of life to the children.
"As you see here, children, Mr. Wallace has helped integrate our community be rehabilitating this terrible young woman in our black neighbor's house. As you can see-" Miss Smith wrinkled her dried, Roman nose in disgust-"the woman sits quietly, waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Washington to make an advance. Now, you remember what Mr. Wallace told you at the meeting the other day. Well, this is the result. Mr. and Mrs. Washington have helped the woman to see our way of life, to enjoy Collinsville's special kind of freedom.
No place in the whole world-" she waved her arms in an imaginary circle-" is there any place as frank or as sincere as Collinsville. Remember children when this woman first came to our attention at the theater? She acted like an animal, a wild animal. Now, notice how she sits quietly, politely, watching us and waiting for us to say something to her. That is the essence of manners," she sighed, clutching her hands to her chest. "Waiting for someone to tell you to do something and then being totally prepared to do it. For example, would anyone here like to make a request of the woman? Remember now, what Mr. Wallace told us." She wagged a finger at them. "No diddling between her legs."
A ruddy-faced little boy with dark brown eyes and a constant smirk raised his hand.
"Yes, Robert?"
"I want her to kiss Belle's titties."
"Yeah, suck on them like lollypops," a pigtailed girl giggled, scuffing the toe of her shoe back behind her.
"Very good, Melissa. All right." The old woman turned toward Justine, her face hardening into a novercal expression. "You will do that for our little excursion, won't you, Miss Conrad?"
Justine didn't move. She sat frozen, her eyes staring off into space. She thought of what Dr. Jennings had said; she thought of Clayton's tongue, of Doc's penis, of Marvin's face.
"MISS CONRAD!"
Startled, Justine looked up into the cold eyes of the woman who tapped her foot nervously on the floor and rested her sharp chin on her finger.
"I hope you don't spoil the children's day. I'd hate to have to report you to Mr. Wallace. He's spent quite a bit of time and money trying to raise these children properly. They have a right to be treated correctly. Black studies is very important to them. Very. Now, please don't get off to the wrong start with us."
The children giggled.
"Belle?" Miss Smith said turning toward the heavy negress who was bouncing the rag doll on her knee.
"Yahsmam?"
"Take your blouse off and let Miss Conrad kiss your breasts."
Belle jumped down from the trunk she was sitting on and pulled her blouse off. Justine watched, in a trancelike state, as the woman's dark, massive tits flopped out, swelling down toward her stomach like two colored watermelons. Her dark, ringed nipples punched out from the tips of her breasts like tongues as she sauntered over to Justine.
"Move so the children can see, Belle. That's why we're here, to see how two races get along."
Justine felt herself being pulled away from the wall and into the center of the mattress. Gently, Belle pried her locked hands loose and flattened her body sunny-side up.
The heavy negress, still wearing her proverbial bandanna, crawled around so her breasts dangled over Justine's mouth.
"Best suck dem, missums," she said, placing her pink palms against Justine's breast and squeezing them. "Ah like to have dem sucked."
Justine saw her face, smiling, anticipating, eager. She felt the nipples licking across her lips as Belle made them sway back and forth. As the rough flesh touched her, her spine seemed to be charged with electricity and her lips trembled. Automatically, her mouth opened and she drew in Belle's right nipple as it swung past, capturing it between her lips and suck-in it far into her mouth.
"Dat good, missums. Dat real good."
Belle's face smiled down as she pulled up, tugging the nipple from Justine's slurping mouth and replacing it with the other. Justine pushed the nipple up against her palate and rolled the nub with her tongue, feeling it harden.
"Gather around, children," Justine heard Miss Smith say. "Everyone take a close look at this. This is how the world will be someday when all the hate and fear is gone between races. Someday the world will be nothing but a wonderful place to live and have relations."
The children crowded around, getting on their hands and knees and poking their faces close to Justine's mouth, watching her lips close over the negress's mound.
Justine felt a small hand touch her breast. Then another. The precocious hands squeezed her stomach and rubbed up and down her leg, brushing against the bandages that were still covering her vagina.
Their caresses were playful, experimental and she could hear them giggling and whispering to one another. Her body began to ache as the hands awakened the growing need in her. She chewed the nipple fiercely, biting it until she heard Belle moan.
"Not too close, now children. Don't get involved. Everyone gets their turn when Miss Conrad gets to stay at their house. One can't be hoggish. That's not fair."
The hands drew away from her, leaving her ilesh in a state of excitement.
