The man was tall, about six feet one, wiry, and with a saturnine face. His nose was hawk-like, but the thin sensuous wings gave some indication of an extremely perceptive and perhaps even introverted nature. His eyes were cold, impersonal, a dark blue, and very narrowly set together. He had a high-arching forehead, and his ears were small and set close to the skull. His hair had once been brown, but now it was almost entirely gray, with the exception of a tiny patch to the back at the left side of his head. He had long fingers, which might have been those of a pianist or a painter, but they were gnarled and calloused, suggesting that he had done menial labor in the past.
He sat in the living room of an elegantly furnished house in Memphis, Tennessee, and the woman opposite him in an arm chair and clad in a silver-sequined evening gown stared at him curiously. Though he came with the recommendation of one of the best clients of the house, Mrs. Lurton was a little afraid of him. For that reason, instead of showing him in parade the coterie of girls from whom, like any other accepted customer, he would be permitted to make a choice, she had told Celestine, the handsome octoroon maid whose French mother had given her that thoroughly Gallic and very feminine name against the wishes of her Sengalese father, to have the man escorted into her smaller parlor where she herself would interview him. Also, she had told the octoroon to have Joe and Dave standing just outside in the little hallway in readiness in case anything should go wrong.
Mrs. Felicia Lurton had run this illicit house of pleasure for over a decade, and she had no desire to have her excellent relationship with the police-and particularly Lieutenant Homer Devers-marred by some brawl or annoying altercation which would compel those on the vice squad who enjoyed not only their gratis patronage at her house but also a tidy little monthly bribe, to raid her because of the protest of the enraged citizenry.
"May I offer you a glass of sherry, Mr. McClane," she gently offered.
The man inclined his head in the affirmative, regarding her with a rather crooked little smile. His lips were thin, those of an ascetic, and there was a tiny scar at his left cheekbone. His voice was husky but soft, he spoke with excellent diction and he seemed to have shown her all the courtesies one would expect of a stranger who came recommended to such a place. Yet Felicia Lurton was uneasy, and in her more than ten years of owning this bordello in the eastern suburb of Memphis, her intuition had rarely played her false.
She took up a little silver bell on the tabouret beside her end tinkled it three times. That was the signal to Celestine, who promptly entered in her maid's cap and apron, wearing only beneath that apron a formfitting dark blue housecoat and high-heeled pumps as well as smoke-colored nylon hose. Celestine had a golden skin, and an oval face, huge brown eyes, and a voluptuously exciting body. She was often in great demand because she combined the sexual lure of the fiery Negress with the sensual enticement of the white, blinded into a miscegenatory strain which never failed to excite the customers. But only rarely did Felicia Lurton sell Celestine's services to her patrons.
After the sherry had been brought and the saturnine man on the arm chair had sipped it delicately enough to make Mrs. Lurton a little less uneasy, the latter tactfully suggested: "If you would like to tell me your preferences, Mr. McClane, perhaps I might show you one or two girls who would suit you. But perhaps also in advance I should tell you that our fees are rather high."
The man who had introduced himself as Edward McClane stared broodingly at the handsome madame for a moment, then drew a wallet out of his pocket and yawned as he held it out. Her eyes widened at the sight of the thick sheaf of green bills. There was no doubt that he was affluent enough to pay whatever tab he chose to run up in her house. "No offense meant, Mr. McClane," she hastened to add, "but after all you're new to us. And we want to make this first visit memorable for you so that you will be a regular customer like your friend, Mr. Burton."
"I'm prepared to pay whatever fee you ask. I have a certain specification, and since you've been so frank with me, I'll tell you what I am seeking."
"Please do."
"I should like an attractive girl who is preferably yellow-haired, with very pale white skin. A delicate face, which has breeding and quality to it and does not at once suggest the slut."
"Please, Mr. McClane!" Mrs. Lurton raised a jeweled hand in protest. "There is not a girl in this house who is not a lady and who has not had at least a full high-school education. Half of my girls have either been to college or been graduated from it. It's true that I may have a girl who is close to that description. And what else do you require of her, once having found such a physical model?"
Edward McClane leaned forward, clasping his gnarled fingers and twisting them, his eyes broodingly narrowed. "I want to whip her before I take her," he said decisively. "But don't be afraid, I won't scar her permanently or draw blood. But it will be a severe whipping. And I have my reasons."
"That may be, but I am not in favor of welcoming those of deviate sexual habits to this house, Mr. McClane. Perhaps Mr. Burton didn't tell you."
"Oh, he did, rightly enough, but I thought that perhaps money could buy what I wanted for a particular occasion. It's a kind of celebration for me. And at the same time it's a kind of proxy revenge."
Despite her aversion to the sinister though direct demands of this strange new customer, Felicia Lurton found herself intrigued. "Celebration? Revenge?" she echoed. "Do you care to tell me about it, Mr. McClane?"
The visitor shook his head. "It's my affair completely. But I will pay five hundred dollars for an hour or two of the girl's time. During which, as is understood, I shall be allowed to whip her and then to force her to submit to me sexually. That is my stipulation."
"I see." Felicia Lurton pursed her lips and closed her eyes. She was thinking of Olga Dorrish. Olga was a handsome divorcee of twenty-four who had come to her just a year ago after the breakup of an unhappy marriage. She had been forced by poverty to be the slave of a man thrice her age, coarse and predatory. She had run away, not because her husband had beaten her-of Russian blood, Olga Dorrish understood the sexual domination which was latent in such an act-but because he had not been able to satisfy her almost insatiable desires for coitus. And she did not wish to be a slave. A dominated wife-mistress, yes, a thousand times yes. But never a slave to be demeaned. Yes, it was quite possible that Olga might accept this Edward McClane.
She lit a cigarette while her visitor studied her. She had a rounded face, and the ravages of her forty years hardly showed, thanks to skillful makeup. She had large round breasts, full hips and thighs, and the evening gown titillatingly suggested all her mature beauty.
Then she made her decision. "Very well, Mr. McClane. For five hundred dollars I will give you two hours with Olga. And I have a stipulation too. Being of Slavic descent, she knows what it is to be whipped when it is a matter of making love. But she asks only that she be compensated by passion after you have thrashed her. And since she is one of my best workers, I hope you will keep your promise in turn and not break the skin or leave permanent marks. She has very pale white skin, quite sensitive and lovely."
Edward McClane seemed to shudder, and closed his eyes. He was remembering. Yes, indeed, today was one of both celebration and the promulgation of an ingenious plan to obtain his revenge on a woman who, twenty years ago, had rejected his offer of marriage and laughed in his face.
She too had been golden-haired, with pale white skin. And only a few weeks ago, Edward McClane had been released from a mental hospital where for over a year he had been undergoing psychiatric treatment. So, indeed, this invite to the house of Felicia Lurton was also by way of celebration.
CHAPTER TWO
The man known as Edward McClane took ten fifty-dollar bills out of his thickly packed wallet and handed them to Felicia Lurton. The handsome madame took them, then hesitated: "I ask only one thing, Mr. McClane. I trust you won't-shall we say-leave too many marks on Olga. She's one of our most attractive girls. And I may add also that I have two very capable assistants who have the physical strength to restrain you if you try to go beyond what is expected in such matters. I trust you understand me."
"I do indeed, Madame," he said coldly. "And now if you'll show me the girl Olga."
Felicia Lurton stared at his intent, cold face, and shivered despite herself. Used as she was to all kinds of whims and sexual fancies, to all the little mock-dramas which were played out on the stage of the two-backed beast in this elegantly furnished house with all her girls, she felt a presentiment of evil about this taciturn man who knew his own mind so well and could so explicitly articulate it. But then she reassured herself; the two bouncers would merely wait outside in the hall and listen to what went on in Olga's room. And if the sounds indicated that Edward McClane was overly abusing the merchandise he had bought and paid for, he could very well be stopped, for she knew that he was a sadist, but she did not know his degree. There were many clients who came here to vent their spleen on some fancied wrong ... like elderly Mr. Clarbin, whose young wife had run off ten years ago with a stable boy. The old fool ought never to have married her in the first place, but he had, when he was forty-eight and she but eighteen. And so there were times when he came to this house and always had himself locked up with Prue, who very much resembled his faithless wife, being slim and black-haired and with a saucy face and manner. And he would take Prue over his knee and make her pull up skirt and slip and lower her panties while he lectured her on her naughtiness and her infidelity, and then would spank her on her naked bottom until his dormant virility was roused enough to fuck her.
And then there was the foppish Mr. Dugan, who worked as a ladies' hairdresser and who had to be servile and fawning all week long to spiteful and insolent women. Well, he came on Saturday night with the regularity of clockwork, and he chose a different girl each time, and with her he was blustering and almost savage. That was his way of redeeming his thwarted manhood.
All these things she could understand, and she could even understand Edward McClane's cold, calculating, purposeful sadism, but with him she felt an ominous kind of uncertainty.
The pretty octoroon maid led Edward McClane out of the salon in which Felicia Lurton had interviewed him, down the hall and up a flight of beautifully carpeted stairs to the landing. There were a dozen rooms on the second floor, each tenanted by a voluptuous dispenser of carnal joy. Olga Dorrish's room was to the right and at the very end.
Celestine led the tall, gaunt, gray-haired man to the door, knocked, and in her sweet, husky voice called out, "Miss Olga, a gentleman to see you, and it's all right, Mrs. Lurton says."
He stared at the octoroon, and then said, "Do you have any champagne in this house? Bring a bottle and tell your mistress I'll pay for it when I finish."
"Yes, sir. I'll see to it at once. And if you need anything else, there's a bell there and you need only ring," the octoroon smiled at him. But even she was troubled at the gloomy look of his cold eyes and by his silence. And as she went back downstairs to report to her mistress of the newcomer's wants, she too shivered as Felicia Lurton had done....
The door opened, and a lovely young woman stood on the threshold. Her honey-gold hair was wound into a thick oval bun at the back of her head, leaving her nape and dainty ears bare. Her eyes were very large and widely spaced, an eloquent and limpid brown. She had a straight nose with dainty wings and a full, rich mouth whose lower lip was tremulous. Her cheekbones were high-set, her forehead high and pure. From the mournfulness of her eyes and the wistfulness of her mouth, as well as the slant of her cheekbones one might guess she had Slavic blood in her veins. And so indeed she had. Her mother had been a White Russian whose parents had fled to Hong Kong after the Revolution. They had both, of course, been boyars, but her father had been stabbed in a gambling den, and her beautiful mother had remarried for survival. Thus Olga's actual father had been a coarse, bullying Englishman, a black marketeer.
Two years after that marriage Olga had been born, but her mother had adored the cruel husband and savored the blows of his fists and the lashes from his belt as a kind of proof that he desired her. And very likely it was this spiritual heritage which the beautiful, honey-haired prostitute had received from her mother and which made her eagerly submit to humiliation and to the voluptuous stimulus of corporal punishment in this whorehouse in Memphis.
Her mother had died when she was ten, and her father had no wish to be encumbered with a child. He had remarried a beautiful Chinese girl whose father was a partner in his black market operations. Olga had been given as a foundling to the nuns, perhaps the one decent thing her father had done. But she could not bear the strict and somber convent life, and when she reached her sixteenth birthday, she managed to run away while the sisters were at prayers in the chapel, and had taken refuge in a little shop. The proprietor, an elderly Chinese, had lusted for her and had offered her a home and his protection in return for her virginity. Olga had eagerly accepted. She had been initiated, and her masochistic temperament had made her an ideal mistress.
She had been the concubine of the old man for two years, and after his death, she had worked for a few months in an elegant teahouse where she entertained a cosmopolite clientele. There had been a young sailor with whom she had fallen in love, the son of rich parents, who had gone into the service simply to have freedom which his austere father would never have let him enjoy if he had remained at home. His name was Donal Dorrish. He had paid the madame of the house two thousand dollars in gold to buy Olga from her, had married her and taken her back to the States. Yet, as a husband he had been impotent, and this had alienated Olga from him. They had lived for a year in San Francisco until Donal Dorrish's parents had traced him through the work of a private detective. The marriage had been dissolved, Olga had received a liberal cash settlement of ten thousand dollars to forget that she had ever married Donald Dorrish. But she had retained his last name because it was rightfully hers, she believed.
She had worked for a year in San Francisco as a harlot, teaming with another girl until finally the police had arrested both and sent her to jail for three months. On her release she was ordered out of town, and she made her way to Phoenix, and then to St. Louis, and finally, through the friendly interest of a retired madame there, to the house of Felicia Lurton.
Olga Dorrish was twenty-four years old, and yet her beauty and her meekness did not seem in the least to have deteriorated from this long saga of catering to the lusts of men who bought her pale white-skinned body to satiate their lusts....
The tall, gray-haired man stared at Olga Dorrish, his lips parted, and color swept into his pale cheeks. "My God, it's incredible!"
Olga Dorrish was dressed in a green satin housecoat and sandals, and the sheath not only made her pale white skin seem even whiter, but it also clung salaciously to the turrets of her magnificent titties, the slim waist which flared into the appetizing amplitude of hips and buttocks, long thighs and sleek, sinuous calves. She wore black opera-length mesh hose, attached by elegant, flouncy purple rosette garters to which were sewn tiny silver bells. She had been given the garters as a present by one of her clients in Phoenix, an elderly roue who had been to Paris many times and had procured them in a little shop near the Maison de Luxe, which he had patronized.
"You're Janice!" he breathed. "Janice to the life. But it's incredible!"
Olga smiled wistfully, her eloquent brown eyes trying to read his mod. She had known all kinds of men in her long trek from Hong Kong to this Southern town, and she felt herself still an alien, used but never belonging, taken but never beloved. With the true fatalism of her Slavic mother, she did not complain against the vagaries of fate, but rather adapted herself to them.
"We'll have champagne first and chat," he decided peremptorily, going over to a long, low couch and sinking down into it with a sigh of comfort. "They say your name is Olga. How old are you?"
"Twenty-four, sir," she said in a soft, husky voice which had made her one of Felicia's favorites because the young White Russian's mien and temperament seemed to attract the wealthiest clients.
"She was twenty, but she looked like you, amazingly like you. His face twisted bitterly, then he murmured almost to himself, "But you won't reject me the way she did. Not this time, Janice."
Somehow Olga Dorrish understood. She epitomized and embodied for this strange, brooding man some woman out of his past with whom he had had an unfortunate experience. She would be his sublimation and perhaps the realization of his thwarted dreams. Her very Slavic nature made this keen perception almost unerringly accurate. For Olga Dorrish was to be, twenty years later, the reincarnation of Janice Fulbright....
An energetic, ambitious young man of twenty-five, studying for the law in Schenectady, and he had fallen desperately in love with Janice Fulbright. Honey-haired, tall, with exquisitely sensitive cameo-like face. Yet there were times when he felt such an overpowering lust that it was almost more than he could do to control himself in her presence, and Janice had sensed this and been a little afraid of him, even though she was physically drawn to him. And of course she had been a virgin.
And then Dan Morrow, a banker's son, three years older than himself and much worldlier in the ways of seduction, had taken in interest in Janice and begun to court her. He had had a fistfight with Dan one night, and Janice's mother had come out on the porch to rebuke him and tell him that neither she nor her daughter ever wanted to see him again.
Later he heard that Janice had married Dan Morrow and moved to California, and he had lost track of them. He passed his bar exams and became a successful attorney, but all these years he had not been able to get Janice Fulbright out of his mind, because he had remembered how, that one summer night when she had been in his embrace, her loins had rubbed against his and her face had been flushed with excitement even while she tried to push him away. If only that bastard Dan Morrow hadn't interfered, he could have won her and had her as his wife!
He had never married, nor had he found another woman, save the call girls and prostitutes whom he frequented in many cities, always searching for some girl who would be a physical counterpart for Janice Fulbright. He had defended an accused murderer, a member of the Mafia, and through a technicality had won the man's freedom. In gratitude, the gangster had given him a fee of fifty thousand dollars, and a further tip on the stock market on an issue which was being controlled by the Cosa Nostra. Edward McClane had put half of that fee into purchase of the stock, and it had soared within two months and made him a hundred thousand dollars.
So he was a wealthy man and could indulge his tastes for travel and he had even gone to France and Germany and Spain, taking a woman here and there as the inordinate fury of his sexual passions demanded, but always searching for Janice. And as the" years passed, his mind had warped until he believed she had abandoned him after having been his love, and so his mania had turned to vengeful flagellation. He paid well, and he did not overly brutalize those females who submitted for a price to his playacting of a role which was now as real to him as the drawing of his every breath.
But two years ago the obsession had so frenziedly possessed him one night when he had been playing out this singular erotic drama with a beautiful young blonde prostitute in Chattanooga that his mind had given way and he had left the naked prostitute covered with bloody weals and half-fainting with her terror of him. He had been incarcerated in a sanitarium, and only a few weeks ago at last had been released. The mania was dormant now, and he was more subdued and self-controlled. But the impulse to avenge himself on the fickle and faithless Janice Fulbright persisted, and, having had business here in Memphis, he had asked his friend to introduce him to the most elegant bordello. And now he stood in the bedroom of Olga Dorrish who, of all the women he had possessed over these years, most reminded him of that beautiful and heartless nemesis.
CHAPTER THREE
Olga Dorrish sat in the armchair, her lovely long legs crossed, the green satin housecoat defining the shapeliness of thighs and hips and surging breasts, quietly watching the man who had bought her for this night. The octoroon Celestine, when she had brought in a tray with champagne, two goblets and a plate of tea biscuits, had whispered to the White Russian beauty that the client had paid the unheard-of sum of five hundred dollars for an hour or two and that he intended to whip her. Olga made no sign that this news disturbed her, but her heart had begun to beat very quickly as she watched the gaunt gray-haired man who sat opposite her sipping his champagne and nibbling politely at a biscuit.
After that first unexpected sign of recognition, in which he had called her Janice, Olga knew that this man was haunted by ghosts out of the past. And he would bury them through her. It would be painful and humiliating, and yet her submissive nature was accustomed to this.
"She must have hurt you very badly," Olga at last murmured, not without a trace of sympathy within her voice.
He looked up sharply, frowning at the interruption, for his thoughts were years away, miles distant. "She did. She was going to be my wife, and then she mocked me and went off with another man. And you are Janice for me, you understand this?"
Olga Dorrish inclined her head. "As you wish," she murmured.
"You needn't know my name. But if you wish, if there are moments which are difficult for you, and it helps you, you may call me Edward," he told her.
"I understand. She was very beautiful?"
Pain shattered his eyes as they stared beyond her. "Like you. In so many ways like you. The voice is almost hers, except that it had a kind of quickness to it, a haughtiness. I never understood it really. But you and she might have been twins. I've looked for you for many years, Janice." Now the old mania vaguely returned to him, and the agony of lust and of frustration began to seethe within him.
"You never slept with her, then?" she asked.
"No. But she used to tease me, and her body promised so much. I wanted to wait until our wedding night, but there were times when I thought she was ready to give herself. And then she married this man who had so much when I had nothing. He had everything, and yet he robbed me of her. And she let him. That's what I can't forgive."
"I'm sorry. I wish I really could be Janice."
"But you are," he sad mockingly as he rose. Olga Dorrish shivered as she saw his eyes burningly fix upon her. And she rose too and bowed her head and murmured, "Then punish me, Edward, for I have been faithless to you. I've slept with many men. An old Chinaman was first to have my body when I was a young girl and innocent of all this. And he taught me what it was to suffer and to be ashamed and to know pain and lust through my flesh. I am ready for your punishment now, Edward."
He felt his prick stir in his fly, throbbingly ache and stiffen with the longing that for so many years he had known at the very thought of Janice Morrow. For now the mania had taken a different turn, and he no longer thought of her by her maiden name but was the woman who had married Dan Morrow, that casual stranger who had come to town and then as swiftly left with his girl. Her sin was the more grievous because she had dared to give another, a stranger, what she had promised him.
"Take that off," he said bluntly, his fingernails digging into his palms.
Olga inclined her head, drew the zipper of the green satin housecoat, let it slither to the floor. And she stood in her black opera-length net hose with the purple rosette garters clinging high on the beautiful long columns of her thighs, with their little row of tiny silver bells which tinkled at every movement of her graceful body. In her hose and garters and sandals, she was naked before him, and the pale gold of her hair was darker and thicker at the peak of those long quivering thighs. Yet not thick enough to hide the petulant soft petals of her pink cunt, and his eyes fixed on that woman-core which was the be-all and end-all of life for him ... which was Janice Morrow's whorishly unfaithful cunt!
She saw his face twist in the rictus of hatred and lust, and she shivered, for singularly this man appealed to her through her flesh, and not only because she was masochistic by nature. Perhaps she felt a spiritual kinship with this woman who had once driven him to despair and to raging lust only to thwart him. Perhaps, because she had never had a true lover in all these seven vicious years of depravity from Hong Kong to the United States until this sleepy Southern city, Olga Dorrish herself craved the sincerity and the honesty of affection, even if it was tinged with cruelty and vengeance. For it was at last the burning truth of passion and of sex, not the simulacrum.
"You're very beautiful, Janice. Turn around, step out of that thing, and put your hands on your knees and bend over." His voice was harsh, inflexible.
Olga Dorrish obeyed, and she felt the cheeks of her behind ripple as with goose pimples as she projected herself out in this stooped-over pose which threw into relief the lascivious rotundities of-her pale whiteskinned hindquarters.
He came to her now, posed his left palm on her back and bent her down a little more. "I'm going to smack your naked bottom, Janice. As I would a child's," he told her. "And then I'm going to whip you, do you understand? I'm going to humble and degrade you, until you beg me to take you. And don't beg too soon, you faithless bitch, for I've waited a long time to punish you this way."
"I'll take my punishment, Edward," Olga Dorrish huskily murmured.
She stiffened now and closed her eyes, her fingernails biting into her net-sheathed dimpled knees as she felt the pressure of his left palm bear down upon her to force her into this self-offertory. And then the sharp angry smack of his right palm as it stung the summit of her right buttock began her upon a journey of her own, into a strange limbo, in which there were many phantasmagoria ... for she was remembering the opium-scented little chamber into which the old Chinaman had summoned her to take her virginity and to whip her with a lash made of two knotted cords, very light and thin, yet capable of causing exquisite torment through the wielder's artistry. He had lashed her nipples and her cunt, as well as the groove between her buttocks, until she had writhed and sobbed and finally offered herself of her own will to his bony nakedness, to the huge thrusting prick that voraciously dug through the hymen and shattered her maidenhead, distended the sheath of her womb and filled her with the acrid, bubbling liqueur of his rut.
Edward McClane's hand rose and fell rhythmically now, alternating on Olga Dorrish's pale white buttocks, beginning at the tops of the hips and descending to where the black net hose left off on the pale white columns of her lovely rounded thighs. She bore the spanking humbly and passively, shivering unable at times to control the convulsive swerving of her hips as the heat in her naked bottom grew progressively more torturing. By the time he had inflicted forty slaps, her bare seat was flaming red, and the cheeks had begun to open and close of their own accord, as involuntary shivers rippled the globes. Inwardly, her loins were moist with a yearning she had never before experienced. It was as if this play-drama had taken on such a verisimilitude for her that she was actually Janice Morrow, expiating her fickleness over twenty years in this cogent, agonizing moment of humiliation and pain such as one would deal a child behind the locked door in the room in the brothel in Memphis.
At last he paused, hoarsely panting, and then he commanded in a rasping voice, "Get down on your knees and undress me, you wicked bitch!"
Olga unhesitatingly obeyed. Her eyes were blurred with tears, and her lips were trembling and her nostrils dilating, as she took that genuflecting pose. She perceived that his prick was gigantic now, thrusting savagely against the stuff of his trousers. She unbuckled his belt, she drew the zipper, and she drew down his trousers and helped him step out of them. And then she removed his shorts, and he wore only shirt and undershirt and socks and shoes before her. His balls were gnarled and heavily laden, and his prick was fully seven inches in length, with a narrow and almost elongated plumhead as the spearpoint, attached to a broader shaft with dark-turgid blue veins. The wide shallow groove of circumcision seemed to set off the point of this weapon from its shaft. She could see that the lips pucked and twitched, full of spunk that had been retained for her womb. But she knew the moment was not yet. Besides, the obligation of the customer's rights impinged upon her.
