niggers/ZooTracker_Torrents/Petbooks/rws-160.txt

RWS-160 The Tempted Bride by Carl Van Marcus


Chapter 1


San Mateo, California, was suffocating under a coat of brownish-purple
smog. On the Bayshore Freeway, traffic crawled, stopped, then crawled
slowly forward another fifty feet before stopping again. Horns honked.
Tempers were short.

Grace Hope was aware of neither the sweltering heat nor the traffic
delay. She barely listened to Judi Sprague's monologue; besides, she
already knew it by heart. Judi's favorite topic was men. As far as that
went, that was all Judi lived for: Men!

"Well," Judi was saying in her Bronx accent as she fluffed up her hair
and gazed coquettishly at the young man in the Mustang next to her car,
"I told him it was no go. I mean ... who did he think he was? What did
he think I was? Some common street girl? So I told him, 'See here, Bill
Hill. I don't care if you are the Sales Manager. I'll thank you to keep
your sweaty little hands to yourself.' So he started simpering and
playing Mister Nice Guy and says I have him all wrong, that he didn't
mean to imply I would go to bed with him. 'All I want,' says he, 'is a
female companion for the weekend at Tahoe ... someone to dance with,
gamble with, walk along the beach with,' So I says right back, 'Well,
why didn't you say so. Ah ... where is it that you plan to stay at
Tahoe?' He mentions some cheap cruddy flea-trap motel, and I says 'You'd
never catch me dead in that cruddy dump. How about King's Castle. He
kinda goes white around the gills and I can see him thinking it's going
to cost him thirty bucks a day. Finally he says he'll get reservations.
So ... the weekend isn't shot anyway." Judi braked suddenly, viciously
honked her horn, and swore at a woman who had abruptly switched lanes in
front of her. She turned to Grace and asked, "What you doing this
weekend, honey?"

"Oh, I plan to wash my hair, write a few letters, and do my laundry. And
I thought I'd bake some cookies for Stan."

Judi chewed her gum silently and looked sympathetic. "You heard from him
lately? I mean, he's okay and everything? That cruddy Vietnam." She
brightened, blinked her eyes, and dimpled as she saw the Cadillac
convertible driver in the far right lane staring at them in speculation
and open admiration.

Grace seemed unaware that Judi had switched her attention from Stan to
the other driver. She felt her eyes misting as she thought again about
Stan and what he must be going through over there. Finally she cleared
her throat and said, "He's okay. Or at least he was two weeks ago. They
were getting ready to go out on patrol and he said he wouldn't be able
to write for a while. I haven't had a letter for five days now. Maybe,"
she crossed her fingers, "there'll be one tonight."

"Gee ... I hope so, for your sake. It's bad enough being alone, but when
you don't get any letters either, I just don't know how you stand it,
honey. Why, I'd be climbing the wall within a week if I didn't have an
occasional fella to talk to."

In spite of her sorrow, Grace had to fight back a grin. "Talk to,"
indeed! Her apartment was right next to Judi's. They shared a common
balcony, and it was difficult not to overhear what went on in the next
apartment. Not much talking went on when Judi had one of her boy-friends
over. A lot of grunting and panting and moaning, maybe, but not much
talk.

Grace knew she probably should move out of the apartment complex; to
stay there was to imply that Judi's promiscuousness was acceptable. To
move, though, was out of the question. The apartment had been Stan's and
her only home; true, they had been married less than three months when
Stan went overseas, but still it was his bed she slept in, his
television she secretly shared with him during the lonely nights, his
clothes in the closet. That made it bearable, that made life livable,
even during those hot summer nights when the sound of hot sexual love
making came from the apartment next door.

Too, Judi was truly her only friend. Grace hadn't been around San Mateo
long enough to make friends with other people. Married men she avoided
... like the plague! And single men? The ones she knew who were still
single were either homosexuals or always on the make. No, thank you;
Stan had only nine more months in Vietnam. She'd spend it alone--maybe
having coffee in the mornings and an occasional beer in the later
afternoons with Judi. She kept busy, that was the main thing. And best
of all, she had her self-respect, her love untarnished, her memories
unblemished. Topping it all off was her unexpected promotion to office
manager of Austin Motor Sales. Not bad for a twenty-three-year-old girl
just recently from Butte, Montana. All she needed to make life complete
now was Stan to come back to her.

Traffic suddenly lessened at the 280 Interchange, and Judi's Volkswagen
picked up speed. Five minutes later, the little bug darted under the
carport of the San Mateo Polynesian Gardens apartment complex. Although
they were now parked in the shade, the heat was more intense than ever.

Judi slammed the car door and made no effort to pull down her mini-skirt
which had slid up to the point where her powder blue bikini panties were
plainly visible. She fanned herself with a newspaper and grimaced. "God,
it's hot. I'm going for a swim. How about you?"

Grace nodded. The pool would be heavenly. Best of all, the running,
screaming kids who usually flocked like wild birds around it during the
late afternoons, would all be in having dinner.

Judi disappeared, heading upstairs to her apartment. Grace lost no time
in going around front to the column after column of bronze mail boxes
shining dully in the sun. The heat was forgotten as the key was
inserted. "Please ... please!" she silently prayed, "let there be a
letter from Stan."

The metal door fell open to reveal three white envelopes hiding in the
cubicle. She didn't need to look at the addresses; she knew from the
shape of the envelope that all three were from Stan. She hugged them to
her breast as though she were protecting gold nuggets and ran upstairs.
It seemed to take an eternity to open the door, but then the refreshing
wave of coolness rushed out of the apartment and engulfed her. Kicking
the door shut behind her, Grace headed for the bedroom, tossing her
purse on the couch as she passed. Then, unmindful of her dress, she
threw herself across the bed and picked up the first letter. With
impatient fingers she ripped open the first envelope and read:
Darling:

Today we returned from patrol and now I have three days to do nothing
but think of you. (And do all the paper work that has accumulated, and
sit in on a court martial of a kid in the 101st who was caught smoking
pot on guard duty, and lecture the men on keeping their weapons clean,
and make sure none of my men get caught in off-limits places, and ... so
on.) But mainly, through it all, I'll think of you.

It was the oddest thing. Last night I called a halt to our activities
and we settled down for the evening on the banks of the Mekong. It was
horribly hot, the bugs were really chewing away on us, and the humidity
was high enough to take a shower in it. The moon came up and then,
through the trees, I saw the light dancing on the waters. All of a
sudden I wasn't in Vietnam any longer. I was on the banks of the Spence,
and you and I were lying there watching the moon come up. Do you
remember? That was the night ...


It was as though Grace had unexpectedly taken a ride on a flying carpet.
Suddenly she was back in Montana. It all came back to her. She wasn't
lying on her bed, but on the white sandy banks of the Spence River. The
river made soft sucking sounds as it nuzzled the tree roots hanging over
the bank. Frogs and crickets croaked and chirped their love songs in the
blackness of the night. Overhead, the stars gazed down in approval at
Grace and Stan's nude bodies.


Grace had known instinctively that Stan was going to ask her to be
intimate that night. She had fought him off long enough, she decided.
Now she no longer cared or had the strength to fight. She wanted it as
much as he did. And, after all, the marriage was scheduled for the
following weekend. They had come so close so many times. There had been
nights when they had actually lain completely nude together in the back
seat of his father's Chrysler station wagon, their hands and fingers
running all over each other's body. She had stroked him to fulfillment
several times with her hand curled warmly around his hardened penis, and
minded not that his hot impatient love liquid had spurted all over her.
Always though, she had resisted any penetration, wanting to save it
until their wedding night. Stan wasn't a virgin, and that didn't matter
to her. What Stan had done before he met her was his business; what he
did after their engagement was announced was all that mattered to her.


Lying there with him that night, their nude bodies rapidly drying in the
warm air, Grace knew that tonight she would not resist if he insisted
again. She wanted him. She wanted him so badly that she actually hurt
inside with a pain that was intractable.

With a low moan, Stan rolled over on his side and propped himself up on
his elbow staring at her in the dimness of the Montana night.

"What's wrong?" Grace asked, knowing exactly what was troubling him.

Stan didn't answer for a second, then in reply he merely took her hand
and placed it on his erect and throbbing penis.

"That's what is wrong," he said, his voice hoarse with desire.

Beneath her fingers, Grace marveled once again at the feeling of his
hardened penis in her hand. There was an awesome power there, a living
viable thing that seemed to have a heart and mind of its own. She could
feel the hard fleshy ridges of its length, the soft rubbery hardness of
its head. Tentatively, her hand enclosed the trunk and she began gentle
little movements--feeling the flesh move but not the instrument itself.
It was as though the flesh covered a warm flexible steel rod. Stan
moaned with the touch of her hand, then his mouth found hers. Their
tongues fought a heated battle for supremacy before he, with a strength
and near viciousness that she had never experienced in him before,
jammed his tongue half way down her throat. He kept it there, and it
seemed to her that his body had tensed as though he were trying to say
something to her. He moved closer to her and now she found it difficult
to continue the stroking movements because of the proximity of their two
bodies.

After a moment, though, Stan seemed to relax somewhat. He pulled his
mouth away and began kissing her neck, her shoulders, her ears.
Breathlessly, she waited for his mouth to find her breasts. She liked
that almost best of all. It was a terribly sensual thing when his lips
enclosed her nipples, when his teeth bit into her breast ... not
painfully, but gently. Tonight, though, for the first time, Stan did not
stop at her breasts. His tongue continued its excursion over the
virginal flatlands of her abdomen. She was so lost in the wonder of his
tongue, the fabulous trail of pure feeling it was leaving behind, that
she didn't realize for a moment that he had reached the softly curling
strands of her pubic hair.

Abruptly, Grace became aware of his intentions. All of her moral
upbringing suddenly was screaming at her. She knew what Stan was about
to do; after all, it was mentioned in most of the marriage manuals. And,
in spite of the approval voiced in a couple of the books, there were
several other authorities who referred to the act as "perverted".

"No, darling, ... you mustn't," she said, rolling away from him.

"Why not?" he groaned, his voice guttural with desire.

"Because."

"I'd like to do that to you with my tongue ... just once."

"No!" She couldn't be more emphatic. She felt his hands on her
shoulders, gently pulling her over to face him again. He gazed down at
her and she saw the puzzled expression on his face. Wordlessly then,
because she didn't want to discuss it, she reached up and pulled his
lips down to hers. Again there was that savage kiss ... so unlike him
... almost brutal in its intensity and force. She felt his hands moving
freely over her abdomen, then his finger slipping along her moistened
cuntal slit, bringing with it something akin to rapture--exciting,
pleasurable, sensual. Grace splayed out her legs wider, giving him freer
access to her now open vagina, and after a moment realized that Stan had
put both knees between her wide-spread thighs and was forcing them even
further apart. He pulled his mouth away from hers and croaked, "I want
to fuck you."

The lewd phrase instead of repelling her only brought additional wanton
excitement to her body--already aflame with desire. And, from what
seemed to be a great distance, she heard her own voice responding, "Yes,
darling. Do it to me! Fuck me!"

Stan looked in astonishment at her. She had always stopped him before.
Then, quickly before she could change her mind, he dropped one hand down
between their bodies and guided his hard, throbbing cock toward the fur
lined, coral-pink pussy lips.

Grace's eyes widened as she felt, for the first time in her life, the
spongy thick head of a male cock beginning to part the fleshy,
desire-dampened layers of her love-starved vagina. She could feel the
cock throbbing powerfully as it began sensuously stretching the hungrily
quivering little outer lips.

She tensed with the first electric contact between his prick and the
sensitive edges of her fevered cunt; the sensation was so powerful that
she was immediately shocked out of wanton excitement and back to a
realization of the awful thing she was permitting him to do. This was
detestable weakness on her part. Ever since she had known Stan, she had
been firm in her unswerving resolution to retain the priceless gift of
her virginity until her marriage night. She didn't care what other girls
did or said. It was a gift that could be given to only one man and then
one time only. Her entire body stiffened, and she reached up, pushing
against his chest. "No, darling," she moaned. "I've changed my mind. I
don't want to now."

"Wha ... what?" Stan acted as if he couldn't believe what he was
hearing.

"Please, darling. No. I want to wait."

Now she could tell that he was really angry. A look of stern
determination crossed his face. "You can't do that to me, besides, it's
too late," he said, and pushed forward.

Grace groaned and cried out as she felt the first really harsh pressure
against the tightly resisting virginal opening between her thighs, the
lewd pressure grew and grew, building up to a point where it was almost
intolerable.

"No ... ooooohhhh, no!" she moaned loudly, trying to twist away from
him. Now there was actually pain there. She felt as if someone were
ripping apart her thighs, shoving a burning axe handle up into her tiny
little vaginal orifice.

"Stop, Stan! You're hurting ... me. Oh God, please stop," she wailed.

Stan's eyes were glazed, dimmed with lust. They stared, unfocused, at
her. Suddenly, he shoved his hips forward in one vicious jerk; then with
a hoarse groan, he fell forward with his powerful hairy chest crushing
the softness of her ripe young breasts back into her own. At the same
moment that his hips shot forward, the thick hot shaft of his implacably
hardened cock slammed into the virginal pussy with all the force of a
heavy lance dropped from great heights. The soft warm flesh of her
vaginal walls was no match for this barbarous intruder; they were forced
to give way before it, and the cock rammed into and ripped through the
thin membrane of her hymen as though it were not there at all.

"Aaaaaggghhh," she screamed. She was being gored to death! His cock was
stronger, sharper, more brutal than the horn of a maddened bull. Down
there she was being ripped apart; she knew he had irreparably injured
her ... she would never be the same again! And still he continued to
grind his way deeper, ever deeper into the previously secret, untouched
caverns of her cunt until suddenly, with a loud groan of rapture, his
scrotum clanged with all the force of a wrecking ball against the white
defenselessly upturned cheeks of her tightly clenched buttocks.

"You're killing meee-eeee!" she shrieked, but Stan acted as if he had
suddenly become not only blind but deaf as well.

Deep within the well of her pussy, his cock jerked once ... twice.

"Aaaggghh. Don't move, darling! Please don't move!" she whimpered
piteously, unable to stop the flow of tears streaming down both sides of
her face. Never before in her life had she experienced such pressure,
such pain anywhere in her body. She felt almost as if someone had shoved
the roughness of a corn cob deep into her vagina. She was positive that
he had not only ripped her hymen, but had split her entire vaginal area
all the way from pelvis to anus as well. She could feel every rigid
little muscle of his throbbing penis pressing, beating against her
tortured cuntal walls. His mammoth cock's head seemed so far inside her
that she was positive it was past her navel, and must be lodged
somewhere up in the area of her breasts.

Stan lay atop her, and she could tell that he was beginning to regain
some of his sanity. There was a look almost of despair on his face, as
though he realized what he had just done to her. Then he groaned, "I'm
sorry."

Grace stifled her sobs. It was now too late to be sorry, she thought
unhappily. The deed had been done. It was as much her fault as it was
his. She hurt. She hurt worse than she had ever hurt before in her life.
And yet, that was part of the game, she supposed, part of the ordeal a
woman must go through. She loved him, nonetheless, in spite of what he
had done to her, but she had learned something new and hitherto unknown
about him--he could be brutal, selfish.

"I'm sorry, Grace," he repeated, looking down in a mute appeal for
forgiveness.

She loved him. She loved him. That was all that mattered. What
difference did one or two nights make. She closed her eyes and nodded,
then said quietly, "It's all right, darling."

Stan made his prick jerk inside her rapidly two or three times. She bore
it submissively, shutting off the tortured nerve endings down there,
trying to ignore the pain, wanting happiness, wanting it to feel as
beautiful and as wonderful as she had heard it would be.

Slowly, gently now, he began stroking in and out of her. It was painful,
but not as much as before. It seemed to take an eternity, but then
within seconds she felt his pace increase and his breathing becoming
rapid and ragged. She forced herself to grind her pelvis up and to meet
his powerful thrusts, falsifying an enthusiasm she did not feel. And
abruptly she felt the pressure increase in her already stretched beyond
capacity vagina as the mushroom head of his hardened prick ballooned in
size. "I'm cumming," he groaned. "Oh, Jesus ... I'm cumming."

"Yes darling," she crooned seductively, wanting it to end as soon as
possible. "Cum, cum up in me now."

She felt the first hot impatient spurts of his semen wildly spewing out
into her womb. Then he collapsed atop her. Moments later, he had lifted
his head and asked, "Did you ... too?"

She lied and nodded her head. Then, weeping again, put her arms around
his chest, pulled his sperm drained body back down against hers, and
stared up at the black limbs of the trees gently moving back and forth
in the soft night sky ...

The memory evaporated and she abruptly became aware, as she gazed down
at Stan's letter, that she was crying again. She read the last phrase
over and over again, "My body needs yours, just as yours must need mine.
Our sex life has been so great, beginning with that first night by the
Spence ... "

She sat up upright, feeling shame overwhelming her. She had never told
him--never wanted him to know--but she never, not even once, had come
close to achieving a climax. In her mind she knew positively she was one
of those women who are frigid, unfeeling. And she knew, with an
unshakable certainty that she would never never tell him the truth ...
that, instead of being "great", sex was strongly abhorrent to her ...


Chapter 2


When Grace went down to the swimming pool a few minutes later, Judi was
already in the water cavorting with 50 year-old Ricky Karl. She really
didn't know how the girl stood him. Although once allegedly a
professional basketball player, the man's muscles had long since turned
to fat. He was gross, insulting, crude and vulgar, and had an air about
him which implied he could buy anyone or anything. As far as Grace was
concerned, he was a criminal and should be in jail. It was common
knowledge that, among other things, he was one of the area's biggest
bookmakers. And it was also common knowledge that he carried a reserve
policeman's badge from a nearby city and thus, presumably, was
untouchable. He ingratiated himself with the police, giving them gifts
of expensive shirts and sweaters taken from one of the warehouses that
he rented to a major men's chain store. It was rumoured that he could
fix anything, also rumoured that he had staged a burglary of one of his
own warehouses in order to collect insurance. He was, in fact, a symbol
of everything bad... something diametrically opposed to what Stan was
fighting for in Vietnam.

But what Grace hated most about him was his arrogant assumption that all
he had to do was crook a finger at a woman, and she would jump into bed
with him. Some women, maybe, but not her! She would die first! He had
come oozing up to her like some slimy animal in the pool and put his fat
arm proprietarily around her shoulders. When she gave him a piece of her
mind, he had laughed sardonically and called her, "Miss Frigidaire".

She had struck back the only way she knew, verbally wounding him by
saying, "I'm not frigid ... it's just that I think you're a fat, dirty
old man. You just disgust me and you make my stomach turn."

His face had turned almost black in fury, then abruptly his demeanor
changed and he became his oily ingratiating self again. Grace, though,
had caught the look on his face. She knew she had made an enemy of him,
and at first it had frightened her. Since then he had ignored her, but
she could feel his stare burning holes in her back each time she went
down to the pool.

Now she saw him look up as she walked down the steps into the water. His
hooded eyes moved up and down her figure, locking themselves on the Vee
of her swim suit panties. He made a parody of licking his lips, then
turned his back to her. A moment later he climbed out of the pool,
leaned down to Judi and said something, then picked up his towel and
waddled across the green toward his penthouse suite.

When he reached the edge of the grass, he was greeted boisterously by
two men who had just walked through the portico. Both looked like
criminals to Grace. One of them was obviously an ex-jockey, a little man
with a sneaky, mean face. The other male was about medium height,
pot-bellied, and smoked a long black cigar. He wore rings on three
fingers of each hand. On a leash between them, a powerful looking German
Shepherd dog sniffed once at Ricky Karl and then dismissed him as being
not important.

Grace caught the dog's action and smiled knowingly, "That's just exactly
how I feel about him, too, Pup."

Judi swam over to her. "Ricky heard about our office party at Bay
Meadows Race Track on Thursday night. He offered to buy all of us a
drink. Isn't that sweet of him?"

"He can keep his liquor," Grace answered.

The two girls floated quietly side by side in the water. Judi broke the
silence. "What are you going to wear tomorrow night?"

"I really haven't thought about it." If the truth be known, she wasn't
too eager to go to the track with the rest of the staff. The management
was picking up the tab for admission and meals and drinks, but the
entire affair seemed such a waste of time. Grace didn't intend to bet
any of her hard-earned money. A more boring evening she couldn't
imagine. But, as newly appointed Office Manager, she felt the obligation
to attend.

Judi began chattering away about the various merits of the different
dresses she had, their effects on men, how women reacted to them
(usually jealously), and how much each of them had cost.

Grace listened with only about a quarter of her mind's attention. She
day-dreamed, thinking of how nice it would be to suddenly inherit a lot
of money from a previously unheard-of uncle or aunt ... or win one of
the soap company sweepstakes which would pay $50,000 cash or $400 each
month for the rest of her life. She could imagine the happy look on
Stan's face when he came home and discovered she had purchased a house
and furnished it just the way they had always dreamed--with a nursery
and a big formal dining room and an all-electric modern kitchen ...

"... and so I told her, 'Well, lady, he's your husband. Why don't you
tie a bell around his neck so you'll know where he is?' And she says to
me, 'If I catch you again with my husband, I'll...'" Judi continued
yapping happily away about her uncomplicated life.

Grace, feeling the buoyancy of the water holding her effortlessly up
simply let her body and mind drift. In the house, there would be a
bathroom with a sunken tub, a huge fireplace with lots of cushions
tossed about so guests could lie on the floor in comfort if they chose.
Of course, it's all just a wonderful dream, she thought, but there's no
harm in dreaming.

She was too young, too innocent to know yet that some dreams can be
treacherous--especially those where one wants something for nothing,
with no effort or will power expended. Dreams like these should be
handled carefully--like a rattlesnake--and not be cuddled too close to
the heart.


Chapter 3


After several years of being one of California's less important race
tracks, Bay Meadows finally began to attract horses and bettors of a
calibre that moved it up in class until it is today the state's third or
fourth track from a standpoint of attendance and daily handle.

Part of this sudden spurt in popularity came with the complete
renovation of the club house and stands. The other was the advent of
night racing, which permitted daytime workers to blow the week's pay
check on the quarter-horses and trotters.

The Turf Club is big, comfortable, and roomy--except on Saturdays and
holidays when it can become a bit crowded. In the evenings, the Turf
Club is open to club house patrons. Dinner is served, if one desires,
out on the terrace high above the finish line. There is an overall air
of luxury and expensiveness that can be, and often times is, contagious.