"That's enough, Belle. The children have to leave now. Mr. Wallace is having another meeting with them."
Belle pulled away, pushing Justine's groping hands from her breasts and standing.
"Wait," Justine panted. "Let me finish? Please? I need to finish?"
"Come. Come. Children. Single file. Orderly. That's good children."
Justine watched the last child disappear through the door. She saw Miss Smith hand a small box of chocolates to Belle.
"For being wonderful, Belle. Simply wonderful."
Jealously, Justine watched as Miss Smith wrapped her arms around Belle's neck and kissed her passionately, rubbing her groin into the negress and letting her hands slip down to the woman's jutting buttocks.
"You come tonight, Belle. I'll have some chocolates for you. Bring Marvin."
The old woman broke the kiss, waved and left the room.
"You sleep with her?" Justine asked coldly, filled with hatred for Miss Smith, for anyone who touched Belle.
"Shore, missums. She gives us candy. Like Mistah Wallace. We loves dat candy."
Marvin handed Belle the box of open chocolates and took from her the full one Miss Smith had given them. He set it on the trunk.
"I'll give you candy," Justine said suddenly. "I'll give you all the candy you can eat. Forever. I'll fill your house with candy."
She reached up and pulled herself to her feet, using Belle's waist as a ladder.
"Yahs got candy?" Belle asked suspiciously.
"Not with me, but I can get it. If you let me go. If you let me get out of here. Give me some clothes, some money. I can get you all the candy in the world."
Marvin shook his head. "Ah don't know. Mistah Wallace...maybe he won't like dat..."
Spurred by the thought of escape, Justine babbled quickly, trying to steer their minds from Wallace.
"You can't tell him...about my candy...it's a secret. I know where a whole treasure is buried...it's full of all kinds of candy...more candy than you've ever seen in your life...a whole mountain of candy..."
Tears filled her eyes, her body shook.
"Ah whole mountain?" Marvin said, his eyes growing wide.
"Yes, it's taller than you, Marvin. Great, big trees grow from the sides of the mountain. Gumdrops and fudge grow off the branches. Candy canes line the valleys. I'll bring it all to you. Every bit of it."
"Ah don't know," Marvin said, scratching his kinky head.
The telephone rang downstairs. Belle and Marvin turned away from Justine and headed for the stairs.
"Wait...wait...listen to me...listen to me..."
But they were gone, down the stairs, closing the door behind them and locking it.
Sobbing, Justine threw herself down on the mattress and cried. She was mad, mad at herself, at her futility. She stood and stalked around the room, cursing as she bumped her head against the beams. Then she saw it. The box of unopened candy Marvin had set on the trunk. It was still there.
Quickly, she grabbed it and opened it. The rows of candy stared up at her. Her mind started to click, whirring through the plan. She ran to the door and pounded on it, calling for Belle and Marvin.
"Come in. Come in," she sniffled, dragging them into the room by their arms as they opened the door. "I want to show you something. I want you to believe me about the candy. I want you to see what it looks like. Now, turn around and close your eyes, and don't peek."
She turned the couple around so they faced the wall. Slipping the box of stolen chocolates from under the mattress, she emptied it on the floor and began stacking them on top of each other.
"All right."
The couple turned and stared blankly at her.
"Look," Justine said pointing at her feet. "There it is, part of the mountain. That's what it looks like. Only it's bigger than that. It's as big as this whole house. Even bigger."
Marvin and Belle stared at the pile for a moment, then dropped to their knees, studying it carefully.
"Ah mountain, ah little candy mountain."
"Yes," Justine said quickly. "And that's just the beginning. There's more. Lots more. I can get you everything you need. Just help me get out of town. Don't tell anyone about it and I'll bring it all back to you...all of it..."
She was out of breath.
"Ah whole mountain, Belle. Just think. Ah whole mountain."
"Yahsir," Belle said, scooping her hands into the chocolate and sprinkling them over her head. "Yahsir."
"Then you'll help me? You will?" Justine's eyes danced hopefully.
Marvin started to speak, then stopped.
"Please? It's the best candy mountain in the world," Justine pleaded.
"Ah might. Ah don't know yet."
"But you can't tell anyone, not Mr. Wallace or Miss Smith, or anyone. If you do, they'll take the candy away from you. I heard them say so. They will, honest."
Marvin looked at Belle and then to Justine. "Mistah Wallace says dat?" "I heard him."
"Ah don't know. Ah don't know."