"My shoes and socks now, bitch," he commanded.
And when it was done, he ordered her to kiss his feet and then to beg him for a thrashing. "You're to say, 'Edward, I've been wicked and I have mistreated you, and I deserve a good sound whipping on my bare bottom before you fuck me.' I want to hear you say it. I want to hear your groveling tone and your submissiveness, Janice!"
She repeated the formula after she had kissed his feet. Her naked breasts swung like ripe fruits, and she felt the aching stiffness of her nipples, for she herself was now sensually aroused by this game she played with this strange customer whom she might never see again after this hour.
"Let down your hair as long as it will go," was his next order. And when she had done this, he added, "Now take it in your hands and wrap it around my prick and rub my cock and balls before I whip you, Janice."
This too Olga Dorrish did, and she shuddered more and more as her own loins were weak with longing. The heat of the spanking had inflamed the flesh of her bottom, but it had done more: it had wakened the most abject cravings of her masochistic nature and of her lonely longing for fulfillment. She thought sadly of the young heir whose name she still bore, who had professed to love her and who had saved her from the squalor of a crib in the Orient ... Donald Dorrish, who recited poetry to her, who held her in his arms and kissed her, who undressed her and made her die of longing, only in his blind eagerness, could not mount her as any stud would have done. Poor Donald could not even manage a long enough hard-on to fill her cunt with bubbling sperm as a panacea for the fires that burned within her. That was why she had left him to come to this, for here there was a nameless independence, won by the matching of her body with that of a man she had never seen before. At least she could find appeasement to her insatiable lust for being possessed in a bordello ... and that was why she had sought her own fulfillment, driven by her own demons as much as Edward McClane had been driven by his....
"Have you got a rope or something? Quickly," he snarled at her. He bent to her, plunged the fingers of his left hand into the disheveled cascade of her honey-gold tresses, and dragged her to her feet. She nodded and he released her. Stumbling, trembling, her titties rising and falling violently now, Olga Dorrish found her way to the closet, where there was a bathrobe. She dragged out the felt belt from the loops, and hurried back to him. "Will this do?"
He nodded. He stared at the low wide bed with its brass uprights. "Get to the foot of the bed and put your wrists together in front of you," he growled.
When she had obeyed, he crossed over to her, looped the belt round and round her wrists and made a tight knot, then bound the other end to one of the uprights. Thus she had to stand, without support for her flogging. He bent to his trousers, dragged out the black leather belt, gripped it by the buckle and swished it visiously through the air. Olga closed her eyes and shuddered, pressing her naked body tightly against the brass upright post at the foot of the bed. The cold feel of the metal against her cunt and belly and her inner thighs became a consolation now and at the same time a sensual augmentation of the fever burning in her loins. She wanted to be whipped and then ravaged, used and handled, striped and degraded ... and fulfilled.
He put his left hand on her shoulder, and then he pushed away her tumbled hair over the other shoulder so that it fell down over her panting titties. "Get ready, I'm going to thrash you good and hard, Janice, you dirty tricky faithless little slut!" he panted.
The belt rose in the air and then slashed down with a wicked crack as it clung across the tops of her already crimsoned hips. Olga Dorrish stiffened, her head tilting back, her eyes very wide and fixed on the ceiling. Through the blur of tears she perceived a crack in the plaster, but already the belt was falling again and now it clung over the base of both her inflamed naked buttocks. She caught her breath with a little sob at the fiery agony of it. But it was purging and cleansing, it was catharsis for her too.
Now in this room there was heard only the sound of leather on naked flesh, the sobbing gasps, the sharp growls and the intake of breath from this naked man whose eyes burned with an unholy fire, and whose prick bobbed each time the belt snacked home against that quivering upright body. Twenty ... thirty ... forty ... still the belt continued to rise and fall with its sharp crack of impact on naked female flesh. And now Olga was sobbing and twisting her hips about, grinding her cunt against the cold brass upright, till she finally turned and panted, "Oh God, Edward, enough, take me now, fuck me, fuck your Janice, I surrender to you, you're my master and my lord, fuck me fuck your Janice good and hard!"
He flung the belt aside, and then he fairly tore the felt binding from her wrists, he seized her by the shoulders and twisted her so that she faced him, pressing her so that her back pressed against the metal rail at the foot of the bed. Then with an imprecation, he dug his stiff cock between the pouting wet lips of her cunt, and with a single thrust advanced himself to the hairs. His fingers began to knead her inflamed and striped buttocks, until she groaned and sobbed, her arms locked round him, her head tilted back, her teeth chattering with the fiery exultation of suffering and delight.
And when she felt the jet of hot bubbling gism in her womb, she uttered a shriek and gave down her own love-cream as their bodies writhed and quaked and merged, then tumbled to the floor, rolling over and over until at last he was mounted upon her, and her body quaked in the aftermath of climax, her face twisted to one side, her eyes closed, her teeth bared in rapturous ecstasy.
For this one suspended moment in infinity, Olga Dorrish had found her true love and master ... and for this same instant, the tortured, haunted and obsessed Edward McClane had been reunited with the faithless beauty who had promised to marry him and then had broken his heart.
CHAPTER FOUR
The chance meeting with the beautiful White Russian prostitute, Olga Dorrish, had subtly changed Edward McClane's fixation, that overwhelming, demon-driven passion for vengeance which had finally sent him to a mental sanitarium.
He had been released through the doctor's orders, for he was well to do and had an excellent reputation, quite apart from this mental quirk. It had never proved harmless, but there was always a possibility of eventual deterioration. The doctor had advised him very solemnly to settle down and marry, to rid himself once and for all of the thought of his faithless sweetheart Janice Morrow, particularly as Janice was married.
Edward McClane had listened without hearing. And then he had gone to that brothel in Memphis and it seemed to him that Janice had been reincarnated in the flesh. He had realized the difference in time; he could understand that this beautiful girl from Hong Kong was now the age that Janice had been twenty years ago when she had jilted him to marry Don Morrow.
So after that passionate night in which he had spiritually avenged his broken heart by using Olga as the embodiment of Janice, now his mania had taken a curious new form. He had searched for Janice for years, and then abandoned hope of finding her. But now he determined to see her, so that once and for all he could discover the difference between her nowness and Olga's. He told himself that once he saw her changed by twenty years, her beauty doubtless gone, fat and dowdy as a housewife with children, then he could rid her from his mind forever after.
So after he left the Memphis bordello the next noon, greatly refreshed in mind and body, he went back to his hotel and took out of his briefcase a yellowed newspaper clipping which carried the story of the marriage of Janice Fulbright to Don Morrow. He had read it a thousand times, always hoping that some new word or phrase might impinge itself in his memory of the past and so lead him to some clue which would set him on her trail. But there was nothing. Vaguely he could remember only that she had said something about Don's wanting one day to move to California because he felt that it was a place of opportunity for new industry and also that the schools and the scenery were ideal for letting children grow unhampered by the pressing in of great cities Well, he thought cynically, that surely didn't apply to Los Angeles, the smog metropolis, the city where freeways were hellish nightmares made out of concrete and steel and blaring horns and the stench of gasoline and pitiless drivers who wouldn't let any lost stranger get out of the inexorable trap. Of course it was possible that Don had gone there. But there were thousands of Morrows all over the country, so it would be like looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack.
He closed his eyes and thought again of Olga Dorrish. She had been remarkably understanding for a prostitute. Perhaps in her fatalistic nature, she had understood more of what he had been seeking than even he himself. She had offered herself as a kind of atonement for that unknown woman whose image was constantly in his mind and heart. She had taken bravely a severe thrashing, and she had not once remonstrated with him when he had taken her like a rutting animal. The second time had been more gentle, as if she were truly Janice, surrendering to him and sharing with him the ecstasy of fulfillment. And then he had made her lick his cock and balls and pledge homage to him, and finally he had made her kneel on all fours with her head bowed to the floor and he had slapped her reddened and welted buttocks with the flat of his hand until his prick had grown mighty a final time so that he could take her dog-fashion. He had closed his eyes and pretended that it was Janice, enslaved, his bed-whore, forced to yield to him under the threat of punishment and to degrade herself in the most servile ways to expiate her faithlessness.
And this morning, when he had awakened beside Olga in bed, she had smiled softly at him and murmured, "I hope you find her one day. You must have loved her very dearly. I'm sorry I wasn't she, truly I am."
He had given her an extra hundred dollars and told her to say nothing to the madame about it. For in one night, at any rate, she had purged him. The primitive beast within him, the beast which all men carry within their psyches, was sated now for the time being, and he could renew his quest without the paralyzing torment of the obsession that had been Janice's beauty and the soft huskiness of her voice and the inimitable, caressing look of her eyes. Olga Dorrish could almost epitomize all those attributes for him. It had been a singular chance that had brought him to Memphis. Perhaps one as generous-for the three fates, sometimes kind, might lead him ultimately to the woman for whom Olga Dorrish had so bravely, so understandingly substituted....
He had room service send up a sandwich and coffee for lunch as he smoked a cigarette and thought about his next move. He couldn't wander aimlessly all over the country. It was true that he was as wealthy as he would ever need to be, and yet this vagabondish saga, not unlike that of Ulysses, must have plan and meaning and not be aimless, or else his mind might once again give way, and this time fatally.
Then he caught his breath as memory flashed back to him. He had forgotten his sister, Lucille. She must be about forty now, and he hadn't seen her in at least seven or eight years. She had gone to a little town in Montana to live about a decade ago, after her heartbreaking affair with a handsome and wealthy man who had promised her marriage and then, it had turned out, had been married all along and had had no intention of divorcing his wife. Edward McClane smiled bitterly. He and his sister were both bearing their crosses of lost love. His had nearly crucified him and had nearly driven him insane. Lucille's had made her almost vindictively bitter against men. As a little girl, she had always loved pets, and she had been able to go up to the biggest and most savage-looking dog and put her arms around it and win its friendship. And so when she had lost her lover, she had told Edward McClane that she was going back to school. To veterinarian's school so that she could work with animals, whom she loved and who would not betray her as that man had done.
They had exchanged letters over the past few years, except that for the past three years he had heard nothing from her, not even a response to his Christmas cards. On sudden impulse, he picked up the phone and asked for long distance. A few minutes later, he was connected with the information operator at Craston in Montana, a town of about two thousand inhabitants, near the mountains, desolate in winter and sometimes barren in summer when the long drouth seized the valley beneath the peaks. That had been the last address he had of hers, and she had written him at some length that she had used some of her inheritance to found a little animal clinic and to set herself up as a veterinarian, helping the farmers with their cattle and their horses, and that she was at peace.
The operator came back on the line to tell him that there was a Dr. Lucille McClane, and he had asked to be connected. The phone rang for several minutes and there was a click at the other end of the line and a woman's voice replied, "Dr. McClane here."
"Lucille! It's Edward!" he almost shouted.
"Edward-it's really you? I was wondering what had happened to you. You haven't written in so long."
"I-I've been ill, Sis. But I'm fine now. I don't know why I didn't think of calling you a long time ago."
"I think I know." Her voice was cool and distant but there was the hint of a mocking little laugh in it.
"Do you?"
"Of course. You're still mooning over that stupid woman. It's been how long now-twenty years, Edward. You still can't forget her, can you?"
"No, I can't. But what about you?"
"I'm quite happy. You see, Edward, I've made my compromise. And of course I haven't married and I've given up all that. But I have my pleasures out here, now that I can do some good for farmers every now and then to justify my being alive."
"That's good, Lucille. I was wondering-"
"Yes, Edward?"
"I'd like to see you. Would it be all right if I flew out there and visited, could you put me up?"
"Yes, of course I could. I have a house out here. It's not exactly the end of civilization, even if this is a very tiny town. And I'd like to see you, truly I would."
"I'll make arrangements to leave as soon as possible then."
"Where are you now, Edward?"
"In Memphis. I thought-well, never mind. I'll be happy to see you."
"Take a plane to Billings. Then you can connect by bus into Craston. It's about a five-hour drive. The road isn't too good, but this time of year it won't matter. It's good to hear from you again, Edward. Only I do wish you'd forget that woman."
"We'll talk about that when I see you, Lucille dear. Goodbye for now."
He hung up the phone and stood staring out of the window for a long while. Then he sighed and lit a cigarette, and finally began to pack his bag....
Dr. Lucille McClane slowly hung up the phone, her dark blue eyes softened with the tenderness of memory. She was a tall slim woman, about five feet eight inches in height, and her black hair was streaked with gray. She wore it in a mannishly short bob, which emphasized the patrician haughtiness of her face, the angular cheekbones, the firm chin, the aquiline nose and the small thin lips. It was obvious to see that she had once been extremely lovely, and yet her figure still, at forty, retained its elegance. High-perched small but beautifully proportioned breasts, a slender waist, lithe hips, tightly spaced oval buttocks, long thighs and slim calves. Her skin was milky beneath her clothes-save for her arms and legs which were tanned by the hot Montana sun. She wore a white medical robe, more like a smock which fell to her knees and took her at the throat, buttoning tightly. Her legs were bare and her feet thrust into thong sandals. Under the white smock, Dr. Lucille McClane was naked.
She left the little laboratory in which the phone was placed just inside the door on a low stand, and went back down the freshly scrubbed tiled corridor towards a steel door marked "Keep Out."
She pushed open the door, and a sobbing cry rose at once from the patient strapped on the table.
Dr. Lucille McClane turned back to the door and drew the bolt. Then she turned and smiled coldly: "I'm sorry for the interruption, Patricia. Now shall we get back to the examination?"
"Oh God, you're insane! Let me go, let me go!"
The patient lying strapped on an actual hospital operating table was stark naked. She was a young woman of twenty-four, with sandy-colored hair styled in a guiche bob, and her hazel eyes were glazed and dilated with unspeakable terror. She had small pear-shaped titties, with dainty, crinkly buds which were stiff and taut and which trembled with each shuddering breath that lifted her naked bosom. Her belly was flat and smooth, dimpled with a wide and shallow niche to mark the umbilicus. Her thighs, which were spread-eagled on the metal table, were shapely, gracefully rounded columns, and between them was exposed the pink fig of her cunt ... absolutely depilated. A pair of surgical tweezers lay on the table between her thighs ... the implement by which her pussyhair had been plucked out, sprig by sprig. Her eyes were red and swollen from weeping, and her voice was hoarse from shrieking.
Her name was Patricia Melton, and her wealthy rancher husband Murdock, a burly, sadistic and wealthy rancher aged forty-five, had come back unexpectedly early last week from a bear hunt to find his foreman fucking the lovely young woman right there in the bunkhouse. He had shot the foreman and then buried him, and then, after whipping Patricia with a quirt, he had bound and gagged her and driven her in the station wagon out to Dr. Lucille McClane's Animal Clinic. And he had given Edward McClane's man-hating sister a thousand dollars and an order: "She's a rutting bitch, Patricia is. You keep her here until she begs to fuck a dog and to treat it the way she would a man with a stiff prick for that greedy, insatiable cunt of hers. When she's done that, when she's coupled, I'll take her, but not before!"
CHAPTER FIVE
The naked sandy-haired young woman strapped on the hospital operating table arched and twisted violently as Dr. Lucille McClane stared down at her, pursing her lips as she glanced at the shuddering body before her. Going to a cabinet, Edward McClane's handsome sister drew out a pair of rubber gloves and carefully put them on, tugging at them until they were tightly extended without a wrinkle.
"Look!" the young woman panted, "For God's sake don't do any more to me! Please, I-I know why you're doing all this-it's Murdock, isn't it? I know he's paying you something-I'll double it if you'll just let me go. I swear before God Almighty I'll get out of this state-I'll go to New York-I've got money, but don't torture me like this, it's not human-you're a woman like myself, how can you possibly treat me so? Murdock's cruel and vicious and just about twice my age-what can it matter to you that I had an affair with the foreman?"
"Really, put yourself in my place, Patricia, "Edward McClane's sister drawled, "You're wasting your time. I have a certain amount of integrity, and I have my own reasons also for ignoring your very tempting and no doubt sincere offer. Yes, you're right, your husband has arranged all this. He believes that you're a bitch, Patricia, and I think in some ways he's right. You could have been much smarter, you know, than to take somebody on his ranch as your lover and run the risk of being found out. You could have taken a little trip to Lake Arrowhead, or Los Angeles or New York or Chicago, and done all the screwing you wanted to without anyone else's being the wiser. So you really have your own stupidity to thank for this."
"But what are you going to do? My God, you've hurt me tearing out my h-h-hair!" the young woman sobbed. She tried frantically to close her thighs, but they had been hugely straddled by buckling straps round her slim ankles which were pulled under the table and made fast to a heavy metal rod. The lips of her cunt were inflamed and twitching, and there was an obscene kind of invitation in that tender core yawned so widely open. And yet the handsome spinster studied her victim as impersonally as she might a microbe under a microscope.
"I don't suppose, Patricia, it will do any harm to tell you," she at last said thoughtfully as she picked up a fluoroscope with a light at the end and bent over the shuddering, half-hysterical captive. "Your husband thinks you are quite a bitch, and he's going to have me prove it by mating you with one of my specially trained dogs."
"You-you're joking-Oh my God, you can't be serious! No, no, its inhuman, it's monstrous!"
"Not so much as you might think, Patricia. History has many examples of even the rulers of antiquity amusing themselves with their canine pets. I mean the queens and princesses, naturally."
"Why doesn't he just kill me and have it over with?" Patricia Melton sobbed, twisting her face to one side. Her delicious, small pear-shaped bubbies rose and fell violently, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
"There is really no danger of that, Patricia. Besides, this is in the interest of scientific research. You see, I'm a veterinarian, and I've always wondered ever, since I was a young girl, just what the difference between human and animal sex is. In the past few years, I've done some experimenting. I had one or two friends from the West Coast, you see, who were interested in acquiring pets with very special tastes and talents to amuse themselves as well as very special parties. You know how the movie people are now and then."
"Oh God, I'll go crazy listening to this! Let me go, I'll pay you anything-five thousand dollars if you'll just let me go, for God's sake!" Patricia Melton shrieked as again she flung herself at her straps. But her body fell back clattering on the metal table, and a look of horror dawned on her face as she saw Dr. Lucille McClane bend over her loins, fluoroscope in hand, and then put her left gloved thumb and forefinger on the parting lips of her vulnerable vulva and thrust the fluoroscope in.
A shriek was sounded as the ice-cold implement slid into Patricia Melton's vagina-for the instrument had been kept in a refrigerated container until just now. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, and she turned her head from side to side, beads of sweat glistening in the distended niches of her armpits. Dr. Lucille McClane paid not the slightest attention to all these violent contortions, but calmly bent her head down and peered through the fluoroscope for a long moment, then straightened. "You're quite healthy, with a normal cervix, and the womb doesn't appear to be abnormally placed. If a man were examining you, Patricia, he might even find you quite appetizingly desirable. But I think that Caesar will appreciate you much more than any man."
"C-Caesar?" Patricia Melton echoed as she raised her head and stared with incredulous horror at the handsome woman in the white medical smock.
Dr. Lucille McClane nodded, "Caesar is a Great Dane. I've raised him as a puppy, he's now four years old. He was the first of my successful experiments. Of course, it wasn't easy at first because I rarely had any human patients to work with. And you're only about the fourth, actually-that is, supplied directly to me. There have been others, shall we say, who came of their own volition, some very lovely young women from Hollywood, who were looking for what they called, I believe, kicks. They helped Caesar's education a good deal, I must say. But ideally to coerce a mating between an unwilling human female and an eager and already initiated canine has a great deal of scientific interest for me."
"You-you're insane! You horrible woman, oh my God, at least let Murdock be here and let me talk to him before you do this to me!"
"That won't be possible, I'm sorry, Patricia. Your husband specifically said that I was to keep you here till you had coupled like a bitch. I think," here Dr. McClane glanced at her wristwatch, "that there will be just time to complete the experiment before my brother arrives. It's rather symbolic that I should hear from him on this very day when I'm being chosen as the instrument of your punishment for infidelity, Patricia."
"I-I-I don't know what you're talking about! Oh dear God in heaven, let me go, I-I'll try to get you more money, I swear I will, but don't do this to me, I'd rather die!" Patricia was babbling. Now, in her terror, she lost control of her bladder, and a golden stream of urine spattered onto the metal operating table.
Dr. Lucille McClane made a grimace of distaste. "I'll really have to punish you for that, Patricia. But as I was saying, it is quite symbolic. You see, my brother's life was ruined by a faithless woman. And you yourself are suffering-or you are going to suffer rather-the punishment for your own rather stupid infidelity. As for myself, my own first lover was unfaithful, but actually it was a matter of moral outlook than another woman. He promised to marry me so that he could get me to go to bed with me, leading me to believe he'd marry me and divorce his wife. Oh well, no matter. Yes, my brother should be here by tomorrow. And by then, I think you'll have had several chances to meet Caesar and to appreciate, shall we say, his extraordinary capabilities. But now I'm going to have to punish you, Patricia."
Mad with terror and shame, the naked young woman on the operating table again tried to arch and twist against the restraining straps that kept her spread-eagled and forced down on the cold steel altar of her martyrdom. Dr. Lucille McClane paid no attention to these frenzied and futile efforts, knowing full well that the restraining straps would not loosen by so much as half an inch.
Her eyes were studying the fading marks of the quirt which Murdock Melton had left on his wife's pale white body; angry welts that curved round the edges of her hips, marked her inner thighs, crept over her navel to mar the sleek flat estuary of her satiny belly, even stigmatized the charming, pert pear-bubbies.
"You've a very pale white and delicate skin, Patricia. It's quite sensitive. You ought to have conditioned yourself, really, knowing about the ranch life the way you did. It's plain to see that you rarely went out in the sun. Now if you had been wiser, you would have pleased your husband a great deal that way. Also, you could have ridden out with this foreman you went to bed with and found some secluded little cave in the hills or some gully where your husband couldn't come upon you. But then, if you hadn't been so stupid, you wouldn't be here right now, and I'm really rather grateful that you are. I've always wanted to test Caesar oh a healthy young woman in her middle twenties, just to observe whether it's actually true that a woman can be taught to lust after an animal. Murdock seems to think you will. But now for your punishment."
With this, Dr. Lucille McClane took the tweezers which she had used to pluck away all of Patricia Melton's pussyhair, adjusted it in her left hand, while, drawing open, the metal drawer just below the operating table at the foot of the apparatus, she took out a short little rubber dog whip.
Patricia's eyes bulged with horror as again she lifted her head and tried desperately to free herself of the pinioning straps that held her down to her irrevocable fate. "What are you going to do? Oh my God, don't hurt me anymore! Oh not the tweezers, for God's sake not the tweezers again! And the whip-oh Lord God in heaven, can't you see that my crazy husband thrashed me so horribly with that quirt? I'll give you five thousand dollars and all my jewelry, please, please take it and let me go! I know it's much more than he could have paid you!"
"You're right, Patricia, it's a great more, but I made a contract and I keep my word. Besides, I haven't any use for faithless women, any more than I do for faithless men. In a way, I wish you were my brother's girl here now so that we both could have our vengeance. But in a way, perhaps, using you for my experiment will be a kind of token vengeance for my poor brother after all. Get ready, Patricia, I'm going to hurt you a good deal now."
Patricia Melton tried to shrink herself back and into the table as she saw the handsome, slim woman veterinarian bend over her bosom, the tweezers reaching out for her dainty nipplebud, and catching it between the sharp little jaws. Then her head flung back and her mouth gaped in a frenzied, rising shriek of indescribable suffering as Dr. Lucille McClane tightened the tweezers against that dainty tidbit of feminine loveflesh, while her gloved right hand lifted up the little dogwhip and slashed it right down against the hairless, gaping, swollen pink fig of Patricia Melton's tortured cunt!