In spite of her cool calm exterior, Grace could not help but feel a
certain growing excitement as she had her second martini of the evening
and watched the horses parade to the post in the initial race. The first
martini had been ordered for her by Mr. Austin, the big boss. Dubious,
because she had never had one before, she cautiously sipped it and, in
her aroused state, discovered that it tasted delicious.

"It is now five minutes to post time," the voice over the public address
system boomed out.

Judi, who was talking to Bill Hill, the Sales Manager, turned to Grace
and asked, "You making a bet on this race?"

Grace shook her head silently.

"Want to split one on number three?"

Grace, biting her lower lip in uncertainty, shook her head again. It
would be fun just to bet a dollar. After all, what was a dollar? Still,
though, her earlier resolve not to foolishly waste money came back to
her.

Judi disappeared toward the sellers' windows with Bill Hill. Doug,
another one of the car salesmen came over to the table and asked, "What
you betting on this race, Gracie?"

"Nothing."

Doug glanced out toward the tote board. "That number seven looks awfully
good at the price. Seven to one; why he shouldn't be more than three to
one at the most."

Grace had absolutely no idea of what he was talking about, so remained
silent in order not to show her ignorance.

"I think I'll try a fifteen dollar combination," Doug said, then turned
back to her. "You sure?"

"Positive."

She was sitting there alone, waiting the return of the rest of the party
from the sellers' windows when a tall, distinguished looking man who had
been seated at Sam Austin's table came over and smiled down at her.
"You're Mrs. Hope," he said smiling.

"Yes?" It wasn't an invitation, but it was non-committal.

"I'm Jim Meloney. Sam was just telling me you're his new Office Manager.
I couldn't believe it, you look so young."

Grace dimpled in spite of herself. "Thank you." She paused a second,
feeling a bit awkward about his standing there, then asked, "Would you
care to sit down for a moment, Mister Meloney?"

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Hope. Yes, if I'm not intruding." He pulled out
the chair next to her and seated himself. An expensive cigarette case
and lighter was pulled from his pocket. "Do you smoke?"

"No, thank you."

"Do you mind if I do?"

"Not at all." Now, she thought, here is a real gentleman. Sophisticated,
rich, dignified, handsome ... unobtrusive.

She noticed his hands as he lit the cigarette. Manicured nails, long
sensitive fingers, tanned and obviously capable hands ... immaculate
white French cuffs peering from the sleeves of his navy blue cashmere
coat ... extraordinarily large wrist watch with two sets of sweep hands.
She also noticed the way he peered at her, looking at her as though she
were an interesting person--not like a piece of meat being inspected in
a butcher shop.

"You're not only young," he said suddenly, "but I have a feeling you're
pretty intelligent as well."

Grace blushed, feeling momentarily a loss of words. Then she replied in
light banter, "Thank you, kind sir. But how could you tell if I'm
intelligent ... or stupid?"

"Well, for one thing, there's a lot of intelligence in your eyes.
Another thing--which furthered my conviction--was that you're not
betting this race. I saw you turn down several offers. Now that's what I
call smart. These are a real bunch of dogs. The race is wide open.
Anything can win it. Never bet unless it's a lead pipe cinch."

He seemed so knowledgeable! Grace blurted out before she could stop
herself. "You seem to know a lot about it. How come?"

The man laughed, obviously delighted with her question. "I can tell
You're not a race fan, and I'll bet you don't read the sports pages,
either."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. This is my first time."

"You show even more sense then, in not betting. This isn't a game for
amateurs. I ought to know. I own Red Rebel Stables; we're running
seventeen horses here at this meet. It took me almost thirty years to
learn the game. And even now, I get fooled all the time."

Grace recognized the name "Red Rebel Stables" from an earlier glance at
the program. She brightened immediately. "You have a horse in one of the
races later this evening?"

He grinned, obviously pleased with her ability to recall the
information. "Yes. We've got Red Jewel in the fifth ... and the entry in
the feature race." 

"Oh, well. In that case, I'll make a bet on those two races. Just to
wish you luck."

Jim Meloney shook his head. "Now don't make me change my mind about you,
young lady. That would be an extremely foolish thing to do."

"But why?" she protested. "Don't you think your horses will win?"

He pursed his lips and shrugged. "I really don't think we have a chance
for top money in the fifth. I'll settle for the show or fourth place
purse. As for the seventh? It's going to be very close. It's a toss up
between one of my horses and six of the others. If I do bet, it'll be
only a small amount. I never bet big money unless I'm almost positive."

"Oh." Grace's disappointment showed in her voice. Jim Meloney laughed, a
deep booming laughter of pleasure and companionship. "Look, try to find
me just before the sixth race. There's a horse in the sixth that may
have some possibilities; I'll know better after I see him in the
paddock. Find me and I'll tell you."

"Will you? Promise?" She sounded like a little girl.

"I promise." He patted her hand paternally and stood. "May I buy you
another drink?"

Grace glanced down at her empty martini glass. She was already feeling
the effects of the liquor she had consumed, and it was still an hour or
so before they planned to have dinner. She shook her head and said, "No
... I think I've had enough for now." Then she added with uncustomary
candour, "This is not only my first time at the track, but also the
first time for martinis, and the first time I've been out socially
without my husband."

He stood there looking down at her with a half-quizzical expression on
his face, and Grace thought she had better adjust in case he had
misinterpreted her remark, "My husband's in Vietnam."

Immediately he became sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hope. I didn't
realize." He patted her hand again, then repeated, "See me about ten
minutes before the sixth. I may have something for you."

Bill Hill and Doug arrived back at the table with their arms wrapped
around the waist of a giggling, excited Judi. Bill looked toward the
retreating figure of Jim Meloney and raised his eyebrows. "Hey ... hey!
What's he doing? Touting you on one of his horses?"

"Yeah," Doug demanded. "What'd he say about Red Jewel in the fifth?"

Grace paused a second, then feeling quite important, replied, "He thinks
Red Jewel may be overmatched in the fifth, and the seventh is a tossup."

"A tossup, eh?" Bill Hill asked thoughtfully. "Sounds to me like he's
trying to hide something--probably wants to keep the odds up. I think
I'm going to bet him anyway."

Judi was gazing at Grace in open-mouthed speculation, her eyes wide.
"Gee ... Jim Meloney! He's yummy, and so rich! Why don't you invite him
over to our table, Grace?"

"No." She wasn't quite sure why she refused, but it had something to do
with not wanting to appear too forward with him. She liked the man as a
person. She felt safe and comfortable with him. She already thought of
him as a friend, and some subliminal snobbishness told her that Judi and
Bill Hill and Doug were not his type of people.

Judi bore the refusal philosophically and turned her attention to the
starting gate where the last of the horses was just entering the stall.

The flag went up, the gates popped open, and the horses suddenly came
out as if they had been shot from a cannon. The roar of the crowd built
up to a crescendo of thunder and exhortative screams, making it quite
impossible to hear the public address system at all. Beside her, Grace
heard Judi suddenly groan and fall silent as the horse in front abruptly
was overtaken by longer-striding quarter horses. It was all over in less
than 20 seconds.

No one at Grace's table had the winner, a big bay gelding by the
unlikely name of Meat Wagon Herb, who had gone off at 12 to 1 odds.

And so it went. Grace, against her better judgment had another martini
just before dinner was served. Ravenous, she lit into her filet mignon
as though she hadn't eaten for weeks. As the time grew closer for the
sixth race, she found an almost unbearable tension building up in her
body. It was akin to fever, leaving her weak and feeling light-headed.
As Jim Meloney had suspected, Red Jewel wasn't quite good enough in the
fifth, finishing third in a photo finish. Doug, who hadn't really
believed Grace, bet the horse to win and lost another fifteen dollars;
he was now down $130 for the evening. Judi had kept her bets at a more
conservative level, but still was out $30. Of the eight people at
Grace's table, only Bill Hill was ahead, and then just slightly thanks
to a lucky long-shot in the third.

The feeling of light-headed excitement continued to mount to a point
where Grace's hands were actually trembling when she picked up her purse
shortly before the sixth race and walked toward Jim Meloney's private
box. He wasn't there, nor was he in the dining room or bar area.
Disappointed, she stared around hoping for a glance of him. Then, spirit
crushed, and dejected, started back toward her own table. She hadn't
taken more than half a dozen steps before she felt her shoulders grasped
from behind and heard his voice, "Mrs. Hope. Don't go away."

She turned, a radiant smile of relief on her face. "I was looking for
you." She faltered, suddenly unsure of herself. "You did say to find you
before this race?"

He turned his head in both directions then gently took her elbow and
steered her over to his box. "Right. Number six. Bet it to win. But
don't bet more than you can afford to lose."

"But ... but you said you never betted unless you were positive," she
protested. 

He smiled sadly. "Nothing on a race track is ever one hundred percent
positive. I've had horses five lengths out in front stumble." The grin
came back, along with a wink, "Six is almost positive."

Grace looked out toward the tote boards. The odds on six were eleven to
one.

"Don't pay attention to the odds," he said. "I'll be making my bet about
thirty seconds before post time. They'll probably drop to around seven
to one." He paused, staring at her with what seemed to be fondness and
amusement, "Would you like me to place your bet when I put mine down?"

Grace took a deep sigh, then nodded her head. Quickly then, before she
could change her mind, she opened her wallet, pulled out two fives, and
offered them to him.

Jim glanced down at the money, then his handsome face broke into a wide
smile of delight. "That's playing it safe. I knew you were an
intelligent woman." He took the money and shoved it into the side pocket
of his coat. "Let's see now, your ten dollars and my bet ... that makes
a total win wager of one thousand and ten dollars."

Grace gasped and choked. "You're betting ... ?"

"One thousand."

She sat down weakly on one of the padded chairs in his box. "Oh, my,"
she managed to say.

Jim Meloney patted her hand again. "You sit here until I come back.
We'll watch the race together and both pull for our horse." He
disappeared.

She sat there, waiting for him, and actually shivering from excitement.
A thousand dollars! She couldn't believe it. A thousand dollars on one
horse! And he seemed so confident, so sure of himself ... as if he had
talked to the horse himself. Then, one by one, the horses began going in
the gate. She began glancing frantically around for him, not wanting him
to miss the race.

"The flag is up," the public address system announced as the last horse
was locked in the stall.

Again the crowd screamed when the gates opened and the horses thundered
out. She felt, rather than saw, Jim Meloney at her side. Their horse had
broken alertly, but was no match for the blazing early speed of a gray
which had immediately drawn out to almost a length lead. She found
herself screaming exhortations at their horse and jumping up and down.
Fifty yards from the finish line their horse and a big black on the
outside both began overtaking the gray. She reached out, without
volition, and grasped Jim Meloney's hand in excitement, digging her
sharp fingernails painfully into his palms. Ten yards away from the
finish line, the three horses were neck and neck; it looked as if the
gray were getting a second wind. Then, just as the three horses flashed
across the wire, Grace saw number six put his head out in front. She was
screaming and jumping up and down like a school girl. Nothing in her
life had ever exceeded this moment in pure excitement. "We win ... we
win," she yelled, and then impulsively threw her arms around Jim Meloney
and kissed him.

The touch of his lips on hers brought her back to earth immediately. She
blushed a deep red, then began blurting an apology ...

"Sorry!" Jim Meloney asked, staring down at her face. "What's there to
be sorry about genuine emotion ... excitement, fear, love?" His eyes
sparkled. "We got a better price than I thought we would," he said,
nodding toward the tote board. "I saw Charlie Webster and Pete Grossman
both plunking down some big bills on the four horses. So, it looks like
you're going to get ... ah ... oh, lets say, about ninety five dollars
or so."

Grace sat down stunned. She couldn't believe it. A profit of $85 in less
than half a minute. She was forced to believe it, though, a few minutes
later when Jim handed over $96.20 in payoff for her ten dollar bet.

Jim ordered drinks for them both, then laughed delightedly and seemed
pleased when she insisted on paying for them. "That's the first time a
woman has bought me a drink in a long time."

He insisted she stay seated in his box for a while longer, and Grace
complied, trying to hide her eagerness. She liked it up here--seated up
here like a goddess looking down at the swirling herd of little
humanity. Finally, though, she felt she had outstayed her welcome and
made preparations for leaving. He put his hand over her thigh and
pressed down in a commanding manner. "Stay here," he ordered, then
softened it by saying, "Please? Wait until after this feature race. If
one of my horses does come in, I'll want you to go down to the winner's
circle with me and be photographed accepting the flowers."

Grace sat there, feeling more like a queen now, and waited impatiently
for the race. It came and went in a flash of colour, and Jim shook his
head in utter bewilderment as his entry finished first and second. "And
I didn't have a cent on them," he groaned to friends in the box next to
them. Then he was escorting Grace downstairs, across the paddock area,
and up the tanbark to the winner's circle. Everything was happening too
rapidly for her--the rush to the winner's circle, the smell of the
horse, its panting breath, the shouted congratulations, the awarding of
the flowers and trophy--both of which were given to her, the flash bulbs
as photographs were taken. It was a moment of glory, all too soon over.

Upstairs again in Jim Meloney's box there were half a dozen buckets of
champagne being iced. He grinned. "An old custom of mine for the
newspaper handicappers and the adjacent boxes." The first of his guests
were already wandering over; the news had gotten around that he hadn't
backed either of his horses. It was a joke, one that both they and he
appreciated.

Grace was introduced as "my gracious hostess, Mrs. Hope. Her husband is
a sergeant in Vietnam." She found herself meeting several people whose
names she recognized from the Society Pages of the San Francisco
Chronicle. She poured, she made polite conversation ... and she drank
toast after toast.

Three minutes before the last race of the evening, Jim came over and
whispered in her ear. "Would you like to try another race? I have reason
to believe that number five is a shoo-in."

Suddenly the intense fevered excitement hit her again. It was so strong
that she found it difficult to breathe. "How much shall I bet?" she
asked, and was surprised at the hoarseness of her voice.

"Well, I believe in betting with the track's money," he said quietly.
"Why don't you parlay what you've won. That way, if you lose, you still
haven't lost any of your own cash."

Grace was really reluctant to let that much money go. She already had
mentally deposited it in the bank. Then, shrugging and not wanting to
diminish this feeling of excitement, she nodded. She could trust him.
Carefully she counted out $96 and handed it over.

"I'm still winner by twenty cents," she said defiantly.

Jim's laughter was contagious; she found herself giggling. She also
found herself feeling proud at his words of praise, "That' a girl."
Also, she was strangely comforted by his partnership pat on her
shoulder.

It wasn't until Jim had disappeared that she peered and squinted at the
tote board which seemed to be going in and out of focus. She couldn't
even read the odds on their horse.

The effects of the excitement and the alcohol had made her so
light-headed that she was forced to sit down. Grace wasn't even aware
that the horses had entered the gate, and only stood up when she heard
the roar of the crowd. There was the blurry mass of horse flesh and
human riders hurtling down the brown dirt track, coming closer--ever
closer--until the colourful avalanche flashed by.

She didn't have the slightest idea of who had won.

The conclusion of the final race of the day generally is a depressing
time, for it is then that the great masses feel the sudden let down and
are forced to go home knowing that the last chance to recoup or make the
big killing has evaporated. So it was that Grace sensed the difference
in the crowd and felt a beginning of depression. She was weary--and knew
that she was more than a little drunk. The pay-off prices flashed on the
totalizator board, and she heard the "oohs" and "ahhs" and groans as the
second-guessers saw what they could have earned if they had followed the
form or their hunches.

The boxes around her had emptied quickly and now she sat quite alone,
weaving a bit in her chair as the cleanup crews began rattling dishes
and cans and banging folding tables together. A water truck, spewing
rain behind it, raced along the dirt track below her. Dully she
wondered, what had happened to Jim, then as she squinted down the
aisleway, she saw what appeared to be his figure striding toward her
with a big smile on his handsome face.

Whatever depression she had felt before disappeared when he handed her
some money. She looked down and immediately sobered a bit when she saw
the top bill was a hundred dollar note. She blinked. "I don't
understand," she blurted out.

"We won. Not a bad payoff either. Twelve eighty ... more than I thought
we'd get."

"How ... how much did ... I win?"

Jim grinned. "I just gave you six hundred and fourteen dollars. I owe
you another forty cents, but I thought I'd keep the dimes in case I need
to telephone you."

She blinked owlishly at the money again, then felt an overwhelming
gratitude. "Oh ... Jim. How can I ever thank you." He was such a good
friend! And such a gentleman! She looked up at him, weaved a bit, and he
was forced to put out his hand to steady her. She saw him looking down
in concern and amusement.

"I think," he said slowly, "that I had better get some coffee into you."

Immediately she became contrite. "I'm sorry ... it's just that I'm not
used to ... "

"I know. Come on."

"But ... but I came with friends."

"I've already told them we're going to get a nightcap and coffee. I'll
see that you get home safely."

"All right." She trusted him. She wouldn't have ridden alone with Bill
Hill or Doug in her present condition; they were uncouth, not to be
trusted, not gentlemen.

She staggered slightly as they were entering the elevator, and Jim put
his arm around her waist to steady her again. She could feel the warmth
of his powerful right hand resting on her hip, could feel each of his
sure fingers pressing gently above and below the hip bone. Somewhere in
the distant recesses of her alcohol-fogged mind an alarm bell clanged,
but it was so muted that she wasn't sure what it was for. After all, Jim
could be trusted. She was completely safe with him.

Had Grace been more alert, she would have noticed the look in Jim
Meloney's eyes as he gazed down at her proud, upthrust young breasts so
enticingly outlined under the thin nylon yellow and black print dress.
She would have realized that his hand on her hip was making subtle
little circular motions--barely perceptible... possessive. And under
normal circumstances she would have noticed the change in his demeanor
as heated desire overcame the fragile barriers of a superficial
chivalry.

Looking down at her, Jim Meloney felt his groin tightening. Without
touching her, without doing anything but watching her young vibrant
body, he had already begun to get an erection. She would have to be
handled carefully, he thought. No fast moves ... nothing to alarm her.
He knew instinctively, that there had been no one other than her husband
since her marriage ... and probably few, if any, men before her husband.
She was practically a virgin, but there were certain little things she
did--the way she moved and talked and thought--that led him to believe
there was a wild untapped streak of wantonness in her body that even she
was not aware of. He vowed to unveil that streak. Maybe not tonight...
or tomorrow ... or next week ... but soon. He had absolutely no doubt
that given time he would have her naked young body moaning in sexual
delirium beneath him.

Outside, the heat of the night hit her and Grace became even more
drowsy. She wasn't aware that the valet parking attendant had opened the
door of a Cadillac convertible for her. She slid in, not knowing or
caring that her mini skirt had slid up past the top of her hose and that
her rich creamy bare thighs were there for all to see.

Jim saw it, though, and his power and importance was such that the
parking lot attendant immediately averted his eyes from this luscious
sight, staring off in the distance.

Grace had the sensation of driving, of being extremely comfortable in
the deep leather cushions of the car, and finally of going up a set of
stairs with Jim's arm around her waist again.

A half-fleeting moment of complete awareness came to her and she
realized she was in a room--a smartly decorated, obviously expensive and
masculine study. She was lying full length on a long maroon leather
couch in front of an unlighted fireplace. Grace sat up quickly, swaying
and attempting to focus her eyes, her heart pounding in alarm. Then she
saw Jim coming across the room, carrying what appeared to be a coffee
pot.

"Jim," she gasped. "Where are we?"

"My study," he glanced at her quizzically. "Don't you remember? You
wanted to come here for coffee rather than go to a crowded restaurant."

His face and the room were rapidly going out of focus again and she was
having a terrible time keeping upright. "I ... I ... think I had better
go ... home now," she said, struggling to regain her feet, but
succeeding only in falling backward on the couch.

Jim laughed and called out, "Whoa, there. Steady, girl. Come on... get
this coffee down and I'll take you home. Come on," he coaxed, "try to
drink a little of it."

"You promise ... promise to take me home?"

"I promise to take you home just as soon as you ask to go." He watched
her carefully in an effort to see how she took the remark, and was
relieved when she nodded her head.

"That's a good girl," he said soothingly, as though he were trying to
steady a nervous horse. He sat down and put his left arm around her
shoulders, supporting her swaying figure in an upright position. He felt
the incredibly supple warmth of her upper arm. "Here, try sipping a
little of this." He held the steaming cup near her mouth until Grace had
taken four or five swallows, then he permitted her to fall back onto the
couch again. As she slowly slipped sideways the mini-skirt hiked all the
way, almost as if it were pulled by venetian blind cords. He saw her
lovely pouting young vaginal mound through the near-transparent yellow
and black lace edged bikini panties. She had put the panties on over her
black garter belt and this made him smile even more; it was this--more
than anything else--that prompted his final decision to fuck her
tonight. Until that very moment he had been prepared to let it go one
way or the other. Now, though, knowing there was easy access to her
starved little cunt and not a lot of undressing and fumbling to do, he
could wait no longer to possess entirely this young, almost virginal
bride.

Jim bent down and lifted her limp, nylon clad legs onto the couch, then
pushed a pillow beneath her head. She smiled sleepily without opening
her eyes. Next he went over to the stereo set and put on a softly
seductive record. Then he padded upstairs and removed all of his
clothes, putting on an expensive silk lounging robe which came just to
mid-thigh and was fastened in front by a silken cord. He brushed his
teeth and sprinkled some after shave lotion on his face before heading
back downstairs to the study.

Grace was sound asleep, lying flat on her back with left leg slightly
cocked at the knee. Jim could plainly see the shadow of her vaginal
crevice and the full ripe mound of warm creamy flesh that denoted the
beginnings of her deliciously proportioned buttocks. Softly curling
strands of her pubic hair peeked out from under the elastic legbands of
her panties. It was all he could do to keep from spreading her legs wide
and savagely tearing into the young, almost naked cunt lying helplessly
there before him. Only by exerting an inordinate amount of self-control
was he able to be gentle with her.

Grace was not aware of it when he eased her shoes off her feet and
teased soft wet kisses along the bottom of her foot and up the back of
her calf. Nor did she realize what Jim was doing when she felt her hips
being raised. She never felt her scanty little nylon panties being
pulled down over the smoothly rounded curves of her hips and slid down
her legs.

Slowly, the heavily breathing man spread her thighs apart, bending and
raising the right knee until it pressed against the back of the leather
couch. The left leg he simply let trail on the floor.