Frantically, Justine thought. "Look. Think about it today, tonight. Think about that mountain of candy I'll bring back to you. Think hard about it and don't say anything to anybody. Then let me know."
The couple nodded dumbly, looking at the candy pile greedily.
"Take it. Take the candy and think about it," Justine said, scooping up the bits and pieces and shoving it into their hands.
Belle and Marvin snapped it up, stuffing it into their mouths.
"Mistah Wallamphce comphin ovfer," Marvin slurred as he chomped and led Belle out of the room.
It was a trick, Justine thought, sinking down on the mattress. Belle and Marvin had told Wallace. He was coming over to laugh at her, to tease her as he and the others had since her arrival. She didn't have a chance to get away, she cried, pounding her fists against her chest, feeling the pain build as she beat at her breasts until they were red.
"Sadistic. Very sadistic," Clayton said from the doorway. "You aren't adjusting very well, my dear."
Justine forced a facetious smile on her face. She was going to stand up to him when he laughed at her. She was going to lash out at him and claw at his face when he told her Belle and Marvin had confided in him. She didn't care if they killed her. Nothing mattered anymore.
Pete's mirrored eyes shot through the door behind Clayton. He touched his fingers to the sunglasses, pushing them up snugly against his brows.
"The sheriff and I got a little bored sitting around and thought we'd come over and have ourselves a little fun, Miss Conrad. You are available, aren't you?"
The wart on his cheek sliding around his oleaginous smile, Clayton lumbered into the room. Pete followed, a gun in his hands.
"Going to kill me?" Justine asked calmly, looking at the pistol.
"No, Miss Hotbox. Going to just shoot around you."
He twirled the pistol on his finger.
"Take the bandages off, Miss Conrad," Clayton said, "we want to check and see how your little honey pot is coming along."
"You take them off. You're the guard."
"Spirit. Still has her spirit. Goes from one extreme to the other," Clayton commented, squishing toward her.
Before he touched her, Justine could feel her muscles tense, her heart beat rapidly. She closed her eyes, trying to fight the breathless sensation welling in her chest as his corpulent hand untied the bandage and pulled it off.
"Lay back. I want to check out your cunt."
She tried to fight, but when his hands touched her shoulders, she melted back, wilting to the floor and sobbing at her lack of fortitude. Clayton laughed as he spread her cunt-lips and stared into her keyhole.
"Not bad. She's doing very well, sheriff. Must have a real healthy cunt. Real healthy."
Justine's body shook as his mouth closed over her tattered twat-lips and sucked her battered clitoris into his mouth. She wheezed, hissing air through her nostrils as his tongue scratched at the tender walls of her snatch, raking over them like a file. His hot breath added a spontaneous fuel to the fire sparking and sputtering inside her.
"What a cunt," Clayton sighed, sitting back on his thick thighs and running his beefy hands over her smooth flesh. She felt his fingers tighten around her nipples, choking them and making them turn a bright purple as the blood shot out to fill them.
"Tits are fine too," Pete said, kneeling down beside her and joining Clayton's roving hands. "And just think, a minute ago she was spittin' like a cornered cat. I guess a pussy isn't really a tiger after all."
"You know, Pete. We could take her now. That cunt ain't that bad. It tastes just fine."
"But you promised me I could shoot her, Clayton. I want to shoot her, to make her well."
Justine squeezed her eyes tighter as she felt Pete's exploring hand cup her vagina and squeeze.
"That feels so goddamn good, Clayton. Let me fire a couple of shots?"
The fat man laughed and pushed Justine's eyelids open with his shovel-shaped thumbs.
"The sheriff wants to shoot your cunt, Miss Conrad. And I'm going to let him. And you're going to watch and enjoy it."
He pulled her up into a sitting position and pushed her head between her legs.
"Spread your cunt," Pete ordered.
Her chest heaving as she tried to suck in enough air to keep from fainting, Justine reached down and tenderly spread the lips of her vagina. She saw the ragged red flesh, slit like the belly of a freshly killed animal, her clitoris hanging out like a small thread of the beast's intestines, the ribs of the beast's body dripping with the thick, red blood of death.
Wider and wider she spread the gash, feeling compelled now to watch the ugly sight opening before her eyes. She saw the pulsing cavity, opening and closing as her muscles twitched and spasmed, appearing like a carp's effluent mouth feeding off the slime of the lake's bottom.
The slit ached as she pulled it to its shredding point and held it there, nearly turned inside out as the two men pushed their heads in to see also.