CHAPTER SIX
After giving the shrieking Patricia Melton fifteen cuts of the little rubber dogwhip right into the young woman's depilated pussy and at the same time tweaking and pinching poor Patricia's swollen, darkened nipples with the metal tweezers, Dr. Lucille McClane left her half-conscious, hysterical naked victim strapped on the metal operating table, calmly went to her own quarters in the clinic building and showered, then enjoyed a long and restful nap. It was nightfall by the time she wakened, and went to her modern, compact kitchen to prepare supper. There was half a roast chicken in the refrigerator, some macaroni salad, a cold bottle of beer and some sponge cake which she herself had baked the day before. She ate with relish, her face calm, but her eyes sparkling as she thought of the experiment she was about to perform. It would take place at dawn, after the victim had spent most likely a sleepless and tortured night with the thought of what was going to take place. She had absolutely no compassion for Patricia Melton. The stupid little bitch had had everything her own way all her life, and she had tried to take Murdock Melton for his ranch, his money and his marital honor by thinking that she could cheat openly with his own foreman. If she hadn't liked the set of rules by which Murdock played, she could have easily left him and found herself some other sucker, for she was certainly desirable. Her body was really delightful. Dr. Lucille McClane felt a stirring in her own ardent loins, but she sternly quelled the sensation. She herself was of Lesbian penchants, but she believed that, desirable though Patricia Melton assuredly was, it would be sullying herself to establish Sapphic relations with a woman who was going to be mated with a full-grown Great Dane. Possibly she should have made love to Patricia this evening, but she had been so angry at the stupid young woman's ingenuous supplications and explanations of her marital infidelity that she hadn't even thought of making love to the creature.
Besides, she told herself, there would be erotic excitement enough in the morning when she watched Caesar copulate with the handsome young wife of the perverse and enormously wealthy rancher Murdock Melton.
After she had cleared away her supper dishes, she took out a quart container of fresh milk, poured some into a bowl, broke a few pieces of stale bread, and then went back to the examining room where her naked victim still lay strapped to the table. As the door swung open, Patricia Melton raised her head and uttered a shriek of terror: "Oh no more, for God's sake, don't punish me anymore!"
"I'm not here to punish you now, Patricia. I've brought your supper," Dr. Lucille McClane patiently explained. "Now I advise you to get some sleep because you'll need all your strength tomorrow morning. Caesar is a very eager and loving animal. I'm sure you'll find him even more affectionate than the foreman."
"Oh dear God, can't I persuade you to change your mind? I'll give you anything-I've got friends-yes, yes, I can raise more money than what I promised you, and the jewelry too!" Patricia Melton babbled, as she lifted her head and strained at her straps. Her body was covered with sweat, and the sensual, strong odor of woman sweat, naked flesh and urine mingled in a pungent and aphrodisiacal aura in this gleamingly clean, antiseptic room where metal and glass and medical instruments formed the only decor ... and against which, so strikingly, that naked lovely female body made violent contrast.
"It's useless to waste your breath arguing with me, Patricia. And if you resist in the morning, I shall have to punish you again a little more severely. This time, you'll get the whip between the cheeks of your behind, and I don't think you'd care for that very much. Now open your mouth, I'm going to feed you by spoon."
"I don't want anything-go away-let me die, you cruel horrible insane creature!" Patricia Melton sobbed hysterically.
"You're going to apologize for that, my dear, and I think you'll do it when we put you on the mating machine. But I warn you, you'd better eat or perhaps I'll give you your punishment now. Maybe another fifteen cuts with the dogwhip right in between your naked legs will urge you to greater appetite."
Transferring the bowl to her left hand, Dr. Lucille McClane opened the little drawer from which she had taken the red rubber dogwhip and lifted it up in the air before the horrified tearglazed eyes of the sandy-haired young woman.
"OHH NOOOH! OH FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T WHIP ME THERE AGAIN, I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT, ONLY DON'T WHIP ME!!" Patricia Melton shrieked.
"That's being more sensible. After all, you will need your strength. Now open your mouth wide, my dear." Placidly, as if nothing had happened, the slim, handsome woman veterinarian moved to the head of the table, bent towards the sobbing, shuddering naked captive, dipped the spoon into the bowl of stale bread and milk and began to feed Patricia Melton as the latter might have been fed as a little child.
Then, without a word, she went out and closed and locked the door behind her. Patricia Melton lay there in the darkness, trembling fitfully, turning her face from side to side, trying uselessly to fight the strap which only chafed her wrists and slim ankles. And finally she fell into a kind of exhausted stupor, a halfslumber in which the hideous images of what Dr. Lucille McClane proposed to do to her at dawn seethed through her subconscious and yet not dormant mind....
It was dawn, and Dr. Lucille McClane had put on riding breeches, boots and a thick leather blouse, as well as heavy leather gloves whose palms were of double thickness. Not that Caesar was vicious, for Great Danes were usually the most gentle of dogs, and only their huge size terrified the person unaccustomed to these monstrously large canines. But on the other hand, ever since Murdock Melton had telephoned her and out-lined his project, Dr. Lucille McClane had been preparing the animal for this chastisement of a faithless wife. She had let him out for a run every day down the long deadend runway, given him a rubdown, and massaged his genitals after he had exhausted himself by loping back and forth for nearly half an hour. An electronic mechanism, very much like the kind which sets an artificial rabbit running around a dog track in Miami, kept moving just above his head and beyond his reach, a pair of woman's panties which were moist with the effluvia of urine and orgasm, as well as the mingling of semen. They had actually been Patricia Melton's panties, discarded when she had been so unceremoniously discovered by her furious husband in the bunk with the foreman. Throughout his exercise, Caesar had smelled that potent scent of the female, and the scent of male sperm was akin to his own viscous and thick-gobbety ejaculation. Then, in the next runway, but separated from him by a thin yet very strong wire mesh partition, a female Great Dane in heat had been allowed to exercise. As a result, Caesar, a Harlequin Great Dane, was almost frothing at the mouth with infuriated sexual desire.
After Lucille McClane made her way to the kennel, at the rear of the large handsome building which housed her clinic and her own quarters, and squatted down before Caesar's cage. The Great Dane whined, then growled, lashing its tail back and forth, pawing at the ground.
"Gently, boy, gently. I've got a rare treat for you this morning. A fine way to start a beautiful day, eh, Caesar?" Lucille McClane crooned. She put her hand carefully through the bars of the cage, and Caesar sniffed at it, then whined and nuzzled it. Dr. Lucille McClane smiled, and her smile made her provocatively attractive. But her eyes had that glistening fascination of perverse sensuality which stamped her as inimical to normal and heterosexual affection. In her, all love had been quenched by the faithlessness of her traitorous lover. That was why she could perpetrate this monstrous and inhuman punishment upon the unfortunate, pampered young woman still strapped down to the operating table back in the examining room without the slightest compunction or twinge of conscience.
.At the extreme end of the kennels, there was a heavy glass door which slid away at the touch of a button. The door was opaque, and no one could see through it once inside. But from the outside, anyone standing there could see very plainly and in minute detail, by a kind of curious magnification of the prisms of this very special glass, all that took place. There were numerous wealthy patrons of the clinic who paid Dr. Lucille McClane a handsome fee for the privilege of watching. However, Murdock Melton had specified that only he should be allowed to witness his wife's degradation. And he would not be present at this first "training session." What the unfortunate Patricia Melton did not know was that her husband had promised Dr. Lucille McClane an additional thousand dollars and two superb Dalmatians if she succeeded in making Patricia show a craving for her canine lover. And the Dalmatians, judging from their size and energy and liveliness, promised to be ideal specimens for the very special erotic training which this perverse and handsome woman veterinarian knew so well how to inculcate in the canine breeds.
She touched a button now and the door slid back, and she walked inside. The floor was tiled in an antiseptic blue, as were the ceilings and the walls. There were only two objects in that room: a round steel post with several hooks, to which a dog's leash could be fastened, and what Dr. Lucille McClane whimsically called "the love machine."
At first glance, it seemed to be like a modified cradle, which tilted to and fro on rockers. But at the rear end, the upright side had been cut out at the top and -lined thickly with felt, like a kind of yoke. And indeed there was a completed yoke, for another half of this wooden arc lifted up in the air until the victim's neck was placed against the lower part of the yoke. Then the upright demi-circle was pressed down and locked by a special spring catch. In the middle of this curious cradle were holes through which the victim's arms would be extended. But the bottom offered only a round kind of heavy rubber disc on which the victim's knees pressed, and the entire cradle rested on a wide steel plate about six inches off the floor and raised by a round metal bar fixed into the floor. It was seen also that at the sides of this curious cradle and at its back, there were metal rings set into the floor from which cords could be tied to the victim's ankles and wrists.
The cradle could also be tilted forward, up-rearing the victim's buttocks and loins for better placement to the copulatory attack of the dog.
Dr. Lucille McClane surveyed this chamber with satisfaction. For the "love machine" was her own idea, and she had got it from an old French novel, reprinted a few years ago in an English translation, which narrated how in a secret sex club in the heart of France, an English lord punished the slaves who had achieved a certain number of demerits by mating them with his pack of sixty Danish hounds, fixing them to a similar contrivance at regular periods during the day when each unfortunate woman, depilated and never allowed to grow hair over her pussy, was yielded up to the priapic as well as sodomitic vigor of his pets.
Everything was in readiness. Dr. Lucille McClane smiled, and walked back to the room in which Patricia Melton lay awaiting her hour of unspeakable despair and agony.
She released the woman, who at once began to babble, to clasp her hands and to pray for mercy, with tears running down her face. But Dr. Lucille McClane seized the little rubber dogwhip and lashed Patricia Melton across her titties, and then across her belly, warning her sternly that if she did not submit, she would be tied to a post and whipped to the blood before she was given to the dog.
Patricia Melton could not bear the lash, especially on her tender small, deliciously sensitive and quivering bubbies, and the thought that this viciously flexible little whip could snap against her hairless, inflamed cunt forced her to submission.
Weeping bitterly, she stumbled along the corridor towards that sinister tiled room with the glass door opened to receive her. When she crossed the threshold, she started, her hands dropping to her sides, her eyes bulging with horrified wonder.
But Dr. Lucille McClane gave her victim no time to ponder over the singular mechanism of her own diabolically effective adaptation of what was, in essence, a sort of rocking cradle over which a victim knelt, tightly pinioned, her knees straddled to bare the gaping apertures of both cunt and asshole-for, as she had read in that French novel, some of the English lord's Danish hounds preferred to thrust their long bony red cocks into the tighter cleft of the rectum!
She gave the weeping, hysterical Patricia Melton terse orders, punctuating them with flicks of the rubber dogwhip over the young woman's thighs and lower back, and Patricia Melton knelt down on the round rubber disc, and placed her neck against the felt-padded lower part of the yoke. Instantly Dr. McClane pressed down the upright portion, it clicked into place, and Patricia Melton uttered a shriek to discover herself pinioned as in a pillory of old.
Dr. McClane now swiftly seized each wrist in turn and drew it through the hole at the side; then, taking lengths of cord which lay on the floor near the rings, she bound each wrist in turn and made the other end of the rope fast to a heavy floor ring. Next she bound the young woman's naked ankles, the other ends of the rope attaching to the floor rings at the back of the device. Finally, she reached under the young woman's belly and lifted up a flexible but very strong steel band at whose end was a kind of cup-like suction disc made of a special rubber. This placed exactly over Patricia Melton's navel, and it arched her loins up so that she could not flatten herself or evade the priapic thrusts of the Great Dane. To make sure of this, Dr. McClane finally took another length of cord, wound it just under the rubber disc, and then lashed it tightly round Patricia Melton's naked back. All this while, the unfortunate captive sobbed hysterically, babbling incoherent words for mercy to which of course the perverse and handsome woman veterinarian paid not the slightest attention.
Now, adjusting a lever at the side of the round bar which held up the cradle, she made the contrivance tilt forward slightly, so that Patricia Melton's naked bottom cheeks and loins were angling upwards. The woman's knees were thus pulled apart about a yard, and this angle gaped open the inflamed lips of the vulva, showing the moist mucous lining of that cavern which enticed the prick of man and beast a-like!
"If you don't struggle, Patricia, you'll be reasonably comfortable," she said in a calm voice. "My advice to you is simply to relax yourself, because you can't prevent it. If you may actually wound yourself, for the penis of a Great Dane is quite bony and ridged and sharp."
"Oh kill me, kill me instead! I want to die!" Patricia Melton screamed.
But already Dr. Lucille McClane had left the infernal chamber and gone to the kennels to bring back the huge Harlequin Great Dane known as Caesar.
It was black and white, alert, with ears that twitched, and a black muzzle which parted to let out a long pink lolling tongue. Dr. Lucille McClane led the animal expertly with the short chain leash which she gripped in her left hand, and in her right gloved hand she held a moist pad of cotton ... impregnated with the emission of the bitch in the adjoining runway ... the bitch in heat.
Arriving in the tiled chamber, she hooked Caesar's leash to the round metal post and bade the animal, "Stay!"
Then, moving behind the weeping naked young woman, she rubbed the moist cotton pad over those twitching, gaping, inflamed cuntlips and then walked back to the animal and held the pad to its nose.
Caesar growled menacingly, and a wild scream tore from the captive, who tried desperately to twist herself free of the hellish contrivance into which she was yoked and tethered, but in vain.
"Get ready, Patricia," Dr. Lucille McClane warned as she took hold of the leash and led the champing animal forward. Caesar growled, then barked eagerly as his nostrils detected the pungent scent of the bitch. Cautiously, he poked his cold black nose against Patricia Melton's cunt, and again in her horrified terror and despair, the naked young wife of Murdock Melton struggled with all her might, trying to clench her thighs, to lower her buttocks, while Dr. Lucille McClane chided her as she would a naughty child: "Tut tut, Patricia, I told you not to struggle so. You'll only anger Caesar. Be very still now, because I'm going to let him mount you!"
Then, jerking on the chain leash, she made the Great Dane paw the air, and with her free hand patted the small of Patricia's back.
At once the huge dog thrust forward, his front paws raking the smooth naked back of the shrieking female, while the long bony red penis thrust forth, grisly and shining. Caesar jabbed tentatively, found the orifice, and then with a lunge glued himself with a long howl.
Patricia Melton's eyes rolled in their sockets, as she made a last frenzied effort to tear herself loose, and could not. Her mouth gaped: "EEEYEEEARRRHHHOWWWOUUUUAIIIIIEEEE YARRRRHHH!!!! TAKE IT OUT OF ME, IT'S TEARING ME, OH MY GOD, KILL ME, KILL ME, I CAN'T STAND IT!
IT'S RIPPING ME TO PIECES-OOOUUUARRGHHHH-EEE YARRRHHHH!!!!"
But Caesar, whining, crouched over the postured, kneeling naked human bitch, began to fuck Patricia Melton with violently rapid thrusts, and the woman's hips swerved and twisted in frantic and unconsciously salacious gyrations as if tasting untold rapture from that horrid, inhuman penetration. Her eyes stared beyond her, her nostrils flared and shrank, and blood appeared at the corners of her mouth where her teeth had sunk into her trembling lips at that first moment when she had felt the bony stab of that canine virility.
Now suddenly there was a loud bark and an acrid odor, as the dog gluded itself to its human mate, and one could see the thin grayish gobbets of canine sperm trickling down to the tile floor.
Patricia Melton was inert, supported by the infamous cradle and by the suction pad attached to the rod which forced up her belly. She had fainted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It took Edward McClane not one day but two to reach the little town of Craston and to be reunited with his sister. It was late evening when he arrived at the tiny railroad station which served also as bus depot. The stationmaster informed him that it was about eight miles to Dr. Lucille McClane's clinic. There were no cabs, needless to say, but the stationmaster told him that he might walk towards the town and that perhaps someone would be glad to drive him out there. "Craston's a friendly place, Mister," the grizzled old man said. "Now like me, if I didn't have to stay here and listen for the telegraph, I'd be right glad to take you out there. She's a fine woman. Helps a lot with the cows and even the sheep and the horses. My grandson Johnny had his dog's life saved by her. Yessir, a fine woman, that."
So Edward McClane had trudged wearily towards the main street of the little town, seen a man come out of the general store and head for a truck, and had gone up to him and politely asked if he'd mind giving him a lift, adding that he would be glad to pay for the service. The rancher had laughed and said he didn't have a license to operate a taxi service, but he'd be glad to drop him off because his own ranch was about five miles beyond in the same direction.
When Edward McClane stepped down from the pickup truck and thanked his benefactor, he stood looking at the attractive building built of white sandstone and brick, out here in the middle of nowhere. Evidently his sister had prospered, had got over that unhappy love affair of ten years ago. Well, she was happy now, leading the kind of life she wanted, but it would be a good thing to visit with her, to take a kind of pause after this frantic, aimless journey he had been making these past few years in search of fickle Janice.
He rang the bell at the front door, and after a few minutes, it was opened by Dr. Lucille McClane herself, in her white smock and sandals. He grinned at her: "Don't you recognize me, Lucille? It's Ed."
"I do, but I couldn't quite believe it. Your face is so -lined, so full of sorrow. Come in, Brother." She put a hand on his wrist and he smiled and leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the cheek. He saw her wince and quickly ended the kiss, comprehending perhaps more from that silent gesture than all she could have told him.
"Yes, it's been a long time, Edward," she said gravely, staring at him again. "Come along, you must be tired. I thought you might arrive here yesterday."
"Well, flying from Memphis to Billings wasn't any problem except that-well-I stayed over a little long er to see someone I'd met in Memphis." He flushed, lowered his eyes. He'd gone back that night to see Olga Dorish again, and this time he had paid the Madame two hundred dollars with the promise that it would be just "the regular thing." And that's all it had been. Olga had been glad to see him, like a child who had discovered a new friend. He sat there for quite some time drinking in her beauty, realizing the remarkable likeness she had to the Janice of twenty years ago. They sat there talking, talking like old friends, and she told him about her life as a young girl back in Hong Kong. And then, very simply and with a tender smile, she'd drawn off her negligee and stood naked in highheeled pumps and gauzy smoke-colored nylon hose held high on her beautiful pale white thighs by blue rosette garters, very flouncy and each adorned with a round little silver bell, the kind that one strings on Christmas trees. And he'd trembled as she'd come to him, an arm circling his neck and her slim right hand seeking out his stirring manhood, liberating it from the fly of his trousers and nuzzling it in the soft moist palm of her little hand. And this time there had been a sweet, intoxicating madness to their fucking without thought of brutality or vengeance. That was why it had taken him two days to reach his sister.
"I'm glad you've made friends, Edward. It's been hard for you." She shook her head sadly. "But I can see that you're still thinking about that woman. How I wish that I could have her here for you now, to punish and, once and for all, to rid yourself of her contamination. Don't you see what she's done to your life? It's true that you're rich because you have the inheritance and you've done well with your own investments. But how you've frittered away the time, the good years, when you could have married and had a family and children!"
"I know. Each of us in life has his curse. Do you remember, Lucille, when we were kids, how much we loved good music?"
"Of course I remember. I have a public address system at the back of the clinic through which I pipe music on tape, a kind of Muzak. It comforts me when I am working with dumb, helpless beasts in pain."
"Then you must remember Schonberg's Gurrelieder, and how Count Waldemar, because he has cursed God for having let his beautiful Tove be killed by his cruel wife, is doomed to ride with his ghost-hordes through the sky without ever finding peace. Well, I know now that work was written for me." He uttered a short bitter laugh.
"I understand, my dear brother. Here's your room. I know you'll be comfortable."
It was a large and cheerful room, with a spacious bay window that looked out to the range of mountains beyond. The bed was low and wide and comfortable. He turned to her in surprise: "It amazes me that you have such a place out here in a kind of wilderness, Lucille."
She shrugged. "You forget that I had half of the inheritance too, Edward. And I too was fortunate. The man who betrayed my love was at least thoughtful enough to give me some stock market tips which doubled my money. At least I can admire and thank his shrewdness, even if I despise and hate his sly treachery at not letting me know that he was married all the time when he vowed his undying love for me. But that's enough of that. Have you eaten?"
"I had something on the plane."
"But that was long ago. I'll get you something, and we'll eat out in the kitchen, it will be more comfortable out there, like old times."
Later, he leaned back and smiled at her. "You say I've changed, Lucille, but you, if anything, are lovelier than I remember you."
"You needn't flatter me, Brother. But it's true that I at least have my work and some pleasures. What are your plans?"
"I'm not going to abandon my quest for Janice. I don't have too many clues. Don Morrow went to the West Coast, of that I'm sure. And if I recall, Janice said something about his going into electronics, something he'd always wanted to do. With his drive and his unscrupulousness-because I remember him even though it's been twenty years-I'm sure he went to the top. I have to find her, Lucille. Only then can I take up the unraveled threads of my life and try to put them together again. But since I know now what I'm going to do, it won't be so aimless."
"Well, I won't lecture you, then, but I'll give you some kind of physical relaxation. I daresay you could enjoy a woman?"
He stared at her, not quite comprehending. Her lips curved in a faint, contemptuous smile: "For me, she's beyond the pale. But as I told her, she's a kind of symbol of vengeance. You see, Edward, she's a faithless wife who made the stupid mistake of letting herself be caught in bed with her husband's foreman. So the husband sent her to me to be punished."
"Punished? How?"
"She was a bitch, and so she was to be mated like a bitch-to a dog."
"Lucille! What are you saying?"
"The truth, Edward. Let me show you."
Troubled and wondering, he followed her down the long corridor towards that opaque, one-way glass door. And when he came in front of it, he uttered a cry and his eyes widened with disbelief.
Patricia Melton still crouched on her knees in the "cradle" lifted off the floor by a scant six inches, so that at first glance it seemed that she was suspended in air. There were dark, sinister, jagged marks on her back and sides, marks where the Great Dane's claws had marred her pale white satiny skin in its rutting frenzy. He turned to Dr. Lucille McClane and gasped, "Then you actually meant it, Lucille!"
"Of course I did. She's had two days with Caesar. He's a four-year-old Great Dane, exceptionally enthusiastic and quite virile. She was mated just three hours ago, for the fifth time in two days, and she experienced her first orgasm. It's a matter of clinical record, and I made ample notes on it."
"Notes?"
"Yes, of course. First I owe them as a kind of report to my client-her husband, naturally-and secondly, because I myself am interested in the physical and emotional reactions of a perfectly normal female when having sexual congress with an "animal. Do you find her attractive, Edward?"
He shuddered and nodded. And indeed, Patricia Melton, despite her long ordeal, was still very desirable. The saucy, upstanding rounds of her compact buttocks, not distended so that the shadowy crease between the cheeks was salaciously pronounced, and the long, lovely, gracefully rounded columns of her straddled thighs held enticing invitation, the pale white flesh of her nakedness became the more obscenely suggestive in this stark setting of the green tile, the wide chamber, the post and the cradle. He saw dangling from the hook fixed into the post to one side of her a dog leash of thick chain links. And he felt his prick harden despite himself, despite the awestruck repugnance of realizing that this beautiful fastidious woman had been forced to accept the rutting thrusts of a male dog in heat.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Yes," Edward McClane said hoarsely.
His handsome, svelte sister smiled at him. "Then, Edward, you may take her. It will be a kind of palliative for you, and in a way useful in my survey of her reaction. Now that she has been mated with a dog, she may feel that she is no longer attractive to a man. But by servicing her in this way, you renew her hope and thus when next it is time for Caesar to mate with her, her anguish will be the greater-which will doubtless please her husband. You may say this is a psychological kind of deception. But for you also it contains some helpful catharsis-you may pretend she is your faithless sweetheart, Janice."
Edward McClane was trembling as he stared at his sister's austere face. She wore the white medical smock and sandals, but she was naked beneath it, which he did not know.
"She is very desirable, indeed," he hoarsely agreed.
"Then forget that I am here and take her. Take her like the bitch she is. Act as if you were the animal instead of Caesar. She is posed for that, moreover, to facilitate such a union." Lucille McClane's lips curled in scorn. "How many women in this world are bitches and yet are afraid to reveal this trait! If I had my way, I should have them sent all to an island far from our own civilization where their sterility and uselessness would not torture so many decent men and in turn break up the lives of decent women."
She was of course referring to herself and to her own romantic tragedy, but Edward McClane understood. And he opened the door which led into that room where Patricia Melton posed in that obscene offering of her body on the "cradle," her buttocks upreared, her legs straddled, her pink orifice of her pussy gaping and readied for servicing.
Then he hesitated. His sister smiled again: "Have no fear, Edward. After Caesar took her, I gave her a hygienic douche. And I also applied a toxin which is my own invention, which will prevent her pregnancy. You need not fear about giving her a child. Besides, I'm sure her husband wouldn't want it. I don't think he will take her back, but if he does, it will be in a very different relationship."