Then, with quickening breath, he knelt between her ankles and stared
with lascivious eyes at her soft black pubic hair and the wide, coral
pink lips of her now completely open and defenseless young pussy. It
seemed as if they were a magnet pulling his face toward them. Her cunt
called out, begged to be touched, to be kissed, to be eaten like the
most succulent forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden. The hardness of
his throbbing prick rubbed against the silk of his lounging pajamas and
made his balls ache. He had never felt more alive than he did at this
moment. He could feel the cool leather on his knees and the warmth of
her inner thighs on the palms of his hands as he pushed them even
further apart.

It was not until her smoothly tapered young legs were completely
widespread that Grace began to regain some semblance of consciousness,
and even then she was incapable of evaluating completely what was
happening to her. She knew her naked buttocks were on cool leather, that
her legs were spread wide apart, that warm hands were stroking the
insides of her thighs. Everything considered, it felt good.

Jim Meloney sensed that she had snapped out of her stupor momentarily.
He waited for some protest, then felt her momentarily stiffened legs
relax and fall limply open again. He grinned and licked his lips; she
either knew or she didn't know what he was about to do. Either way, she
was permitting him to go ahead.

Quickly then, he slithered forward until his face was just above the
soft, wetly glistening little slit between her thighs. Never before had
he seen such a mouth-watering cunt; the vaginal lips were perfect,
looking almost as if they belonged on a young teenage girl instead of a
married woman. Her pubic hair was more like silken sable and the tiny,
sparsely used cuntal mouth was small, delicate ... timid.

Slowly, as though he were savouring every second, he lowered his face
... and his tongue like a red shinning penis of a dog crept out between
his teeth.

He licked once ... slowly and gently his tongue moved from clitoris to
anus ... and was rewarded with an almost inaudible moan. His tongue
retraced the wetly teasing path it had just taken, and this time he felt
the tendons of her inner thighs tighten and her entire pelvis slowly
rise upward toward his face. Unconscious or not, her vagina was
responding for he tasted the first slightly saline secretions of her
feminine musk as her pussy of its own volition prepared itself for love
making by seeping out its warm, slickly welcoming lubricant.

Grace was dreaming. Stan was making beautiful love to her. It felt
wonderful, whereas always before it had been distasteful. In her dream
she was responding, fervently!

And abruptly, she was in full command of her senses. She struggled to
sit up, but found herself pinned to the couch. What was happening to
her? Why was she naked from the waist down? Who? What? She finally
raised her head and saw the top of a man's head down between her open
thighs. "No," she screamed. "You mustn't."

Meloney, instead of answering, drove his tongue full length into the
sweet warm depths of her pussy for the first time and used his nose to
titillate her tiny, unconsciously pulsating clitoris.

"Aaagghh. No, oh, God, no!"

The man heard her terrified yelp and knew now that he must not stop
until she was so aroused she could not help herself. It was now or
never. She wouldn't let him near her in the future if he stopped now,
but if he continued and she liked it? Who could tell. So thinking, he
tightened his arms wrapped about her thighs and buried his rapacious
tongue even deeper into the quivering, heated pussy lips between her
open legs.

Fear and repugnance were battling each other for supremacy in Grace's
mind. Instead of a sweet dream, this was some nightmare too horrible to
comprehend. And still, though, the earlier pleasure of that dream was
not to be denied. Her nerve endings down there were being serenaded by
that velvet tongue that licked, sucked, and caressed all at the same
time. It was hateful, outrageous, horrible ... beautiful.

"No ... no," she whimpered, flinging her arm up against her forehead and
clenching her eyes shut as if this would make everything go away, "Stop!
Oh God ... Please stop!"

It was only then that the man looked up and she gasped as she saw the
familiar face. "Jim," she cried. "Don't! Please stop. Let me up ...
please."

His own reply was, without taking his eyes from her face--a hard tongue
thrust against her clitoris.

"Oh, Jim," she squealed. "Please don't. You can't do that! It's a
horrible thing!"

His tongue traced a zig-zag pattern down through her pubic curls from
clitoris to anus again, then came back and speared into the seeping hole
of her tiny, tightly clenched cuntal opening. Seven--eight times in
rapid succession he flicked his tongue in and out between inner and
outer lips of her pussy, tongue-fucking her in earnest now.

Grace began moaning piteously as she felt powerful sensations overriding
all other emotions and body functions. "Oh, Jim ... Jim! Pluuuu-eeez! My
husband has never even done that to me. Jim? JIM!" The last was a shout
as his teeth clamped the sensitive almond bud of her clitoris and began
nibbling gently. "Oh, God!" she gasped, then fell back against the
couch, weakened by the intense feeling and sudden uncontrollable hunger
down between her helplessly trembling legs. She made one last protest,
"Don't. My husband! That's dirty ... perverted."

Jim looked up, his face shining with his own saliva and her excitedly
flowing cuntal juices. "Stop fighting it, Grace. You know and I know
that you're enjoying what I'm doing to your wonderful pussy."

"Please ... don't talk like that to me," she moaned. "I'm married and I
love my husband."

"So?" He lowered his chin and ran his hot hard tongue along one side of
her outer layer of vulva, watching her as he did so. Her face grimaced,
not in disgust, but in what was obviously a fight for self-control.

She was his now. His to do what he wanted to. She might think she was
still capable of fighting, but her pussy was in command of her body now,
and it was going to betray her for thirty silvery licks.

Satisfied, he let his eyes feast hungrily on the now fully blossomed
lips which had grown in size and colour since he began his
ministrations. There was life in those lips, and no masterpiece in any
museum could ever compare with the picture before him--framed so
delicately with incredibly soft, raven black pubic curls. One single
drop of her seeping pussy juice clung like a small translucent pearl to
the little curls of black hair. The entire cuntal area looked like the
corolla of some ruby-coloured flower and, in the middle where the stamen
ordinarily would be, there was the sacred little opening to her womb.
Even as he watched, it puckered and unpuckered in sensual excitement,
looking like the mouth of a feeding fish.

"Look down at me, Grace," he commanded, and there was something in his
voice that made her lift her head. She watched petrified and stiff, as
he placed his thumbs on her vaginal opening and peeled her softly
yielding pussy lips apart as though it were sections of some succulent
tropical fruit being separated; the soft curls of her pubic hairs gave
way, exposing the flaming beauty of her vertical little cuntal mouth to
his lust dimmed gaze. She moaned in shame as he breathed against the
sensitive lips; the expelled hot air from his throat grazed raw nerves
down there and her entire body reacted as she heard his accompanying
lewd, lascivious statement, "I'm going to eat your pussy, Grace. I'm
going to tongue-fuck you and, if you're telling the truth about no one
ever having done this for you, then you're in for a beautiful surprise."

She saw his face drop ... and his tongue come out to wetly probe her
guilt-quivering vagina. That was the last thing she saw. With this hot,
wet contact between tongue and cunt, she simply was forced to let
everything go. Her body responded automatically, jerking convulsively,
as she ground her hips into the leather couch in an effort to escape his
long worming tongue that wiggled like a sidewinder up one side of her
cunt and down the other. A groan bubbled out of her throat, "Ohhhh ...
my God! Jim ... please ... don't ... " The rapacious licking continued
in and upon her defenseless vagina and she felt her stomach muscles
rippling like wind on the water. She began wailing in animal-like
passion as his tongue scoured her inner thighs and made one hot swipe
around her clitoris before snaking rapier-like in and out of her now
completely helplessly cringing pussy. "Oh. Oh ... Jim, dear God ... stop
... please."

Jim shook his head negatively and raced his tongue faster up the dilated
hole between her open thighs. He used his nose to tease against the
hotly throbbing little clitoris repeatedly and each nudge brought a low
gasp from the helplessly immured girl.

She raised her head up to look down over her breasts and this time her
mind was clear enough to see everything. She saw his bobbing head framed
between her sleek widespread nylon-clad knees. Her black and yellow
floral printed dress was bunched up above her hips and she could even
see tiny red lace roses on the black lacey garter belt holding up her
sheer hosiery. Black against white on her thighs, Jim's grayish brown
hair and tanned face bobbing up and down against the black of her naked
pubic hair!

She watched his assault with a feeling of horror, her mind in a
maelstrom of repulsion, shame, and unwanted desire. Above all, was a
realization that burned with a napalm intensity in her tortured mind ...
: This is no dream ... this is really happening to me. Oh, God! Dear
Stan ... I love you ... forgive me ... forgive ... me ... for ... The
unwanted jolts of forbidden pleasure and little zephyrs of pure
wantonness vilely pervaded her entire being now as Jim's powerful hands
released her thighs and slipped under her buttocks, cupping and
squeezing the soft, yet firm warm flesh of the hotly trembling cheeks.
His tongue and mouth continued to grind further and further into the
valley of her squirming defenseless cunt. Without volition, she dug her
shoulders into the couch, sucked in her stomach muscles and raised her
pelvis, making Jim's head bury itself even deeper. Debased sucking and
slurping sounds of his labours echoed throughout the study. His hands
pulled apart the crevice between her buttocks, and then one
adventuresome finger began exploring the opening to her tiny puckered
little rectum. The feel of that finger there caused Grace to clench her
eyes tightly shut and ball her hands into fists.

Now she thought of Stan and the one or two times he had tried to make
love to her this way, and the coldness of her refusal--especially that
night on the banks of the Spence. Why hadn't she suspected this bliss
her body was capable of. After all, she had always liked to be fondled
and caressed, loved the touch of Stan's mouth on her breasts and neck
and shoulder. It was only the sex act itself that was so abhorrent. If
only she had permitted Stan to do this to her. If only she had known the
exquisite pleasure in store for her!

Grace began moaning low in her throat, obvious sounds of pleasure. The
vision of Stan was fading as she began to let herself feel everything
... oh, if she had only known the inherent wantonness of her own body,
she never would have had the first drink unless Stan had been beside her
to protect her ... from herself! But ... instead, her mouth opened wide
...

"Oooooooh God! God I can't stand it!"

Jim heard her sharp gasp of delight as his hands kneaded the soft globes
of her pliantly yielding buttocks; the sound caused a surge of new lust
in his already over-aroused body, and he drew her limply co-operating
legs up and around his neck. Moments later, he had the satisfaction of
knowing that she had voluntarily locked her ankles together behind his
head in consent and cooperation. He continued to fuck her orally, using
his tongue to run lewd sensuous circles around her fully erect little
clitoris, nuzzling his nose back and forth as he darted his throbbing
tongue deep into her pulsating pussy, feeling the soft, hair rimmed lips
push against his mouth with increasing strength as her body spasmed and
writhed upward in a now hungry effort to bring more and more of his
mouth into contact with the wetly glistening flesh. His middle finger
again sought out the tightly clenched lips of her anus, and a low
inarticulate moan was wrenched from her throat as he probed teasingly
the opening. Abruptly, his hot wet mouth moved down, down, all the way
down where his tongue flickered like summer heat lightning against the
brown puckered little hole.

Grace's eyes blinked wide open as she felt the touch, felt the wild
sensual pleasure surge like a seismic wave through her. This was dirty,
Evil. He must stop. She must make him understand he shouldn't do this.

"Oh, God ... Jim. Don't do that ... you mustn't. No!" she whimpered
wildly, her voice an unrecognizable hiss of lust. "You must not ... "
The last was shut off in mid-sentence as her evilly betraying body
wantonly used her heels to bring his head in tighter, deeper,
endeavouring to rape her own tortured rectum with his tongue. She
flailed her head from side to side, trying to shake off the shame at the
realization she had lost complete control of her traitorous emotions.
She began sobbing again in deep, unashamed humiliation as the hotly
slavering man now wormed his heated tongue into that forbidden rectal
opening. "Aaaagghh... " it was said softly between sobs, then "Oohhhh?
Ohhhhh ... God ... !" Her body began to boil with the exquisite tingling
of raw nerve ends as Jim started has voracious licking of the cuntal
crevice again. She knew that further fight was useless; she didn't want
to deny this intense delight he was bringing her. Suddenly, as the
ganglions of her pussy began to vibrate, she knew she was closer than
ever before to the total fulfillment she had too long denied herself.
She, of her own volition, spread her thighs wider and raised her
burning, desire-filled loins to his face, her only wish now to aid this
man, this master of her nakedly grinding vagina. She ground her
throbbing, widespread cunt against his face, reveling to the pit of her
heart and soul with the insane delight of the lewd, forbidden pleasure
he was awarding her.

Her body was rapidly building up to that slow sweet agony of a climax.
Never before had she been so close to release, not in all of her life.
Before this she had submitted docilely, as a good wife should, to the
ordeal of sex. Now, though, she could feel the mighty vapours beginning
to build up into towering, frightening thunderbirds in her love-starved,
incandescent hot pussy. This build up could not last much longer or she
would cataclysmically explode into a million screaming little pieces
flying off in all directions. Before, she had always felt that she was
one of those women who could not physically or emotionally achieve that
summit of god-like sensation, but now she knew she was close. It could
not be denied her this time. It couldn't.

Jim sensed that she was reaching across a previously unbridged gulf, and
he wormed his middle finger deep into her saliva-moistened anus. It went
in easily, the hole having been lubricated by his saliva, enlarged by
his tongue. At the same moment, he began concentrating on her tiny,
hotly jerking clitoris.

Grace writhed and twisted, bubbling and bubbling wild mewls of passion,
her face was twisted in a grotesque masque of feral lust which was
almost frightening in its intensity. She was close. Closer. This was it.
Now! It could not be denied her. "Ohhh ... ohhhhh, God! God! GOD?" She
chanted as he screwed up into her hotly clasping cunt harder with his
tongue. She was only vaguely conscious that his hands were teasing her
anus and clitoris with tingling fingers of flame, and she gasped
hoarsely, wailing with a breath that came more and more rapidly. His big
implacable twisting tongue burrowed ever deeper into her pussy, and she
could feel it trembling deeper inside her--flickering, touching, licking
everything.

Suddenly then, the massive towering storm clouds of lust in her cunt
split wide open in one gigantic thunderclap of sweet agony.

She had bridged the gulf and now she was swinging wildly, soaring high,
high, higher than she had ever thought possible. She was Icarus with
wings of wax reaching out for the sun, with wax melting and feathers
falling, exalting knowing now that she would fall into the sun and be
consumed instead of plummeting into a cold and alien sea.

She was there!

And from a distance too far off to comprehend, she unexpectedly heard
her own shrill cry of delight and the scream "I'm cumming. Oh God. Don't
stop. Don't ever stop! Oh? Oh? Ah? AHHHH. AAIIIIEEETEEE! I'M
CUMMININNNGGGG!"

Jim Meloney's head was almost knocked off his shoulders by the violence
of her pelvis thrusts as she jerked and heaved her wildly clasping pussy
against his face. Once, she hit him so hard that he thought for sure his
nose would be bloodied. Her legs, locked around his head, had tightened
like the grip of a reticulated python, and her heels beat a tarantella
of sheer, implacable lust against his shoulder blades.

Finally the tumultuous storm ended and her ravaged body settled back
completely relaxed into the rich leather cushions of the couch. Now she
could feel the coolness of the leather, the dampness of her forehead and
loins.

Jim continued gently kissing and nibbling at her vaginal lips until he
felt the last delicate tremors subside, then he pulled his head clear of
her cuntal canyon. "Well?" he asked softly, casting off his robe,
tossing it onto the hearth.

The only answer was a sudden welling up of tears in her eyes, and then
the water began streaming down both sides of her face. "I'm so ashamed,"
she sobbed.

"Don't be. You couldn't help yourself. You needed that."

"But I'm married," she wailed. "And I love my husband!"

She heard his short bark of laughter and looked down toward him. He was
kneeling over her now, his face twisted in hungry passion. Her eyes
trailed on down his broad chest and flat stomach to the erect penis
which stood out like a canted telephone pole from his gray-brown patch
of pubic hair. His hand began to stroke his cock, pulling the foreskin
slowly back to reveal the one Cyclopean eye which peered at her. Lord!
It was so big! Far larger than Stan's. She was terrorized by the
immensity of it's girth and length. Remembering the pain of each
insertion of Stan's smaller penis, she knew she could never take it
without it hurting her. It would split her apart, fill her with
excruciating agony, kill her!

"It's my turn now," Jim said, watching her face fill with distress. "I'm
going to fuck you, Grace, and when my cock gets all the way inside you,
you're going to experience ten times the pleasure that you just now had.
I'm going to fuck you, baby, and you are going to love every second of
it."

His obscene words both frightened and excited her, but she could not
tear her eyes from that monstrous rod which he held in his hand. She
gaped at it in complete misery as she found her errant mind wondering if
he really could bring her pleasure; after all, he had been right before!
He had brought her up to, and then escourted her through, thresholds of
unbelievable sensuality and carnal delight that she had never before
believed could exist.

"Put it in for me," he ordered.

"Oh, no, Jim. Dear God ... no. I can't. Don't do this to me. I'm
married. Please! Let me go. I love my husband so much."

"Take it!" he snarled, and in his heated desire for her luscious young
body, he cruelly grasped her arm above the elbow and dug his fingernails
into the flesh.

"You're hurting me," she wailed.

"Put ... it ... in!"

"Please, Jim ... no," she started to protest, but then saw the
frightening look in his eye and her hand dropped between their bodies
where it encountered the white hot throbbing immensity of his maledom.
"Oh, God ... " she moaned as her fingers tightened around the thick
fleshy hardness. Fear welled up as she only then fully comprehended the
enormity of the prick.

"Go on," he warned, lowering his hips lower between her widespread
defenseless thighs. "Put it in ... right now!" 

He dropped across her, the hardness of his mammoth cock beating like a
metronome against her upper thighs, his face looming above her. Forcing
herself not to think about what was happening, she guided the hard,
fleshy shaft to the passion drenched mouth of her pussy. The thick
bulbous head scraped electrifyingly against her cuntal lips, then
pressed slightly inward, causing shivers of new unwanted pleasure to
surge throughout her abdomen. She dared not move as she felt the
pressure increase and the small, relatively unused, cuntal opening
starting to stretch. Pain came with it, but she was too frightened, too
shocked by what was happening, to cry out.

"Ooohhhh, God. You are a tight little cunt," Jim breathed. "It feels as
if it's never been used."

He pushed again, and the ponderous head slowly forced its way into her
wet, palpitating opening.

"Please, Jim. Don't. You're too big for me. You're hurting mee-eeee. I
can't stand it." It was a screech of pain, of beseechment, as though she
still believed implicitly in his chivalry.

As if he had suddenly been struck deaf, Jim continued the brutal
impalement. He could tell he was stretching her pussy to the point it
had never been stretched before, but at the same time, she was so well
lubricated from his tongue fucking that he knew there could not be an
inordinate amount of pain associated with his entry. She was just
nervous, tense, frightened! She would get over that in minutes ... just
as soon as she felt the full length of his hardness scraping at every
hidden spot of delight within that musk-scented, honey sweet pussy, and
felt his cockhead hammering at the portals of her almost untouched
little womb ... Slowly he thrust inch by inch into her cringing passage.
She was really weeping now, whether from pain or shame he couldn't tell
... and he didn't think she could either. The sleek sensual silky feel
of her nylons and the roughness of her lace garter belt against his hips
and bare buttocks served as a goad. He could stand this exquisite
torture no longer. He jerked his hips forward in one final thrust and
his hard, hot cock roared into previously untouched territories of her
most sacred treasure; her husband's so, heretofore, carefully guarded
sanctuary.

"Aaaaaaggghhhh," Grace wailed loudly, as the implacably hardened pole of
male flesh cut deeper into her than anyone had ever been before. He had
filled her almost to the bursting point and she could actually feel
every muscular ridge of his corrugated cock through the tortured walls
of her vagina.

Jim lay still for a moment. Never before, not even with the one or two
virgins he'd had in his lifetime, had there been such a tight little
cunt; it seemed to grip his prick like an iron fist encased in a velvet
glove. He sucked in his stomach muscles, tightened his arms and made his
penis jerk hotly within the tight confines.

"Aaaaggh ... don't move it," Grace moaned helplessly.

Delighted with her subservient plea for mercy, Jim flexed his cock again
and again, hearing her groan abjectly with each further twitch of his
deeply sunk cock. Then, gradually, he began short little movements in
and out of her cunt. As her passage became accustomed to his barbaric
instrument, the whimpers of pain and protest gradually changed to little
chants of pleasure. Jim started rotating his hips, grinding his maledom
against her vagina until the mushroomed head was beating relentlessly
against her tortured cervix. He rocked above her, thrusting with long,
smooth motions as though he were astride a horse on a carrousel, rising
and falling, rising and falling.

Grace had begun moving her hips in unison with his simultaneous harmony.
Already she felt tremendous jolts of pleasure arcing throughout her
abdomen. Already he was causing her body to feel more than she had ever
felt with Stan. Her mouth opened and closed in wordless comments, some
of them prayers for forgiveness, some of them unheard and unheeded
commands to her body to ignore this intense delight. Shining little
beads of perspiration seeped to the surface of her upper lip. Her neck
tendons swelled, then grew taut, with the hoarse pantings of carnal joy.
The room swirled about her; she, too, was aboard a carrousel--going up
and down and around and around. His giant throbbing cock buried deep
inside her up pulsating cunt and her love starved vagina together formed
a lewd, wetly sounding symphony of lust. No longer did she have thought
of Stan ... of morals ... of pride. Automatically, her body reacted and
greedily sought more and more pleasure, and the obscene words boiled out
of her lust-constricted throat, "Oh, God. Oh, God. Don't stop."

Perversely, he stopped. "Don't stop what," he asked, knowing full well
it would increase her humiliation no end.

Grace knew instinctively what he wanted to hear, and in her abandonment
she said it with all the force and vitality of a revolutionary screaming
out a political slogan. "Oooh, Jim. Fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me!"
The thought of her own lewd, wanton behaviour excited her even further,
and she groaned and caught her breath as the man's powerful hands pulled
her supple young buttocks tighter to his own rampaging prick. She heaved
with passion, the pain of a few moments ago long since evaporated under
the heat of her own passionate desires. She found her knees clenching
and unclenching around his muscular buttocks with each powerful thrust
of his wonderful, life-giving cock. She reached up and wrapped an arm
around his neck, pulling his sweating face down toward hers, and her
tongue shot deep into his mouth, slithering in and out in a wild
semblance of oral fucking. Uninhibited gurgling noises of velvet rapture
poured from her lust-tightened throat and she crooned, like a mother in
song, "Fuck ... oh, fuck me ... fuck ... fuck."