"Beautiful," Pete sighed. "Beautiful. If only Doc were here."
"Shoot her," Clayton urged. "Shoot her, dammit, that's why we came up here. I'm a busy man, don't forget."
Pete shoved the gun a few inches away from her cunt. Justine cringed as she saw the black barrel aiming down her exposed canal.
Pete pulled the trigger and a long, thick stream of white fluid spewed from the tip of the barrel, hitting in a stinging gush against the sensitive flesh.
He pulled the trigger again and again, forcing the viscous fluid into her dripping, trembling pit.
Justine felt it sloughing inside her, oozing down and coating her cervix, rolling up her fallopian tubes like quicksilver. She rocked back like a teeter totter, working the milky substance inside her, gritting her teeth as she felt it coating her torn membranes and slinging her injured flesh.
Streaks of red were mixed with the white stream as Pete shot it again and again deep into her womb, laughing and fumbling with both hands to pull the plastic trigger on the water gun.
Clayton worked his hand in and began pushing the dripping fluid, clinging to the lips of her cunt like snot, up into her hole until it was full.
"Now eat it," Clayton snarled, shoving her head down farther so the lips of her mouth touched the gooey lips of her snatch. "Suck it all up and swallow it. It's only a lonely bull's come with a little tabasco thrown in."
Justine tensed. Her muscles screamed with pain as the obese man shoved down on her neck, forcing her mouth to cover her vagina. The eroticism of the act was shattered. BULL'S COME. TABASCO SAUCE. The horrifying thoughts coursed through her mind as he shoved her viciously down.
"Suck it. Drink it."
She could feel Clayton's hot mouth against her ear, hear his wheezing breath as he grunted and pushed. The goo was around her mouth, squashed against her lips. She could hear Pete laughing.
"Suck it. Suck it."
She began to suck, sticking her tongue into her vagina, tasting the sharp bitterness of the tainted animal semen. Her tongue lanced around her clitoris, touching it and cleaning it as a cat's tongue does its butter-soaked paw. Faster and faster her tongue worked over the area until she felt the aching of her muscles subside and a fresh, tingling, excited feeling overpower her.
Greedily, she began slurping, moving her mouth over the twat, lapping at the juice, excited by its bizarre, foreign taste. Her tongue ached as she forced it deep inside her snatch. She drew it back into her mouth and licked the insides of her cheeks, knocking off the gunky semen and then swallowing it.
Her body burned with desire, forgetting for the momerit it was being tormented. All it craved now was more of the tongue.
"God. She likes it. Look at that. Sheeit."
"Fucking nymphomaniac."
Clayton jerked her back. Her tongue wagged stiffly in the air, a round glob of semen balanced on the tip. She d rew the tongue into her mouth and gulped down the last obscene drop.
"Wild bitch," Pete said, so astonished he took off his sunglasses and peered at Justine's supine body writhing on the floor. "Wild."
He rubbed his eyes unbelievingly, squashing his eyeballs back into their sockets. A white ring of un-tanned flesh was scooped around each of his eyes.
"I don't know what these niggers are doin' to her, Clayton, but whatever it is, it's mighty wild."
Clayton was kneeling at her side, rubbing her flesh and kissing her breasts. He rolled her over on her stomach and kissed the cheeks of her ass, then spread them and licked her crevice.
"I have to have her. Goddamn, she's the hottest thing since Linda."
He stripped off his trousers and shorts, never taking his tongue from her ass as he wriggled out of the clothes. Jacking her hips up, he grabbed his hard penis and stuffed it into her cunt.
Justine screamed as she felt the little tool thrashing inside her. She gulped and beat her fists on the mattress, crying and cursing.
"FUCKER. DIRTY FUCKER."
Clayton sank his chin into her back and pulled her shoulders toward him, driving his turgid pole deep into her. Again she cried out the words, only causing Clayton to become more passionate. He jerked her with a maddening tempo, shifting his massive hips and banging his cock against her clitoris.
"YOU CAN'T FUCK! YOU HAVEN'T GOT ANY COCK! YOU'RE NO MAN! GET ME MARVIN!
GET ME MARVIN!" She screamed out the words, infuriating Clayton.
He doubled his fist and drove it into her back, making her scream with pain. Again and again his fist sank into her, punching the nerves and making the tingling sensation double its intensity in her groin.
"MORE! MORE! KILL ME! BEAT ME! FUCK ME!"