"Perhaps that of a slave," he hazarded.
"Quite likely. Go on. I will smoke a cigarette."
"You-you're going to watch?" he gasped.
"Why not? Forget that I am your sister and remember that I am an veterinarian and a doctor. I am interested in the reactions of animals, and human beings are but one step removed; they have brains and logic, though they do not always use them. Besides, it will be a diversion for me Edward. It's been lonely here and as you see, I am still a spinster. Forget your inhibitions this one time."
Thus encouraged, he looked again at the shuddering naked body in that singular apparatus, and his prick stiffened with savage lust. He let the door close behind him and he approached Patricia Melton who, trying to turn her face back towards him, uttered a cry: "Oh my God, who is it? Oh not again, please not again! That horrible beast, he rips my back so with his awful claws! Oh why don't you kill me, Dr. McClane?"
"Because I am not Dr. McClane."
"Ohhh! A man-oh God, to see me like this, oh it's horrible, if you have any mercy, any feeling, don't let me be like this, save me from that dreadful woman!" Patricia Melton shrieked, struggling in her bonds. The ingenious yoke, very much like that of the old-fashioned pillory, kept her from turning her face back and seeing her assailant, and now Edward McClane saw the magnificent contours of her naked body, saw the livid scratches from Caesar's claws on her back and sides and hips. He put his hand on those magnificent buttocks, and Patricia Melton uttered a sobbing groan and closed her eyes. "Please kill me," she whimpered.
But the thought that this exquisitely formed naked young woman was imprisioned here in this curious chamber on this singular device and left for the scheduled and periodic unions with a Great Dane made Edward McClane's lust intolerable. And since her face was hidden to him now as he stood behind her, he could well pretend that it was Janice whom he had condemned to such atonement for the harm she had done in his life.
He dragged down his zipper and liberated his cock, savage and throbbing with rut. "Now, you bitch," he growled, and he had only predatory lust governing him, driving out all else.
He seized the sides of her bare hips and Patricia Melton uttered a wailing cry as she felt his penis jab against the sensitized and inflamed opening of her cunt. But suddenly a perverse idea leaped into his mind, for if she was a bitch, she should be sullied. Just as he would sully Janice if this were she here and now. His fingers moved to the inner edges of her plumply jutting buttocks, yawned them apart to expose the dainty pink rosette of her anus, and as he arched himself to her, his meatus prodded that tender fissure.
"Ohhhh!!! Not there, oh my God, not there! Oh please, if you must have me, do it in my-in my p-p-pussy!" Patricia Melton wailed.
"Do you think I would take you where a dog has been, you low bitch?" he snarled. Setting his teeth, his fingers digging into her tender hips, Edward McClane thrust forward and Patricia Melton's body jerked in the apparatus to which she was tethered. Her eyes bulged, mad with suffering and shame as she felt the lips of her bumhole pried ruthlessly apart and the hard rotting shaft of his cock dig relentlessly into the narrow channel.
The contractions of her sphincter muscles acted like a vise against his aching ramrod, and the warm clamp of her rectal sheath became an ecstasy that could not be described. Disregarding her cries and shrieks, Edward McClane thrust home until he was in her to his balls, and then began to bottom fuck her mercilessly. He had forgotten his sister. But she was outside watching. For the door to that room of unholy union enabled her to see, magnified in every detail, her brother's crouching over the naked woman in the "mating cradle," see the frenetic jerkings of his loins and hips as ho thrust himself to and fro inside Patricia Melton's asshole. And when at last she saw him sink upon the kneeling captive, his eyes closed, his face twisted and flushed, knew that he had ejaculated his venom into the bowels of that unfortunate captive, Dr. Lucille McClane unbuttoned her medical smock, put her slim forefinger to her own moist pussy, and began to titillate the nucleus of her emotions, her clitoris, until her own spasm purged her of the excitement and the vengeful reminiscenses which her brother's reunion with her had inspired....
He woke as from a deep sleep, and found himself in a little room on a cot, his head throbbing. Slowly he sat up, winced and tried to remember what had happened. Then he groaned. Yes, he remembered only too well. So infuriated had his lust been at seeing Patricia Melton sacrificed up to a dog on that ingenious apparatus and given to him as a kind of sop for all his frustrations, that he had buggered her. And then, he had spanked her till she had agreed to suck his cock. He had gone in front of the pillory-like apparatus and, cupping her flushed and tearstained cheeks with his palms, compelled her to lick and suck his organ, which in turn had made him ferociously in rut again.
And this time he had made her French him until climax and swallow his juices under the threat of a severe whipping, which was worthy of a bitch such as she.
At last he had left the half-fainting naked captive, and Dr. Lucille McClane had smiled at him understandingly and taken him to the kitchen where she'd given him a plate of nourishing hot stew. And then she'd given him a bottle of whiskey, "to drown your sorrows and banish your memories, Edward. Forget about Patricia Melton. Her fate was long ago decided before we had anything to do with her."
And then there had been a kind of aftermath, perhaps a revulsion at himself, perhaps an awareness of the wasted years he had sought in vain for Janice. He had drunk more than he was used to, and then he had remembered nothing else. She must have come in and dragged him onto the cot, loosened his shirt and made him comfortable.
"So you're awake at last, Edward. I've some news for you," Dr. Lucille McClane flicked on the light switch and he at once groaned and covered his eyes with his hand.
"I'll give you something for that hangover, Edward. You drank nearly all the bottle, and I don't think you're used to it."
"Very definitely not. But I needed it last night, it came in very handy. Thanks, Lucille."
"I think you'll thank me more for the news I've just heard on the radio."
"What are you talking about?"
"You've been trying to find Janice Morrow, haven't you?"
"You know I have."
"Her husband just died of a heart attack. Apparently he's become quite a big shot in San Diego. The head of one of the largest electronic firms on the west coast, prominent in social work and even politics. There was a political commentator saying that if he had lived, he might even have run for Lieutenant Governor."
"But are you sure it's the same one?"
"No doubt about it, Edward. It's Don Morrow, and he leaves his wife Janice and a daughter Andrea."
"A daughter!" Edward McClane gasped.
"Yes. She's nineteen and quite lovely. I gather this from the news report which indicated that she has done some modeling and was in a beauty contest when she heard the news of her father's untimely death. There was also Andrea's cousin in the home at the time of Don Morrow's death. So now you at last have found her. What are you going to do, Edward?"
"She must be very wealthy now, if he's that important."
"I'm sure she is."
"Well, I'm wealthy too in my own right, but not like that. What am I going to do, Lucille? Go see her."
"I have a better idea."
"Ad what's that?"
"You want revenge, you still do?"
"Yes. I want to have her just once, and make her realize what she's lost all these years."
"But she has a lovely daughter too. Have you considered this?"
"Not really. Why?"
"I have some notions about experiments I'd like to try, Edward. I know how many years have been wasted of your life dreaming about her. If you could only get hold of her and bring her here, and her daughter too, then once and for all you could expunge her from your system."
"Yes I could. Her daughter. Flesh of her own flesh, born from Janice's womb I might have filled with my own seed to give me strong sons and lovely girls."
"Enjoy the daughter too then, if you've a mind to," Dr. Lucille McClane laughed softly. "From what you told me last night of the sexual adventures you've had, always trying to sublimate, always trying to substitute someone for your Janice, you've become as sadistic as I without knowing it. Sadism is pure love, Edward. Perhaps I experienced it when I put Patricia into that device for Caesar. For you see, she is very beautiful and I too desired her. I could have made her love me-but she was only a subject, a guinea pig for my experiments for which I was well paid. But if you were to bring Andrea here and Janice, then we both could have our desires fulfilled."
He stared a long time at his sister, and then he nodded. "I'll leave in a few days for San Diego, Lucille. At least I'm going to see her. Then I'll decide what to do."
And thus the unholy pact of vengeance which had waited twenty long years was made between Edward McClane and his own frustrated and imaginative sister!
CHAPTER NINE
A day later, Edward McClane bade farewell to his perverse and beautiful sister, leaving Patricia Melton still incarcerated in that singular chamber strapped to her yoke-cradle. She would be, Lucille McClane informed her brother, subjected to coitus by the Great Dane, Caesar, at least twice a day for the following week, by the end of which time the test would be made to see if the unfortunate and faithless wife of Murdock Melton had developed a craving for this unnatural kind of sexual liaison. If she had, then the husband would be summoned and make a decision over the disposition of that magnificent naked beauty, who, for a blinding hour, had served as sublimation for this virile and mature man haunted by the memory of a frustrated love twenty years before.
"What are your plans, my dear brother?" Lucille McClane had asked as she shook hands with him.
"Naturally I am going to San Diego, Lucille. I'm going to see what Janice looks like and also her daughter Andrea."
"I will aid you, Edward, if you decide to bring them back here. How you will do it that I leave to you. And naturally you don't plan to kidnap them because you are not a criminal by nature nor do I wish to see you sent to the gas chamber which I understand is the death penalty in California for kidnapping."
"I have another plan," Edward McClane said slowly. "I'm going to make Janice's daughter become infatuated with me, and then I'll bring her here of her own accord. Once her mother knows where she is and who has her, I'm very certain that she will follow and then we can certainly have our reckoning."
Dr. Lucille McClane nodded, her mind already once again occupied with plans for the cruel experiment between the Great Dane and the sobbing and unhappy naked captive in that sinister "mating room."
* * *
Edward McClane's first act on reaching San Diego by plane was to take a cab to the best hotel in the city and then to make an appointment at the most fashionable beauty salon he could find, one which would cater to men as well as women.
He was able to obtain an appointment at five that evening, and had his hair dyed brown and shorn in a crewcut. A vigorous facial massage aided the skin tone, and the styling specialist spent half an hour using a vibrator on his neck and cheeks, skin and forehead, working in a soft scented cream.
Two hours later, Edward McClane stared at himself in the mirror and gasped with delighted amazement. It was as if the clock had been turned back at least ten years. The lines of dissipation and the gauntness and of course the gray hair had vanished and made him look like a sturdy, vital man in his early thirties ... at about an age he might have been enjoying perhaps his seventh or eighth anniversary with the beautiful golden -haired woman who had become such a haunting symbol of desirable womanhood and who now loomed in his mind as the most faithless Jezebel.
He then treated himself to the finest gourmet meal he could find and carefully went over his plan. No, Lucille was quite right about kidnapping. If the authorities were involved he could never be certain of enjoying a leisurely vengeance for then he would have to flee like a trapped animal from being caught himself and punished. No, he knew it had to be done skillfully and with deliberate calculation, and what most appealed to him was in making the daughter pay for the sins of her mother and also to see if the daughter bore any physical resemblance at all to the beautiful, golden-haired heartless Janice.
And so, when he had gone back to his hotel room after walking the streets to see the sights, he placed a call to the Morrow household, as luck would have it, Andrea Morrow herself answered.
"Who is this?" she brashly inquired, for Andrea, unlike her mother, and magnificently independent in her nineteen years, had not been greatly saddened by the death of her father. As a matter-of-fact, she had never really gotten along well with him, and he had once threatened to thrash her if she didn't stop going around with boys and wearing disgracefully short miniskirts and looking like a harlot. In one sense Edward McClane had been very right about Janice's mistake: she had not been too happy with Don Morrow on the long run, for as he had acquired wealth and importance and social status, he had become a pompus and sententious individual caring more for appearances than for what his family really thought of him. And also, he had not been too satisfying a lover.
If Edward McClane could only have known that Janice had often thought of him and mournfully remembered that he had promised her what would appear to be the fulfillment of all her desires, perhaps this story would never have been written. And yet ESP is not yet a gift granted by the gods to all of us, so each of these protagonists had to work out his and her destiny by the whims of fate rather than by a kind of spiritual rapport.
"My name is Robert Murray," Edward McClane said glibly. He was not actually lying, in one sense; his middle name was Robert and his mother's maiden name had been Murray.
"Do I know you, Mr. Murray?"
"I don't think so, Miss, or is this Mrs. Morrow?"
"Good God no," Andrea laughed heartily. "I'm Andrea, the daughter. Don't tell me you're one of Mom's old flames, calling up now that Dad's gone to his last reward?"
He arched his eyebrows at this singularly irreverent remark. It didn't actually sound as if it had come from a daughter who was bereaved with the loss of her father. But he had been too absorbed with the little drama he was playing, with each detail of the plot that he had so ingeniously evolved. "No, as a matter-of-fact, Miss Morrow," he hazarded, "I saw your picture in the society paper, and I fell in love with it."
"You really must be kidding me, buddy!" Andrea's voice was a sophisticated contralto, not without affectatious insolence. "Don't tell me you're going to get your kicks from an obscene phone call."
"Oh no, I assure you, Miss Morrow, my motives are the very purest of all. I wanted to meet you and perhaps have lunch with you, if that's possible, tomorrow."
"Well, I don't see any harm in that. All right." He heard a giggle in the background, "Would you mind if my cousin Phyl came along too?"
"Of course not!" he excitedly exclaimed. "I would that the two of you were in the house-well, I'm terribly sorry I didn't send condolences to your mother."
"I'll pass them on, Mr. Murray. Say, where are we supposed to meet for lunch, and I don't even know what you look like. This is fun," Andrea giggled.
"Let me see. What about the Ulysses Grant Hotel? That's where I'm staying, there's a very fine dining room there. Say about twelve o'clock. I think I can recognize you from the newspaper picture, so why don't we let it go at that?"
"Wonderful! And then it will be a surprise. Who knows, maybe you'll be a handsome Casanova. Maybe I can even vamp you away from Mom. See you tomorrow at twelve, Mr. Murray." Before the phone clicked at the other end of the line, he heard two girls giggling. It was undoubtedly Phyllis, the cousin. He smiled as he hung up the phone and went back into the lobby to buy a newspaper. He wanted to read about good old righteous Don Morrow. He wanted to know all he could about the man, who, the past twenty years, had had the right to fuck his darling Janice. He was certain that, judging from the way the daughter had sounded just now, one thing was certain: Don Morrow hadn't taught his daughter too much respect for her elders.
CHAPTER TEN
Edward McClane sat in the lobby of the Ulysses Grant Hotel in a comfortable armchair, smoking a cigar. He held it at a rakish angle in his mouth, but his eyes were narrowed as they scrutinized the revolving door leading into the hotel. It was two minutes after twelve, and Andrea Morrow was thus two minutes late.
It didn't disquiet him, however, because traditionally women were always late. Janice, he reflected bitterly, was some twenty years late. But at last time was catching up with her.
He tried to act nonchalant, but it was difficult for him to hide the beating of his heart and the excitement that was rising inside of him. He was going to meet the flesh of Janice's flesh, lovely Andrea, who did not look very much like her mother. When his sister Lucille had told him of the radio broadcast announcing Don Morrow's untimely death and the fact that his rival's only surviving offspring had entered a beauty contest, he had half expected she would take after her golden-haired, ripe-curved mother. But this morning, right after breakfast when he had taken a cab to the Public Library and asked to go through the files for the past several weeks, he had come upon the pictures of both Janice and her daughter. Surreptitiously, he had torn out the photograph when no one had been watching, slipped it into his pocket, and then very casually remained a few minutes more to thumb through the pages and return the volume to the reference librarian with cordial thanks.
He had sat here for the last half hour, studying the picture so that he would recognize Andrea Morrow the moment she came through that revolving door.
Five more minutes passed, and the cigar was nearly finished. And then, as he leaned over towards the sand-stand to crush out the cigar, his eyes widened with delight as he saw Andrea enter, followed by the young woman who must obviously be her cousin, Phyllis.
Andrea Morrow was nineteen, and a quick appraisal indicated that she was about five feet five inches in height with light brown hair styled in a very slight pompadour with just the suggestion of a wavy curl at either side of her forehead. Her face was arrogant and sensual, with an uptilted little nose, gray-green eyes, a small, ripe, petulant mouth, slantingly set cheekbones, and a firm, determined chin. Her skin was golden-tan from the sun, and her body was extremely voluptuous and exciting. Her breasts were two bold, widely spaced pears, while her hips were surprisingly ample, the bottomcheeks upstanding and gradually widened by a sinuous furrow. She wore a red mini-dress and charcoal-brown pantie hose with open-toe sandals.
But her companion was in some ways even more delicious, and obviously older, perhaps about twenty-two, he would guess. She was also taller, about five feet seven, and her black hair was parted in the middle, waved forward over her temples and cheeks, with the ends of the curls tucked under in a very nattering pageboy. On his way to San Diego, Edward McClane had found a few abandoned fashion magazines and glanced through them, and had discovered that one beauty stylist held that a pageboy had a tendency to age the wearer. But certainly this brunette's coiffure made her seem most vivacious and very feminine. Her face was an exquisite oval, her cheekbones very exotically high-set, her eyes hazel, her nose straight and small with rather thin wings, and she had a wide and very generous mouth. Her figure was perhaps a contrast with Andrea's, for her titties were magnificent cantaloupes set closely together and high on her chest, while a slim waist veered into breath-takingly sleek lithe hips and a pair of almost boyishly compact and tightly set bottom ovals. Her thighs were long and shapely, as were her calves. She wore a green rayon frock, obviously expensive because of its cut, and her lovely, long, lissome legs were sheathed in flesh-colored nylons.
He hadn't yet formulated any real plan, except he knew there was too great a danger in trying to abduct Andrea. But he had calculated, just from listening to her on the phone yesterday, that she was a self-willed, stubborn individualist. Her rather scathing remark about her father had indicated that she had borne Don Morrow no great love and that she had looked upon own life.
If that was actually so, perhaps he could appeal of her impulses. Suppose, for example, he were to propose a drive to Las Vegas and offer to stake her at the gaming tables? Young girls often needed a great deal of allowance, particularly when they were Andrea's age and conscious of the need for an impressive wardrobe. If her father was dead and the estate going into probate, it might be quite a while before she would come into her own money, and she was still a minor in California.
He rose now and approached the two young women. "You're Andrea," he said with a smile.
"Well, now!" Andrea Morrow turned to the tall brunette beside her. "Who said that a blind date couldn't really be swinging! This guy is a real dreamboat!"
"You're very flattering, Miss Morrow. Yes, I'm Robert Murray. And this lovely young woman is-?"
"My name is Phyllis Cantwell," the brunette smilingly retorted. "You're quite a smooth guy, Mr. Murray. Andrea sort of had a hunch you would be."
"I was sorry to hear about your father's death, Andrea," he went on.
The lovely brunette made a sulky face. "Look, Mr. Murray, I didn't come to have lunch with you to talk about Dad, if you don't mind."
"Of course not, Miss Morrow."
"Andrea was good enough to start with, so keep on calling me that. I feel creepy when somebody says Miss Morrow to me," the impetuous young beauty irritatedly declared.
"Then let me escort you to lunch, you and Phyllis, and we'll try to change the subject," he smilingly proffered.
The restaurant was famous for excellent fish and shrimp dishes, and Edward McClane let the two young women select whatever they wished while he contented himself with lamb chops and a tossed salad, pudding and coffee.
Andrea glanced at her cousin with an enigmatic smile: "Well, Phyl, what do you think of him?"
"Why don't you call me Bob, Andrea?" he broke in. "Cigarette?"
"Thanks." Andrea Morrow extended a languid, tampering hand towards the silver cigarette case he tendered her. "Ritzy. Now, since you did happen to mention Dad, how did you happen to know me, or were you his friend or Mom's?"
"I met your father some years ago, Andrea. To be honest, we never did get along too well. I-er-I'm an investor and at one time I thought I might settle out here, but it didn't work out. I was making a trip to see some clients to line up some potential partners, and I happened to hear on the radio the news of your father's death. So I called, and I wanted to extend my condolences."
"Well, you've extended them. I'll tell Mom. Did you know here?"
"No," he lied. "Are you in college, Andrea?"
"You might say that, yes. If you want to know something," she made a wry face, "I suppose I shouldn't talk the way I do, but Dad and I had an awful row. I was sort of suspended from college just two weeks ago. We have a real stuffy dean of women. Somebody snooped and spied on me, and then squealed to the dean, and I got the bounce. And Dad didn't like it one little bit. I thought he was actually going to spank me, and I'd have clawed his eyes out if he'd tried that trick."
"Why were you suspended?"
"Hey, what is this, a question and answer game? I thought it was a date. But if you must know, it was because I stayed out after midnight with some guy I had a yen for," Andrea said with an insolent smile as she leaned back in her chair and blew a ring of cigarette smoke towards him.
"And you, Phyllis?" he smiled politely at the lovely brunette. "I must confess with some sadness that I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before, but I'm glad you came. You certainly brighten this dining room."
"How nice, Mr. Murray," the brunette laughed. "But you'd better not make up to me, because Andrea has a terrible temper."
"Oh, shut up, Phyl! Everybody knows you go for anything in pants if it even smiles at you," Andrea Morrow surprisingly burst out. She gave her cousin an angry glare, and then crushed out her cigarette and then sat moodily staring at her plate.
Edward McClane could sense that something was very strangely wrong between the two young women. He hazarded, "I suppose, Phyllis, your father was Mr. Morrow's brother?"
"No, Mr. Murray, my mother was his sister. But my folks are both dead-they died last year from pneumonia. The died six months apart-it was just awfully gloomy-and so I've been living with Andrea here."
"Yeah, and I'm about ready to lower the boom on you too, little cousin," Andrea venomously declared.
"Now, Andrea," the brunette placatingly said, "there's no need to involve Mr. Murray in our little squabble."
"No need, indeed! I like that!" Andrea laughed bitterly. "Why, if you weren't my cousin and Mom wouldn't have a conniption fit, I'd really scratch your eyes out. Fooling around with Jack Tensten the way you were, and right in my own house, too. I was wondering why he hadn't called me for a date in the past couple of weeks, when all the time you'd been sneaking out with him, and probably screwing him, too!"
"Andrea! For heaven's sake, watch your tongue!" the brunette gasped, and as she encountered Edward McClane's amused face, she turned a vivid scarlet.
"I'll say what I want and when I want, so there! Can you imagine, this cousin of mine, lots older than I am, ought to be married by now, having to try to make out with some of my rejects? I suppose I ought to be flattered, but I'm not."
"You know what both of you girls need?"
"No, you tell me, Mr. Murray," Andrea insolently under-lined this formal name as she stared boldly at him. "What do I need? A psychiatrist's couch? No, thanks. I've been to a headshrinker. Mom practically took me there. But it didn't take. He wanted to feel me up, and he was an old goat. I don't mind being felt up, but I like to like the guy who's doing it. At least I'm honest about it, and I don't sneak behind somebody's back the way my cousin Phyl does."
"Oh, stop it, Andrea! You're acting like a perfect child!"
Edward McClane lit a cigar and beckoned to the waiter to bring more coffee for all three. He was delighted with the way the conversation was turning for all three, for it was revealing delicious facets about the character of Janice's only child. If she were his daughter, she would be over his knee now, her skirts up and her panties down, absorbing a thorough thrashing with a hairbrush. She was bold and brazen, and she probably despised both her parents and wasn't at all grateful for what they had done for her.
"No, I don't think you need a headshrinker," he replied. "I think you need to forget all about this morbid memory you've got for your father and take yourself a little vacation. Like maybe to Las Vegas."
"That's not at all a bad idea, Bob," Andrea's mood changed to one of ingratiating intimacy as, leaning forward across the table to him, she propped her lovely chin on her hands. "Tell me more!"
"Andrea, you're shameless!" her cousin angrily whispered.
"Well, I need a vacation myself, and when I finish my business here in San Francisco, which ought to be in another day or two, I was thinking of driving up to Vegas and spending a little money trying to beat the 21 game, and maybe the craps table, too. I'd be happy to pay for your trying to beat them too, Andrea. And I extend the offer to you as well, Miss Cantwell."
"Say, Bob, you're all right. I think I will."
"Andrea, you just can't! You don't know anything about this man!" Phyllis gasped.
"Look, when I go back home, Mom is going to read me the riot act about my quarrel with Dad. And she's going to insist that I go to a long, dreary summer school so I can get my credits back and graduate with a degree. Who the hell wants a degree? Me, I want a man, some nice rich guy who'll take care of me in bed and marry me and be reasonably nice. I won't mind if he cheats a little, as long as he takes good care of me most of the time," Andrea Morrow declared.