In the midst of her lewd exhortations, she suddenly heard the cold,
furious voice of her conscience castigating her. Whore! Adulteress,
Slut! Have you no shame, no pride? Are your promises to remain loyal to
your husband only babblings of a liar? Have you forgotten your sacred
oath in church? What about Stan? And from deep within her mind, she
heard the far-off triumphant voice of a defiant biblical Eve shouting
deliriously, "What am I? I am a woman! A full-blooded, healthy woman at
last feeling the long-denied joys of my own body and the body of a
male."

She shoved her cunt lewdly up to him in answer, offering it in some
pagan ritual older than time itself. Never had there been anything like
this, and not even in her wildest imaginations had she dreamed there
would be such ecstatic sensations to be gotten from a man ... from the
licking and tongue-fucking of her pussy to the moment when his mammoth
prick had slid imperiously down her excitedly greased cuntal channel to
toboggan madly into the heart of her womb. Filled with insane pleasure,
she willed and wanted more ... much more, never wanted it to end.

"Fuck me-eeee," she mewled. "Ohhhhh ... beautiful ... "

Maloney jammed her with ever-increasing force as her tightly locked
young vagina continued to pour out lubricant, lengthening his stroke,
drawing his huge rod almost out of the fleshy, moisture drenched sheath,
then plunging downward in quickening strokes as her cunt hungrily
devoured it. Jesus, he thought, she's beginning to go wild; he heard her
grunt before hurtling her wildly sucking vagina up and down on his
throbbing shaft. She had taken complete control away from him as she
sought her own pleasure.

"Aaaaggghhh ... ohhhhh," she moaned as his cock slammed into and brushed
past the cervix, gasping and coughing with each inhalation into her
tortured lungs.

The wildly fucking man's sperm inflated balls slapped hard down against
the nakedness of her unprotected working anus, and through his scrotum
he could feel the delicious softness of her ass cheeks and the hot
dampness in the heated crevice where the warm viscosity and his own
saliva had seeped down the cleft from her pulsating cunt. His throbbing
sac seemed surely to split apart from the mounting pleasure in it, and
he fought for control--fighting against the need to spew his white hot
sperm into the deepest depths. He began ramming her with increasing
fury, wanting to bring her to orgasm before he, himself, came.

Grace cried out wondrously with every punishing fuck-stroke up into her
gratefully accepting young belly. She screwed her tongue into his throat
in unison with each new thrust that buried his burning shaft deeper. She
pulled her legs back even higher, offering him more and more of her
greedily sucking little cunt. Jim glanced downward at his prick,
thinking he would go mad unless he came soon, watching his whitely
glistening cock slip smoothly and powerfully in and out of her pinkly
clasping pussy lips. Quickly, then, in an effort to bring her along even
faster, he slipped his hand beneath her buttocks and once again teased
at the rhythmically flexing hole of her tiny puckered anus.

"Aaaagghhh ... oh, yes ... put your finger in ... hard!" Grace rotated
her ass down hungrily against this new invader, pressing down with her
stomach muscles as though she were trying to void something from her
bowels, opening the rectum so it could accept even further the lewdly
worming digit.

Her first impression was of pain as she felt the palm of his hand flat
against her hotly grinding buttocks and the finger immediately sank its
full length into her rectal passage and began moving in and out in time
with the thrusts of his penis. Then pain became pain-pleasure, then
metamorphosed rapidly into pure pleasure. Abruptly she was attempting to
skewer the rotating finger to the hilt, shoving back against it at the
same time she strained upward to devour more of his warm fabulous hard
cock deep into her heaving belly.

Meloney dug mercilessly into her open little anus, his worming finger
feeling the hard thrusting flesh of his own cock through the thin
membrane separating cunt from rectum. Beneath him the girl writhed in
complete abandon. Her motions, together with her guttural croaks of
delight and the tightness of her vagina, pushed him over the edge of
self control and he knew his orgasm was only seconds away.

"Cum now," he commanded, praying she would obey. "I'm going to cum
inside of you. Cum with me ... "

Grace hearing the obscene words began grinding up and down on both
impaling instruments, her toes flexed and splayed out, her breasts
heaving beneath the yellow and black nylon dress, and her sheer nylon
clad legs lurching from side to side. Then her eyes opened wide in
disbelief as she felt the first beginnings of her second orgasm.

Jim grunted and hammered even deeper as he felt the walls of her vagina
seeping the warm, sticky fluid of her climax. With demoniacal strength,
she shoved her pelvis suddenly up from the bed, rotating her slightly
bearded cunt lips around his pistoning cock with renewed fury. Then she
was screaming, "Yes ... Oh god... Yes! I'm cumming again. I'm going ...
to ... cum. Cum in me ... cum in me ... CUM IN ME!"

Grace convulsed beneath Jim Meloney, her mouth and cunt both sucking
furiously, her panting rasping breath breaking into great gasping sobs,
her pussy clenching and clenching--actually milking him--and her asshole
expanding and contracting against his already deeply imbedded finger as
though she were trying to pull in finger, hand, wrist and arm.

Jim was spurred on by her continuing climax, and he thrust deeper into
her voraciously pulsating vagina and anus, forcing her tortured crotch
even wider. Her fucked into her as though his pelvis was a high
performance engine suddenly running wide open, without governor, far
past the redline and to explode at any second. Then, blessed relief. He
gasped as he felt the sudden, surging waves of his boiling white sperm
shoot with a roar through the subterranean tunnel from balls to penis,
and he was instantly lost in incredible sensuality as powerful surges of
his semen spewed deep into the hot dark heart of her womb, filling her
hungrily contracting little belly to the bursting point. The walls of
her vagina continued to work around his penis as if they were part and
parcel of some wonderfully warm milking machine, squeezing, massaging,
clasping and unclasping to drain out every wonderful drop of his hotly
cascading semen.

Grace's wildly fucked young body suddenly fell back onto the leather
couch, her belly still rippling from the aftermath of her galactic
upheaval. Never had such bliss been experienced. She was fulfilled
completely. She was finally a woman. A warm, feeling experiencing woman.
And the abject shame and guilt springing from her adulteress betrayal of
her trusting young husband faded into insignificance compared to the
satiation which drifted over her like a warm comforting cocoon.

Slowly the cottony fogs of weariness and alcohol began slipping away
from her again.

Jim Meloney came back downstairs, dressed now, and thoughtfully looked
at the sleeping young girl. She really was something else, he thought,
as he picked up her thin nylon panties still moist at the crotchband
from her earlier excitement and stuffed them in her purse. He hadn't
enjoyed a fuck so much in weeks ... maybe even months. What she lacked
in experience she more than made up in the tightness and enthusiasm of
her seldom-used little cunt.

Grace was only dimly aware of an arm around her waist, of riding in an
automobile, and then someone helping her from the car.

"Goodbye, Grace," Jim said. "You were wonderful." He kissed her lightly
on the forehead, turned her around, and pointed her toward the apartment
complex where she had earlier said she lived.

He watched her weave her way across the lawn and saw her start up the
stairs. At the top, she stumbled slightly, stopped and turned as if
trying to remember something--then a moment later disappeared from
sight.

It would be nice, he thought, to keep that one around for awhile; but to
do that would violate a basic philosophy that had stood him in good
stead all of his adult life. No one knew better than he, himself, the
validity of that philosophy, for Jim Meloney was strictly a 4-F man ...
"find 'em, feed 'em, fuck 'em, forget 'em." And he would never see Grace
Hope again, not if he had anything to say about it.


Chapter 4


Pain.

Pain!

That was the first thing Grace felt when she awakened next morning to
the blaring of her radio alarm clock. Without opening her eyes, she
reached blindly over and shut it off.

Her head felt as if someone were using a baseball bat atop her skull.
She tried to open her eyes, but the blinding rays of the sun caused her
to clench them shut almost immediately. She lay there in torment as her
brain gradually began sorting out the various messages it was receiving.

"I'm still dressed," she said to herself, "and I'm on top of the bed."

That was her first cohesive thought. Then, slowly, as if she were
viewing a motion picture film in slow motion, the events of the night
before began coming back. "I went to the track ... I met a man ... Jim
Meloney ... I won some money ... I had my photograph taken in the
winner's circle ... I met a lot of people... I had too much to drink ...
" The film stopped. It was almost as if her memory were attempting to
protect her sensibilities. She actually had to force the mental
reproduction of the rest of the evening. Murkily, as if seen through a
deep almost impenetrable fog, she saw the vague outlines of Jim
Meloney's study ... his head between her widespread thighs ...

Oh, God ... no! Surely that last thought had to be the vague memory of a
horrible nightmare, a dirty perverted dream. She forced herself to open
her eyes; again the light caused a blinding flash of agony throughout
her skull. Unsteadily, she stood, clutching the end of the bed for
support. It was a dream. It had to be a dream! But even as she tried to
tell herself this, her brain was transmitting the message: You don't
have your panties on ... and there is a dried crust matting your pubic
hair and upper thighs. And with this came additional information--from
various nerve centers--a minor amount of pain in her vagina, as though
it had been terribly stretched, and a slight discomfort in her rectum
where his finger had wormed its way into her nether depths.

Suddenly, her knees were trembling so violently they would no longer
support her weight, and she was forced to sit on the bed. "Oh ... dear
God!" she croaked, knowing now the truth, as memories like a swarm of
angry hornets began stinging her conscience. With shaking hands, she
reached down and pulled up her dress--looking down at her black patch of
pubic hair. Yes ... that was dried cum, and yes! a stranger's penis had
been pushed into her vagina ... and ... yes! It had been something
wickedly enjoyable, not repugnant. Deeply ashamed, she felt the tears
welling up in her eyes. Her throat was now so tight it felt as though a
wooden stake had been driven through it. Her heart began pounding
rapidly--beating painfully against her rib cage. Another thought hit her
with all the suddenness of a lightning strike: What if I get pregnant?

She tensed, then dismissed the threat with the recollection that her
period was due in about four days, and therefore she presumably was
safe. Still, though, it was a terrifying thought that would hang like
barbed hook in her sub-consciousness for four or five days, to be
expatiated only with the beginning of her menstrual flow.

The slowing welling up of tears became a torrent when she glanced over
toward the dresser and spotted her wedding picture. Stan had his arm
protectively around her. "Stan ... " she gasped. "Stan ... I'm so
sorry."

She continued crying for at least five minutes, deep heart-rendering,
convulsive sobs of shame and humiliation.

I'm nothing more than a whore. Worse than a whore, because I've betrayed
my husband and our love. What makes it worse is that I did it on the
very first night I went out socially. As though I were some bitch in
heat accidentally permitted out of the house!

A woman thinks of many things when first she accuses herself of
wrong-doing. If the sin is of the flesh and it can't be blamed on anyone
but herself, she will frequently consider dramatic, but drastic
measures. Grace's first thought was that Stan would be better off
without her and that she would be better off dead. This was replaced by
a resolution to write Stan immediately, tell him what she had done and
explain that she was leaving him because she was no longer worthy of his
love. Then she decided she would have to quit her job because obviously
everyone would know what had happened just by looking at her.

And finally, emerging from the hog-wallow of self-pity and
incrimination, she decided that first she should have a shower. Quickly,
then, she stripped off her dress, bra, garter belt and hose. Completely
nude, she inspected herself in the full-length mirror before timidly
reaching down to finger the matted black silken hair where cum had glued
the strands together. She flushed as she remembered his rain of kisses
across her abdomen and inner thighs, his tantalizing tongue licking and
thrusting ... his penis. Once again her heart speeded up its tempo and
her breath lost some of its regularity. She stepped up close to the
mirror and looked deep into her own eyes. Yes, there was a difference in
them, but whether it was from fear or excitement, she didn't know.

In the shower, she alternated between fits of convulsive sobs of shame
and moments that almost approached exhilaration as she remembered the
glamour and excitement of the track, and Jim Meloney's expert awakening
of her latent sensual talents. Emerging from the shower stall, she made
an attempt to be realistic about the entire affair as she slowly dried
her body. "After all, I was too drunk to realize what was happening,"
she told herself, knowing even as she said it that the statement was a
half-lie and that drunkenness was no excuse. Also, she remembered all
too clearly her own exhortation as Jim Meloney's wonderful prick thrust
in, pulled out, thrust in ... She could almost feel it happening now!
She moaned low in her throat and felt her heart respond once more to the
mental stimulus of love-making. There was a soft urgent tingling between
her thighs, a feeling of wantonness that brought a flush to her face.
Her nipples, she noticed, were fully erect. Grace knew she could get rid
of her headache by taking aspirin, but there was no medicine that would
cure or alleviate this sudden intense excitement. She couldn't tell how
much of it was caused by the thought of pleasurable sex and how much by
the sudden recollection of winning some money--a considerable sum of
money. Quickly, she gobbled down the three aspirin she had shaken out of
the bottle, and began searching for her purse, finding it tossed
carelessly on the front room couch. She blushed when she opened the bag
and found her bikini panties stuffed inside, then gasped when she saw
the money.

It was with a feeling of stunned disbelief and ever-intensifying
excitement that Grace began counting the $100 bills. She really didn't
remember anything at all about the last race, but she recalled every
little detail about the sixth race which she had won. In her mind she
saw it happen all over again, could feel the growing fever, the hoarse
tightness of her throat, the urgent excited screams of encouragement as
her horse put its nose out in front, then the breathless moment of
suspended animation waiting for the tote board to light up, with the
payoff. It was definitely something akin to sexual excitement. In her
mind, the two were almost inseparable, both had affected her body in the
same manner.

Whereas only forty five minutes before she had awakened a wreck,
contemplating suicide or resigning from her job, now Grace was almost
glowing. Aside from a slight puffiness and a suggestion of redness about
the eyes, she looked cool, calm and collected when she knocked on Judi's
door.

The little blonde came to the door wearing only a skimpy bra and panties
and a pair of dark glasses. "Oh, God!" she moaned, peering out through a
crack in the door. "How can you look so damned cheerful when I'm dying."
She sighed, then grimaced, and threw open the door. "Come on in ... I'll
be ready in a minute... if I don't drop dead before."

Grace was forced to laugh at the pathetic picture the other girl
presented. Judi was obviously suffering from a monumental hang-over, one
that was even worse than hers. While the little blonde dressed, Grace
made strong instant coffee for them both.

Finally Judi emerged from the bedroom, dressed. She held her rattling
cup of coffee in both hands to steady it, then drank half of the cup in
one swallow. "Jeez, I needed that." She sighed again, then was forced to
sit down. "How much did you lose last night?"

Grace hesitated only a split second, then unable to control the
excitement, said, "I won over six hundred dollars."

"That's nice," Judi said absent-mindedly, then yelped, "You what?"

"I won over six hundred dollars," she repeated.

"My God! I thought you didn't know anything about the ponies," Judi said
in genuine puzzlement. 

"I don't. I just gave ten dollars to Jim ... ah ... Jim Meloney! to bet
for me, and he used my winnings to make another bet in the last race,
then gave me six hundred dollars."

Judi arched an eyebrow up, then immediately looked as if she regretted
having used that particular set of muscles in her head. "Jim Meloney,
eh? I saw you two in the winners' circle. You looked real cute." She
inspected her fingernails as she said almost too casually, "The two of
you seemed to hit it off pretty well."

Grace immediately felt her face heat up and knew that it must be almost
a beet red colour. "I ... don't know what you mean," she stammered.

Judi looked up, saw the guilty expression, and the blush, and grinned
knowingly. "Well ... well!"

"It isn't like you think," Grace replied quickly.

"Oh?"

Grace spun around and faced the door, refusing to look any longer at the
other girl's knowing expression. "I don't want to talk about it.
Besides, nothing happened."

"Okay. No more talk, but you'd better be prepared to take a little
ribbing from Bill and Doug."

"What'd you mean?"

"Love, you weren't home yet at three thirty this morning when they
finally staggered out of here. They both kept asking where you were.
Four hours, you must admit, is an awful long time just for coffee."

"Oh, God!"

"Yeh."

Grace took a deep breath and decided attack was the better weapon. She
squared her shoulders, turned around and said, with considerable heat,
"Nothing happened. It wasn't like you think at all. And it's none of
Bill Hill's or Doug's business, either."

Judi shrugged. "Okay. I'll tell them to lay off if they don't want their
heads snapped off." She grinned to show she wasn't hurt by Grace's
refusal to share the details of the night before.

Judi must have warned the office staff and the car lot salesmen, because
no one attempted to wisecrack about Grace's drunkenness and subsequent
mysterious disappearance. It was obvious, though, from the speculative
looks and suggestive smirks she received that by now everyone suspected
the worst. Grace worked steadily all day long, refusing to break even
for lunch with Judi, concentrating on the job and shutting all else out
of her mind. By five thirty, the usual quitting time, she was so
exhausted she had to count her cash three different times before the
receipts and money balanced, and then when she made out the bank deposit
slip for $12,366.72 there was an error in addition which took her almost
ten minutes to locate. Although the bank was within easy walking
distance, only three blocks away, because of her headache and
weariness--together with the lateness of the hour--she accepted Judi's
offer to stop by the bank on their way home.

As it was, she barely made it through the bank doors before they closed.

Driving home, exhaustion kept the usually loquacious and effervescent
Judi quiet. When they arrived at the apartment complex, both women went
silently upstairs to their respective flats. "See ya," Judi said,
yawning. Grace nodded, then almost blindly made her way into the
bedroom. Two minutes later she crawled nude between the cool sheets. Her
last thoughts before drifting off almost immediately into a deep slumber
were: Oh my, I forgot to check the mail box for a letter from Stan; and,
I wonder how I'm going to act when Jim calls and asks me out again. The
first thought brought her a stab of guilt, quickly suppressed; the
second made her smile briefly before sleep overcame her.


Chapter 5


Grace slept deeply until about eight o'clock that same night. Upon
awakening, she was surprised to see that it was still light outside. For
a moment the thought came that she had slept around the clock and it was
morning. But then she heard the children screaming around the pool and
knew that her unconscious state had lasted only a couple of hours.

Still weary and feeling the drugged remnants of her exhaustion, she
tried to analyze why the blissful unconsciousness of sleep had fled. It
took only a few seconds for her to realize that her heart was pounding
and muscles tense with excitement. Then she remembered the dream! She
had been at the track again and a horse with the number "five" had won
convincingly; in the dream, Grace was screaming encouragement to the
five horse for she had two hundred dollars bet on it to win. She even
saw the exact payoff figures, $21.10, which meant that her win tickets
were worth $2,120.

Again, just as she had experienced the night before, there was something
akin to fever in her body. Her heart beat rapidly, her throat was dry
and hoarse, and her legs felt rubbery to the point where she knew they
could not support her weight. Most surprising of all, though, was the
sudden realization that she wanted to be at the track right now so that
the glamour and excitement might be tasted once again.

"Perhaps it's my extra-sensory-perception working," she told herself.
"Maybe Jim is at the track and is thinking of me." That thought, too,
excited her for there was no doubt that around the turf club Jim Meloney
was a king, and last night he had chosen her for his queen. He had to be
fond of her; after all, he couldn't have done what he had done if he
didn't love her. Of course, she would never again permit him the
liberties he had taken last night, but they could be friends. She would
forgive him and tell him she didn't blame him at all ... only herself.
She could picture the scene now. He would be so relieved, for she knew
that he must feel a terrible guilt about seducing the wife of a
serviceman in Vietnam. 

For a moment she was so sure he was thinking of her that she was
positive the phone would ring within seconds, and it would be him, and
he would invite her to share dinner with him at the track. Grace was so
certain that this would transpire that she got out of bed and took the
phone into the bathroom so she could hear it while she showered in
preparation.

About nine, partially dressed, the first pangs of uncertainty and
disappointment began setting in. By nine-thirty, Grace was dressed
completely. She just had to go to the track ... just had to. It was a
craving so strong that it was simply impossible to dismiss it. Yanking
open the French doors that led to the mutual sun balcony that Judi and
her apartments shared, she quickly walked over to the little blonde's
windows. There were no lights on anywhere in the flat. Grace tapped
softly at the balcony door; when there was no answer, she repeated the
knock a bit more loudly this time. Judi apparently slept on. Feeling
resentment and frustration, Grace went back to her own apartment.

"I suppose I could go to the track by myself," she said in speculation.
"That way if Jim wanted to apologize and talk to me privately, we
wouldn't have to worry about Judi."

The last thought triggered the decision and fifteen minutes later Grace
was en route to the track in a taxi. As the car came closer to Bay
Meadows, she began feeling the buildup of an almost intolerable
excitement that left her weak and debilitated. Mentally she urged the
driver to go faster. It seemed as if at each traffic light the idiot
stopped longer and drove slower.

When they finally drove up in front of the Turf Club and Club House
entrance, Grace was almost in a frenzy, and it took a determined effort
on her part to appear calm and collected. Part of her enforced composure
disappeared when she was paying the admission fee and heard the crowd
being to shout as another race started.

"Oh, dear God, please don't let my number five win it. I'll kill
myself!" she silently said, as the noise grew in volume and then faded,
signifying the end of the race.

At the top of the stairs she glimpsed the tote board and saw, with
sudden relief that number ten had finished first, number three was
second, and a photo was needed to separate third and fourth horses.
Convinced by this that tonight was going to be another lucky evening,
Grace slowly wove her way through the milling throng toward the box
holders section in the Turf Club. No one was in Jim Meloney's box;
furthermore, there were no racing forms or binoculars or cocktail
glasses there to indicate that anyone had been sitting in the box.

It was only then that Grace scanned the program and discovered that Red
Rebel stables had no horses entered in tonight's races. Once again
disappointment assailed her. Maybe Jim was spending the evening in
another box with friends. Recognizing a trainer who had been in Jim's
box as a guest the night before, she stopped in front of him and smiled
brightly. "Why, hello there," she said in as friendly a manner as
possible. "How are you tonight?"

The man looked puzzled; obviously, she thought, he doesn't remember me.
He was completely non-committal when he nodded his head at her.

"I'm Grace Hope. We met last night. In Jim's ... I mean ... Mr.
Meloney's box."

Recognition dawned on the face. "Oh, yeah. How you been?"

"Fine. Ah ... have you seen Mr. Meloney here tonight?"