Clayton stopped hitting her. He pumped his prick into her and reached up and let his hands close around her throat. Slowly, he began to choke her, cutting off her cries.
His small cock was battering inside her wide hole, flopping around like a thread in a keyhole. Her face turned blue. She gasped, feeling the dizziness of unconsciousness stealing over her body. His fingers punched her throat, collapsing her trachea. He's killing me, she thought. KILLING ME!
He tensed, his minute prick sputtering semen inside her. She became rigid, humping back against him with the last ounce of strength left in her body. Suddenly, she felt it. The beast crashed through the barrier, driving its head out of the cave, snarling and spitting flames from its fiery nostrils.
As Clayton's hands relaxed on her neck, letting her draw in life-giving breaths of air, she felt the beast recede once more to the hidden cavern of her lust.
"You almost killed her, Clayton." Pete's voice was shaky.
"No, you fool. She's a fucking masochist. Look at her. She wanted me to kill her. That's what all women really want. They want to think the man who's fucking her is going to kill her. Just like they like to be raped. She knew I wasn't going to kill her. She knew. Look at her. LOOK!"
Justine lay on her side, her eyes wet and looking up at Clayton. Her hand outstretched toward his drooping, slimy penis. Her lips moved so that you could barely hear what she was saying, but the smile on her face, the pleased, childish, wanton smile told everything.
"Fuck me...fuck me again...please...please..."
"Missums? Missums?"
Justine woke to the firm hands shaking her shoulders. Belle's flat face gleamed into hers.
"Missums? We done made our minds up. We wants dat mountain of candy. We gonna help youse."
Belle pulled Justine to her feet. The room was dark except for a shaft of sallow light creeping in through the opened door.
"Marvin's down gettin' youse clothes ready. Come on."
She pulled Justine down the stairs and into the living room. Marvin was laying a set of Belle's clothes out on the couch.
A greedy look flashed in his eyes as he took her by the shoulders and led her to the couch.
"Yah gonna get us dat whole mountain?" He formed a pyramid with his arms. "Ah whole mountain ah candy?"
"Yes," she whispered, looking at him strangely, a hollow feeling in her stomach. "Yes."
"Come on, den. We get yah out now. Nobody knows yahs leavin' 'cept Belle and me."
He shoved her the clothes and stood watching as she put the baggy dress over her supple body. The shoes were too large and flopped around her heels as she tried to walk in them. The dress hung down to the floor, its waist cutting around her buttocks.
Marvin laughed.
"Yah shore do look funny, missums."
Justine tried to smile. She touched the clothes experimentally. How long had it been, she thought? How long without clothes?
"Come on."
Marvin lifted her off her feet and carried her to the door under his hulking arm. He peered through the curtains, then sure it was safe, stepped outside and skirted through the alleys with Justine bouncing at his sides.
Belle went half-way with them, then returned to the house in case Clayton called.
"We's gonna get skinned alive for dis, but dat candy gonna make it all right. All right, missums," he said as he slinked to the outskirts of town.
The moon was full, lighting the way as he set her down and helped her pick her way through the underbrush.
"Where are we going? The road's over there," she whined, feeling a branch swish against her leg.
"Best yah follow da railroad tracks, missums. Go 'bout two, three miles, den cut over to da left. Da road goes alongside. Catch a ride. Get the candy. Come on back wit it."
She stumbled behind him until they reached the tracks) Panting, she sat down to catch her breath. She was free! At last she was free. In a few hours she would find some police and tell them the whole story. She'd call the governor and have him send in troops, arrest the whole town. She'd enjoy the trial. Enjoy telling the jury what each one did to her. She'd watch Clayton Wallace squirm like a pig in his own shit. She'd watch Pete and Linda as frightened as rabbits, and that crotchety schoolteacher-she'd burn for doing what she did to those kids. All of them would burn. Burn. BURN!
She heard a trickling, like rain falling near her. She looked over at Marvin. He stood beside her, urinating on the tracks, holding his long, black cock like a hose. She looked at it against her will. No, she thought, I won't. I won't.
Justine forced herself to look up at the moon, but the urine kept coming; the pounding of it against the gleaming steel rail drummed against her ears. She turned again, looking at him, watching the yellow stream sparkle like gold as it splashed onto the steel. She saw the long, black shank wave up and down as Marvin played with the stream of piss, making it splatter along the rail and wet the dry, oil-covered ties. She saw the foam rising from the pools of urine that soaked down into the gravel.