"I can give you credentials enough," Edward McClane said, "and I'm reasonably wealthy myself." He took out a wallet and from it a packet of American Express traveler's checks in the amount of four thousand dollars. Andrea's eyes opened wide and she whistled in admiration. Phyllis Cantwell looked, then looked again, and eyed him with curiosity. "There's more where that came from."
"I'll bet you're too chicken to come along with me, Phyl," Andrea now told her cousin. "You know, there's safety in numbers. If we both go and Bob turns out to be a phony, he won't get very far. I can scream pretty loudly, and the highway patrol will come running on their little motorcycles. Want to have a try at it, Phyllis? Maybe you could find yourself a man all on your own up there."
"You're just impossible, Andrea, but I'm going to call your bluff," Phyllis Cantwell stared openly at Edward McClane. "I'll go for that. Will you stake me too, Mr. Murray?"
"I will indeed, Miss Cantwell."
"Then let's go," Andrea impulsively declared. "I'll just put in a call to Mom and tell her I'm going for a drive. That's no lie. Besides, she doesn't need me. That fat old banker, Mr. Jarvis, is over there right now consoling her. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to move in on Dad."
"Sometimes, Andrea," Phyllis Cantwell tartly observed, "I do think you need to be spanked. Maybe it would have been better if your father and mother had done it to you when you were a kid, because now you wouldn't be such a nasty brat, now that you're all of nineteen."
"Why, you little bitch, you! You just try saying something like that again, Phyllis Cantwell, and I will claw your eyes out. Come on, Bob, let's get out of here. Maybe if we go fast enough, we can ditch this drip and leave her with the check," Andrea hissed.
She rose from her chair as he did, and came around to slip her arm through his. Ingratiatingly she slipped her arm through his and whispered, "You're awfully nice, Bob. I think I can sort of go for you. But don't let me catch you making any passes at my cousin. Or I'll scratch your eyes out after I finish with her. Do you hear?"
"It's the most interesting proposition I've ever had made to me, Andrea. I'm game if you are. Let's go!" said Edward McClane, and it took all his self-control to hide the exultant shout of joy that rose in his throat. Without even planning it, by letting things play their own course, he was in the process of actually abducting Janice's beautiful young daughter and her in some ways even lovelier and older cousin. With luck, he ought to be able to get back to the little Montana town by tomorrow. And then there would be time to plan every detail of the vengeance he would exact from Janice Morrow who had once been his fiancee and who might have given him children ... but not like Andrea, he sincerely thought!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He still couldn't believe his good fortune. Meeting Janice's daughter for the very first time, and then having her casually remark that she'd go along with him on his alleged trip to Las Vegas, excuse herself for long enough to make a phone call, and then come back and say she was ready to go. But it was happening. Not only that, her gorgeous older cousin was coming along, too. Of course, he would have to rent a car, because he didn't own one. But that wasn't any problem, not with the money he had in traveller's checks and a driver's license he had kept up for the past few years because he had always used rented cars when he got to a new city in his constant quest for Janice Morrow.
So he courteously helped Andrea and Phyllis into a cab, got in himself, and told the driver to take them to a Hertz agency. Fifteen minutes later, he was at the wheel of a new Chevie, with the two girls in the back seat. He'd also been mildly surprised that neither of them had given any concern to the matter of taking along clothes and the other essentials one usually has on a trip. Andrea had just shrugged and said, "It's no big deal, Bob, I sleep raw, anyhow and I've got perfect teeth so it won't matter if I don't brush them just one night. Let's go. You're the man who wanted action, so here we are, aren't we, Phyl?
"Oh, you," Phyllis muttered. It was very evident to Edward McClane that the two girls didn't have any great liking for each other, especially since Andrea had accused Phyllis of trying to take away one of her men. As they left San Diego and headed up the coast line, since he was going to make his turn from Eureka way up north, he casually inquired, "Did you talk to your mother, Andrea?"
"Sure I did. She said at this point if that was the way I felt, I might just as well stay away because she didn't want to look at me or talk to me. I guess she's mad because Dad and I had that row. Though why she's mourning him is more than I can understand. All he really cared about was his business and making money and that sort of thing. I don't think he gave two hoots in hell for either Mom or myself."
"You never gave him much of a chance to find out, because all you ever wanted was plenty of allowance for clothes and things like that," her cousin tartly interposed.
"Phyllis Cantwell, you're a fine one to talk!" Andrea Morrow flashed. "You've been living with us the last couple of months just on charity, and don't forget it and don't talk about anybody's getting spanked for disrespect, it's a cinch your mother and father let you be the little princess all the time."
At this point Edward McClane thought it best to intervene, because he didn't want the two girls wrangling. "Let's call a truce. What do you say back there?" he called and glanced around with a friendly smile. "This is supposed to be a pleasure trip, remember?"
"You heard the man, Andrea," Phyllis Cantwell said with a note of bitter humor in her voice, "And in a way, you're right. I know that my father was a sort of black-sheep of his family, Andrea, and I know that he had bad luck in business and we were practically broke just about the time I was starting college. But I'll have you know I got a scholarship just because my grades were good enough, and I worked a little bit as a waitress so I'd have spending money and not have to hit Dad for it."
Edward McClane hadn't known that Don Morrow had a sister. There was a great deal he hadn't known about his rival or, for that matter about his beloved Janice, either. Particularly this rather hostile household setup which he had just discovered between the two lovely cousins. But now that he knew about it, he could see where it might be turned to his own advantage. "You finished college, I assume, Phyllis?" he ventured.
"Yes, last year, but then, as I told you, my folks died and I was really in a fog after that, so Andrea's mother asked me to come stay with them so I wouldn't be so lonely."
"Sheer charity," Andrea sneered.
"Why, you-" Phyllis Cantwell began, but again Edward McClane interposed: "Now wait a minute, girls, what about that truce we were going to have? This is supposed to be a friendly little pleasure jaunt, remember?"
"Sure, Bob," the older girl shrugged. "As far as charity goes, Andrea, just let me remind you that while my Dad wasn't anywhere near as successful as yours was, he did leave me an insurance policy of twenty thousand dollars and it's in the bank, and just as soon as Aunt Janice gets over what happened, I'm going to pull out and go to Los Angeles and San Francisco and find me a job and then I won't be in your way anymore."
"Good!" Andrea defiantly declared. "But as long as you're still with us, my dear cousin, just keep away from my guys, savvy?"
So it was a strained and uneasy ride. Till late that evening Edward McClane drove into San Francisco and decided to go to the Jack Tar Motel to stay the night. If they started early in the morning, they could make Eureka by noon, and then head over into Montana. Maybe it would take an extra night, because there wasn't any need for real speed. That would give him more time to think and to figure out what he could do to Andrea to get her mother to exchange herself as a hostage in Andrea's place. That was really what he wanted. Not that Andrea didn't deserve a little lesson all her own, opinionated and insolent little bitch that she was every time she opened her mouth, he reflected.
He engaged a room for the two girls and another for himself, and asked that steaks be sent up, because it was too late to go out to dinner and they were all tired from the long day's drive. At about eleven, he went next door and told the girls that he'd leave a call for seven in the morning so they could have a quick breakfast and then start driving and get good mileage while it was still pleasantly cool and before the hot afternoon sun came out.
He was taking a shower about five minutes later when the buzzer sounded at his door. Frowning, he turned off the water taps, stepped carefully out onto the mat, wrapped a towel around his middle, and warily opened the door. To his surprise, it was Phyllis Cantwell. "Let me in, Bob," she whispered. "Andrea's gone out to buy some cigarettes and have herself a walk before bedtime. Quick!"
"But-I was getting ready for bed-" he blurted.
Phyllis Cantwell giggled as she slipped inside, and pushed the door shut and turned the key in the lock, "I need one, too, come to think of it. Mind if I use your shower?" she gave him a bold look.
"If you like. But I'm flattered."
"You're meant to be," Phyllis boldly declared as she stared up and down at him. "You can drop the towel if you want, Bob. I'm not exactly a child. You're really built, I must say. And I don't propose to let my dear little cousin get her hooks into you. She had it all wrong back in the car. She's the one who tried to take my boyfriends away. I had to break off with a guy I thought I was going to marry because I found that she was vamping him, the little teaser."
At this she walked into the bathroom, then turned back to give him a taunting look, "I didn't mean to embarrass you, Bob. But when I get through with my shower, I want to talk to you about a job."
"A job?"
"Sure. Maybe with you. Couldn't you use a good secretary in your business?"
"Maybe," he said guardedly. "I just don't want to have a fight on my hands between the two of you. I'd like to have some fun, and I assume that's why you and Andrea came along, to get away from the gloomy side of the funeral and all that."
"Mostly all that," Phyllis corrected with a bitter little laugh. "I'll be very honest with you. The only reason I came along was because I sort of like you, and I didn't want Andrea playing up to you by herself on this long trip. She's likely to do something stupid. I'm just a little older, and I think I know more about men than she does. Anyway, you'll see." And with this cryptic but certainly provocative retory, she closed the bathroom door.
Edward McClane got into the double bed naked, reached over to the night table, took his silver cigarette case and lit a cigarette while he propped himself up on the pillows and began to think. He could hear the water of the shower spray, and he wasn't exactly sure what to make of Phyllis Cantwell. There was bitterness there too, and apparently she hadn't been too fond of Andrea's father. It was all very strange. If only he had found out years ago where Janice had been living with Don Morrow, maybe there would have been a chance to go there and plead his case and maybe win her away, maybe get Don to give her a divorce. Only now, it didn't matter, Don was dead, and the field was clear to Janice.
The door opened, and Phyllis Cantwell emerged with a towel wrapped around herself. Only she had ignored the fact that it was wide enough to cover her titties as well as her loins, and she had it wrapped just around her stomach and hips. He uttered a gasp as she stood there, smiling at him. Her titties were really beautiful, solid full round cantaloupes, set high in her chest very closely together so that the inner curves almost kissed between that narrow valley. Her skin was milky white, which emphasized the tempting dark coral tinting of the aurolae and the voluptuous tidbits of her crinkly, large nipples. There wasn't the least bit of sag to those titties, and as his eyes descended, he could see that her legs were long and sleek in direct contrast to the splendid mammary treasures of her lithe young body. Her body was still glistening from the shower, and it made her more tantalizingly desirable than ever.
"Like me, Bob?" she murmured huskily as she moved towards the bed. And then she let the towel drop to the floor. He uttered a gasp: the thick compact triangle of love fleece framing her cunt made that milky white skin of hers even more exciting. Her slim tapering hands rose now to cup her titties, as she stood there in evident self-offering, an amused look on her face, her eyes narrowed and intent on his face. "I asked you a question, Bob," she murmured again.
"What about Andrea?" he said hoarsely. "When she comes back from that walk of hers, don't you think she'll imagine where you are?"
"Let her! What you don't know is that she's a nasty little teaser. And she's spiteful, too. Last year, just before my folks died, I thought I was terribly in love with a real nice guy I'd met in college. And then Andrea met him and started vamping him, and I didn't have a chance. Oh, she didn't want him, not really. She just wanted me to be the poor cousin, you know. I'm glad I've got that little insurance money Dad left me, though. When this is all over, I'm going to go so far away I'll never see her again. Even if I will miss Aunt Janice, because she was awfully nice to me. But I really can't say it's Andrea's fault entirely. Her father spoiled her rotten, and then the last few years he really didn't care what she or her mother did. He was too too busy making money. But I must say, Bob, you're embarrassing me dreadfully."
"Why?"
"Because!" Phyllis Cantwell's face flamed now as she glanced down at herself then back at him, "I'm not used to standing in the altogether discussing family history with a man. Aren't you going to do something about me?"
"All right. Get into bed before you catch cold," he said thickly as he pulled down the sheets at the other side of the bed.
Phyllis Cantwell approached, her red lips curving in a fascinating smile. She slid her long legs under the sheets, and then moved towards him, lying on her side. He couldn't help staring at those magnificent big round firm titties, and finally the temptation was too great, he had to touch them and feel them. His right cupped one of them, and Phyllis sucked in her breath and closed her eyes as she suddenly put her arms around his neck and tendered him her mouth. "Oh yes," she breathed," That's what I want! Love me good! And you don't have to worry about it, I'm on a pill diet, Bob honey! Give it to me hard, I need it! This whole last week has driven me wild, watching Andrea strut all over the house, because now her father's out of the way and she thinks she can do whatever she wants. And treating me like dirt. Oh darling, that's why I came along, now you know!"
Sinuously, she had wriggled up close to him, still lying on her side with her arms tightly clinging around his neck, her mouth now gluing to his, while her furry cleft began to rub insinuatingly and suggestively against his prick. It didn't take long for Edward McClane to have a violent erection. Her body was moist and warm and palpitating, deliciously milky-naked, offered to him without stipulation or restriction. He slid his left arm under her armpit, his right hand squeezing one of her buttocks, and Phyllis) Cantwell groaned, "Ohh, that's nice, do that to me, hold me hard," and pressed herself even more tightly against him.
Now her lips were voracious, and her tongue dug between his lips and wantonly explored his mouth. He felt his lust rise in him like a white-hot flame, and the tip of his prick was rubbing against the crisp thicket of her pussy. Phyllis slid her right hand off his neck and down between their bodies, squirmed a little, took hold of the head of his prick and guided it towards the moist pink twitching lips of her eager cunt. Then she uttered a husky "Ahhh!" as she felt him penetrate between the lips of her vulva and enter the tight, warm, moist sheath of her vagina.
Edward McClane didn't hesitate or speculate over how this seduction was going to alter his plans for vengeance. His tongue began to answer Phyllis's, and his right hand clutched her bare bottomcheek to press him furiously tight against him, as with a single digging thrust, he inserted himself to the balls. Andrea's cousin was moaning now, her eyes closed, her big round firm titties panting as they flattened against his chest. Suddenly she wriggled over him, twisting him around to his back, and now she was astride him, taking amorous initiative. Now he had both his hands on her buttocks, guiding her by squeezing those luscious satiny rounded globes to tell her when he wanted to alter the cohesion of their bodies. Phyllis Cantwell arched herself up and he felt his prick slip slowly out of her cunt, till she was nibbling at it with the rims of her vulva, then she sank down with a groaning sob to flatten her big round titties against his straining chest. He stretched his legs and locked his calves over hers, while his fingertips gouged her velvety-smooth naked bottom cheeks.
"Oh, this is lovely!" Phyllis Cantwell's voice was shuddering with desire. "This is what I came for, darling! I'll be so nice to you, if you'll just not make a pass at Andrea! I promise I will. Do you like this, am I good for you?"
"You talk too damn much, baby," he said thickly, "Just let's fuck!"
But if he thought that this hoarse directive would shock his beautiful naked young partner, he was quite wrong. Phyllis Cantwell giggled, "Oh, my, of course we will, darling! I'll stop talking, you just give it to me!"
Then she began to arch and sink herself down, impaling herself on his rigid weapon. He could feel the muscular spasms of her legs as his won crossed over them to pin her down. His prick ached with the savage sweetness of rubbing along her tight warm moist lovesheath.
Yet this unexpected bounty was altering his plans a little. He had thought of enslaving both girls, but there wasn't any need to enslave Phyllis. She was marvelously adept as her supple body rose and fell over him, her arms were locked under his shoulders, her titties mashed against his chest, and she managed to hold his cock without letting it slip out of the nibbling, kissing cavern of her lovecore.
Edward McClane decided to forget about his vengeance for tonight anyway. His fingers thrilled to the spasmodic contractions of those satiny naked buttocks, to the sweet rubbing of her titties against his chest, and most of all to the indescribably tantalizing frictional hold her cunt had over his cock, for her amorous initiative was drawing him to a dynamic and cumulative, gushing come. Suddenly he felt himself explode, and Phyllis glued herself up against him, so that his entire ramrod was burrowed to the hilt inside her. "No fair," she panted hoarsely, "you ought to warn a girl! I wasn't even close! Oh darling, hurry, put your finger and rub my button, I want to go with you, do it, do it! There-ahhh-oh yes! Faster, Bob darling, ohhhh, I think I can, just push yourself a little bit more in me, while you're still stiff and hard-oh my, it's good-oh it's coming-don't stop, rub harder, faster, oh yes-ahhhhhhh!"
She bucked and twisted and wriggled like an eel, and as his finger flicked her swelling clitoris, he suddenly felt her stiffen and then grind herself against him as with a sobbing cry, Phyllis Cantwell attained her orgasmic climax with his dwindling cock still clutched in her tightening chasm.
And just at that moment, the buzzer rang. His eyes widened. This was something he hadn't counted on, for sure!
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Oh, gosh!" the lovely naked brunette gasped as the buzzer rang again, insistantly. "It'd have to be Andrea. Well, we might as well have a showdown now as later. Want me to answer it, Bob darling?"
"You better let me handle this," Edward McClane stammered as he flung himself out of bed, grabbed his trousers and thrust his feet in them, pulled them up to his hips and, remembering in time, dragged up the zipper. On the bed, the sheets pulled up to her neck, Phyllis Cantwell giggled at him and winked bawdily.
Putting the door on bar, Edward McClane opened it. Sure enough, it was Andrea. "What's going on in there?" she hissed. "Is Phyllis in there with you?"
"Of course she isn't. What sort of a guy do you think I am, Andrea?"
"Well, I can't find her anywhere. And she doesn't know anybody in this town, so she has to be in your room. Let me in!"
"I don't propose to. As a matter-of-fact, you wakened me out of a very sound sleep. I'll see you girls in the morning bright and early about seven. Do you realize what time it is now?"
"I know perfectly well what time it is and that's why I am sure that Phyllis has just got to be hiding in your room, Bob. It's just the sort of stunt she'd pull."
"I'm getting rather tired of this bickering between you two girls, Andrea. When we get to Vegas, I might just take you over my knee and teach you some manners."
"I wouldn't mind that at all, if Phyllis wasn't there to gloat," Andrea giggled. Through the crack in the door, he could see that Andrea was wearing green silk pajamas and they hugged her body in the most prickhardening way. She must have bought them just now in the little shop near the motel. He was almost tempted to give her that spanking here and now, but he reflected that this wasn't the time or the place. Not till he got to Lucille's hideout, where there were all sorts of gadgets handy for the taming of naughty girls, would he really open up and give Andrea Morrow her much-needed lesson...."We'll talk about that later when we're on the road. Now you'd better get some shuteye, Andrea, because I might want you to drive part of the way. I'm all honked out from the ride today."
"Are you sure it was the ride on the car that honked you, Bob dear?" Andrea whispered naughtily. "Maybe it was Phyl just now."
"I can't understand why you and your cousin are having such a feud," he ignored her sly innuendo. "But I'm going to bed now, so you can sit up and wait for her all night if you want to," he concluded as he closed the door and then locked it.
He heard Andrea gasp with indignation, and he listened with his ear to the door just to see what she was going to do. Finally he heard her door close, and then he tiptoed back to bed. Phyllis Cantwell had flung the sheets off her, and was sitting up, her hands clasped at the back of her head, so that her elbows jutted out and her magnificent lush titties boldly preened themselves forward in a way that begged him to come back to bed without any further waste of time. Her long milky-sheened legs were extended and not too close together, either, letting him see pussy. "If you could see how sheepish you look, darling," she greeted him softly, "you'd take your pants off and come back to bed. We've some unfinished business, you know. You were just working me up into a terrific frazzle when that sneaky little cousin of mine had to come spying."
"Have you given any thought, Phyllis, to what's going to happen if you stay here all night or if you try to get back into your room?" he sarcastically demanded.
"Nope, not the slightest. I don't care if she does know that you and I are stuck on each other. And speaking about getting stuck on each other, come on back and do it to me right now. I'm feeling awfully randy." With this, she spread her legs lewdly apart, and keeping one hand at the back of her head, slid the other over her titties and belly till it covered her pussy, while she looked at him in the most archly provocative way: "Aren't you going to take care of me again? Can't you see I have to put my hand over my pussy because it's so cold in here, Bob? Heat me up, lover, that's a darling!"
Edward McClane reflected that he might just as well if he wanted to keep Phyllis Cantwell quiet for the rest of the night. She didn't dare go back to her room, because Andrea would certainly be waiting up for her, and then there would be a battle royal. He smiled grimly to himself. He wanted to see that battle take place in the "mating room" of Dr. Lucille McClane's sanitarium.
"Well, neither of us is going to get much sleep, then," he told her as he stooped and dragged off his trousers. Phyllis's eyes widened with delight. The spicy excitement of their clandestine and unexpected cohesion, together with the danger both had run from Andrea Morrow's sudden attempt to intrude on their intimacy, had given Edward McClane a second vigorous hard-on which certainly was in need of alleviation.
"All right, Phyl," he told her in a soft voice, "don't say you didn't ask for it, only this time, you're going to do it my way."
"I'll do it any way you like, darling. Of course you found out I wasn't a virgin, but Andrea is, I can tell you that. Do you really go for her?"
He had reached the side of the bed now, and Phyllis had taken her hand away from her pussy and boldly put it out to fondle and squeeze his cock, while she stared at him, her gray-green eyes luminous and teasing.
"She's a spoiled child in many ways," he replied curtly, "and I'm beginning to think you are, too."
"That may be true, but at least I've got my full growth and I've been where it's at. Andrea hasn't. But then, I'll tell you something confidentially. She's been very unhappy with her dad this last couple of years, and so for that matter has her mother. I was sorry I got in there last year, but I had my own grief when my folks were taken from me, and I was all upset about whether it was worthwhile to go on with college and maybe do post-graduate work or maybe get a job and pull entirely out of San Diego and leave all those things behind me."
It was an odd conversation, he reflected, for a motel room. Phyllis Cantwell wasn't nearly so scatterbrained as he had originally thought and there was no doubt that she was an exceptionally passionate, while at the same time a very frustrated, young woman. What she had just told him about Andrea confirmed his suspicions: Janice's only child was not much more than a prick teaser who needed taming and taking down a couple of pegs from the pedestal on which she had put herself. However, he was willing to concede that pedestal might well be a defense mechanism to cover up a good deal of unhappiness and neurotic frustration because of her quarrel with her dead father. Don Morrow had apparently altered Janice Fulbright's character and personality in many ways, and he apparently had done a job as well on the child that he and Janice had created from their loins....
All this while, Phyllis Cantwell continued to fondle his prick with her slim fingers, her other hand still at the back of her head, sitting up, arrogantly looking at him, her titties rising and falling with sweetly rhythmic invocation to their night of fusion. And her eyes were dancing now, for she was obviously pleased at having stolen a march on her cousin. "What are you waiting for, then?" she challenged.
He bent down, both of his hands cupping her big round firm satiny titties, and kissed her hard on the mouth. With a little whimpering sigh, Phyllis Cantwell clutched him passionately around his shoulders and drew him down to her. Her thighs made way for him, as he knelt between them, his stiff cock bobbing formidably in its rampant readiness to assuage both their needs, for Edward McClane was furiously in rut again. Into his mind there had leaped the prospect, the vivid image, of how he would act as a kind of proxy father and chasten Andrea Morrow's belligerent and defiant spirit. But there was one thing he wanted to know for sure.
"Phyl, did Andrea actually call her mother before we started out and tell her where we were going?"
"Of course she did. I was in the phone booth with her when she made the call. And the way she talked to Janice made me want to slap her, honestly it did, Bob. You know, it's awfully funny, but I just can't place you. Here you come out of nowhere, and yet you seem to know so much about Andrea's mother and father, yet to the best of my knowledge they never mentioned your name while I was living with them." She was staring at him while her arms were linked around his shoulders, and he was lowering himself to plunge his dagger deep into the warm tight furrow which she so eagerly offered.
"It's a long story, Phyl. I knew her mother years ago. And her father only casually. They wouldn't have much reason to remember me. Right now, though, I'm much more interested in you."
"That's good," Phyllis sighed, as she wriggled a little and spread her legs still more." Shove it right into me, I'm dying for it. Ohh, Bob, I don't care who you are or what you are, you can take care of me. I always did go for an older man anyway. The kids in college just want to put it in and take it out and to hell with you. Do you know that you gave me the best fuck I ever had?"