"Naw, he ain't here. He's down in Los Alamitos for the big handicap
tomorrow."

Now it was impossible to conceal the disappointment, and the trainer
looked oddly at her. "Thank you," she managed to stammer, then turned
and walked rapidly away, feeling close to tears. Reaching the bar, she
sat her purse down on the teakwood decking and tried to figure out what
she should do.

A white-coated bartender moved down the bar and asked, "Yes, Ma'am?"

Grace really didn't feel like drinking, but ordered a dry martini
anyway, thinking it might help her relax a bit. When it came, it tasted
differently than last night's. She only then began to sense the vast and
overwhelming loneliness of the track. There were almost ten thousand
spectators present, but she felt completely isolated and alone. Idly,
for lack of anything better to do, she ran her eye down the listed
entries of the upcoming race. Suddenly her body stiffened and her heart
felt as if it had stopped beating. Number five was a horse called Jim's
Hopeful II. It was a message from the Gods; the name coupled with her
dream was just too much to be coincidence ... too much to be ignored.
Obviously her extra-sensory-perception had been working. She looked out
toward the tote board and was not at all surprised to discover that the
odds were hovering between nine and ten to one which meant the horse
would pay $21 or so if it won.

Abruptly then she felt the return of heat in her face, the weakness
around the knees. She drained the remainder of her martini in one
swallow and resolutely made her way toward the $50 win window.

"Bet with their money," Jim had said, and Grace had six hundred dollars
of their money. That, of course, was far too much to bet; that would be
sheer greediness. No, she decided, I'll bet, only two hundred dollars
... that will give me two thousand.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she shoved two $100 bills
through the cage and said, as casually as she could, "On number five to
win, please." The machine hummed four times and spat out four yellow
tickets.

Shoving them into her purse, she hurriedly made her way out to the deck
overlooking the track. A solid wall of spectators were in front of her,
she couldn't see a thing.

"It is now post time," the public address system announced.

Frantically, Grace craned her neck and moved in first one direction and
then the other in an effort to see the track.

"They're off!"

Like a little girl trying to view the circus parade, Grace began jumping
up and down. The scream of the crowd made it obvious that several horses
were battling for the lead. Then the thunder rose to one gigantic
cacophony before fading away to disappointed murmurs and shrill cries of
delight.

"Who won! Who won?" Grace tugged at the coat sleeve of the man in front
of her.

He didn't even turn toward her, merely said, "The nine horse."

"But ... but ... " she felt like tears, "What happened to the five
horse?"

Now the man faced her, obviously irritated at her persistent
questioning. "Christ, lady, I was too busy watching my horse to give you
a run down on everyone in the race." He softened when he noticed how
attractive she was. "Five was back in the pack someplace." He nodded
toward the tote board, "He didn't make the first four." Grace, not
believing him, stood on tiptoe and saw the numbers: nine, three, two,
six.

Blindly, she turned away, walking once again toward the bar. She stopped
at the same spot she had been before. The same bartender came down from
his post. "Another?" he asked, smiling.

Grace took a deep breath, then nodded. She sipped her martini; it tasted
like acid in her mouth. What had gone wrong? She still didn't believe
she had lost the two hundred dollars so rapidly. Where had she erred?
Gradually, bits of Jim's information came back to her. Another axiom he
had stated had been never to bet unless you're sure your information is
reliable and the horse is in top shape.

As she stood there, sipping her drink, she decided that the entire
problem really was simple. All she needed was the information, and she
knew where to get that ... from the owners and trainers she had met the
night before.

Moments later, Grace was drifting aimlessly through the Turf Club box
section. She nodded pleasantly to several people whom she had served
champagne to the night before, and felt a stab of hurt as it became
obvious that most of them did not recall her at all. No one invited her
to stop for conversation or to share their box. As the time for the next
race grew closer and she still had received no information about the
race, she was becoming almost frantic when she finally spotted the
trainer she had spoken to earlier talking to a man she recognized as an
owner.

Pretending to be deeply engrossed in her racing form, Grace slowly
inched closer. She felt no guilt about eavesdropping, only a feverish
excitement and almost intolerable sense of suspense.

Then she heard the very thing she had been praying for. The trainer
scratched his head and said in a quiet voice, "That makes sense. I know
the horse can do it. I was talking to Dan this morning. He says the
horse is ready for a big race."

The owner glanced quizzically over toward Grace who rapidly averted her
eyes. He lowered his own voice and asked the trainer, "You taking a
flyer on him?"

"Yep. He should win by a length."

"That's good enough for me."

Grace moved away from them to a spot where she could keep the two men in
sight. When they went to the betting window, she planned to be right
behind him. She watched, waiting impatiently as they exchanged gossip
with several other men. To Grace it seemed as if they all were in
agreement. She followed close behind as they began moving toward the
seller's cage about two minutes before post time.

The two men got in the small line in front of the $100 win window.
Before Grace could move in behind them, a fat, bleached blonde older
woman joined the line. Above the hub-bub of the crowd, she could barely
hear what was being said at the window. She attempted to twist her way
close to the trainer, and was rewarded by a scowl from the blonde, who
turned and said sarcastically, "Don't shove, sweetie. There's plenty of
tickets for everyone."

As she was speaking, Grace saw the owner pick up his tickets from the
seller. She hadn't heard what horse he had bet on. Now the trainer was
at the window. Just at that second the public address system began
blaring, "It is now post time."

Between the words, however, Grace heard the trainer say, "Six." And a
split second later heard the rest, "five times."

Now the familiar fever was on her so badly that she could hardly stand
it. The woman in front of her placed her mammoth handbag on the window
sill and went through an elaborate stage production of opening the
purse, looking for money, and scrunching up her eyebrows as though she
didn't know what quite to bet.

"Hurry, please," Grace pled, breathing rapidly, fearful that the race
would start before she could place her bet.

The woman, who was holding a hundred dollar bill between thumb and
forefinger as if it were a wiggling worm, looked back in disgust. "You
again? Well, now, you just wait your turn like everyone else."

From behind Grace came a gruff angry voice, "Lady, if I miss getting a
bet down on this race because of your yapping, and my horse wins, I'm
going to kick ... your ... butt."

"Well!" Outraged, the bleached blonde bent down and stared in at the
pari-mutuel clerk. "Number three, please."

Grace was almost rude in her effort to push past the window to get her
money down. "Number six ... six times." The tickets were coughed out of
the machine, and Grace ran toward the terrace in an effort to see the
race. She got there just as the announcement was made, "They're off." It
was only then that she realized she didn't know either the stable
colours or the horse's name. All around her people were screaming,
shouting encouragement to their horse. Grace, though, was silent ...
praying. The race lasted 21.3 seconds. As the horses flashed past the
finish line, a big powerful gray gelding was at least a length in front.
Squinting, she made out its post position number, and her heart stopped
beating when she saw the black figure, "8". Vainly she looked for the
six horse, and finally she saw it somewhere near the back of the pack.

She stood there frozen as if she were a statue, as the crowd thinned.
What had happened was simply unbelievable. The money had come so fast
... and had gone just as rapidly. It was a disaster. Now, if she
remained, she would have to bet her own money, and there was only a few
dollars in her purse.

For a split second Grace had the foolish hope that maybe she had asked
for the wrong horse or that the ticket seller has mistakenly punched out
tickets on the eight horse. The more she thought about it, the more she
became convinced that it was a distinct possibility. Almost frantically,
she rummaged in her purse until she found the tickets. Six. All sixes.
There had been no mistake ... none ... she had bought a loser.

She jumped as an oily voice next to her said, "Well ... well... well.
Mrs. Hope. What a surprise!" He glanced down at the tickets in her hand,
and Grace saw his eyes widen in surprise as he made a low whistle of
amazement. "Jesus. You're quite a plunger. I never realized." Without
bothering to ask permission, he reached down and peeled apart her
tickets as though he were spreading a deck of cards. Again he whistled.
"Six or seven hundred bucks. You know, you ... ah ... ought to do
business with the local merchants instead of giving the state its
fifteen percent bite. Ah ... if you decide you want to get a bet down at
another track--anywhere in the country--I've got a friend who pays track
odds."

Grace was furious with him. Who did he think she was? Besides, she
didn't like the sudden greedy look in his eyes or the speculative stare
he had given her. "Thank you, Mister Karl," she said in her coldest
voice, "but I don't need ... or want ... your help. Good night." She
spun and began walking rapidly toward the bar.

Ricky Karl watched her go. He grinned nastily. He really had been
surprised to see the cold, snooty bitch here. Even more, he had been
surprised to see that she was hooked. He knew that look. He'd seen it
often enough on his bookmaking customers. They were the born losers.
They were hooked on gambling the same way some people get hooked on
heroin or alcohol. She had the fever; he had seen it in her eyes. And,
in spite of what she said or acted, it was only a matter of time before
she came to him or one of his boys wanting to place a bet.

Laughing now, he pulled out his own losing tickets--some $1500 worth on
the six horses. He dropped them to the floor, thinking that he really
hadn't lost ... he had won! The tight-assed, contemptuous Mrs. Hope
would have unlimited credit with his firm. He thought with pleasure the
route she would go, the fun he would have breaking her in to his own
special demands. And when he personally was through with her, there
would be the special shows he sometimes staged for the boys from the
east coast and Chicago. God! They'd go out of their gourds when they saw
a classy broad like this with Andy's specially-trained German Shepherd.

It had been, he thought as he waddled across the decking toward the down
escalator, a pretty good evening, after all. He'd give the bitch a week
... two weeks ... before she started getting the urge to bet elsewhere
or on the day races when she was working.

And once that happened, Grace Hope would be in his web from that day on.


Chapter 6


Grace retired to a leather couch in the far comer of the Turf Club where
the full realization of the enormity of her disaster finally manifested
itself. She had lost six hundred dollars in less than 45 minutes. She
had been so sure that her actions were in keeping with Jim Meloney's
instructions. Admittedly it had been foolish in the first race to play a
hunch; that wouldn't happen again! But she had followed Jim's axiom on
the last race: Make sure your information comes from reliable sources.

Gradually her disappointment gave way to a smouldering resentment, then
to anger ... anger at herself and anger at the track. Some people made
money at the track. She, too, would make money--or at least enough to
get back her six hundred dollars. Then she would quit. After all, she
had a head for figures and knew now how the game was played. The
decision made, Grace counted the money in her purse. Twenty-two dollars!
She put the two dollars aside for cab fare home, then quickly went back
upstairs seeking information. A few minutes later she had purchased five
two-dollar win tickets on a horse called Yellow Raft. She disliked
standing in the two dollar ticket line; it seemed to be filled with
riff-raff, seedy looking people. Yellow Raft won easily, but paid only
$3.60 for each two dollar win ticket. On the next and last race of the
evening, Grace pooled her original twenty dollars with the eight dollar
winnings to bet a big, beautiful black horse by the name of Bar Bar
Black which was going off at six to one. Grace made a swift calculation
and decided her tickets would be worth about $210 when the horse won.

Screaming encouragement, jumping up and down, and her body afire, Grace
saw Bar Bar Black come out of the gate and take what appeared to be a
commanding lead. Then, on the far outside, a gray began closing ground.
The two horses nosed up to the wire at almost the same instant. Grace
was positive she had won, even though the Photo Finish lights were on.
Then, after waiting for what seemed to be an eternity, with her knees
actually quaking and throat painfully dry, she saw the Photo lights
blink out and the winner posted. It was the gray; Bar Bar Black finished
second.

Grace rode silently home in the taxi. She could not ever remember being
so weary as she was at this moment; it was as though she had been ill
and running a high temperature. She was completely debilitated, washed
out, but not too tired to feel the dull anger at the track still
smouldering inside her brain.

When she got home, she went directly upstairs and to bed.

This time she didn't even think about the mail before sleep overcame
her.

On Saturday, Grace cashed a hundred dollar check at the nearby
super-market where she was known, and went back to the track, determined
that today would be the last time she ever visited it. Her money was
gone by the sixth race. She took a bus home and cried when in the
privacy of her own bedroom.

California tracks generally are closed on Mondays, and Bay Meadows was
no exception. On Tuesday evening, Grace was back again after writing a
check for $175, almost all that she had left in the checking account.
She came home with $35.

On Wednesday evening, she asked one of the trainers about Jim Meloney.

"Oh, he's taken part of the string and gone to Raton."

"Raton?"

"Sure. New Mexico. Quarter horse meet going on there."

That was the night Grace had to wait forty minutes across the street
from the track for a bus because she had lost the taxi money. Several
leering lone males in cars offered her a lift, and once she shrank back
in terror prepared to scream for help when six husky youths in a car
stopped. One of them got out of the car and said, "Hey, Baby. Come on.
We'll give you a ride home." A second boy was in the process of getting
out of the car also when a police car cruised by and made a U-turn. The
youths lost no time in leaving.

Grace went to the track every night for the next two weeks. At the end
of that time, she had borrowed $500 from a loan company, asked for and
received an advance on her salary, depleted her and Stan's pitifully
small savings account, borrowed $30 from Judi... and pawned her
engagement ring ... and lost it all.

Grace was sure that Judi was puzzled by her sudden need of money and by
absences away from the house every night, but the little blonde remained
silent. Grace also was almost positive that Judi thought she was having
an affair with Jim Meloney and was spending her evenings with him.

On a Friday, exactly three weeks after she had gone to the track for the
first time in her life, Grace "borrowed" two hundred dollars from the
bank deposit. She won that night and happily remained about even on
Saturday. On Monday, she replaced the money.

The following night she heard some terribly exciting news about one of
Jim Meloney's horses scheduled to start within the next two or three
days.

The horse, Little Red Jewel, had never before started in a race, but it
had broken a track record while in training earlier at Bay Meadows. Jim,
it was reported, was going to try and pull one on the New Mexico and
Texas owners by putting the no-record horse in a race with proven
campaigners. The odds should be good.

It was at that point Grace decided it was really time to relent a bit
toward Ricky Karl.

He always swam in the late afternoons, so Grace waited until she saw him
in the pool, then put on her briefest bikini and went down to join him.

Ricky would have given odds that the untouchable Mrs. Hope was going to
break the ice with him within the next day or so. Actually, he was
surprised it had taken her this long. He had watched and made note of
her downward movement from the hundred dollar win window to the two
dollar show and place windows. She had the bug just about as bad as
anyone he had ever seen. Knowing instinctively that she would come to
him, he had bided his time, and now as he saw her wade into the pool he
knew the time had come.

Grace waited for him to say something to her, but he seemingly was
interested in other things. When he did happen to glance her way, she
gave him a half-smile. Ricky simply nodded his head, then swam over to
the end of the pool and began talking to a friend. Grace swam the length
of the pool slowly, stopping at a place where she knew he could see her.
She smiled again in a friendly manner and this time there wasn't even a
nod. Now she began to get angry at him. After all, she was trying to
make friends with him. That's what he had been trying to do for a long
time, wasn't it? It was almost as if he were trying to make things
difficult for her.

In spite of her heartfelt repugnance, Grace forced herself to finally
swim over beside him and begin the conversation. "Mister Karl, could I
speak to you for a second?"

"Sure, Mrs. Hope." He began swimming leisurely toward the side of the
pool where no one was in earshot. He put his fat, pudgy arms up over the
side, waited until she joined him, then asked, "What can I do for you?"

Grace hoped her dislike and revulsion didn't show on her face. He was so
gross! He had layers of fat across his chest, resulting in breasts that
actually were almost as large as those on some women. His stomach was
covered with short black hair that resembled hog bristles. All things
considered, though, what Grace disliked most about him were his eyes and
his mouth--both mean, small, and obscene. She looked away from him and
said, "The other night you mentioned you had a friend who could make a
bet for me on other tracks?"

"That's correct, Mrs. Hope."

"Even Raton, New Mexico?"

"Even Son Pardo in Mallorca, if you want."

"How do I get in touch with him?"

"I'll give him your message."

Grace didn't like that arrangement. She didn't want Ricky Karl knowing
about her information. He was the type who might blab it to all his
friends.

Ricky watched her closely, evaluating just how far he could push her,
knowing that she wasn't happy dealing with him. He waited, amused, like
a big cat toying with a small mouse.

Grace didn't want to offend him, not until she got the information she
wanted--the name of the bookie. She said, "I don't want to bother you.
Just tell me where I can reach him."

Ricky grinned. "It isn't quite that easy, Mrs. Hope. Ah ... maybe I'd
better have him call you. I'm sure you understand. He's a bookie and
bookmaking is illegal. I'll tell him all about you and let him know
you're good for the dough."

"All right. But could you have him call me tonight or tomorrow morning?"

"Sure." Ricky had a hard time keeping the gloating out of his voice. The
fish had swam into the net, now it was just a matter of hauling in. His
eyes fell to the luscious, soft ripe mounds of her breasts, pinched
tightly in their bra cups, looking eminently biteable. She didn't know
it yet, but within two weeks he was going to take a tit in each hand and
then press them around his cock and fuck her that way and shoot a hot
stream of jism up against her chin and mouth. The haughty bitch ... she
really had some coming to her and he was just the boy to see that she
got it. He felt his prick crawling in response to the mental stimuli.

Grace saw the hot, vacant look in his eyes and drew back in fear. Almost
immediately he superficially seemed to be a nice person once again, but
that one glimpse she'd had into the depths of his filthy soul was enough
to make her wish she had never started talking to him in the first
place. Grace lost no time in getting back to her own apartment.

The contact with Ricky's "friend" was made about an hour later when
Grace's telephone rang.

"Mrs. Hope?"

"Yes?"

"A friend said you wanted to talk to me."

"Are you the ... ah ... bookie?"

"That isn't a nice word, Mrs. Hope."

"I'm sorry."

"Okay. Let's just say that you can make certain investments with me and
let it go at that."

"All right, Mister ... Mister?"

"You can call me Andy."

"Thank you, Andy. Now can you make a bet for me?"

"That's what I'm here for. What do you want?"

"There's a horse by the name of Little Red Jewel that's going to be
entered in a race at Raton sometime soon and I'd like to place a bet on
it."

Andy's' voice didn't hesitate a second. "Its going in the fourth
tomorrow."

"That soon?"

"That's what the form says. How much do you want on it?"

"Do you have any limit on the bets. How will I give you the money?"

"Our mutual friend says you're good for the dough. I can go two and a
half bills for you."

"Two hundred and fifty dollars?" Grace couldn't keep the pleasure out of
her voice. It seemed years since she had that kind of money to bet with.

"No, two thou five hundred."

Stunned, Grace couldn't speak for a moment, and Andy repeated his
earlier question. "How much do you want to bet on the horse?"

"Five hundred," she said quickly. "To win."

"Okay. I'll be in touch. You want I should call at a certain time every
day?"

Grace thought a moment, then answered, "Is eight fifteen in the morning
too early for you?"

"Naw. I'll call." He hung up.

Grace left for the track. As she was going out the door, she felt a
sudden stab of guilt about Stan. She hadn't written to him in five days.
She stopped, feeling a brief note to him wouldn't take more than five
minutes to write, but then went out of the apartment after deciding to
do it after she got home.

The Gods smiled on Grace for part of the evening. She had gone to the
track with fifty dollars--proceeds of an insufficient funds check she
had written at the market. She came home with $220, and at one time she
had been almost four hundred dollars ahead. It had been an exhilarating
evening, the best in a long time, and Grace knew positively that things
were looking up, that she would be out of the hole within a day or
two--especially after Little Red Jewel won tomorrow.

The next afternoon Jim Meloney's horse finished eighth in an eight horse
field. That same night, Grace came home from the track with only twenty
six cents in her purse.

A week later, after a streak of unbelievably bad luck, she was in hock
to Andy for $3100, and was apprehensive because she knew she could never
pay that much money back. He hadn't asked for his money yet, but Grace
knew it was just a matter of time. It was going to be terribly
embarrassing when she had to confess that she was broke. The thing that
frightened her most was the fact that she had written almost four
hundred dollars in bad checks. The least of her worries was Stan who had
written a hurt and bewildered letter asking her why he was receiving no
mail from her.

And it was on Friday that she got the call at work from Andy wanting his
money that afternoon.


Chapter 7


Grace had known what it was like to be "scared," had even experienced a
bad "fright" now and then, but never before had she felt terror so
strong that it paralyzed not only the mind but the body as well. This
morning, when Andy had called demanding his money, she was forced to
lower her voice so that Judi working in the other part of the office
could not hear her. "I'm sorry, Andy," she said. "It's terribly
embarrassing, but I don't have any money. I'll pay you someday, though,
I promise."

"Mrs. Hope," Andy had said, "I told you I want my money this afternoon."
There had been a click on the line, then Andy had hung up before she
could say anything else.

It was at that moment that Grace began to get worried. The worry
graduated into fright, but the terror had begun only when Grace went out
for lunch and two burly men were waiting alongside a black Oldsmobile
for her. One with a squashed nose had said, "Mrs. Hope?"

Her heart began hammering. For a moment she was sure they were police
who had come to arrest her for bad checks. "Ye ... yes," she stammered,
"I'm Mrs. Hope."

Squashed nose had nodded his head toward the back seat. "Get in."

"But I ... but I ... "

"Get in!" The words were like a barbed whip.

Still thinking they were police Grace woodenly slipped in the back seat,
resigned to the fact that she was being taken to jail. She was thrown
back as the vehicle abruptly accelerated. "Where ... where are you
taking me?"

The driver, who looked as if he had once been a not too successful
wrestler, glanced up in the rear view mirror and answered, "Andy wants
to see you."

There was something about the way he said it that made Grace's blood run
cold.

The men drove rapidly and silently across town, and left the boulevard
to wind up a small road leading to the Skyline area. Grace's terror fed
on itself, so much so that she had to be helped from the car when they
finally pulled up before what appeared to be a deserted estate with
crumbling roof and weed overgrown yard, hidden by thick trees from the
road.

Each man took an arm and led her up the stairs to the front door. At the
doorway, both men stopped as a beautiful looking giant German Shepherd
bared his fangs and growled in warning.

From inside the house, Grace heard Andy's voice saying, "It's all right,
Samson. Let her in."

The men let go of Grace's arms, and turned to go back to the car.

"Come in, Mrs. Hope." With legs trembling uncontrollably, Grace did as
she was ordered. Compared to the bright sunlight outside, it was almost
dark in here. The dog followed her across the room: she jumped once as
it nuzzled the back of her nylon dress, pressing his nose in at the
junction of her legs. When her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she
saw Andy for the first time sitting behind a huge desk, and recognized
him as the little jockey who seemed to be a constant companion of Ricky
Karl.