Marvin strained, and the last drop of piss dripped off his cock. He started to stuff it back into his trousers.
"Wait!"
"Missums?"
"I want to kiss it good-by." "What, Missums." "Your cock!" "Mah what, Missums!"
"YOUR PLAYTHING!" she screaming, a wave of boat surrounding her. Her heart beat rapidly against her left breast.
"Shore, Missums," he said, waddling toward her, his legs spread, his hands holding the horse-cock out from his body.
Justine reached up and rubbed the velvety skin, cupping the bottom side of his prick and smoothing the head with her palm. At first her caresses were gentle, loving. They became more passionate as she felt the trunk stiffen in her band and heard Marvin begin to moan. She looked up and saw his broad head thrown back, silhouetted against the brilliant moon. His lips were curled back and his hands were hooked on his slim hips.
The cock was hard now, throbbing in her hand as she wrapped her fingers around it, squeezing it. Justine licked her lips and swallowed, her throat dry, her breath heavy. She opened her mouth, forming her lips into a succulent "O" and closed them around the bulbous, black head.
Slowly, she slid her head up the shaft as far as it would go before his cock stabbed against the back of her throat. She withdrew, biting down and feeling the rubbery flesh grating between her clenched teeth.
Marvin's hands dropped like weights on her shoulders, pumping her up and down the shaft. She could feel the saliva in her mouth flowing, wetting the bat that worked violently in and out of her portal.
She sucked hard, feeling her cheeks cave in and touch the sides of his prick. A warm, electrifying wetness seeped from her vagina. Her hands snaked into his trousers, grabbing his testicles and rolling them around. She felt the coarse hairs sticking against her palms and the sweat dripping off the ebony grapefruits.
The moon seemed to turn a blood red as she looked past his shoulder, listened to the guttural sounds he made as he pushed and pulled her over his turgid prick. He was pistoning her faster and faster. Her cunt ached, forced out the thick fluids of desire as she felt his cock bucking in her mouth, ready to spit its venom into her throat.
His hands grabbed her hair and yanked her to him, stuffing the head of his pole down her throat, wedging it beneath her uvula and the root of her tongue. She gagged, trying to breathe as the semen coursed down her throat. She hunched her hips until a sharp rock caught on the lips of her cunt. She ground down, rocking back and forth until she felt her orgasm swelling inside her and bursting out, filling her with the warm, sensual security she had learned to lust for during her captivity.
As the sensation melted away and Marvin's cock began to wilt in her mouth, Justine sobbed.
"Missums? Ah do somethin' wrong?"
"No," she wept. "Go away. Go away."
"Yah bring da candy soon?" Marvin asked, leaning down and looking at her curiously.
"Yes," she sobbed, still tasting the man's semen. "I'll bring it soon." "Good."
She watched his tall, muscular form slip into the brush and disappear.
Justine walked for two hours. Her feet ached. Blisters ballooned on her heels and she was exhausted. She found a clearing beside the tracks and curled up near a tree. Her eyelids were heavy and she fell asleep, drifting off into a troubled world of Clayton's and Linda's and Pete's and Zorn's and Miss Smith's, all laughing and jeering at her, all naked, all wanting her body.
"Pretty!"
"Yeah man!"
She shook her head and pushed herself up on her elbow. The sun splashed against her eyes, blinding her. Frightened, she scooted back under the shade and blinked her eyes.
Two raggedy men stood over her. They jumped back when she moved.
"She's alive!"
"You okay, lady?"
The short, thin hobo stepped forward, rubbing his scraggy face with a dirty hand. A half-empty bottle of wine hung out of the corner of his worn jacket pocket.
"Yes," Justine said timidly, crawling farther back into the weeds.
"We ain't gonna hurt you, lady," the other man said. He had a long face, with deep-set, skeleton eyes peering out from a swarthy face.
"You looked dead, lady. Runnin' from the law?"
"No."
"Someone chasin' you?" "No."
Sweat dribbled off their faces as they squinted at her in the sunlight.
"Want some food?"
The short man threw her a chunk of bread and then stepped back into the sunlight, crouching and shading his eyes to stare at her.
"No thank you."
She threw the bread back.
"Sorry, lady. Guess we'll be on our way. Sure noth-in's the matter?" "Wait!"
The men, who had turned and started to walk away, both jumped. "What lady?"
"Come here." She sat up, her face sullen, her eyes glazed.