"You sound as if you were practically a pro, Phyl, and you know you're not. Why don't you quit trying to be so smart and brassy, and just let yourself go and shut up for a change?" he said roughly, for he was stirred more than he cared to admit. His prick was now nuzzling at the lips of Phyllis's twitching pink vulva, while she arched and squirmed her bottom, uttering tiny little whimpering sighs, to lure him deeply into her. His hands were kneading those rich melons of her titties, and now his mouth silenced her protest, as she moaned under him while he stretched himself out atop her. With a single dig, he felt himself in her to the balls, and her buttocks jerked and squirmed frantically in the rapturous joy of that cohesion and penetration. Then she twisted her mouth away from his and panted, "Oh do me good, hurt me, make scream!"
"Oh no, Phyl, unless you want Andrea to hear you and come barging in here again," he chuckled thickly. "I'm going to do it my way, this time, you hear me? Now shut up and fuck!"
Now his hands reached under her buttocks, gripping them solidly, sinking his fingers into the resilient warm satin of her milky buttocks, as he kept himself hilted inside her cunt. He could feel the tensing tremors of her lovewalls around his weapon, and the slow aching ecstasy of this primal unison gave him back his sense of domination and of maleness.
Swiftly Phyllis clamped her legs over his thighs, arching herself up to taste every inch of his prick deep inside the crannies of her womb. Her eyes bulged and were humid, as his lips superimposed over hers and silenced her outcry. Now her fingernails dug into his shoulders, as he began slowly to draw back and then thrust home and back and home again. Gradually she understood his rhythm; adjusting herself to it, she met him with an uplift of her naked hips, and he could feel the muscles of her bottom squirming and rippling frantically as she sought to abet his rut.
They began to rock back and forth in the delicious, langurous tempo of copulation, without insistence or haste, each now understanding the other's yearnings. He felt himself thick and hard and savagely relentless as he drew himself back to scrape the inner petals of her pussy, then slowly and masterfully dug back home to the balls, while her body shuddered and strained and lifted under him. Her nails were punishing him, but his mouth continued to silence her, for her eyes were rolling now and glassy with her lust. Sweat bead ed her forehead which was furrowed with concentration as her body gave itself furiously and rapturously to the clash of will between them. Now he began to quicken his pace, and he felt her thighs lock savagely round him, gripping him with a punitive hold that summoned all his fierce vitality for the subjugation of her quim.
She nodded to him, indicating that she wanted him to accelerate still more. But his mouth clamped over hers constantly, and now he felt the stabbing of her tongue and met it with his own. Their groans and gasps made a kind of muffled and sensual music in that room now, as Phyllis Cantwell bucked and weaved and twisted under him, straining herself to accept every inch of his delving ramrod deep into her cavern. Now her hips began to jerk wildly as she reached her climax, and he spared her nothing. Reaming her with deep eviscerating lunges, grinding his hairs to hers, he forced her into climax, while still holding back his own orgasmic outburst. Her nails excoriated him, and he knew that she had broken the skin. She tried to twist her face away, her nostrils flaring wildly, as he pursued her. Back and forth his prick thrust, tasting the glory of friction, and teaching her cunt a new awakening as once again she stiffened and jerked in climax. And this undid him, as with a stifled groan, bruising her mouth with his own, he let himself explode deep in her tender warm clenching channel.
"Oh, wow!" she breathed faintly when at last he eased from her, his eyes staring down into her flushed, contorted face, "Are you something, Bob! Andrea isn't going to get so near as a hundred feet of what you've got to make a girl happy," she sighed and shook her head, then dreamily closed her eyes. "Let's go to sleep just like this."
"All right, but I'm going to set the alarm fifteen minutes earlier so you can dress and sneak out of here and go out for breakfast. There's a coffee shop, and you'd better get to it and be there by the time Andrea starts waking up and coming around, or there'll be trouble."
"That I don't want to happen, I want you all to myself in Vegas, lover. Oh darling, that was really the best fucking I ever had."
"Go to sleep," he said hoarsely as he reached to the night table and turned out the lamp, and stretched out beside her, after first adjusting the little alarm clock near his side of the bed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When the alarm rang, Edward McClane sat up quickly, his heart thudding wildly. Then, rousing from torpor which the furious sexual union with Phyllis Cantwell had procured, he reached over and shut off the clock. The lovely naked brunette lay sprawled beside him, turned on her side away from him, the covers pulled down to show the deep-hollowed sculpture of her milky back. There was a tiny little mole an inch and to the right of her chinkbone, and he bent his head and kissed it, tonguing it, Phyllis moaned, rolled over towards him, blinked her eyes and smiled at him: "What a lovely way to wake up, Bob darling!"
"You'd better get your clothes on and out to that restaurant for breakfast baby," he warned. "We've got a lot of driving to do. And you've got to think up a good yarn to explain to Andrea what kept you out all night."
"It really doesn't matter. She's bound to figure that I stayed here with you, lover," Phyllis reached for his prick and began to fondle it.
"Now now, baby! Otherwise we'll never get to Vegas."
"Oh, all right, you old spoilsport you!" she giggled as she swung her long lovely legs to the floor and stood up, divinely naked. "Just one thing though. When we get to Vegas, you're going to be my guy, you hear?"
"I'm not about to be a bone to be fought over by two bitches in heat," he said bluntly, and Phyllis giggled again, then blushed: "Andrea should just hear you call her that. Me, I don't mind. I'm glad I was a bitch with you. It was fun, and you were real good. But so was I, wasn't I? I'll bet I'm better in bed than Andrea ever will be. She's just a teaser, as I told you."
"Teasers can be tamed and taught, as one day she'll find out," he said prophetically. Then, with a chuckle, he gave her a slap on the bottom and said, "Now get into the shower, dress and get out of here and be very quiet about it."
Luck was with him, because Phyllis Cantwell left his room only about two minutes before the buzzer rang and there was Andrea, looking daggers at him. "Where is that roommate of mine?" was the first question she asked when he let her in.
"I haven't seen her since the two of you went into that room next door last night," he calmly replied.
"That's a fine yarn! But I suppose you're too much of a gentleman to tell me that you fucked Phyllis."
"Now you're using language I hadn't expected from you, Andrea."
"There are a lot of things you won't be expecting from me, Bob. I came along on this trip to get away from that gloomy house and from my quarrel with dad and from the way Mom has been riding me for the last couple of years. I'm sick of everything. Here I thought you were a nice swinging guy, and you act like the stuffiest square there is," she said surprisingly.
For a virgin, or at least her cousin Phyllis Cantwell said she was, Andrea Morrow was really mystifying him. But then, a lot of modern girls talked about fucking and couldn't deliver when the moment of truth came round. Once he got Andrea safely into the clinic of Dr. Lucille McClane, then he could find out for sure whether she was just putting on an act or whether she really wasn't the prick-teaser he still believed her to be.
"All right, I don't see her here, but I still don't know what the hell she did all night long," Andrea irritatedly retorted," At least you can buy me breakfast. Come along, Bob." She put her arm around his, appropriating him like her own property, and marched him off to the little coffee shop to one side of the motel. As they entered, Andrea's eyes narrowed: "There she is sitting near the counter, looking cool as a cucumber-but I'll bet she didn't use that last night!"
"I wouldn't know," he chuckled. More and more, Andrea was revealing herself as quite a girl. Much more sophisticated than he had ever remembered Janice ever was; and perhaps if Janice could have had what her daughter now had in the way of amorous wisdom, all this twenty-year-long search, this frustrating and agonizing quest which had still obsessed him, wouldn't have been necessary at all.
They sat down at the counter with Phyllis, who coolly greeted him and smiled at her cousin: "Good morning, Andrea, I hope you slept well?"
"I slept alone, if that's what you want to know," the brown-haired daughter of Janice Morrow vituperatively exclaimed. "Where were you all night long?"
"I never can sleep in a new place, Andrea. I went out for a walk, and I wound up in a little grassy hedge just on the other side of the motel, it was nice and pleasant out at night so I went to sleep there."
"Your dress doesn't look that rumpled. I'll bet you're lying, Phyllis."
"You can't prove it, you know," the brunette blithely retorted as she took a sip of her coffee.
"Just you wait, Phyllis Cantwell," Andrea grumbled, "wait till we get to Vegas. I took some of my own money along from my allowance, and I'm going to buy myself something very slinky, and then we'll see if Bob here goes for you instead of for me."
"Ladies, leave me out of this," he good naturedly laughed, "We've got a long trip ahead of us so we might as well get started. If we're lucky, we might make it by late tonight, but I wouldn't count on it. Traffic is pretty heavy this time of year what with all of the vacationers around."
* * *
By late afternoon, they had crossed the California line and were heading towards the general area of Billings, Montana. Edward McClane was a little wary, but fortunely neither Phyllis nor Andrea had ever made this trip by car and so they didn't know what road he was taking, the road that would ultimately lead them to Craston and the strange clinic of his veterinarian sister, Dr. Lucille McClane....
As night fell, he decided that there was perhaps another fifty miles of driving, but the night was warm and pleasant and there wasn't any need to rush. He had bought a couple of blankets in a little Army surplus store right next to the Hertz agency where he'd rented the Chevie, and so he proposed that they make camp for the night. They'd stopped along the way about an hour ago, at a drive-in hamburger joint patronized by truckers and had their supper. Both girls seemed a strangely quiet, but from time to time Andrea crossly glanced at her cousin, though the older brunette pretended not to notice. He found a stretch of grassy plain off the main highway, protected by several boulders, drove the car up the highway and behind the boulders, and then unfolded the blankets and laid them on the ground. "It it's not so far, why don't we keep on driving? Vegas ought to be terrific about two or three in the morning," Andrea eagerly proposed.
"Because it's been a long tiring day, Andrea, and coming in that time in the morning it would be difficult to get hotel reservations. We want to come in there in the morning, get ourselves some clothes and then look presentable so that we can get some good accommodations in a first-class hotel," he glibly explained.
He gave the girls the two blankets, opened the trunk of the Chevie, and discovered an old blanket which would do fine for him. He put his near the car, about thirty feet away from the two girls, and fell asleep almost immediately.
But he was wakened about two hours later by what he first believed to be the sound of two cougars or coyotes scrapping. And he sat up, blinking his eyes to accustom himself to the darkness, for the moon had disappeared. He saw that Phyllis and Andrea were having a hair-pulling match, rolling and tumbling on the ground, hissing and cursing like a couple of fishwives.
"What the hell is going on? How do you expect a man to sleep through all that caterwauling?" he angrily demanded as he strode toward the two combatants.
"I don't care," Phyllis panted, "she's not going to call me a chippie. I'm over twenty-one, I don't owe her anything, and if Bob wants to have me, he can without her blessing, so there!"
"I'll scratch your eyes out, you black-haired slut," Andrea snarled, ripping the bodice of her cousin's dress till the white nylon bra was exposed, sheathing in those two luscious bubbies whose resilient warmth and delicious lovebuds he had tasted so ecstatically the night before.
"Now look what you've done," he scolded Andrea. "How do you think it's going to look when we walk into a store in Vegas? They'll think we're a bunch of tramps."
"Well, isn't she?" Andrea vengefully exclaimed. At this Phyllis Cantwell lunged towards her, and again Edward McClane had to restrain the two beauties by force.
"Now cut that out! I'm going to sit up the rest of the night and make sure you two don't get into another fight. Then we'll have breakfast, and then we'll get some new clothes and find ourselves some first-class accommodations where we can start enjoying things. But I don't want anyone of this squabbling, you understand? This is my vacation, and you two aren't going to spoil it with your wrangling."
Disgustedly cursing under his breath, he folded his arms across his chest and propped himself up against the side of the car, while the two beauties went back to their blankets, not without an angry glance at each other, and finally feel asleep again....
In the morning, they stopped at still another wayside hamburger joint, and had a hearty breakfast of ham and eggs and toast and coffee. Edward McClane discovered that he had an ravenous appetite from having slept outdoors ... but his appetite wasn't entirely confined to food. He wished that Andrea had been a sounder sleeper, because he would have loved having a return engagement with Phyllis Cantwell's passionate tight moist cunt.
About twenty miles later, he turned left from the main highway down a road which was marked with a sign, "Craston-15 miles."
"This is Montana, isn't it?" Andrea suspiciously asked.
"That's true. We went from Eureka past Nampa in Idaho and we're not far from Livingston."
"But we're way west of Nevada," Andrea protested.
"That's true. I've got a sister out here. I got a call from her just after I met you girls, and she's very sick and I've got to go see her. But we'll be in Vegas by tomorrow, don't you worry. Anyway, this is certainly scenic country."
"I wish you'd told us about your sister, Bob." Phillis Cantwell said with a show of petulance. "I was just dying to get to Vegas where we could be along together."
"There you go again, Phyl, opening that yap of yours! All right Bob, we'll go see your sister but I want to keep my eyes on both of you!" Andrea angrily declared. Then, folding her arms across her bosom, she stared stonily out of the widow on her side and remained silent for the rest of the time.
Edward McClane breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad that Andrea's suspicions hadn't been too greatly roused. They should have been in Vegas long time ago, naturally, but that wasn't at all in his plans. He started up the car and kept going toward Craston. In a very few minutes, he would be in front of that stone building which housed his sister's animal hospital ... and that strange and fascinating "mating room."
Just about the time he turned off the highway, Edward McClane's sister Dr. Lucille McClane was on the phone to Murdock Melton.
"I think she's ready for you now Mr. Melton," she was saying. "She's had quite some time with Caesar, and she seems to look forward to the schedule. She doesn't protest anymore about being tied down on the apparatus to receive him. And the minute he comes whining into the room, she wriggles around just like a bitch."
"I thought so," came the husky baritone voice at the other end of the wire. "That's exactly what she is. I'll be over there in a couple of hours. Dr. McClane. You'll get the rest of your money if you've done the job you tell me you have."
"What are you going to do to your wife, though it's none of my business, Mr. Melton?"
"I think I'll keep her. Only she'll be my bitch. And just to remind her that any time she takes another look at a cowboy on my ranch, I'll buy that Caesar of yours and keep him in the barn. Maybe, if she likes him so much, she'll put on a show for me of her own accord. Be seeing you!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Edward McClane drove the rented Chevie near the driveway before the modern stone building which housed his sister's animal clinic in this foresaken little Montana town where love-thwarted Lucille McClane had taken refuge from a society which she believed had annihilated all her happiness, Andrea Morrow and Phyllis Cantwell were not speaking to each other, and each was privately explaining to him that if she had known this supposed trip direct Las Vegas would have taken such a detour, she wouldn't have gone along.
Edward McClane didn't answer. A savage exhultance arose in him as he rang the doorbell, Phyllis on one side and Andrea on the other, waiting for his sister to answer.
But to his surprise the door was opened by an ugly little hunchback, with a crooked long nose, incredibly long arms and wiry legs, and gray-matted thick hair. "Who are you?" he suspiciously demanded in a whining voice.
"I'd like to see my sister, Dr. McClane. Tell her Ed is here, if you please."
"Say now, the Doc's been expecting you, Mr. McClane! Come on in. Well, I see you've got two cute chicks with you too," the hunchback cackled. "I guess you don't know me, Mr. McClane. My name's Danny. Danny Fletcher. I work for Mr. Murdock Melton, you might say. He sent me over here to take care of Patricia-that's his wife."
"I know," Edward McClane said, making a gesture to the hunchback to be quiet. He didn't want to scare Andrea and Phyllis at the very outset.
Just then his handsome sister strode into the waiting room, in her white medical smock, white hose and white low-heeled shoes. "Edward, what a nice surprise! Oh, I see we have visitors. Danny, you better go make two rooms ready for these young ladies. Go with them, girls, Danny will show you to your quarters."
"You mean we're going to stay here and not go right on to Vegas?" Andrea sulkily demanded.
"I told you we were going to visit my sister, Andrea, but I don't expect to leave here five minutes after saying hello and goodbye to her. I'm sure, however, since you wanted to get away from San Diego anyhow, you'll find this stopover most diverting," Edward McClane ironically retorted.
Andrea Morrow shrugged, glared at her cousin, Phyllis Cantwell, and then followed the little hunchback as he hobbled down the corridor.
Dr. Lucille McClane smiled at her brother. "I see you had good hunting, Edward."
"Indeed I have. That brown-haired girl, the one who thought we shouldn't have come to visit you, happens to be the daughter of Janice. The other one is her cousin, about three years older, and quite an independent-minded young woman."
"Then I suppose you would like me to subject them to some of the same kind of punishment that Patricia Melton has been enduring lately."
"Just Andrea. And not too cruelly. I'm sure she's a virgin, but Phyllis isn't."
"You made sure of that, eh, my dear brother?"
"I did. Just the same, Phyllis is a little arrogant too, and it won't hurt to tame her down a bit. Who's this Danny, though? He gave me quite a start."
"It's a long and sad story, Edward dear. You see, Murdock Melton, though he's very wealthy and eccentric rancher and a power in his own right, isn't exactly beyond the pale of mortal sin. He's tried to cover it up for years that Danny is really his brother and Danny's taken the name of Fletcher as part of the scheme. And I guess when he found his wife cheating with his foreman, his mind snapped a little and he decided that besides punishing her with a dog, he'd let his deformed brother enjoy her before she goes back to the ranch. Danny has been living there all this time in a little cottage way up in the hills about two miles from the ranch, so Patricia never saw him," Dr. Lucille McClane explained.
"And Patricia, how's she coming along?"
"You'd be surprised, Edward. I could write a treatise on human reactions to animal virility," his sister mockingly retorted. "She's a proper bitch, and I've earned my money. Murdock is going to be very generous. He wants to buy Casear for another five hundred dollars. But I think I'll ask him for a thousand. He certainly has the money. And she takes to the dog, no two ways about it. Every time he comes in there for his mating schedule, she starts to squirm about on her bare knees and to whimper, and the moment she feels his penis thrust into her sheath, she begins to buck and arch and twist her hips as if she couldn't get enough. She's an insatiable nymphomaniac, I'm afraid. I'm going to use Danny on her tonight, right after Caesar. I'm sure neither of them will mind."
"I plan to stay here for a little while, Lucille, naturally I'll pay my way. As for the experiments, I think we'll let both Andrea and Phyllis watch Patricia with Danny and Caesar, but I don't think I'll go as far as using Caesar on the girls. What I'm really after is Janice Morrow. After a few days, I plan to get in touch with her and see if I can't get her up here."
"I know you're bitter, Edward. But I don't want you to get in any trouble. Kidnapping is a serious offense."
"They came of their own free will. They wanted to come to Vegas with me," he patiently explained. "And besides, Phyllis Cantwell has already been into my room to make love to me, so you can see there's no coercion at all. What there is, I'm rather flattered to observe, is a kind of rivalry between the two girls. Even if Andrea is a virgin, she seems to be very jealous of Phyllis's hold on me, and I rather think she'll try to make a play of her own to win me away from her cousin. It's very flattering, as I say, but she needs to be taught a very severe lesson in discipline."
"They're both very lovely, Edward I'd like to enjoy them myself."
"There's no reason why you can't, Lucille. As a matter-of-fact, I think Lesbian love will break down Andrea's haughty and selfish conceit and get her ready for a man. In a way, I want her very much, because she is born from Janice's lovely body, and her own body is so delicious."
"When do you want to start with the girls?"
"Do you have a room from which they could see the room with Caesar?"
"As a matter-of-fact, I do. It's right behind and to the left, you weren't in there yet. We'll put them in there together, there's one-way glass panel. I think we'll have Danny tie them up and probably undress them so that they will be excited. Then we'll allow them to make love together. That would be a good plan. After that, I can come in there and scold them and punish them for naughtiness, and things will work out of their own accord," Dr. Lucille McClane eagerly explained....
The private rooms which Andrea and Phyllis occupied were very much like hospitals rooms, clean and antiseptic, with metal beds, tiled floors and stone walls. Andrea was more and more vexed at the long delay and was very rude when Dr. Lucille McClane knocked and entered with a tray of lunch. "I hope you're not planning on a long visit, Dr. McClane." she said impatiently. "I'd really like to be in Vegas tonight, if you want to know the truth. Are you a vet or something?"
"Yes I am, Andrea. I've been out here for some years now. There's a great deal of work with the farmers, and occasionally some scientific experiments which keep me busy so that I don't miss the big city. You'd best eat your lunch. It's very nourishing beef stew. The air out here gives you an appetite."
"Beef stew," Andrea sniffed, "big deal! Here I was looking forward to a steak with mushrooms or Lobster Thermidor in Vegas!"
Well, eventually you can enjoy that," the tall slim woman remarked with a thin-lipped smile.
The beef stew contained a mild sedative which made both girls feel drowsy after lunch, and accordingly both napped. They were awakened by a knock on their door about four o'clock that afternoon, and Dr. Lucille McClane smilingly explained, "My brother would like you to come along and watch one of my experiments."
Phyllis and Andrea looked at each other, still spitefully alienated. "When are we leaving for Vegas?" the younger brunette angrily demanded.
"I guess Edward can tell you that. I don't have any hold on him, you see," the handsome mature veterinarian explained. "Come along, if you please."
"I guess Edward can tell you that. I don't have any hold on him, you see," the handsome mature veterinarian explained. "Come along, if you please."
She led them down the corridor, and then they turned again, and she unlocked a metal door which was to one side of the famous corridor which led to that "mating room" in which poor Patricia Melton was still strapped naked to the "cradle of love," which Danny Melton had facetiously nicknamed it. The beautiful sophisticated wife of Murdock Melton was still naked, as she had been since Edward McClane had seen her there with the Great Dane Caesar. Her mouth was lax, her eyes dull, and her body glistened with sweat. It was marked with the claw marks from the Great Dane's paws, and her flesh twitched nervously as she crouched there with her buttocks up and extended, the pink moist cleft of her cunt offered like an overripe fig.
"This way, girls," Dr. McClane urged. Unsuspectingly, Andrea and Phyllis entered, and the white-gowned veterinarian slipped inside and closed the door behind her. Danny and Edward McClane were waiting there.
"What's this all about?" Phyllis demanded, a little uneasy now.
"Lucille, you and Danny take care of Andrea, and I'll handle Phyllis," he ordered.
Phyllis Cantwell uttered a cry of consternation as she saw her lover come towards her and then seize her by the wrists. She tried to flee, but it was already too late. In a few moments, he had torn off her green rayon frock, reducing her to nylon bra and panties, garterbelt, her flesh-colored nylons and pumps, and dragged her over to the rear wall of the room. The floor was tiled, and the room was bare except for a long low bench to which were affixed buckling straps, and a high, heavy, wooden footstool with padded, leather top to whose legs there were also fixed sets of buckling straps.
"What are you doing to me? What does this mean? Bob, for God's sake-wait a minute!" Phyllis Cantwell cried. "Your sister's Dr. Lucille McClane ... then how can your name be Bob Murray?"
"It isn't, my dear," he said coldly. "It happens to be Edward McClane."
"My God! Andrea, this dirty little hunchback is tearing my clothes-and this woman-what are they going to do to us?" Andrea Morrow cried, as she struggled with her two tormentors.
"I was once very much in love with Andrea's mother," Edward McClane told the panting, horrified brunette. "She jilted me for Don Morrow, and I've never forgotten. Now this is my revenge."
"But why are you going to hurt me too, when you and I were lovers?" Phyllis groaned. "Oh please, you're hurting my wrists-what are you going to do-oh no, why are you putting me down over that footstool-stop it-oh Bob, please-I mean-Oh my God, won't someone explain all this to me?"
But Edward McClane had overcome the lovely brunette's struggles and forced her to bend down over the footstool, at once buckling a strap over her waist, and then, crouching down, making her wrists and ankles fast with the sets of straps at both sides of the footstool.
In this pose, her delicious bottom was projected upwards and out, and the thin nylon panties clung lasciviously to those contours, shaping out every lovely cranny and curve.
Meanwhile Danny and Edward McClane's sister had overcome Andrea's furious revolt, and now she found herself strapped down on a bench, face down, her arms drawn far ahead of her and her legs straddled, ankles and wrists bound by buckling straps.
Dr. Lucille McClane moved over to the wall and touched a button. Instantly a panel rolled away, disclosing a wide thick glass window. It was, of course, of one-way glass, and it looked directly into the "mating room" where Caesar in a few minutes was to couple with the naked young wife of Murdock Melton.