"Sit down, Mrs. Hope." He nodded toward the small milk stool in front on
his desk. When she hesitated, he added, "I think you'd better know right
from the start that unless you do exactly what I tell you to do, you're
not going to leave here alive."

Grace sat down where he instructed; she had to, her legs would no longer
support her terror-ridden body. The dog came around and sat on its
haunches beside her; its long red tongue hanging out of the corner of
its mouth, its almost human gaze never leaving her face. Grace hastily
averted her eyes when she saw the pink shiny penis slip out of the dog's
abdomen and begin to grow.

It was impossible to face Andy's evaluative stare. He seemed to be a
judge looking at a condemned prisoner, trying to determine life
imprisonment or the gas chamber.

Grace knew now what a bird with a broken wing must feel like as it sees
a snake slithering toward it. This was the epitome of the primeval
terror. But if she thought she had been frightened before, it was
nothing compared to the horror which was to come within seconds. Andy
threw over about a dozen 8 x 10 inch glossy photographs. "Look at them,"
he said, ominously.

She reached out with her right hand, but it was shaking so badly she had
to use both hands. For a moment the scene in the photograph didn't
register, then when she realized her eyes really weren't playing tricks
on her, she almost fainted. The photograph showed a nude young woman,
dead--very dead in the most horrible way. Where her vagina had once been
was now only a huge black cavity. Her nose obviously had been broken,
teeth were sharded, and in a final humiliation her throat had been cut.
"Oh ... my God!" Grace moaned, feeling that she was about to vomit.

Andy said, "That was Dorajane Dunlop. She owed us $710 which she refused
to pay. Just so you'll know how she died, the boys all fucked her silly
for four days. Then, we gave her to one of my men who don't like to fuck
women--don't like women period; hates 'em. He knocked out all her teeth,
broke her nose. Then he strapped her spread-eagled to the end of a table
and used a blow torch to burn out her snatch. You know, during that time
she only passed out once and then just for a second or two, the pain
kept bringing her back to full consciousness. She screamed for two days
and two nights until one of my other boys took pity on her and cut her
throat."

Grace dropped the photographs to the floor and jumped to her feet,
glancing frantically around for a way out of this horror dungeon. The
German Shepherd stood growling in warning.

"He can kill you, Mrs. Hope. I've seen him kill men twice your size. Sit
down. Pick up the rest of the pictures. I want you to see them all.
Every one of them."

Grace was not aware she had obeyed instructions, but she did sit down on
the stool and her hands began leafing through the pictures. Some part of
her mind shut off all images however. All she knew for sure was that
each photograph was of a person who had died under some of the most
horrible circumstances imaginable. There were men and women alike there
... all victims of unbelievable sadism and brutality.

When she finished looking at the photographs, Andy said, "These welshers
tried to do the same thing you're trying to do--get out of paying us
money. One of them owed us two hundred and fifty bucks. Another one, the
blonde-haired guy you saw who was about twenty-three, he owed us
twenty-eight hundred bucks. That's the most that any of those jokers
owed us--twenty-eight hundred--until you came along. Now you owe us
thirty-one, Mrs. Hope. And we want it. Now, today. Or else."

She must make him see that she wasn't trying to avoid payment of the
debt. She must! "Andy," she pled, "I want to pay. All I need is a little
time."

"You've got until six o'clock. That's time enough."

"As God is my witness, I ... "

"God is a lousy credit reference, Mrs. Hope," Andy said, then stood in
dismissal. "Six o'clock." The interview obviously was concluded.

Grace got to her feet and walked blindly toward the door. She stopped
but did not turn around when he added, "Oh ... and Mrs. Hope, don't try
to go to the cops about this. I got a couple of guys on my payroll who
work downtown ... as cops ... and I'll know who you talked to, when you
talked to them, and what you said. When that happens, you're dead ...
and you'll go out in a way that'll make these other welshers look like
they died happily in their sleep."

She stood there, head bowed, waiting for dismissal. After a moment it
came, "You can go now. We'll see you at six."

She really wasn't aware of the journey back down the hill or across town
to her office, but she did not fail to note the brazenness of Andy's
henchmen--their utter unconcern for the law--by dropping her off right
in front of Austin Motor Sales.

Grace walked from their car to the door. She glanced up automatically
toward the clock and saw that it had been exactly one hour, to the
minute, since she left.

Judi returned from her own lunch twenty minutes late, giggling and
wise-cracking with Bill Hill. She took one look at Grace's face and
sobered. "Jeez, honey. What's wrong?" She sucked in her breath and bit
her lower lip as her eyes widened in alarm, "Has something happened to
Stan?"

"No ... no. Nothing's wrong." Grace turned her head, indicating she
didn't want to discuss it.

Judi stood there undecided for a second, then shrugged "Okay. If you
change your mind and want to talk to someone about it, I'm available."

For the next three hours Grace worked like an automaton, the shock of
what had transpired during lunch having completely numbed her senses.
Gradually, sometime between four and four-thirty, she came to the
conclusion that it would be far better to go to jail than to wind up a
victim of Andy's sadistic torture. She would pay Andy, would give him
his money out of the bank deposit. And then, on Monday or Tuesday when
the auditors made their month-end check of deposits, she would be forced
to confess her embezzlement. Jail, after all, was a safe haven. She
would be alive there. Besides, she deserved to be put in jail. At least
she couldn't get deeper into the morass of gambling debts that way.

At five o'clock, Grace began totaling up the bank deposit. There was
$11,287.10 in checks, all worthless to her, and $4,921 in cash. She
intended to make up a separate bank deposit slip showing only $1821 in
cash receipts and give Andy the other $3100.

Once she had made the decision and filled out the two different deposit
slips, Grace felt a great calmness descend on her. She felt more at
peace than at any time since this whole thing had started that first
night at the races.

At five thirty, she went into the ladies room to comb her hair before
going to the bank. She stared in the mirror for a long period. It was
the first time in many weeks that she had inspected herself critically.
Her face looked as though she had been ill. No more innocence there, not
any longer. No more the clear, direct stare of honesty and sincerity.
Somehow or another she had assumed a furtive look ... evasive. She
swallowed painfully, then went back into the office.

The bank deposit was gone from her desk!

A silent scream of terror shrieked and reverberated through her brain.
She spun around. "Judi! My God! what happened to the bank deposit?"

Judi, hearing the tone of panic in the other girl's voice, looked up
from her desk in open mouthed amazement.

"What happened to it?" Grace yelled, wanting to run across the room,
slap the little blonde, and shake her until she told the truth.

"Grace. Calm down. Jeez, I've never seen you like this. What's got into
you? Mister Austin took it. He said he was going past the bank anyway
and he'd drop it off."

Grace stood there, the disaster plainly written on her face, then one
hiccuping sob was wrenched from her belly. She sat down weakly into her
chair, weeping loudly.

"Grace? My God ... what's wrong? Are you sick?" Judi came over rapidly,
her face full of concern.

Grace shook her head wordlessly.

"Honey, come on. I know you. Something is terribly wrong. Let me help
you."

"Take me home, Judi," she sobbed. "Take me home now."

The little blonde didn't hesitate a second. "All right." She quickly
took her purse out of the drawer, then reached in Grace's desk and
pulled out the other girl's handbag. "Come on," she coaxed, reaching
down and pulling her to her feet.

All the way home, Judi kept glancing over toward the white-faced,
violently trembling Grace. When they got to the apartment complex, Grace
wordlessly slid out of the car, even before Judi cut the ignition, and
ran blindly toward her room. Once inside, she locked the door and put
the night chain on.

Judi hammered at the door. "Grace ... let me in."

"Go away," she sobbed. "Leave me alone." She heard Judi's sigh of
resignation through the door, then moments later the sound of the little
blonde's apartment door opening.

Whereas an hour earlier she had been calmly resigned to going to jail,
now she was in a state of sheer, blind, unreasoning panic. She glanced
at her watch, not really seeing it ... but realizing that the two hands
were fingers of doom moving inexorably toward six o'clock, only eleven
minutes away.

Grace sat there, a lonely huddled figure exuding terror, while life
swirled on all around her. She could hear radios playing in other parts
of the apartment complex, could hear the children laughing and screaming
around the pool.

The pool! At that moment a small flicker of hope ignited in her breast.
Ricky Karl! He knew Andy! Hope became a raging fire of certainty. Ricky
Karl liked her as a woman. He wouldn't let them disfigure her. He would
help her. Quickly then, because only eight minutes were left before six,
she threw off the chain lock and dashed downstairs to the pool.

She stopped, dead still, when she saw Ricky was nowhere in sight. Then,
running again, her high heels beating a rat-a-tat-tat of such urgency on
the sidewalk that everyone glanced up curiously, she dashed toward the
fat man's apartment section.

She punched the penthouse button on the elevator and prayed all the way
during the journey to the top floor that he would be there.

The doors whispered open. R. KARL, the card above the bell read.

She pushed the button and heard soft chimes ringing inside.

There was no answer.

Frantically, she pushed the button again and hammered on the door. Her
watch hands pointed to 5:55 now.

It was almost a minute before Ricky Karl opened the door in front of
her; she had the impression that he had been standing there all along.
Ricky was dressed in a very short karate-type silk gown that gaped open
over his hairy chest and belly. It was obvious that he wore absolutely
nothing beneath it.

"Well, Mrs. Hope," he purred. "What a pleasant surprise. Do come in."

She didn't want to enter his apartment, especially not with him dressed
the way he was, so she stood steadfast and said, pleadingly, "I need
your help."

The smile faded from his face. "I never discuss business in the
hallways. Come in if you want to talk to me."

Grace knew she must not antagonize him, so she stepped across the
corridor, feeling her shoes sink into the deep pile of the expensive
carpet. Ricky closed the door behind her, then waddled into the living
room. He turned, saw Grace still standing by the door, and jerked his
head impatiently.

She followed him into the spacious, well-decorated living room which was
easily twice the size of her entire apartment. Original oil paintings
were tastefully hung on the walls. An all white couch sat in front of a
picture window overlooking the city. He indicated that she was to sit
there. "A drink?"

"No ... no, thank you. I haven't time." Her eyes darted to her watch,
there were less than three minutes left.

"I insist," he said, pleasantly. "Surely you can't be so rushed that you
haven't time to enjoy the social amenities."

"Oh, please, Mister Karl," Grace began sobbing. "I don't have time. I'm
in terrible trouble."

He paused, pursing his lips, then nodded once, and sat down on the
ottoman in front of her. For a moment, revulsion almost overcame her
terror, for his testicles like two ripe plums in a furry sack could be
plainly seen above his ham-like thighs; it was as though he were
deliberately exposing himself to her, she thought, quickly averting her
eyes.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Hope?" he asked after a moment.

"Please ... oh ... please ... will you call Andy and tell him that I
will pay him the money I owe, but I need more time. Only a week. A week!
That's all I ask."

Ricky managed to look shocked. "You mean you actually made some bets and
didn't have the money to back them. Why, Mrs. Hope ... I'm surprised at
you, That's not only dishonest, but very, very dangerous as well. I've
known some people who were seriously hurt by doing that. Bookmakers have
ways--usually unpleasant ways--to ensure payment."

"He's going to kill me," she sobbed. "Help me. Oh, please, help me."

"Now ... now, I seriously doubt that he'll do anything too injurious for
fifty or sixty dollars. They don't begin to really get tough until it
runs in the hundreds."

"But ... but I owe him three thousand one hundred dollars," she wailed.

"You're joking," Ricky said, jerking back in mock amazement, the
movement causing his gown to open all the way now, revealing a stubby
little penis that could barely be seen below the rolls of fat hanging
from his belly.

"No ... I'm not," she sobbed.

"Oh, my, my, my! I would say that you are in very serious trouble
indeed. I'm not even sure I can help you. I don't have that kind of
money at hand."

"I don't want your money. Just call Andy And ask him for a delay."

Ricky stood, making no effort to pull his gown together. He stared down
at her, then said softly, "Let me look at you, Mrs. Hope." He saw her
frightened eyes flicker toward him, and grinned inwardly as he knew she
had seen his prick. He made a great pretense of studying her face, as if
judging her honesty. The thought of her ripe, red lips ovalled around
his cock made his penis begin to crawl into life. She saw that, too; he
could tell by the way she flushed and looked away. "All right," he said,
finally. "I don't know what I can do, but I'll call Andy tomorrow and
ask him ... "

Grace interrupted frantically, "But you don't understand. He wants his
money by six o'clock. Tonight!"

Ricky looked down at his watch. "But it's six o'clock now."

"I know," she wailed.

"I'll see what I can do," Ricky said, reaching over toward the phone at
the end of the couch. Now the gown had slipped completely off his waist,
and Grace knew he must be aware he was exposing himself. That faded into
insignificance alongside the fact that he had just said he would try to
help. She watched, unable to tear her eyes away from his fat stubby
fingers as he dialed a number.

"Hello, Andy. How are you this evening?" He looked over toward Grace and
she thought his eyes now had grown bolder; they locked themselves on her
breasts, and she saw his prick swelling even more. "Well, Andy, it seems
you have a slight collection problem with Mrs. Hope. I would like to ask
you a favour, please. Call off your dogs, give her some time ... Yes,
yes, I know you gave her until six o'clock. Yes, she's here."

Grace saw Ricky's eyes seem to widen in alarm. "But, Andy, you can't. I
won't let you while she is in my apartment. What? No, I don't think I
can guarantee her loan. Or at least, I don't think I can. Look I'll call
you back in twenty minutes. Promise me you won't let your thugs do
anything rash before six twenty. Thank you, Andy." 

Ricky slowly replaced the phone on its cradle. When he turned back to
Grace, the message of doom was clearly written on his face. "I'm sorry,
my dear. He wants me to guarantee your note. But you see, I'm a
businessman and I don't invest in non-interest bearing propositions. Now
it would be different, of course, if you and I could reach some sort of
understanding. I might even be persuaded to pick up your bad checks."

Grace blanched. "You know about those, too?"

"I know practically everything. About you and Jim Meloney ... " The last
was a shrewd guess on Ricky's part; he had seen Grace in the winner's
circle that night, and he knew Meloney's reputation. One look at the
girl's face told him he had struck pay dirt. He continued, "There are no
secrets between me and Jim. He said you were very good, indeed. A bit
inexperienced ... but delightfully fresh."

"Oh, God!" Her head was reeling. This new assault on her sensitivities
was almost more than she could bear. It wasn't bad enough that Jim
Meloney had taken advantage of her, but to brag about it. To tell
everything that had happened. It did not occur to Grace that Ricky had,
in reality, said nothing incriminating. In her terror-drugged mind she
assumed from his remarks that the fat man really did know--and that Jim
had been the one who told him. She felt betrayed, degraded, and she
burst into tears of shame.

"Now ... now, my dear," Ricky moved over, sat down beside her, and put
his arm around her shoulder. "There's nothing to cry about. I think
you'll find that I'm every bit as much a man as Jim Meloney. And, if you
and I become friends, I'll agree to act as your protector."

"What ... what you're suggesting is that ... that I ... " She could not
finish the abhorrent thought.

Ricky pulled her resisting body closer to him, running his fat, stubby
fingers up and down along the outside of her arm. "What I am suggesting
is quite simple. You spend the evening with me and we get to know each
other better. You and I will become very good friends, indeed."

Grace jumped up, unable to masque the revulsion his vile proposition had
evoked within her. "Never. I'd rather die first."

Ricky's pleasant smile never left his face. He shrugged. "As you wish."
He walked across the room and disappeared down the corridor. Grace stood
up, her hand balled into a fist tightly against her mouth. She heard the
outer door open, then Ricky's voice say, "Tell Andy I can't guarantee
her loan. She's here. Take her, but remember no rough stuff in my
apartment. I don't want blood stains all over the place."

The two burly men who had taken Grace to Andy's country place earlier in
the day came into the room. They seemed to dwarf everything
else--including Ricky. Grace screamed loudly, and continued screaming as
the one with the smashed nose came to her. He raised his hand and
viciously slapped her face. She fell, dazed, back onto the couch ...
sobbing. She felt her shoulders being roughly grasped and then suddenly
she was yanked brutally to her feet. The movement caused her little
shirtwaist dress to split open down the front, revealing her lime green
bra and slip.

"Ricky ... Mister Karl ... please ... please help me," she cried.

"I'm sorry, my dear." He turned away from her and went to his bar. She
screamed again, even louder this time in an effort to attract attention.

Ricky looked at her over the top of his bar. "It will do you no good to
yell. The place is completely soundproofed. And it will do you no good
to call out for the police. The man holding you is a policeman in Andy's
hire. Show her your badge." The man relinquished his hold on Grace's
body and fished in his inside pocket. Flipping open his wallet, he
showed the trembling girl his badge. She had no way of knowing it was
just a special deputy's badge--handed out for political favours. To her
it was the ultimate symbol of authority.

Now the second man, the wrestler, moved to the other side of Grace. Both
took an arm and began dragging her out of the room.

Oh, God. No! The memory of that horrible picture of the other girl
flashed in her mind. Anything ... anything at all--even the filthy
caresses of the unspeakable vile Ricky Karl would be better than to
suffer that kind of fate.

The two men had pulled her roughly toward the door. Grace, feeling her
last resistance crumbling, cried out, "Help me, Ricky. Help me. I'll do
anything ... anything you say ... only help me."

At a nod from the fat man, the two henchmen loosened their hold on the
girl's arms. She dropped to the floor in a heap, sobbing helplessly, and
heard Ricky say, "Stick around. I may change my mind."

The two men left, closing the front door behind them. Ricky came over
carrying a water tumbler half full of an amber liquid. "Drink this," he
commanded.

Woodenly, Grace reached up and accepted the glass. She took a swallow
and began choking as the whiskey burned a painful trail down her gullet.
"Drink it all," he said and stood there until she drained it.

"Now get to your feet," he said.

Grace painfully stood and made a feeble effort to close the front of her
ripped dress.

"Let's get something straight right now," Ricky said, and his voice
indicated he would brook no further disobedience or reluctance on her
part. "You are to do everything I say without complaint or protest. Is
that understood?"

Grace closed her eyes in mortification. There was no telling what this
horrible monster might want her to do. He might even want her to go to
bed with him. Her mind reeled at the thought of permitting him to
violate her body in that manner; and yet--with an instinctive sureness
that sprang from a surprisingly deep sense of survival--she knew she
would force herself to go to bed with him if necessary.

"Answer me," he snapped.

Grace nodded her head acquiescently without opening her eyes, and thus
did not see the look of gloating that lit up Ricky's round moon face
like a neon sign. He stared at the ripe contours of her body only
partially hidden by her dress, relishing the thought of the humiliation
he was about to bring the proud bitch. She deserved everything she was
going to get. He would start her training by making her crawl across the
room on her hands and knees to him, and she would continue to
crawl--like some well disciplined, frightened animal--until he was ready
to discard her.

"Take off your clothes ... slowly. The dress first," he said.

Only then did Grace look up, an abject pleading in her eyes. Oh, God! It
was going to be just as bad as she had thought. He was expecting her to
go to bed. The last plea remained unspoken as she saw the look of
warning on his face and remembered the two thugs outside the door.

Refusing to think about what she was doing, Grace lifted the hem of the
dress over her head and she stood there, shamefully submitting to his
inspection. His eyes were like twin spotlights on a police launch,
sweeping up and down the hidden estuaries of her body, taking note of
the green nylon undergarments, the dark brown hosiery encasing well
rounded calves, the smooth curved spheres of her white young buttocks.
"Now take off your brassiere. Do it slowly, I want to enjoy it." Ricky
watched as she put her long slender arms in back of her, causing her
proud full breasts to protrude even further, and unfastened the bra
snap. The undergarment hung loosely to the magnificent globes for a
moment before she hunched her shoulders together and removed it all
together.

He drew in his breath. Christ! Her firmly rising young tits were better
than he had even suspected. They were big, but perfect, he thought,
staring at the milk white mounds of succulent flesh--looking even whiter
in contrast to her golden tan. The aureoles were the size of brown half
dollar pieces and the nipples were the size of pencil erasers. He walked
up to her and reached out with the thumb and forefinger of one hand,
rolling the nipple between them as if he were testing the fineness of
some rare material. She cringed her breasts away from his touch and had
begun to draw back when she apparently saw the look of warning on his
face. Her shoulders slumped in resignation.

God, he thought. She's just too god-damned good to be true. I wonder
what her snooty little snatch and asshole looks like. "Take off your
slip."

With the removal of each new garment, Grace felt the growth of shame and
helplessness. Again and again as she found herself balking she silently
said, "Your life depends on this man. Do as he says. Don't think about
what you're doing. Just do it."

There was actually a low groan of lust and anticipation from Ricky Karl
when he saw her standing there just in high heels and stockings, and a
jade-coloured garter belt with tiny black flowers made of lace which
framed a pair of sea green bikini panties that clung like a second
translucent skin to her delicious curves and body indentations. Beneath
her panties, Ricky could see the swelling bulge of her pouting young
pubic mound and a lacy dark shadow where her raven black pubic hair grew
in sparse little curls between her thighs.

Grace knew now how a terrified female slave must feel when hauled before
a cruel, unrelenting, sadistic master. She was afraid to refuse his
commands, even more afraid to accede to them for it was obvious what the
filthy beast had in mind ... he was going to make her go to bed with
him. Torn by the battle waging inside of her, she stood trembling
waiting for his next order, for there was only one thing more repugnant,
more frightening than being here in this room with this vile fat man ...
and that was to be not in this room, to be outside where Andy and his
torturers and murderers could lay their hands on her. She wasn't sure
she understood his next request, but when he repeated it, angrily, this
time, Grace did as he instructed. She unfastened her garters so she
could roll her soft flimsy panties, down over the curves of her hips and
legs, then refastened the snaps again and stood upright. Now she wore
only high heels, sheer hosiery, and the garter belt. She felt the cool
breeze from his air conditioning unit on her nakedly trembling buttocks
and between her thighs. Somehow, wearing these items only she felt more
nude than she had ever felt before.

Grace watched as the heavy-set man finally unknotted the silken rope
around his waist and removed the gown. She knew revulsion was written on
her face; it was impossible to hide it. She assumed that he had an
erection, but his penis was so insignificant that it was difficult to
tell. Ricky backed away until he reached the couch, then sat down with
knees splayed out obscenely and hands clasped behind his head. His
testicles hung down in front of the cushion. "Get on your hands and
knees," he said.