"You hurt, lady?" Like squirrels, they ducked into the shade, keeping their distance and eyeing her. "I hurt!" she said flatly, looking at them coldly. "Want us to call the cops for you, lady?" "No."
"What you want us to do, lady?" ''Come closer."
They looked quickly at one another, their hands nervously rubbing the sides of their filthy trousers. They took one step forward and halted, three feet from Justine who stared at them with gelid eyes.
"Closer," she whispered, her mouth moving automatically, the mere sight of the men stirring something in her, something that burned in her guts and made her hands tremble.
They split the difference, taking a half-step toward her. Justine stood, feeling the overpowering sensation of command. Her lips curled around her strong white teeth, her tongue licked around her full, red lips. She began unbuttoning the top of her dress and let it slide down her body, falling in a clump at her feet. Her breasts swung free, the nipples standing rigid, her waist tucked in above her flaring hips.
"Do you want me?" she asked, biting her lip as she felt the beast grumbling inside her, rolling around in her groin, shaking the semen from a hundred men off its dragonlike wings. There was no turning back, not now, not after the beast had awakened.
"Want you lady?" the thin man said, his knees shaking, his eyes darting from Justine to his partner.
"Yes, you know," she said huskily, "do you want to fuck me? To stick your slimy cocks up my cunt, up my ass? To lick my tits?"
She stepped forward and the men backed up, looking behind them as they balked at her forwardness.
"I...I..."
"Spit it out, goddamnit. Tell it like it is. What are you, a couple of fucking queers!" Her face turned red with anger and the men retreated, keeping an arm's length from her.
"No, we ain't gay. Look, lady. We don't want no trouble. We're just headin' for Chicago. That's all, lady."
Justine laughed and cupped her breasts in her hands, milking them until the nipples stood rigid.
"See these tits. A hundred fucking men in one town sucked on them. Chickens pecked on them. Men and women and kids rubbed their asses on them. Look at them!"
The men backed away.
"Jesus, lady. You're sick. You ought to see a doctor."
"A FUCKING DOCTOR. I'VE BEEN EATEN BY THE BEST FUCKING DOCTOR IN THE COUNTY. I'VE BEEN FUCKED IN THE MOUTH BY HIM. HE'S LICKED MY ASSHOLE. PUT HONEY IN MY CUNT. EATEN ANTS FROM MY SNATCH."
The tall man stumbled and scrabbled back away from her, his hand cut and bleeding from the sharp rocks along the tracks.
"Please, lady. We don't want no trouble. We're mindin' our own business."
"YOUR BUSINESS IS TO PUCK! TO FUCK ME! LOOK AT ME! I'M A FEMALE CUNT! I GOT TITS, I GOT A SNATCH! NOW FUCK ME!"
Her voice was raw from screaming. The beast inside her churned, thrashing itself wildly around her vagina.
"All I want to do is suck your cocks, both of them at the same time," she said softly, cooingly, cocking her head to one side and fluttering her eyes. "I can get two cocks into my mouth at one time. I know I can. Come on. COME FUCKING ON!"
Still, they backed away from her.
"I got a good cunt. It's real good. I used a cane on it once. Stuck a cane all the way up my cunt and twisted it around. It was good. Are your cocks as good as that cane? ARE THEY?"
The men backed farther away.
"What are you, cowards? Afraid to fuck a woman who knows what fucking is all about? I had a black man fuck me so hard his cock came out my ass. MY ASS!"
"She's flipped, man. She's crazy. She'll kill us if she gets a hold of us."
"Yeah, let's get outta here."
They turned and ran down the tracks, away from Collinsville, away from the voluptuous woman who stood ranting at them.
"Filthy trash. Scum."
Justine chased them a few yards, shaking her fist in the air at them and calling them worms, crabs, queers. Then she stopped and turned, looking into the sun as it climbed slowly over Collinsville.
She began to pick her way back, stepping on the crunchy gravel, feeling the grit and dirt grind into the soles of her feet. Her pace quickened as she passed the clearing where she had slept the night before, heading toward the town that had held her captive for such a long, nightmarish time.
"Marvin! Clayton! Linda! Pete! Zorn! Belle!"
Tears rolled down her cheeks as her feet flew, hurling her body toward Collinsville. She imagined Marvin's black penis waiting for her, strung up on a gallows by Calyton who was enraged that the black man had let her go free. They were going to kill Marvin, kill him. The man who had done so much for her, fucked her as she could never be fucked in her imagination.
She couldn't let them. She couldn't.
"I told you, damnit, Clayton. I told you."