Andrea, because she fought like a tigress, angered Dr. Lucille McClane, and found herself with her red minidress torn off and reduced to her charcoal-brown pantie-hose and nylon bra. Her open toe sandals were kicked off in her scuffle with her tormentors, and as she lay on the bench, her ample, rounded, sinuously creased bottomglobes attracted Dr. Lucille McClane's sadistic attentions; the handsome, mannish, bobbed-haired sister of Edward McClane raised her right hand and brought it down smartly twice on each bottomsummit, making Andrea squeal with indignation and struggle frantically at her bonds.
"You just wait, you'll pay for this!" she panted hoarsely. "They give you the gas chamber for kidnapping! I don't know what you're up to, but I thought there was something funny that neither Mom or Dad ever mentioned a Robert Murray! You coward, to bring us all this way and to lie to us and then to take it out on us because my mother wouldn't go for you!" she directed this invective towards Edward McClane who stood watching her, his eyes sparkling with lust.
Danny cackled, "Just leave me here awhile with them, Doc, Lucille, I'll make them sing a different tune, I will!"
"All in good time, Danny," Dr. Lucille McClane retorted. "Go push that button over on the side of the wall."
Grumbling, he reluctantly hobbled over to the wall and did so. Immediately a wooden panel which had been fitted into the stones slid away, revealing the one-way glass partition which looked directly into the "mating room."
Both Andrea and Phyllis uttered simultaneously cries of stupefaction at the sight of the naked woman on all fours, her neck in the pillory yoke, in the obscene posture which yielded out all her sexual parts.
"Now it's time for Caesar," Dr. Lucile McClane reflected as she glanced at her wristwatch. "Do you want to come along, Edward?"
He nodded, shuddering with desire. He and the hunchback followed the white-smock-clad perverse veterinarian out of the room, and the door locked behind them, leaving Andrea and Phyllis to their unknown fate.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Alone in their soundproofed "guest room" (which was more nearly like a prison cell, because the only door to it could be locked from the outside and there were no windows save a narrow opening in the stone over which two heavy bars were fixed from the outside), Andrea Morrow and Phyllis Cantwell stared incredulously at the wide one-way glass panel which looked into that sinister room where naked Patricia Melton knelt in her yoked contrivance which posed her for coitus with the Great Dane.
"Oh my God, Andrea, I've got you into something dreadful," Phyllis Cantwell panted, "Can you ever forgive me?"
"It's crazy," Andrea gasped, shaking her head. "But I guess it serves me right for being so hateful after what Dad and I quarreled about, to go off like this with a stranger when I thought we were going to Vegas!"
"They've got a different kind of fun in mind for us, I'm afraid, Andrea. I'm sorry. And to think that I went for that fellow who called himself Bob Murray-his name's Edward McClane? Isn't it?"
"But the funny thing is that Mom never mentioned him either. Of course I wasn't born when she knew him, 'cause she went ahead and married Dad so I couldn't possibly know anything. And she never talked about there being any other guy before Dad," Andrea avowed.
"Oh God, look!" Phyllis gasped.
Doctor Lucille McClane had just led the Great Dane, Caesar, into the tiled room. Seeing his prey, ready for him again, the huge dog barked joyously, and naked Patricia Melton whimpered and squirmed, but it would seem that her buttocks arched out and up as if wantonly offering her pink gaping cunt to the bony red shaft of the animal.
"That hunchback gives me the creeps!" Andrea gasped. "My God, they're going to use that dog on her-I've read about such things, but I've never seen them! Who is she, and what has she done to be treated like this? Do you realize, Phyl, that the pair of them might just be insane? And here we are at their mercy, hundreds of miles away from Mom! And to think that I was jealous that you and that horrible man went off and fucked-you did fuck didn't you?"
"I guess you may as well know the worst, Andrea. Yes, we did. I-I did sneak out of our room at the motel and go to Bob's-I mean Ed's-room. I got up earlier so I could go to the coffee shop and pretend to be out all night so you wouldn't guess." Phyllis Cantwell confessed. "But I wish I hadn't now. Oh nolook, I can't believe it!"
For the hunchback had taken the leash of the Great Dane and led the animal forward towards the naked, shuddering and crouching woman, who had performed the role of she-bitch all these days and nights. He let the dog's muzzle prod against Patricia Melton's gaping pussy, and the long pink tongue of the animal flicked out and tickled the inflamed rims of that yawning cleft.
"Ohhhhh-oh Caesar, darling," Patricia Melton huskily moaned, "I want you, oh put it into me, put that big hard long thing into me right now!"
Edward McClane turned to his sister. "My God," he muttered, "you really have trained her to be a bitch, haven't you?"
"It was always there latent in her nature, Edward. But it's an interesting scientific experiment. I've been making films and recordings for Mr. Melton. He wants one of Danny too. Do you think the girls in the other room are watching?"
"I'm sure they are. But they're tied down so, how do you expect them to get loose and make love to one another?" Edward McClane asked.
"Don't worry. I'll go in there myself and let one of them go, and she can free the other. Then we can watch them. You see, Edward, there is a reflecting one-way mirror over the left side of the one they've got and we can watch them without anyone suspecting when the time comes," his handsome mannishly bobbed sister retorted.
Now with a joyous "Woof!" Caesar pawed the air, then standing on his hind legs, raked his front paws over the bowed upper back of the naked rancher's wife who uttered a cry and arched herself even more lasciviously to offer juncture. The cackling hunchback knelt down now, and took hold of the dog's bony penis, stroking it until the red glistening long and crooked-looking shaft was in full erection. Then carefully he guided it towards the open fig of Patricia Menton's cunt hole, and with another joyous yap, the Great Dane lunged forward, impaling its naked captive-mate.
A raucous moan escaped Patricia Melton's parted lips as she closed her eyes, then lifted her head, her titties panting wildly as a feverish spasm took hold of her. She began actually to buck and to wave and to jerk her hips in unison with the dog's accelerated cadence of coital thrusting, and Edward McClane felt his own prick stiffen savagely at that obscene, unnatural, yet hypnotically compelling sight.
"Oh, look, Phyl!" the lovely brown -haired daughter of Janice Morrow exclaimed, her voice breaking with the stress of mingled emotions, "How dreadful! That huge beast's thing-is digging into that poor girl's pp-pussy! It must hurt dreadfully-look how long and bony it is!"
Phyllis Cantwell, helplessly draped over the whipping stool with her wrists tightly strapped and buckled at the front end, and her ankles equally pinioned on the other side, the strap around her waist forcing out the jouncy amplitude of her nylon-encased bottomglobes, had to lift her head to watch, since both the whipping stool and the whipping bench were placed directly in front of the one-way glass panel through which these lovely cousins could view the incredible scene that was taking place.
"She doesn't seem to be suffering, though," Phyllis observed after a moment, her widened eyes fixing intently on the spectacle. "She seems to be enjoying it."
"Oh no, good Lord, how can she, Phyl dear?" Andrea panted. "Oh, what horrible cowardly criminal to get us here in a place like this."
"I went along with you to keep you from making a fool of yourself, honey, so I'm just as guilty as you are of having no sense," Phyllis Cantwell gloomily retorted. "We'll just have to play it their way, I'm afraid. But I hope to God that they aren't keeping that dog for us-brrrr! Thanks, I'd rather have that Bob Murray or Edward McClane or whatever his name is than that monster of a Great Dane!"
"There!" He's had his climax, you can tell by the way he's jiggling about and his head tilting back-oh it's just dreadful," Andrea squealed.
Now they saw an even more incredible sight. The cackling hunchback Danny, the half-witted brother of Murdock Melton, husband to this faithless young wife whose punishment had been the coupling on this "fucking cradle" with Caesar, put on a pair of gloves which the handsome svelte, gray-haired smock-clad sister of Edward McClane handed him and then, kneeling down, carefully disengaged the dog's organ from Patricial Melton's oozing love-crevice.
This done, he took hold of the leash of the huge animal, and, crooning to it, led it back and out of the sinister chamber back to its kennel.
When he returned, his face was flushed, his eyes sparkling and narrowed with lust. In the other room, the two cousins watched as if transfixed to see him come forward with a damp cloth and sponge Patricia Melton's pussy and the interstice between her gapingly distended bare buttocks. Then, dragging down the zipper of his fly, he bared his own huge, long, angrily inflamed organ, and, sinking his claw-like fingers in Patricia Melton's squirming, naked buttocks, gouged his cock where Caesar's organ had just visited!
Now he began to fuck the young wife of the vindictive rancher with prodigiously deep digs, rapidly, cramming himself into her, cackling and gasping and grunting as his own rut increased, while Edward McClane and his sister watched with the same intent and silent concentration on what was taking place.
It was done. Patricia's body arched and spasmed, for she had been so lasciviously whetted by the dog's coitus that the hunchback's rape of her had produced the longed-for orgasm, and she howled and moaned and groaned and sobbed as her body jerked and twisted on the infernal apparatus which kept her couching on all fours and proffering her to whomever might desire the vistas of her cunt and asshole.
Now, at Lucille McClane's bidding, her brother walked over to a wall and touched a button, so that the panel slid back to hide the one-way glass and deprived Andrea and her cousin Phyllis of the spectacle.
"Do you want to take over now?" His voice was trembling with anticipation. "I want to watch, of course. My real vengeance will come when Andrea's mother agrees to come here in return for the freedom of her insolent and overbearing daughter."
"Leave that to me, dear. We shall let Danny enjoy himself with Patricia, as a kind of reward to the little bitch for being so docile." Doctor Lucille McClane bent down and patted Patricia's contorted and sweat and tear-stained face as she might that of a good dog, a faithful pet. "You may watch if you like, while I introduce myself to your little friends."
So saying, she left the tiled chamber and unlocked the door to the room in which Phyllis Cantwell and Andrea Morrow were confined.
Under her medical smock, she was naked as before, and this time she was quivering with pent-up lust. A few days ago, because of her insatiable desire for sexual release, wildly roused by Patricia Melton's coupling with Caesar, she had seated herself on a high footstool in front of the apparatus to which Patricia Melton was yoked, and, lifting up the young woman's face by plunging her fingers in the captive's hair she had compelled Patricia to gamahuch her on pain of a good flogging, after which Caesar would be taught to sodomize her instead of thrusting his bony red weapon into the "natural sheath."
Yet the profanation of this beautiful young woman by the Great Dane had somehow marred the carnal delight she had anticipated with Patricia Melton. That was why, now, she longed to amuse herself with these delicious, fresh new victims.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Edward McClane stood in a corner of tiled room watching the hunchback possess naked Patricia Melton, but his thoughts were with his sister who had entered the room where Phyllis Cantwell was bound over the tall leather-topped stool and Andrea Morrow lay stretched out flat on her stomach, on the low wide whipping bench, wrists and ankles bound, her face still lifted and congealed in horror at what she had seen not only of the unfortunate naked young wife of the vindictive rancher being mated with the Great Dane and then by the hunchback, but by the realization that the man with whom she had so jauntily gone off on this impulsive trip which was to have culminated in Las Vegas, actually had no love for her but was instead an agent of terrible and ancient vengeance.
For when the door swung open and Dr. Lucille McClane appeared clad only in her smock-like uniform and sandals, Andrea was terribly and unreasoningly afraid.
"What are you going to do to us? Oh my God, don't hurt us! It's not fair!"
"My brother does not intend to do you any great harm, Andrea," said the veterinarian with a faint, mocking smile. "Through you he'll find your mother at last after all these years and be united with her. I'm sure that when she learns where you are, she'll come here to beg him to release you, and then he can have his vengeance. And perhaps, it's my guess that he'll discover that all this searching was in vain."
"What do you mean by that?" Andrea gasped.
"Revenge is an empty thing at best, especially when it's twenty years old, my dear," the handsome mannish spinster retorted. "It's very natural, because Edward was so madly in love with your mother, that he felt cruelly hurt when she turned to another man and then disappeared. Now that he met you quite by chance, he's been carried back to the time when your mother was as young as you are now, when he felt that she should have chosen him. And my guess is that without his knowing it, perhaps your mother would have chosen him if she had had another chance."
"I-I don't know about that. I only know that Mom hasn't been-wasn't very happy with Dad the last few years. Dad's dead now."
"We both know that. But he's told me that you're still very arrogant and self-willed, Andrea, and these are traits which will harm you in the future. You're going to be chastised now, and perhaps it's a kind of purge for the sake of my brother's long and dreary search for the two of you. Tell yourself that this punishment should have been given to you by your parents when you were a child, but that now it may save you some hurt in the future."
With this, bending to the startled brunette, Dr. Lucille McClane ripped down her pantie hose and ex posed the luscious quivering velvety-sheened bare buttocks of Janice Morrow's voluptuous young daughter.
Then, drawing up a low footstool, Dr. Lucille McClane seated herself and, posing her left hand on the small of Andrea's back, began to spank those resilient hillocks with her rubber-gloved hand. The shame and the humiliation made Andrea groan and sob, closing her eyes and tightening her muscles in resistance. But other reiterated slaps which fell remorselessly and hardly with any pause between them, seemingly endless and without count, she began at last to squirm and to groan and to sob aloud, "Oww-Ohh, oh please, stop it! You're hurting me, I tell you! Oh please, no more!"
But Dr. McClane's nostrils flared and shrank and her eyes were narrowed and glowing as she contemplated Andrea's redding, weaving and contracting bare buttocks. And she concluded with a dozen hard slaps which drew wailing cries and tearful pleas from the brown-haired sufferer, then at last peremptorily rose and moved over towards Phyllis Cantwell.
It was now the brunette's turn to be chastised, and she shivered and set her teeth as she felt the capable, deft rubber-gloved fingers of the perverse veterinarian insert under the waistband of her panties and, drawing them down to the tops of her thighs, bare her gloriously compact, oval-shaped buttocks which at once clenched in instinctive defense against this humiliating exposure.
Leaning forward and with her left hand on the small of Phyllis's back, Dr. Lucille McClane proceeded to smack that temptingly provocative, jutting milky posterior as smartly, stingingly and lengthily as she had Andrea's. Three years older and therefore the more humiliated by this juvenile correction, Phyllis Cantwell set her teeth and closed her eyes and strained at her bonds. But the tensioning of her muscles and the projection of her buttocks upwards and out as she was draped so ignominiously over the punishment stool accentuated the stinging heat which this seemingly banal spanking inflected in her tender flesh, and soon she too began to groan and gasp and to squirm uncomfortably.
Dr. Lucille McClane kept on without pause, her eyes glittering, but now her hands seemed to linger a moment after each slap, as if in caress, while the vividly streaked and shaming crimson buttocks twitched and palpitated in the most voluptuous manner conceivable.
At last Dr. Lucille McClane stopped, breathless, her bosom swelling vibrantly against the tight thin smock which was her only garment. Tears of humiliation and discomfort welled up in Phyllis's eyes, but she congratulated herself that at least she had not cried out for mercy as her younger cousin had done.
However, her relative triumph was to be short-lived.
Dr. Lucille McClane went at once to the whipping bench, and unstrapped the still sobbing Andrea, then threatened her, "Now then, my girl, you'll take off your bra and you'll turn over onto your back, unless you want me to call Danny in and perhaps my brother to assist you."
"Oh no! I-I'll do what you want-only please don't hurt me anymore, please don't spank me!" Andrea childishly entreated.
Hastily, she rolled over onto her back, only to wince and cry out at the discomfort it caused her throbbing bottom, a juvenile reaction which the perverse veterinarian noticed with a mocking little smile of sensual anticipation. Hastily she fumbled with the fasteners of the bra, and let it drop to the floor, and was naked save for her rumpled and rucked-down pantie-hose. Immediately, Dr. Lucille McClane strapped her wrists and ankles to the ends of the bench, and this time Andrea Morrow found herself straddled and stretched, her panting voluptuous young breasts exposed, the furry cleft of her virgin cunt as well, in that coldly clinical and forbidding room in which a bright light blazed down from the ceiling to intensify the sheen of her tawny flesh.
Now Dr. McClane went over to the whipping stool, unstrapped Phyllis Cantwell, and, drly, observing that if the older girl did not obey her implicitly, she would summon her brother and the hunchback, compelled Phyllis Cantwell to march over to the whipping bench and lay herself down in reverse over Andrea's shuddering body so that her mouth was fixed over Andrea's cunt while her own voluptuous black-thatched pussy hovered just over Andrea's panting lips.
Using the same set of straps which had bound Phyllis to the whipping stool, the veterinarian now made the mature brunette secure on the whipping bench, so that the two naked young cousins were pinioned together in the attitude of soixante-neuf.
Then, taking down a slim rattan cane with a crooked handle from a metal hook set into the wall near the bench, she calmly remarked, "Now then, Miss Cantwell, I am going to give you fifteen cuts, spaced at about a minute apart. You will begin at once to use your lips and tongue on your cousin where you can imagine, while she in turn will do the same for you."
"I won't do such a vile, dirty thing!" Andrea stormed tearfully.
"Oh yes you will, my dear. Because if you don't, although Phyllis at the moment will receive all the cuts from my good swishy cane, when it's over, and you have refused to comply with my order, I will leave you here for the hunchback to punish you. He loves to whip a girl's breasts, Andrea, and after he has whipped them he loves to suck them while he is cradling himself between her legs. You saw what he was doing to that sinful young woman in the other room, I take it? All right, the same fate will be yours, unless you do to Phyllis precisely what she is going to do to you. Are you ready now? Very well, Miss Cantwell, I'm going to begin."
Phyllis Cantwell uttered a shuddering cry and looked up, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling with tears of humiliation, but the dominatress calmly raised the cane. With a gasp, Phyllis plunged her mouth against her cousin's cunt, and, shuddering violently, closed her lips in a trembling kiss to Andrea's virgin pussylips.
Swish-thwack the cane leaped down to sting across both buttocks at the very top of the hips. The compact, firm, already crimsoned bottomovals jerked violently and Phyllis could not help uttering a strident: "Oww-Ooooohh, it hurts, it hurts!" while her body vibrated and jerked convulsively under the ferocious lash. The handspanking had tenderized her naked behind to the point where this first and hitherto unknown sensation imparted by the rattan implement caused an indescribable burning heat which spread rapidly over the entire bottom, though it was concentrated in that welt which at once sprang up against the background of crimson which the veterinarian's gloved hand had painted so effectively.
"You'd better begin, Andrea," the dominatress warned as she glanced at her wristwatch. "In forty seconds your cousin is going to get her second cut, and the time will go more quickly than you think. Begin at once, you insolent girl, or I'll give Danny this good cane to whip your breasts with, yes, and the insides of your legs and right between them too if you don't obey at once!"
Agonized by this fearful threat which she had no doubt the perverse veterinarian would carry out, Andrea humbled herself, and, with a gasp of shame, thrust her trembling lips to her older cousin's pussy. Phyllis shuddered and closed her eyes again, but she could not prevent a violent contraction of her muscles at the insidious caress which was the first she had ever felt from a female.
The second blow fell, about half an inch lower down, across both oval cheeks of her shuddering bot torn. Phyllis Cantwell arched herself against her bonds, her hips riding, her eyes opening very wide and glistening with tears as her lips formed a plaintive "Oh!" emitting a muffled groan of pain from the blazing fire that had savagely attacked her naked seat.
"Two," Dr. Lucille McClane counted.
To distract herself, to forget the shame of her body bared and struck as a child's would be, to forget the ignominy of feeling her naked flesh press and shiveringly rub against her younger cousin's body, Phyllis began to gamahuch Andrea. She had never before attempted any Lesbian embrace, but intuitively she understood that the lips and tongue applied to the vulva and within it the exquisitely sensitive nodule of the clitoris, would bring a female to a rapturous state of sexual excitement. But she had not reckoned with the ingenious double threat which Dr. Lucille McClane had made and which had thoroughly convinced the younger and more impressionable Andrea to comply lest she be given up to the savage cruelty and rut of the hideous little hunchback. And so Andrea meanwhile thrust her tongue boldly between the lips of Phyllis Cantwell's slit, attacking the clitoris at once, and the mature young brunette groaned and shuddered, unable to control the spasmodic tensionings which rippled through her thighs and buttocks.
The third slash of the cane rang out crisply and almost obscenely as it leaped across the brunette's tightening, crimsoned bottomovals. Phyllis Cantwell lifted her face, contorted with pain, and emitted a sobbing, "Oh God, Oh it hurts me!" and then she went back at once with a more feverish intensity and rapidity to gamahuching Andrea.
Both young women now, the one compelled by immediate pain, the other by the threat of what seemed to her more atrocious than the punishment she could hear being inflicted on her unwilling partner, now performed the perversely thrilling ritual of sixty-nine, and Andrea's tongue foraged deeply into Phyllis's slit, while Phyllis requited her younger brunette cousin with as eager and feverish a tribute.
Dr. Lucille McClane's body shuddered with her own secret voluptuous yearnings, as, consulting her wristwatch, she waited until the second hand had reached sixty, and then descended her right arm with a short crisp jerk of her wrist which sent the rattan cane dancing across the very middle of Phyllis Cantwell's upturned naked bottom. A long wail attested to the pain of this fourth cut, and Phyllis's body jerked and twisted convulsively while she strained at her wrists and ankle straps. Her tongue gouged wildly now, her lips kissing and slushing, as the blinding tears filled her eyes from the atrocious throbbing of those four expertly placed cuts of the flexible swishy cane. Those cuts were all the more agonizing because of the preparation of the handspanking.
By the tenth stroke, Phyllis Cantwell was almost fainting from the exquisite pain which seemed to have made her bottom swell to double its size, and she could feel each terrible ridge left by the implement, yet there was solace for her. Andrea's gouging tongue and sucking lips had drawn her to a ferocious and uninhibited orgasm, and her creamy juices flowed into her cousin's mouth, but this did not spare her from receiving the last five strokes of the cane. Twice Andrea was brought to spending by her agonized older cousin's ministrations, and as the last cut fell on Phyllis's angrily welted backside, Andrea's tongue rubbed her clitoris so wildly that Phyllis Cantwell felt herself explode again and then sink into a shuddering coma of pain that was not entirely pain, bliss that was not all bliss....
She was hardly conscious that the rubber-gloved hands of the dominatress had loosened the straps and were grasping her by the breasts and lifting her shuddering, rolling body to her feet, nor that she was laid upon the cold stone floor which at once alleviated the pangs of her flaming buttocks. Then Dr. Lucille McClane doffed her slip, and, her body still firm as a young girl's, her pussy wet with yearning, sank down upon Phyllis Cantwell's trembling nakedness and, mouth on mouth, cunt to cunt, titties to titties, her hands slipping under the buttocks she had so pitilessly welted, began to girl fuck.
Wakened by the tumult of her senses, by the blending of pain that could not be described with a rapture that was beyond name, Phyllis Cantwell only wanly struggled when opening her eyes, she saw the glittering orbs of her cruel executioner fixed intently on her tearstained, flushed face. And then with a sobbing little moan, she flung her arms around the naked, svelte body of the dominatress, and gave back frictioning rub for rub until both women deliriously in unison tasted the perverse ecstasy of Sappho's delights!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After the shattering and overpowering Lesbian seduction which Edward McClane's sister had achieved over the spanked and caned mature brunette, the dominatress rose, satiated and languorous, from that voluptuous slim, naked creamy body. Phyllis Cantwell lay still, her face twisted to one side, half conscious, from the tumultuous tidal wave that had burst within her young body. Swiftly donning her smock, the svelte and perverse veterinarian touched a buzzer at the side of the door, and in a moment there was a knock on it; opening, she admitted the hunchback Danny. She made a gesture toward the inert naked brunette, and Danny cackled softly, nodded, stooped and with his extraordinarily long and powerful arms, lifted Phyllis Cantwell as if she had been a child and carried her off to another room down the long corridor. There he left her, for he had been ordered not to touch her, though his eyes feasted greedily upon her swelling titties, and the thick, lustrous, cream-matted fur over the peak of her woman core.
Then, he returned to the room where Andrea Morrow still lay sprawled on the whipping bench, her pantie hose rucked down to her mid thighs, herself, half-conscious from the Lesbian climaxes which her older cousin had procured while under Dr. Lucille McClane's swishy cane. Her arms were drawn well beyond her head and her wrists strapped and buckled to the front legs of the whipping bench, while her straddled thighs presented the dark-brown thatched fleece of her cream-stickied pussy, her ankles equally strapped to the rear legs of the bench of her atonement.