What could the gross, contemptible beast have in mind, she wondered
dully, as she obediently got down to her knees, feeling the thick pile
of the rug pressing up between her widespread fingers soft against her
knees.

"Now crawl over here to me," he said hoarsely, his voice a croak of
feral lust.

As though she were viewing some obscene horror film too disgusting to
believe, she saw his testicles, his stubby fat penis, his hairy belly
coming closer, ever closer, as she crawled from the one side of the room
to the couch. She stopped when about six feet away.

"Okay, baby. Now blow it." Ricky said.

"What?" She didn't understand, for a moment--one insane moment of
glorious hope--she thought he was telling her to "blow", to go... was
giving her permission to leave, that she had done what he had wanted and
now she wouldn't have to go to bed with him.

Ricky, seeing her hesitation and indecision, thought for a second that
she was refusing him, and his mood abruptly changed from wild
anticipation to blind anger. "You stupid bitch," he yelled. "You agreed
to do everything I asked. I'm not going to tell you again. Blow me!"

"But I ... but I ... " Grace immediately felt a rash of tears. She
wanted him to know she wasn't being disobedient. She had agreed to do
anything--even, if necessary, going to bed with him. She sobbed, "I
don't know what you want me to do." She looked up piteously pleading to
him.

Ricky saw the tears and the expression on her face and it dawned on him
that she was telling the truth. "Let me get this straight," he said
slowly, without taking his hands from behind his head, "You've never
given a blow job to a boyfriend or your husband."

"I don't know what you mean by 'blow job'."

That put a completely different perspective on the situation, Ricky
thought. He wasn't displeased, not at all. And the thought of being the
first man ever to spew a gob of hot cum down her lovely, virginal throat
made it all the more exciting. There was one thing, however. If she
hadn't done it before, she might rebel--no telling what hang-ups a broad
has until she's done it the first time. The second time they don't think
it's quite so bad, and by the time they've gone the route ten or twelve
times they accept it quite naturally. To get rid of any hang-ups Grace
might have, Ricky felt the shock treatment might be best. "Get to your
feet," he said, his voice less harsh than before.

Grace, feeling something almost akin to happiness because the master was
no longer threatening her, stood as instructed.

"Go over to the top right hand drawer of my desk in the corner there."
He watched as Grace's undulating buttocks moved enticingly toward the
desk. "There's a large manila envelope in the drawer. Take it out. Open
it." He almost laughed when he heard her horrified gasp and saw her face
blanche in fear. These were even larger reproductions of the same
pictures she had seen at Andy's. "Oh ... God ... " she moaned.

"Put them back," Ricky demanded. He waited until she fumbled them back
into the drawer, noting that she had begun her terrified trembling
again. "Now come back here to me and kneel in front of me again." He
watched as she walked embarrassed and self-conscious toward him. She
held her shoulders stiff, obviously in a futile attempt to keep her full
breasts from swaying back and forth. The sight of that beautiful fleecy
cuntal triangle between her nylon encased legs, the white untanned
globes of her buttocks, and the incredible lushness of her upper thighs
almost drove Ricky insane. He couldn't recall ever seeing such a
luscious body before, and the knowledge that she was completely
subservient to him for the rest of the night, the weekend ... or until
he got tired of her, was as pleasurable as hanging a new painting or
placing a new piece of sculpture in his study.

Grace was fighting panic again when she knelt in the same spot she had
been in before. The shock of seeing that poor mutilated girl again had
driven everything but fear and a desire to please out of her mind.

"Crawl up between my legs," Ricky said, and then waited as she shuffled
slightly forward. She was refusing to look at his cock, and that didn't
bother him at all. "All right now," he said, putting new threat in his
voice. "You have exactly fifteen seconds to wrap your hot little lips
around my prick and start sucking. And in case you don't know the
meaning of the word prick, either, then its my penis. That's a blow
job." He took his left hand from behind his head and glanced at the
expensive gold chronometer. "Ten seconds now."

Grace was stunned. She couldn't believe the perverted obscenity she had
just heard. He was testing her. That must be it. A test. He really
didn't want her to do it, just wanted to see if she would obey
instructions. He would stop her before she actually had to do it. She
heard his voice intoning, "five seconds ... four seconds ... three
seconds ... "

She resisted only a split second longer. She was almost sickened by the
sight of the short fleshy instrument. She pretended to go along with his
lewd demand. She opened her mouth and moved her head forward, expecting
a reprieve at any moment. Now she looked at the penis for the first
time. It was, she thought, larger than it had looked from a distance.
The purplish mushroomed head had the same implicit viciousness as a
hammerhead shark. In the center, where the tiny hole opened and closed
with each throb of his heart, a tiny white pearl of viscous seminal
fluid had oozed to the surface. The white trunk of the prick was laced
with thin blue veins, and she could even see them swell with each beat
of his pulse. Closer, closer, closer it came and now it was so close she
could not focus on it any longer ... all she saw was the blurry
indistinctness of something elongated growing out of the thick
gray-black of pubic hair.

With a sudden feeling of desperation, Grace abruptly knew that his was
not a test after all. He actually wanted her to do this horrible
perverted, filthy thing ... wanted her to take his hardened penis into
her mouth.

She had already started to pull back in protest when Ricky Karl
viciously put both hands on the side of her face, holding her face and
mouth captive. "No ... " she began, but it was choked off as he rammed
the thick rod of flesh in, crushing through her softly resisting lips
into the warm moist saliva of her mouth. She could feel the spongy
bluntness of the head sliding the entire length of her tongue, coming to
rest far far back in her throat. She gagged and gasped, mumbling
inarticulately, as he began fucking his cock in and out of her mouth
with powerful little strokes that jolted her head.

Gloating above her with his eyes almost vacant from the intensity of
feeling and lust, Ricky began to undulate his pelvis even more, sliding
the short fat prick in and out of her mouth, never quite withdrawing,
leaving the hot, swollen head just inside the warm, soft grotto of her
unwilling mouth. Grace made an effort to twist her nakedness away from
him, to pull back, but she was held mercilessly captive by his hands
pressing against her cheeks, and when she reared back slightly and put
her hands on his hip bones to push him away, Ricky increased his
pressure on her cheeks and said, "Remember the photographs, my dear."

The total helplessness of her situation caused a sudden black fog of
fatalistic acceptance to descend on Grace's mind. She closed her eyes
tightly to block out the repulsive sight of the graying pubic hairs
sprouting like ash-coloured weeds at the thick base of the cock which
rammed without mercy into her contorted face. Moisture filled her mouth
as saliva glands sought to dampen, dilute, and identify the alien taste
of this, this thing being buried deep in her throat.

Ricky stared down with lewd delight at the labouring figure of the
unwilling girl; the sight of his cock moving in and out between her
full, ovally rounded lips drove him into a frenzy, and in spite of her
gagged and choked protests, he began shoving forward even more
forcefully, raising his fat buttocks high off the couch and thrusting
with all his strength. He held her head tighter as she coughed and
sputtered with each powerful in stroke and as the swollen head of his
cock rhythmically fucked back against her tonsils. He delighted in
watching her tender, lipstick rimmed lips clasping tighter and tighter
around the trunk as her mouth muscles wearied and her warmly ovalled
cavity became accustomed to the unnatural invasion.

"Suck ... suck it, goddamn you. Suck it," he bellowed suddenly, "or I'll
throw you naked out the door to Andy's men."

Grace felt nothing, not even fear any longer. She knew she had to please
this man, and he was telling her how to please him ... and so she did
everything he requested, even more. She licked and sucked at the fleshy
hardened rod imbedded in her mouth, creating a vacuum that brought a low
moan almost of pain from the fat man. She was salivating so much now
that the cock slicked in and out almost effortlessly. She sucked until
her cheeks indented grotesquely, until her throat muscles were flaming
tendons of pure agony. And she licked around the head, using her tongue,
her teeth ... acting automatically now, knowing by the grunts and low
animal groans what was pleasurable to him and what was not.

And with this intense desire to bring him pleasure, because her only
hope of salvation lay in pleasing him, she gradually became aware that
her own traitorous young body was reacting sexually to this oral
degradation. She could feel new warmth in her vagina, a dampness between
her thighs, and the knowledge that she was becoming aroused was more
repulsive and brought her more mental distress than the perverted act
she was being forced to perform with her helpless mouth.

Her thoughts were suddenly forced back to the man and his cock in her
throat, for she felt his loins crush smotheringly into her face and the
fleshy roll of his stomach pressing against her lightly perspiring
forehead. His hands gripped her behind the head pulling it forward as
though he were attempting to shove his cock all the way down her throat
and into her belly. "Suck harder, you bitch, I'm cumming on your
tonsils," he bellowed, then groaned in animal delight, and flooded her
mouth with his hot, thick cum which spurted thickly down her throat in
great, pulsating waves of heated liquid roaring in jet-like torrents
from testicles and seminal ducts.

Grace gulped and swallowed automatically; not to do so would have caused
her to strangle, swallowing the pungent male elixir first in small
amounts and then in greater dosage as the cum continued to spurt
unceasingly. Then abruptly, in spite of her revulsion at the lewd act
forced on her, her jerking throat subtly changed its rhythm and
strangely, she was swallowing hungrily, feeling the need to further
debase herself in punishment. She wallowed obscenely in the pleasure of
subjugation to the fat man's wildly spewing cock jerking into her face.
She wanted to be punished--she needed this degradation. She sucked...
and sucked, stroking his testicles lovingly--wanting more ... more.

"Okay, that's enough," said Ricky with a deep sigh, falling back in
temporary satiation against the couch.

And from behind her, Grace heard a familiar voice, unmistakable in its
lewd hunger. "If you're through with the hot little cunt, how about
giving me a crack at her."

She turned, then gasped in fright and sought to crawl closer to Ricky as
she saw the little figure of the bookmaker, named Andy, leering
lustfully down at her.


Chapter 8


Grace cringed in abject fear against Ricky Karl's legs, an act that
caused the fat man to laugh in a cruel sadistic glee a noise that
sounded more like the nocturnal barkings of a jackal. "Go ahead, Andy.
The snooty little cunt's all yours."

"Oh, please. No. You promised to help me. Don't. Oh, God! Please, Mr.
Karl. He'll hurt me." She was trembling violently now, close to fainting
but afraid to lose consciousness for fear of being handed over to the
torturers.

Andy glanced down at her, puzzled at first by her frightened comments,
then he realized she was stupid enough to think that Ricky really was
handing her over to him for good. He laughed. "Shit, lady, I'm not going
to kill you ... yet. Not unless I kill you by fucking you to death. But
I am going to fuck you. I watched that tight little pussy of yours
wig-wagging back and forth while you were blowing Ricky and it was all I
could do to keep from running over here and giving it to you from behind
dog fashion."

Again in Grace's mind there was that surprising juxtaposition between
happy relief at receiving another last minute pardon and revulsion at
the man's obscene language and what he was requesting. Even as this
thought was being formulated, Andy had begun undressing. She watched, in
horrified abhorrence and close to nausea as he removed everything but
his jockey shorts beneath which she saw the awesome shape of his
penis--frighteningly long and thick even though it was still hidden by
the cloth. The wiry muscles stretched like cables on the little
horseman's body. He looked tough, capable, and there wasn't an ounce of
fat on him.

"Get up. Take off everything," Andy demanded. "I don't want any of that
frilly crap getting in my way when I shove my cock into your cunt."

Mortified and humiliated, Grace glanced once up toward Ricky as if
seeking salvation, but the sadistic look of burning anticipation in his
eyes made her realize there was to be no hope from him. She stood, still
trembling but less violently than before, and unfastened her garter
belt. Slowly, using both hands, she peeled down the hose on her right
leg and stepped out of it.

Andy watched as she removed the brown sheer hose from her other leg.
Then she was standing before him, eyes downcast and subservient. She was
taller than he by at least four inches, but that didn't matter ... he
had the great equalizer between his legs. When he got through reaming
out her proud little cunt, she'd know a real man had fucked her and his
goddamned height wouldn't make any difference at all. There was only one
thing more he wanted, and he said, "Don't take offense, Ricky, but do
you mind if I have the cunt wash out her mouth. I don't relish kissing a
mouth full of your cum."

Ricky giggled obscenely. "Go ahead, Andy. Let her gargle with whiskey."

Grace heard all this without any emotion. She had numbed her body and
her brain so that she would feel nothing, hear nothing. A bottle of
bourbon was shoved into her hand as Andy snarled, "Go ahead and gargle,
you sweet little cocksucker, you."

Grace tilted the bottle to her lips and swished the liquor around in her
mouth. She looked mutely toward Ricky, but found only amusement on his
moon face. She swallowed the whiskey, choking and gasping, and then
feeling the need of assistance in getting over what was obviously going
to be a horrible time, took another long, deep drink before putting the
bottle back on the table.

Ricky stood for the first time. His wrinkled little sausage of a penis
was almost too small to be seen beneath the repulsive roll of fat that
hung like a white rubber tire below his navel. He jerked his head toward
the couch. "Fuck her there, Andy; I'd like to see the action you get out
of her goody-goody little pussy."

Andy grinned nastily, then the smile faded from his mean tight little
face as he looked at the voluptuous young brunette standing like a slave
on an auction block in front of him. "You heard him, cunt. Lie down on
the fucking couch and spread your legs."

As if she were a zombie, Grace did as she was instructed. She could feel
the slight scratchiness of the couch pushing against her naked back and
buttocks as she lay back, resigned and unfeeling, awaiting whatever
depraved obscenities that might be heaped on her head.

"Look at this cock, baby. I want you to see what Daddy's got for that
little pussy of yours," Andy crooned.

Grace turned, not knowing what to expect, then gasped when she saw the
awesome size of the jockey's penis. It seemed almost bigger than the
man. No woman could ever take that without being split apart; that
massive cudgel would rip her from vagina to anus if he tried to put it
inside her. She swallowed, now unable to tear her eyes from the
frightening sight.

Ricky asked, "Wouldn't you like her to suck on it? She's a talented
little cocksucker."

Andy wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the mid-part. Even with
both hands on it, there were still two inches of trunk and the mammoth
head uncovered. He looked over toward Ricky, grinning. "Naw, no blow job
for me. I never told you this, but when I was twelve years old, I met a
woman who could really suck cocks; I mean, she had her own little Hoover
vacuum cleaner in her mouth. That was when I was twelve. You know
something, Ricky, I was five feet ten inches tall and had a two inch
pecker. When she got through sucking on me, I was five feet two inches
tall and had a ten inch cock."

Ricky blinked then began guffawing as he realized Andy had just put him
on. Grace tried to shove herself even deeper in the couch. These two men
undoubtedly were the lewdest, the most depraved individuals she had ever
encountered in her life. Their obscene conversation and words scraped
like coarse sandpaper against the tender sensitivities of her soul, in
spite of the fact that she thought her mind and body had been sealed off
from them.

"All right, cunt. Spread your legs, I'm going to ride your little pussy
just like I was in the Kentucky Derby," Andy said, his eyes glittering
now with a lewd anticipation.

Grace knew there was nothing she could do but obey. No sense in asking
anyone here for mercy or forgiveness or gentleness. Her eyes locked once
more on that long thick cock extending out from his loins. He was going
to hurt her, she knew beyond a doubt. He would relish hearing her
scream, would delight in every groan of pain that was pulled forcefully
from her body. And Ricky, sitting now over there on the chair, would
equally enjoy her pitiful moans and pleas.

Grace lay still, resigned to her fate, with her thighs spread wide
waiting, waiting for the rape of her helplessly young vagina, Stan's
vagina, to begin. Her belly quivered in fear and she could already
almost feel the terrible pressure, the stretching as his huge penis
pressed nakedly against the open lips of her small, defensively clenched
vaginal opening.

Andy bent down over her prostrate body, and without warning fastened his
teeth harshly into the nipple of her right breast. In spite of all her
resolutions not to cry out or give them pleasure by letting them know
how much she was hurt, she groaned in pain and attempted to twist away
from the sudden sharp torture. With her first movement of escape, Andy
used his hands--strong powerful hands accustomed to handling reins and
recalcitrant horses--to hold her tight down against the cushions of the
couch. When she lay acquiescent again, his hands began playing over the
softness of her thighs and hips. Now his lips roamed wetly over the
whitely palpitating mounds of her breasts, Grace felt an unwanted
pleasure coming from his lewd caresses.

"Go to it, boy," Ricky said in encouragement, as he felt a new arousal
beginning in him from the sight of the coldly aloof and "holier than
thou" young wife being subjected to the gross indignity of being treated
like a common street whore.

Andy's lips slobbered over the soft sensitive areas of her body, and
although there were moments when it seemed he was being gentle, his
hard, cruel eyes were greedy mirrors of his sadistic desire. Impatiently
now, he moved his left hand down across her abdomen and used his middle
finger to explore her softly quivering cuntal crevice. Grace squirmed
down further into the couch, seeking to evade his touch. Andy grinned
nastily, then looked over toward Ricky. "That blow job she gave you must
have turned her on a little. She's wet between her legs, almost ready to
fuck." He teasingly rotated his finger up into the moist, hot furrow of
her vagina and was rewarded by a frightened moan of pain. Even before
her vagina had grown accustomed to the worming finger, a second one
joined the first.

"Oh please! You're hurting me," Grace wailed, hating herself for voicing
her pain, for being unable to numb that secret part of her down between
her helplessly open legs.

"Shut up, bitch," Andy growled. "When I want you to bark, I'll throw you
a bone." In retaliation for her protest, he mercilessly ground his
fingers in as deep as they could go into her helplessly spread vaginal
opening. Grace bit her lips this time to keep from crying out, but she
was unable to keep the tears from welling up in her eyes.

Apparently satisfied that she was as ready as she would ever be, Andy
said, "Spread your legs out wider, baby, I'm coming now. You're going to
get screwed like you've never been screwed before. You're going to twist
and squirm when this prick of mine sinks all the way into your belly.
And before I pull it out again, you're going to be screaming and begging
for more." He glanced down at her in amusement. She was shocked by his
words, the bitch probably never had a man talk to her that way before.
And suddenly, he knew that when this one--unlike the hookers and
lay-about wives he was used to fucking--started begging, she would
actually be begging! He also knew instinctively, had known ever since he
saw her cunt making little circles back behind her as she hungrily
sucked on Ricky's cock, that she was going to beg. Oh, she would fight
it ... would do everything in her power to keep from getting with it ...
but once his prick got inside that tight little cunt, her pussy would
get so hot that she would be crying for it. The thought served as a goad
and he knew he had to have her now.

Quickly then, he levered up over her, his arms stiff, his powerful hands
resting on her well rounded shoulders. He dropped one hand down between
their bodies taking the hard pulsating prick between his fingers and
guided it forward, using the thick rubbery head to part the softly
curling pubic hair and the warm, ripe lips of her naked cunt.

Now that the moment was at hand, Grace turned her head to the side on
the couch, closing her eyes with a shudder as she felt the first contact
against the sensitive outer lips of her fevered pussy. She held her
breath, lying absolutely still in utter subjugation beneath him, not
daring to breathe ... like land before the storm.

Then she felt the first harsh unrelenting pressure against the tight
elastic opening of her vagina; it was at that moment her breath rushed
out of her body in one long sustained protest, "Ooooooooh."

Andy grinned cruelly and pushed.

"Aaaaagh," she cried as the huge head slipped through, brutally
stretching the tight rubbery opening until Grace was sure that flesh and
bones were being split--like the wishbone of a chicken. Suddenly all her
good intentions of bravery fled as the pressure continued and built up.
"Oooh, God. Don't. You're hurting me. Please. YOU'RE HUR ... TING ...
MEEEEEE." The last was screamed at the top of her voice, as pain forced
her eyes open and she saw his cruelly grinning face sadistically looking
down at her. He was killing her, she would die right here. Nothing could
be more painful or agonizing than this, and what made it even worse was
the undeniable fact that the sadistic beast was enjoying her pitiful
pleas, was enjoying watching her suffer beneath the barbaric cruelty of
his slow relentless penetration of her cunt.

Andy listened with undisguised sadistic pleasure to her abject pleas. He
had known ever since he first wormed a finger into the warm damp
confines of her pussy that she was going to be hurt because she had the
tightest little cunt of anyone he had felt in years. This was prime
stuff! She was goddamned near a virgin, he thought, and not very many
peckers had been shoved between those creamy widespread thighs. When he
finished with her, she'd throw rocks at that young punk of a husband of
hers. Christ! Here she was squealing like a stuck pig and he hadn't even
gotten more than his head inside yet; she'd go absolutely ape shit when
she felt all ten inches banging on her ribs like a stick being drawn
across a metal picket fence.

Abruptly, the cruel smirk on his face faded, replaced by an implacable
masque of sheer animal desire. The feral lust was upon him; he could
stand it no more, watching this helpless, innocent young wife
spread-eagled beneath him with the head of his thickly pulsating cock
disappearing like an ostrich into the softly curling hairs of her warm,
moist cunt.

He decided to quit screwing around and get down to the fucking. He had
to fuck her--had to, right now!

Andy's hard muscular little body fell forward, his weight crushing her
firm, succulent breasts hard down against her chest. He thrust his hips
forward with one mighty shove and his long sleek cock slid into her open
cunt with a savage fury, mercilessly spreading the soft moist flesh of
her warm vaginal walls before its lust-hardened head. "Aaaaagggghhhh,"
Grace screamed, her eyes wide and unblinking in sheer agony. There was
no stopping the skinny man, his mammoth cock thrust in with all the
force of a battering ram and her vainly resisting pussy opened wide
against the barbaric onslaught. Down, down, down it drove until, with a
loud groan of lewd delight, his testicles slapped heavily against the
defenselessly upturned cheeks of her tightly clenched ass.

"Ohhhhhh, God!" she wailed beneath him. She thought her vagina had been
horribly stretched when Jim Meloney had done it to her, but this
man--this little jockey--had filled her cunt to the point where it felt
as if the handle of a sledge hammer had been shoved into her, as if his
plunging cock had ripped and torn and defiled not only her outer parts
but her innermost depths. He had lanced into her without mercy, sending
a pressure wave of pain roaring before his penis so great that she
thought she would lapse into unconsciousness. Now, an infinitesimal
second later, his huge throbbing rod lay sunk deep in her belly, and she
could feel every hard tiny little ridge pressing tight against the soft,
tender walls of her pussy. It was hot, powerful--something incredibly
primeval, prehistorically reptilian ... frightening in its
indestructibility.