Clayton paced the floor, his feet stomping loudly. Marvin and Belle sat across from Linda, their hands folded neatly in their laps, childish smiles on their faces.
"Why? Why?" Clayton snarled. "Ah can't tell yah, sir. It's ah secret, right Belle?" "Dat's right, Mistah Wallace. It's ah secret." "Secret shit. She's probably on her way to the cops right now."
"Want me to issue a warrant for her arrest, Clayton," Pete said, gnawing nervously on the tip of a pencil.
"Let me think. Let me think."
He pushed his pudgy fingers against his forehead.
"CLAYTON!"
The fat man looked up and his jaw dropped. Justine stood at the door, her feet bleeding, her eyes scanning the room until they focused on Marvin.
"Marvin!" She ran to him and threw herself at his feef, kissing his thigh and burying her head in his crotch. "Oh, Marvin, they haven't killed you. Thank God. Thank God. I couldn't leave you. I couldn't."
Marvin pushed her away, his large pawlike hands shaking.
"Mah candy, missums? Where's mah candy? Dat mountain ah candy?"
"I lied, Marvin," she said, fawning him with kisses, licking at his stomach and trying to pull his shirt off. "I need you, Marvin. I need your cock in me. Way in me, like before. When you played with me."
He shoved her away, sending her flailing to the floor.
"Ah want dat candy. Mistah Wallace?" he said turning toward the shocked, overweight man. "Missums said dat she'd bring us back a whole mountain ah candy. She lied, sir."
Smiling, Clayton walked over to Marvin and put his arm around the dark man's shoulder.
"Don't you worry, son. Mister Wallace will buy you a mountain of candy. A whole truckload of candy."
Clayton Wallace looked down at Justine who was crawling back toward Marvin repeating the sentence over and over.
"Fuck me, Marvin. Stick your cock in me, Marvin. Please, Marvin?"
"Justine? Justine?"
"What," she snapped, trying to push Clayton's feet out of the way to get to Marvin. "Do you want Marvin, dear?" "Yes. Yes."
"Well, if you want Marvin, you have to be nice to me, and to all the people, the good people, of Collinsville."
She looked up at him, puzzled.
"If you want to have Marvin, you have to have us all. Forever. You must stay here forever with us, never leave. Then you can have Marvin whenever you want, if we don't want you. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she said, climbing up Clayton's leg and looking at him. "I'll do anything."
"Here then, call all your friends and tell them you've met a wonderful man and you're going to elope with him and live in Europe." He handed her the phone.
She dialed one number after the next, Mark, her girlfriend and finally Dr. Jennings.
"Hello...Doctor Jennings...this is Justine...I'm fine... I'm well doctor...I'm cured...I met a man...we're going away...yes...thank you..."
When she turned around, everyone was naked.
"Welcome to Collinsville," Linda said first, stepping in front of the others and kissing Justine passionately.
"Welcome."
'Welcome."
"Welcome."
Each kissed her, felt her breasts, her ass, her cunt. Marvin stood, looking around the room dispassionately.
"Here, Marvin," Clayton said, "have a piece of candy." He shoved the melting chocolate up Justine's vagina. Marvin growled and grabbed her, throwing her to the ground and burying his head in her snatch. Belle lept down behind him, trying to push her husband out of the way and get the candy for herself.
"My ass, my mouth, my ears-fuck them-they need fucking-fuck them."
Laughing, they fell on her, shoving their mouths and tongues and cocks and tits into every available hole and indention of Justine's body.
She was smothered, biting at their flesh, trying to reach down and find Marvin's cock through the wriggling mass.
Doc walked in the door and saw the pile of bodies. He saw Justine's arm spearing up from the writhing clump of human ants, her fist opening and closing, her fingers hooked like claws on a cat. Licking his festered lips, the old man stripped off his clothes and placed his sagging balls in her hand. He moaned happily as he felt her squeeze the decaying sacs as hard as she could.
Justine felt the beast coughing inside her, felt the creature's claws ripping at her womb, haunting her now forever with its insatiable desire for flesh. No longer was the thing that had haunted her for so long invisible. It had come to life inside and outside her body. It was a part of everyone in Collinsville, everyone in the world. It was the beast of lust, of desire that made the world explode with its own atomic power. And she was part of it, she was the center of it, the nucleus.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"
She screamed until a cock wormed its way into her mouth. Then she fell silent and gobbled, a happy new addition to the happy little town known as Collinsville.