Dr. Lucille McClane drew from the pocket of her smock a vial of smelling salts, uncorked it and passed it under the nose of the lovely young naked brunette. Andrea moaned, her eyelids blinked and then she lifted her head with a cry of terror and saw the smirking face of the gray-haired ugly hunchback peering at her.
"Oh God, what are you going to do to me now?"
"That depends on you, my dear Andrea," said the dominatress. "My brother and I are very close to each other, and I have renounced the world to live in this desolate area because animals were kinder to me than men. But he conversely has suffered for twenty years because of your mother's heartlessness. I, a woman too, begin to understand that perhaps she was not happy with her choice from what I've learned from you, Andrea. But if he knew that, the agony of soul he would endure after these twenty long and frustrating and useless years would kill him or shatter his mind forever. He's had one breakdown already and I dare not think what a second would do to him. He's a fine man, he has an excellent ability as an administrator and he's wealthy. He's still young enough to do much with his life. But you can help."
"H-how?" Andrea quavered.
"You must give yourself to him. You must tell him that you want him. After all, he's told me that to spite your mother and your dead father, you willingly came away with him a stranger, and knowing nothing about him, simply to show what a willful spoiled child you are at heart."
"That's not so-I-" Andrea began. But the svelte mannishly-bobbed-haired dominatress shook her head and interposed: "Don't try to deny it Andrea. You're still immature and you show it every time you speak or act. You were jealous of your cousin Phyllis because she made love to him. You have boys, no doubt who flock round you like bees to the honey, and it has delighted you to test your powers with them. You're what the French call an allumeuse, a teaser. Men have an even more vulgar term for it which I'll leave to' your fertile imagination. But this is one time you shan't tease my brother. Because you can restore his sanity in a sense if you will only give him a gift of yourself and become a woman through it. You'll give him back his manhood, you'll let him understand it's Janice, your mother, he is possessing when he is possessing you, and if you do that when your mother finally finds you-because I shall arrange to put you in touch with her, never fear!-Then perhaps she and he can be reunited and the twenty years will have rolled away and become today and he can be sane again and understand that all his agony had a purpose. Do you understand me?"
"You-you-want me to give myself to your brother?"
"You will do that, Andrea Morrow," came the calm voice of the dominatress, "or I will turn you over to Danny here. Not only to Danny, but also to Caesar. You saw how Caesar loved that woman in the room, didn't you?"
"Oh, no, oh please not that!"
"Then you will make a choice at once. See how Danny stares at you? He loves your breasts and your thighs, and his long strong fingers will pinch them-"
"Oh no, no, oh please don't let him touch me! I'm afraid of him! I-I'll do what you want-I'll take him instead!" Andrea panted as she raised her head to plead with the dominatress.
"Very well. You've made your choice, and it's a wise one, Andrea. You're to tell him that you want him to love you, do you understand? There is a special public address system in this room. I can listen to it in a nearby office. If I hear you deny that, I will send Danny in to replace him, do you understand that?"
Andrea nodded, too paralyzed with fear to speak. She felt the hunchback's lips drool, his fingers twist, his beady little eyes fix on her pussy, and she closed her eyes and twisted her face away with a shudder as revulsion seized her.
The door opened and Edward McClane stood there, his face that of a haunted man, pale and trembling, the face of a man who has pursued a dream throughout eternity and is at last brought face to face with it. On the bed there lay Janice's daughter, and Doctor Lucille McClane had drawn off the brunette's pantie hose, so that she was stark naked in all her voluptuous and virginal beauty. His eyes feasted on her tawny flesh, on the soft pale sensitive columns of her inner thighs, on the dark brown furry fronds which framed that virgin slit.
He wore a bathrobe and sandals, and he felt himself grow gigantic with desire.
"Andrea! Is it true what my sister tells me? That you want me? That you really meant to give yourself to me when we met in San Diego and you agreed to come with me on this trip?" he hoarsely asked.
"Y-yes-E-Edward," Andrea faltered. "B-be kind to me. I've never had a man before. Y-you know-please be kind."
"Of course my darling, my lovely Janice, my Janice made young and new and beautiful again," he muttered as he frantically drew off the bathrobe and let it fall to the floor. His prick was monstrous now with longing, and he saw the lovely haughty tearstained flushed face of Andrea Morrow, and it became in his mind's eye the face of his faithless and golden-haired Janice.
He knelt down upon the bench and bent his head down to those straddled young thighs and he began to kiss them, extending from the knees towards the groin and back again, first the left thigh and then the right while Andrea moaned squirmed, her eyes closed, her lips trembling uncontrollably, the nipples of her breasts swelling with an erogenous desire. Despite herself, fascinated and horrified as she was, she could not help being the victim of exquisite sensations which pervaded her loins and titties, made her belly shrink and shiver, made the flesh of her inner thighs twitch and the muscle-cords surge against the velvety tawny skin.
And then he was leaning over her, on his knees, his hands fondling her panting titties, and her face was scarlet as she closed her eyes again to see the furious and avid eagerness in his gaze. But his fingers were incredibly gentle with her as they nuzzled and cupped and fondled her heaving titties, then drew along her bare perspiring sides to the hips, caressing the inner thighs and the groin and not yet touching her pussy, until her very flesh yearned to have him do just that.
"Oh, oh, oh!" she moaned, her head turning from side to side.
And then he bent his head as his lips reverently pressed upon the twitching lips of her virgin vulva, and Andrea Morrow uttered a cry of inchoate desire and delight: "Oh yes, oh yes, do it to me, oh please, Edward, I want you, please do it to me, do it to me now!"
She felt his weight come down on her and she arched her body to receive it; it was new and yet intuitively she understood what she must do. She felt the hard, hot membrane of his weapon thrust against her inner thigh, rub the fleece of her cunt, and then brush against the pink and moist lips, lips moist from her cousin's gamahuching. She whimpered now, a low sound which she did not even recognize as her own as she felt his cockhead pry apart the readily opening lips of her slit and then engage within the lobby way of her canal. She felt him thrust gently and experimentally until he had found the barrier to bliss, the hymeneal seal which halted her between virginity and womanhood.
"Oh Andrea, my little lovely Andrea, I'm. going to hurt you just for a minute but I'm going to love you," he panted hoarsely.
And then she felt his fingers under her spanked bottom, pressing and pinching and squeezing, and she arched and lifted to them and then she bit her lips as she felt a sudden sharp twinge of pain.
Her maidenhead gave way, and Edward McClane thrust his prick to the hilt inside the unvirgined cunt of the daughter of his faithless beloved!
A cycle of vengeance and of retribution and of compensation, too, had come its full course ... there remained only the reunion with the source of all this anguish, the creatress of all this beauty which lay naked and shuddering under him ... Janice herself.
His left hand on a buttock, her right hand cupping one of Andrea's swelling titties, Edward McClane crushed his mouth against hers as he tasted the ineffable delight of burrowing to the hilt inside her cunthole, feeling her wombwalls clench and clamp and grip and nip and kiss his deeply inbedded ramrod.
Then very gently, once he felt that her fears were allayed, he began the slow inevitable in and out movement of fucking. And now his right hand crept down between their bodies, and his forefinger sought and found the button of her life, the clitoris, and began to frig her very delicately and lingeringly.
Andrea's head rose, her eyes wide and staring, her lips parted and trembling, her teeth chattering, as wave upon wave of sensation permeated her body.
"Oh Edward-oh God-oh it's good-it doesn't hurt any more, oh give it to me, fuck me, give it to my cunt, oh give it to my little pussy, fuck me hard, dear Edward darling!" she babbled.
His mouth silenced her in a long and passionate kiss; then, quickening his pace, his finger rubbing her clitoris back and forth into the little cowl of pussyflesh, he made her body quake and leap and answer his own surging manhood as he fucked her.
And when the final explosive fury of his climax lashed the walls of her quaking womb, Andrea Morrow arched herself against him, her head falling back, her eyes staring at the ceiling as a wordless and rapturous cry rang out to announce her transfiguration from cloying and tantalizing virginity into womanly fulfillment.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
On the afternoon following her caning, Phyllis Cantwell lay the low wide bed of the special room into which she had been taken by Edward McClane's imperious sister. Only a vague memory of the night before was left to her, for the burning anguish of the caning had been so furiously appeased by Doctor Lucille McClane's passionate Lesbian seduction of her that the mature young brunette had almost swooned away with the passionate unleashing of her own hidden de sires. Phyllis had never dreamed that she was the least bit masochistic, nor had she ever before received corporal punishment. The scalding-hot swipes of the swishy rattan across her voluptuous ovalcheeked bottom had been almost unspeakably agonizing at the outset. But then, at the very height of the pain, when it seemed that she was almost fainting away, her loins and breasts had been invaded by a veritable avalanche of passionate sensations-the subtle Sapphic artistry of the veterinarian-and as a consequence Phyllis Cantwell had abandoned herself without restraint or shame or even awareness of her own amoral behavior.
She had been given a sedative to put her to sleep for a long time, and during this time the hunchback and Dr. Lucille McClane had carried her to his room, laid her on her belly and salved her lividly wealed bottom. It was thus that she wakened, with a gasp as the stinging sensation of the cuts manifested themselves, though to be sure the pain was considerably diminished, thanks to the medicated salve which the perverse veterinarian had employed.
But to her consternation and embarrassment, her cousin Andrea was also in the same room, and in the very same bed, a huge king-sized bed which was very low and wide and which dominated the windowless room with its tiled floors and antiseptic-white stonewalls. Andrea equally had been given a sedative after her fiery surrender to Edward McClane, and she too was as naked as the day she had been born. She lay on her back, and as Phyllis turned to stare at her, the brunette discovered that lovely Andrea had a hand between her own thighs while the other cupped one of her own luscious ripe round titties.
Phyllis Cantrell, just as she had never known the ignominious burning kiss of the whip or any other flagellatory implement, had also never until last night experienced the insidious delights of girl-love. But the sight of her cousin's beautiful naked body there, so lasciviously displayed, her slim finger pressing into the pink lips of her no longer virgin vulva, caused the brunette to shiver ... a voluptuous emotion which was singularly allied to the expert caning which Dr. Lucille McClane had inflicted. For this whipping had not been given in cruelty by the beautiful mature spinster; she had coveted the slim, milky-skinned mature brunette and wished to waken her to respond to her own thwarted and pentup needs. Having participated in the scientific debauchery of Patricia Melton, having observed Danny's rutting usurpation of the faithless rancher's wife, Dr. Lucille McClane had been wildly roused. But she had not wished to sully herself with the young woman whose body had been profaned by Caesar and the hunchback, and thus she had made beautiful Phyllis Cantwell her subjugated love-slave.
But she had done better than that, and perhaps she had anticipated it. Leaving these two cousins together in the same bed naked, with each to commiserate the other, paved the way for a reconciliation between the often hostile Andrea and Phyllis.
"Ohh, where are we, Phyl?" Andrea stammered faintly as her eyelids fluttered open and she saw Phyllis staring intently at her.
"They put us in some room, honey. I-I couldn't help what I had to do last night. You know that, don't you?"
"Sure," Andrea swiftly turned onto her side towards her cousin, blushingly drawing her hand away from you, because I would have just died if they'd given me to that awful hunchback. Ohhh, your poor bottom! Those dreadful marks, on that lovely white skin of yours, Phyl! Does it still hurt terribly?"
"Well, not so much. I guess they must have rubbed some ointment or something on it. It's still stiff and tender, though."
"'Here, let me feel." Andrea's slim little hand wandered hesitantly over her cousin's jouncy, tightly spaced oval buttocks, and Phyllis shivered as the cool little palm caressed the still smarting globes. "You poor thing, I think it was horrible the way they treated you," Andrea sympathetically added.
"Thanks, Andrea honey. But I guess I had it coming," Phyllis ruefully admitted. "I was just as stupid as you in going along with somebody I didn't know from Adam."
"Well, he had more clothes on than Adam," Andrea giggled. It was contagious, and Phyllis began to laugh too, and then suddenly each girl was staring at the other with a new and wondering curiosity. Phyllis reached her left hand over to caress Andrea's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, honey, I've been a real bitch toward you. But there were times when you made me so mad," Phyllis murmured.
"I know. And I guess it wasn't true that you lost your best boyfriend to me, was it?"
"I guess not," Phyllis had to admit. "He-well, he wanted to go to bed with me and I wasn't so sure, and just about then you started giving him the eye, so he thought maybe he could score more with you."
"Well, he didn't. You know-you know what happened later last night, don't you?"
"No, I don't. I guess after Dr. McClane gave me that awful spanking, everything went blank."
"Well," Andrea blushingly admitted, "Edward-I guess it's all right to call him that-he-he had me. Because his sister told me I had to do it with him or else she'd let Danny and Caesar have me, and I didn't want that. So I haven't got any more right to tell you that you play around with fellows, because I guess I'm not a virgin anymore."
"You guess?" Phyllis giggled again. "Don't you know?"
Then again both of them laughed, and suddenly Andrea, moved by an impulse she couldn't quite define, put her lips to Phyllis's, and they shared a long and tremulous kiss.
When it ended, each of them stared feverishly at the other, and then suddenly Phyllis Cantwell turned onto her side to face her cousin and, her hands fondling Andrea's big juicy titties, confessed in a low shaking voice, "Honey, you're awfully sweet, and you're awfully lovely too. I want to cuddle you so maybe we can both forget this awful place and what's happened to us ... do you mind?"
"Uh uh," Andrea whispered, her face crimsoning with sweet embarrassment.
Very gently, Phyllis slid one of her hands down her cousin's belly and to the inner thigh, then drew it back and forth along the satiny, tawny skin. Andrea moaned a little, closing her eyes and arching herself more closely to her naked cousin. And the inevitable happened. Their pussies rubbed together, and the sensual wakening of their now thoroughly aroused senses took place. In a moment or two, they were locked in each other's arms, giving back kiss for kiss, slowly grinding pussies together, while Andrea gasped, "Oh Phyl darling, oh its so nice, don't stop! Squeeze me, I want to feel your hands all over me darling, oh Phyl, I was so wrong to hate you the way I did. Can you ever forgive me?"
And thus in this isolated yet remarkably modern and scientifically furnished animal clinic in a little town in Montana, Janice's daughter and niece found a consolation for their past unhappiness, as, locked in each other's arms, their lips fused together, they explored for themselves the labyrinthian pathways to the passion held so dear and in such renown on the mystic Isle of Lesbos....
"Let me handle this call, Edward dear. I think, after all that's happened, I can arrange things just the way you want," Dr. Lucille McClane told her brother as she sat in her office, her hand on the phone.
"Somehow, revenge doesn't seem quite so sweet as I thought it would," he admitted as he lit a cigarette.
"That's because, my dear brother, you're a highly intelligent man and your wisdom is finally coming through all your sexual fantasies. Now that you've had Andrea, you've had the illusion of being carried back in time to the days when you were wild about that girl's mother who was then very much as Andrea is now, I have no doubt. Both of them spoiled and self-opiniated and terribly conceited, eager to try out their powers on a man to make him suffer so that they would feel superior."
"It's something like that, yes. But of course I feel differently towards Janice. I don't know that I really want to hurt her, Lucille. You see, the girls told me a good deal on this trip, without meaning to and not in so many words. I don't think that Janice was ever really happy with Don Morrow. Getting her was perhaps his one great victory in life, but when he had that victory, he cast it aside like a meaningless trophy and began to concentrate on material things. His business and making money. And so gradually he lost whatever love Janice may have had for him at the very beginning, the illusory love which made her give me up."
"You're really coming of age, Edward. I'm glad for you, my darling. Now maybe you can start to live again. But that's why I don't want you harmed by any legal charges for abducting those girls. That's why I'm going to talk to Janice right now on the phone."
He shrugged fatalistically. "All right. If I deserve to be punished, I shan't try to escape it. But I won't involve you, Lucille. You're even lonelier than I am. And you've got to take your satisfaction in a much more perverse way."
"I know, my dear brother. But there are compensations too. Phyllis Cantwell is a very warm and lovely girl, but she hasn't found herself either. You might do well to marry a girl like that, Edward."
"I can't think of marriage yet, maybe not even at all. Go ahead and make your call, Lucille. I want to know the end of this story," Edward McClane said as he crushed out his cigarette and drew a deep breath and leaned forward, his eyes on the svelte woman in the white medical smock....
"Mrs. Morrow? You don't know me, but I'm Edward McClane's sister. Yes, that's right. Your daughter and your niece are here, Mrs. Morrow. They came along with my brother, because he was on his way to Las Vegas and met them in San Diego, and Andrea was all mixed up with her emotions after her father's death. I see, you understand her, then. Well, I know my brother wants to see you, Mrs. Morrow. I'd like to meet you myself. I'm calling from Craston. You can take a plane from San Diego to Billings, Montana, and then there'll be a bus, or, if you'd rather get here faster I think you could hire one of those cabs there to make the trip. We'll be expecting you tomorrow then? Fine."
"My God, you did it! What did she say when you told her you were my sister?" Edward McClane excitedly asked.
"She said she wanted to see you too, Edward. She said she's been very lonely the last few years, and she always wondered what happened to you."
"My God," he said softly, half to himself. "All these years I've been looking for her the way a man would chase a will o' the wisp. And now she's actually coming to find me. I wonder what she'll be like, what I'll say to her."
"My dear brother, if you still love her-and I'm sure you do-you'll let nature say what you want to say for you. Just as you made love to her daughter. Only of course, I wouldn't tell her that and I don't think Andrea will betray the secret. I think she's finally coming of age herself."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was the afternoon of the next day. Janice Morrow had engaged a cab to drive her all the way to Craston and to the Clinic building out in the deserted plains near the mountains. She had gone into the reception room and there Edward McClane had stood, his sister beside him.
"Edward! My God, how young you look!" Janice Morrow had gasped. For his hair had been dyed brown and the clever facial massage had softened his features and taken ten years from them, so that he was almost again the young man who had courted her.
He hadn't been able to speak. His eyes had devoured her and to him she was as beautiful as the first day he had known that he couldn't have her and had begun that anguished, obsessive quest trying to forget her at the same time trying to recapture her.
She wore a green rayon dress and a charming little turban. The years had made her perhaps a little more buxom, but the dark blue eyes, the heart-shaped face, the tremulous smile and the dimpled chin were still the same in Edward McClane's adoring eyes. She was, indeed, a kind of Olga Dorrish but with a subtle difference that she was not fatalistically wanton. True, there were lines of sorrow and pride and of crestfallen regret marked on her lovely face. Her golden hair was set in a pompadour, and it still seemed to retain the same burnished sheen which it had had twenty years ago when they had both been so young and so uncertain of each other's futures, and when she had had less courage to defy convention and to select a man who might readily have given her the happiness for which her beauty and her mind had supposedly destined her.
"Oh Edward, you don't know how much I've missed you all these years, how I've thought about you!" she said in a choking voice as she came towards him. Dr.
Lucille McClane smiled softly, turned and left the room.
"Janice, my darling, you don't know how I tried to find you all these years, either! If I hadn't come here to visit my sister and heard about Don's death because of a radio broadcast Lucille happened to overhear, I would have gone on all this time eating my heart out and hating you."
"Hating me, Edward?"
"Yes, my darling. I hated you because he had you, and because I couldn't. I wanted to punish you, to make you know something of the suffering I've gone through."
"I've been punished enough. Over ten years ago Don stopped loving me as I stopped loving him. I stayed with him only because of Andrea, if you want to know the truth. I had my pride, too. I couldn't admit to myself that I picked him because he seemed to have a brighter future, seemed to be able to give me a home and money and all the things I wanted. But I learned quickly enough that those things aren't enough, Edward. Now maybe we can have a second chance-if you still want me."
"What a question! Does this show you how much I want you, Janice?" His hands roamed over her titties, then down her back to squeeze her buttocks as he drew her to him. His mouth crushed hers, and his tongue dove between her lips. With a whimpering little sob, Janice Morrow put her arms around him and held on to him tightly as a drowning man to a bobbing cork on a stormy sea. She felt his hard thrusting organ rub against her crotch, and a sweet lassitude surged along her shuddering thighs.
"Oh darling, darling, I want you too, so much! I should be in mourning, but it's as if I were coming out of the grave after all these years," she confessed. "Make love to me, quickly, because I've almost forgotten what it's like to be a woman. Don hardly ever touched me these last years. He had other women, though, but t never said anything. It was my stupid pride, Edward. If only we could have back those years!"
"We can have the years ahead. And there's your daughter, and you've given her to the future, and one day a man will find her and love her as much as I love you, my darling Janice," he told her.
Arm in arm they walked down the corridor. Dr. Lucille McClane had prepared things for them as lovers. A door was open far down the corridor at the left. But this room wasn't the cold, antiseptic, stone-walled, tiled-floor chamber of incarceration; rather, it had a double bed, gay chintz curtains on the windows, an oriental rug on the floor, and a long low wide couch near the windows. They entered the room, and Edward McClane shut the door behind them, then turned the key in the lock. Then again he took Janice Morrow in his arms, and this time she avidly returned his kisses, her own tongue tentatively questing, then growing bolder, till at last they groaned as they stood locked together in a seething tumult of sensual excitement.
She put her hands down to his crotch and felt his straining cock, her face scarlet with the sweet blush of trembling modesty that yearns to abandon all pretence. "Oh Edward, Edward, it's like a miracle that we found each other and that we still want each other! I'm glad you found me, Edward. Oh have me now, please, my darling, take off my clothes and make love to me, and I'll be anything you want me to be. If you want me to marry you, yes, oh yes, my darling! If you just want a mistress or a girl you can visit at night when you have the urge, I'll want that too. Whatever you want, my dear one!" Janice Morrow panted.
Almost like children laughing and gay, they helped each other undress, and she marveled at his sinewy maleness, while he in turn, once her voluptuous milkysheened body was naked, reveled in the way she had held off the advances of time, that pitiless thief of beauty and of love. Her breasts were still firm and jutting, her waist supple, her hips flaring and rounded, her thighs quivering and smooth and satiny, and the dark-blonde fleece of curls which shielded her pussy was already moist with her own yearning!
They fell on the wide bed, and he mounted atop of her, his prick at once fitting into that beloved socket, as if they had always been lovers though this was their first such time. Her hands held him tightly, her lips devouring his, as she felt him gouge into her to his balls. Instinctively, she locked her bare legs over his, arching herself up to absorb all of his maleness.
And thus they made love feverishly, and once they had finished, after a cigarette, they turned to each other again, and this time more tenderly and lingeringly....
And so at last Edward McClane found his faithless sweetheart only to learn that she had always been faithful as he to her. They're married now and living in San Diego, and Edward McClane has taken up a new life and is working on electronic improvements and patents which will make him even richer than Don Morrow.
Andrea? She's happy to be back with her mother and her new father. She's finished college, taking some post-graduate work, and is already engaged to a very nice young man by the name of Roger Trevor, who is going to be an architect. She isn't a teaser anymore, and she and Roger have already slept together with her parents' permission.
Phyllis Cantwell? She's decided to stay in Craston, and work with Dr. Lucille McClane. The two of them are inseparable lovers now. And Phyllis studying so that she can become a veterinarian too. Perhaps one day she'll discover that she's really a switch-hitter and not a Lesbian, but at the moment she's so madly in love with Lucille McClane that she can't bear to be away from her for even a moment. It was all she could do to tear herself away and go down to San Diego to the wedding of her cousin to Edward McClane.
Murdock Melton and his wife Patricia? The sadistic rancher has at last given his wife her freedom. He's found himself a beautiful young Mexican girl whom he's going to marry, and of course it would never do to have her discover the scandalous servitude to which he put his first wife. Patricia Melton has gone to New York, with a huge and very generous cash settlement. She's trying hard to forget those days and nights in the "mating room" with Danny and Caesar. She's living near Greenwich Village. At the moment, she's sharing an apartment with a beautiful black-haired Lesbian of twenty-eight, Margo, who's an assistant buyer in the lingerie department of a large store in Manhattan. That's because for the time being she wants to forget the cruelty of man and animal, and take solace from her own tender sex. But the day will come when she too will feel her passionate needs served best by a virile and understanding man.
And so the "kidnapping" of Andrea Morrow and Phyllis Cantwell turned out to be fate's way of balancing the scales and settling the accounts that had been started twenty years before between Janice Fullbright and Edward McClane.