Man and woman lay there in silence for a moment, both staring at each
other, woman waiting and afraid to move, man feeling the hotly pulsating
walls of her cunt enclosing his prick like a strong hand of a dairy maid
that squeezed and let up, squeezed and released, milking his cock
against its will.

Andy flexed his hardness deep inside her.

"Auuuuuuggh!" she grunted, closing her eyes in pain, "Please don't
move."

"You've really got a tight little pussy, baby, but we'll stretch it out
for you, starting right now," he taunted, flexing it once more.

"Aaaagggh, please don't." This time it was a deeper moan, with her face
twisted in pain and neck muscles straining out from the force of her
resistance.

Then, the lewdly grinning man began a slow, teasing rocking motion
between her thighs, and each inward thrust was like a tiny explosion of
a fire bomb inside her, burning and searing the soft, nerve-filled
flesh. As his motion widened the tight narrow passage of her cock-filled
little pussy with short, smooth strokes, Grace groaned in hopeless
defeat beneath him.

Ricky stood up now and moved quietly over to the copulating couple on
the couch. He had seen fuck shows before, but there was something about
the earlier arrogance of the previously aloof and untouchable Mrs. Hope
that aroused him more than he had been for years. He watched as the
thick white shaft of glistening penile flesh, shining now from her
involuntary cuntal lubricant drove relentlessly in and out of the coral
pink lips of her hot moist vagina. The little jockey was really pouring
it to her, he thought, as he watched the rapid rise and fall of the
rider's buttocks and heard the sound of naked flesh smacking naked
flesh. Even as he stood there watching, he sensed a sudden change in the
woman's physical behaviour. Earlier she had tightened every muscle in
her body--fighting the brutal penetration, being completely
uncooperative. Now he saw the first signs of weakening, of submissive
resignation from her. It was a simple thing, almost unnoticeable. Her
toes had curled in tightly against the tuft of the couch, and her calf
muscles had begun flexing with each new inward thrust of Andy's cock.

Grace knew her body was about to betray her, just as it had revolted
against her morals and inhibitions that night when Jim Meloney had first
made her an adulteress and plunged his prick into her. She fought
against this new betrayal, praying silently for succor, but it rapidly
became apparent that prayers and will-power were useless against an
emotion and need older than mankind itself. Abruptly her body took
complete command from her resisting mind and began reacting
involuntarily. Lewd flames of desire were suddenly sparked and, blown by
the gale-like winds of her own wanton needs, spread throughout her
abdomen and streaked through her veins until her entire body was
consumed with a fiery lust. She no longer had the will-power or desire
to fight him; she had lost the battle and now she knew that in spite of
her revulsion and horror, she was about to surrender completely to this
man who unmercifully fucked into her between her open legs. She looked
up and saw Ricky Karl standing less than three feet away. His eyes were
glazed in a lewdly shining lust as he watched them and his fat hand had
enclosed his penis, stroking it as though he were mesmerized. The
lewdness of that event, combined with the thought of what her naked body
was doing--of what was being done to her naked body--sent helpless
chills of unwanted sexual sensation running along the base of her spine.

Helplessly, hesitantly, she began to twist and writhe beneath the
rhythmically fucking man. With a low groan of complete submission and
pleading she reached up and locked an arm around his neck, pulling his
face down to hers. She shoved her tongue with a wanton abandonment deep
into his throat, as inarticulate mewls of feral, slave-like acceptance
bubbled from her lust constricted throat.

Andy, feeling her body beginning to react, slipped his hands down over
the naked curves of her hips to the supple, smooth white moons of her
heaving buttocks; he cupped them harshly with each hand and began
pulling her suddenly eagerly cooperating ass cheeks up toward him on
each punishing inward thrust.

Grace flexed and unflexed her buttock muscles as his thin fingers
kneaded them like bread dough, and at the same time pulled her thighs
back a little more, causing the moist wet hole of her cunt to spread
open even more in an effort to receive his mammoth prick to greater
depths.

The pain had disappeared almost at the same time she had relaxed, to be
replaced with a wild sexual abandon she could not control. Grace closed
her eyes, slavering her tongue up into his mouth, feeling his tongue
fencing with hers, feeling his teeth, the roof of his mouth savouring
the faint taste of tobacco and whiskey in his throat. Moments before the
cords in her neck and thighs were standing out hard and tense as she
fought him; they still stood out, but now it was from ecstasy as she
writhed beneath him in the fevered wantonness of her desire. There was
no longer any thought in the world but the delicious sensation of lying
beneath this race track bookie who was fucking her against her will; she
wanted to give back to him the pleasure he was giving her. Abruptly, she
lifted her knees and wrapped her legs around the man's heaving buttocks.

Andy slaved above her, deliberately changing techniques--riding high on
her to scrape her clitoris, riding low on her until she felt the harsh
slap of his balls against the nakedly exposed little crevice of her ass
... thrusting inward with great force and leaving his prick buried to
the hilt for a moment or two, all the while making it jump and jerk
against the tip of her cervix--and then going into longer, smoother
strokes that drew his cock nearly out of her clasping, steaming vagina
on the backstroke before plunging forward into her uplifted buttocks
again.

She felt him push his hand down between their two thrashing bodies to
the point where his prick was sliding smoothly in and out of her fevered
pussy, and then felt him begin to fondle the soft fur-lined cuntal lips
milking at his all-powerful rampaging cock. He continued to finger pussy
lips and clitoris until low lust-laden groans of animal desire gurgled
out of her throat. Her widening vagina had accommodated his mammoth
hardness, now it seemed to be trying to greedily devour the whole of his
wonderful instrument ... that hot, throbbing pole of lust-hardened flesh
bringing her such sweet and unbelievable torment.

Andy grinned knowingly as he felt the first fevered twitching deep
within the velvety clenching well of her cunt. The bitch may have looked
frigid and cold as an iceberg when he first saw her but she was a hot
little number now about to go out of her fucking mind at the reaming her
heated little pussy was receiving from his hard driving cock.

Suddenly he, too, was losing restraint. The milking his prick was
receiving from her twitching vaginal muscles was causing his usually
ironclad control to weaken. He quickened his thrust, hot and pulsating
and deep, and the resulting delight caused her to croon and babble
incoherently. He put his hands under her knees, pushing them back hard
and up until they were on both sides of her head, making the plane of
her throbbing cunt wide open to the pile-driving, brutal thrusts he
began throwing into her. It should have caused her to cry out--most
women did. But instead of pleading for mercy, the crazy little bitch
wanted more! He couldn't believe it!

"Oh ... ohhhh ... harder, more. More ... deeper, fuck harder!" she began
to intone beneath him, her face an unrecognizable masque of lewd desire
and abandonment.

Again he quickened his thrusts, grinding hard and deep, his cock
drilling high and hard up into the never-before touched hidden recesses
of her womb. They both grunted and moaned deliriously, with Grace giving
back everything she received.

"You are a hot little cunt," the bookie groaned and there was, for the
first time, genuine admiration in his voice.

The lewd compliment, coupled with the exquisite feeling deep up in her
belly, resulted in a message from loins to brain--a message she found
hard to believe, but that magnificent pressure building inside her was
not to be denied. This was it! Oh, God, she was coming closer, closer
...

"Harder, Oh God ... fuck harder. Oh ... ohhhh," she wailed. "Give me ...
give ... more! Fuck me, fuck me ... " but her craven begging, which Andy
had been waiting to hear, fell on deaf ears because the little jockey
was so close to his own release that he heard nothing, saw nothing ...
felt everything.

Grace panted and writhed, hearing the hoarse gasping of the man atop of
her breathing as though he had just about reached the tape in the two
thousand metre run. His cock raged and hurtled into her, and nothing had
ever felt so wonderful before. She tingled from the tips of her toes to
the back of her head, and without any more notice, the tingle became a
convulsion.

She gasped as it hit her, gasping, "Andy ... I'm cumming. Oh, God.
Beautiful ... wonderful ... I'm cummmming. Aiiiiieeeeeeeee." Even above
the violence of her own orgasm as she bucked and jerked against him, she
felt his cock grow even larger--ballooning in size--and then begin to
pump hot, thick sperm deep up into her hungrily quivering belly. She
locked her arms around his muscular little body, wanting this exquisite
bliss to last forever.

Finally, her legs went limp and splayed out obscenely on either side of
the jockey. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she took one deep sigh. Then,
abruptly, the earlier wave of humiliation and shame came back to her,
flooding her mind, as she recalled where she was and what had been done
to her and who was lying atop her with his thick savage penis still
buried deep inside her gently palpitating vagina. Tears began streaming
down her cheeks. She lay there motionless, eyes closed, beaten as Andy
slowly pulled out of her, his deflated prick slipping from her vagina
with a lewd, wet, sucking noise. He stood, wobbling slightly.

The sight of the beautiful young wife being fucked into insensibility
had caused Ricky to go almost out of his mind and, with his stubby
little cock as erect as it had been earlier, he impatiently straddled
the girl the moment Andy got up. He placed his two fat hairy knees on
each side of her rib cage right under her armpits, his penis lying in
the cleavage between her breasts.

Grace was too weary, too sated, to fight this new assault upon her body.
She lay there, eyes closed, as Ricky pressed her warm soft breasts tight
against his cock and began sawing back and forth. He worked for less
than a minute before he suddenly grunted, and his prick began shooting
out spurts of white, hot cum that splattered against her chin and face
and throat, and clung like translucent elongated pearls in her
disheveled raven black hair.

She stoically bore this latest indignity feeling neither revulsion nor
hatred for the degradation, knowing with a sure certainty that this was
only the beginning of a long and arduous ordeal. She was a prisoner of
these two men, a prisoner just as surely as if she wore a striped
uniform and was locked and chained in a dungeon. There was no place she
could go where they would not find her, no one--not even the police to
turn to for protection without being eventually betrayed. She knew now
that her only salvation would be death or to become one of them, one of
their whores. She could not begin to imagine what other vile depraved
demands would be made of her. She knew only one thing--survival--and she
would do anything they asked.

Andy had gone over to the bar where he watched, with considerable
amusement, Ricky fuck the naked young woman's breasts. He knew how the
evening would wind up, for Ricky did have a few peculiar hang-ups, like
having the broad stand spread-legged over him and piss in his face.
Well, everyone was entitled to get their kicks any way they could. His
eyes narrowed as he slowly raised the double shot of bourbon and sipped
it. Ricky was off the broad now and Andy could see the long, slender
body of the woman in repose. He thought once again about the view he'd
had of her when he first came into the room, of her being on hands and
knees with that magnificent young ass waving high in the air behind her
like a beautiful target with two bull's-eyes. He'd scored with one, that
left an untouched bull's eye ... her asshole! He glanced down at his
prick and saw it slowly crawling to new life. Yeh, he thought with
growing excitement, yeh! "Tiddle-de-dee--Tiddle-de-dum; lookout asshole,
here we come," he mentally said, remembering the old limerick.

"Hey, boss," he called to Ricky, "you finished? Can I borrow the little
snatch again?"

Grace did not catch the significance of the word "boss", and it did not
dawn on her until much later that in reality Ricky had been calling the
shots right from the beginning--that the person who would order her
beating or enslavement or execution would be the fat man ... not the
little jockey.

Ricky beamed down at his cum slowly flowing down the chin and throat of
the young, already well-fucked bride. Fucking her in between those soft,
incredibly warm tits had been very exciting indeed, just as he had known
it was going to be. She really was a splendid specimen--not only
body-wise, but also in her earlier moral arrogance which had been broken
so easily. After watching Andy screwing her silly, he knew just about
everything he needed to know about her capabilities. She was going to
make a good addition to his stable. He rated her excellent at the
moment, but if she had a particularly strong bladder, he would
unhesitatingly raise that rating to "Superior." He found himself growing
excited at the thought of the treat in store for him, so much so that it
took him a second to realize that Andy had spoken to him.

"What is it, my boy?" he asked, without taking his eyes off Grace's
sperm spattered neck and chin.

"I wanted to know if you were through with the little bitch for a
minute. I'd like to try it on again for size."

"Of course, of course," Ricky said. "That's why she's here. Go right
ahead, but first ... " He waddled across the room to the refrigerator
behind the bar and pulled out two bottles of beer. He unscrewed the caps
from both of them as he carried them back to the couch. "Here you are,
my dear. Drink these."

Grace opened her eyes and saw the proffered bottle of beer. "No...
thanks ... " she said weakly, thinking it was an act of kindness on his
part and not wanting to hurt his feelings. This idea was promptly
shocked out of her mind when Ricky snarled viciously, "I said drink it,
you bitch." Bewildered and frightened, Grace sat upright and accepted
the bottle. She took a little sip.

"All of it," Ricky growled. "And be quick about it."

Grace drank it as rapidly as she could, then puzzled, reluctantly took
the second bottle. When she finished that one, Ricky had come back with
two more. She already felt bloated and didn't think her stomach could
handle anymore. She looked beseechingly at the fat man, but his steely
glare made her swallow the plea. She drank the third bottle and then,
feeling as if she were about to burst with stomach churning, she finally
managed to consume the contents of the last bottle. Ricky smiled at her
as though she were an obedient child who has just eaten all the spinach.
"That was splendid, my dear, simply splendid. Oh, I can hardly wait." He
shivered in a little ecstasy of anticipation, his rolls of fat and
girl-like breasts quivering like mounds of jello.

Grace had absolutely no idea of what he meant, but that wasn't what was
bothering her at the moment for she had caught the mean speculative look
on the thinly built bookie, Andy's, face. He obviously had something new
and even more horrible that he wanted to do to her. That look, feral and
evil, sent a chill down her spine.

Ricky turned to the jockey. "She's ready to be saddled and taken to the
paddock, my boy. Ride her as though you were in the stretch making a run
for the roses. She's an odds-on favorite,"

Andy wasted no time in taking command of the terrified girl. "All right,
cunt, over on your belly."

"Wha ... what?" She didn't understand.

"Turn over on your belly. That tight little asshole of yours looks like
it hasn't had too much action."

"Oh, splendid!" Ricky said, clapping his hands in glee. "Sodomize her,
my boy. It will be most enjoyable viewing."

A new wave of horror and shame swept over Grace; it was so strong that
her fright at the consequences of disobedience was shoved into the
background of her consciousness. "Oh no," she wailed. "Please. You can't
do that."

"Remember the photos, my dear," Ricky said, then laughed brutally at the
sudden blanching of her face.

Before she could protest further or cry out, Grace felt her shoulders
roughly seized by the little bookie and, with super-human strength that
bellied his small stature, he simply lifted her bodily from the couch
and threw her face down. A moment later he cruelly grasped her hips,
lifted them, and shoved three pillows under her stomach which raised her
white, trembling soft mounds of succulent flesh high in a sacrificial
offering to the gods of unnatural lust.

Grace at first couldn't believe what the two men were proposing. Surely
they must be playing some game of torment with her, trying to terrify
her even more. She had prepared herself for almost anything these two
vile beasts would demand of her, she would give them anything, do
anything, but this horrible suggestion was inhuman, unbelievable. Face
down on the couch, feeling almost suffocated, Grace felt Andy's hands
running over the warm, supple globes. She flinched and cringed and heard
him laugh.

"Just look at that hairless little asshole, boss," Andy panted from
behind. "I'm gonna love doing this."

Tears of shame built up in her eyes as she felt his hands opening her
buttocks, drawing the alabaster cheeks wide apart. She tried to hold
them flexed together, but the pressure of his thumbs inserted in the
crevice was too great. They were pulled away from each other until she
could feel the cool draft from the air conditioner rushing into the hot
valley between her thighs. Abruptly, Grace knew these beasts were not
merely tormenting her; they were serious! And with that knowledge she
began to struggle. "Oh, no. You mustn't. It isn't right. Please ... "

Andy and Ricky both laughed in sadistic delight, with the little jockey
saying, "What do you mean, it isn't right. Why asshole fucking is a
great sport. You ain't trying to tell me that you've never had it this
way before ... that you're a cherry back here?"

"Oh, God ... please. Don't!" The last was a yelp of fright as she felt
his blunt middle finger begin to press against the tight, elastic little
opening of her anus.

"Shut up, bitch," Andy snarled. "I asked you a question. Answer it." He
shoved his finger hard against the tiny puckered opening, and the
fingertip and fingernail disappeared into the soft rubbery mouth.
"Answer me!"

"No ... " she whimpered.

"No what."

"My husband has never done that to me."

"Done what to you?"

"That."

"What's 'that' mean?" The remark was a vicious snarl, demanding
elucidation.

"Oh, God. You know."

Andy's arm muscles tightened and his thin lips suddenly whitened. He
jabbed the finger in deeper and was rewarded by her shriek of pain.
"Tell the boss here and me what you haven't done before. I'm not going
to ask you again."

"No one ... has ever ... made love ..., " she corrected herself
immediately, knowing they wanted to hear the obscene phrase and too
frightened to defy them any longer, "No one has ever fucked me before
there."

Andy grinned over at Ricky. "In that case, bitch, your education has
been sadly neglected."

Grace felt the tip of his finger worming around at the entrance of her
naked rectum, and she clenched the puckered tiny lips tight in a futile
effort to prevent the perverted penetration she knew was coming. Andy
probed for a moment at the inner edges of her anal ring and then
grinning cruelly, shoved forward sinking the finger all the way up to
the first knuckle. Grace jumped from the resulting pain, but it was not
as bad as she thought it would be. She had begun to relax when she felt
a second finger probing her opening, than that one rammed in alongside
the first.

"Ummmphh," she groaned, her face buried in the cushion, feeling the hurt
this time. She jerked her hips forward into the pillows in an attempt to
escape the painful entry.

Andy wig-wagged his fingers in the depths of her rectum, stretching it
wider and wider and was rewarded by a muffled cry of pain and abject
plea, "Oh, please ... don't. That hurts. Please ... "

She turned her head sideways facing the back of the couch so that he
could see her protest. Tears of shame and pain and humiliation streamed
down her cheeks again as she realized that the act was really going to
take place. He was going to push that long hard thick penis all the way
into her virginal rectum in a parody of love-making that she had never
before dreamed existed. This, then, was the finale of her humiliation
and defilement, apt punishment for her sins of the flesh committed
earlier as a result of her own moral weaknesses. Her body would be
punished and used in the most obscene and degrading ways imaginable. She
would never live through it, and even if she survived she would never be
able to face herself in the mirror again. She attempted once more to
bury her hips deeper in the pillows, but it was useless for he merely
planted the palm of his hand on the small of her back and pushed down
tight as his fingers dug deeper into the nether depths of her back
passage, expanding it mercilessly in preparation for the coming assault.

"She's ready as she's ever going to be," Andy said suddenly, then
withdrew his fingers, the elastic ring of the anal flesh clinging to
them in seeming reluctance to let them go. He used his knees to force
her legs wider, then bent down and deposited a mouthful of spittle in
the crevice between her cheeks.

Grace felt his hairy loins pressing against her buttocks and the hair of
his legs brushing against the insides of her thighs. She was held wide
and helpless, completely at his mercy. Then, for the first time, she
felt the long, thick cock pressing itself into the moist naked split of
her behind. She cried out in fright. It was too big. She could never
take that in her rectum without being ripped apart. "Noooo ... please.
Oh, God ... have mercy ... don't."

Andy's hands roamed over her buttocks, then his thumbs were pressing on
either side of the puckered little hole stretching it wide. Abruptly,
she felt a probing between the thumbs as his cock began a slow
relentless pressure at the forbidden opening.

"Jesus Christ," Andy groaned with something akin to surprise in his
voice, "it's even tighter than I thought at first. Feels like a fucking
baby's mouth!"

Grace screamed again and groaned piteously, but the sound went unheeded.
There was no one here who would help her ... no one in the whole world.
All that existed now was the excruciating pain where that barbaric
instrument had lodged itself unnaturally into an opening that simply
could not accommodate it. There was to be no escape from the horrible
degradation of this demented, perverted attack on her helpless body. She
continued to groan incoherently as the straining bookie popped the heavy
bloated head relentlessly inside and pushed in deeper, deeper, deeper.
God, it even caused waves of pain in her stomach as the rigid thick
prick pushed and ground against soft buttery flesh inside her
wide-stretched anal passage. She was stretched as she had never been
before, impaled on a burning railroad tie. And then, just as she thought
the torture would never end, she felt his coarse pubic hairs smack into
the softness of her upturned ass cheeks.

The cruel barbarian's fleshy sword was buried to the hilt. Grace groaned
in anguish, pinned to the couch by the rock-hard gristle of his cock
like a butterfly specimen on a display board. She felt the need to fart
from the pressure, but such relief was denied her because the mammoth
prick effectively acted as a cork in her asshole.

Andy, his eyes rolling around in his head with delight, began sawing
rhythmically and without mercy deep into the warm rubbery depths of her
rectum, evoking further cries of shame and pain from Grace's contorted
lips. Soon, muttering obscenities and gasping with sadistic pleasure, he
started to thrust the full length of his punishing rod into her with
long smooth strokes. It pulled tiny ridges of her brown sucking flesh
out with the base of his prick as it withdrew, then shoved the anal ring
back in out of sight on the vicious inward lunge.

Grace's body jerked and quivered, convulsing each time an extra hard
thrust seared into her tortured asshole. She could hear his animal
grunts of delight and hated herself and her body for the joy it was
giving the vile unspeakable beast. She wanted to destroy him, kill both
men for their brutal unfeeling defilement of her self-respect, but she
knew she was defenseless, helpless, impotent to do them any damage.

Andy was near ecstasy as he felt the warm clasping flesh enveloping his
sensitive cock from trunk to tip. It was as though he were fucking into
a warm velvety glove that squeezed his prick unmercifully. "Oh, you hot
little bitch, you," he crooned behind her, "if you only knew how good
your tight little asshole feels. Shit, if I could figure out how to
bottle it, I'd make a million dollars overnight."

Ricky Karl's high pitched giggle showed that someone appreciated the
remark.

Now all Grace wanted was to end this humiliation as soon as possible, to
get it over with, completed. She prayed for the strength to please him
as she began to grind the smoothly rounded cheeks of her buttocks back
to meet each forward drive of his prick, rotating her hips in little
impatient circles and deliberately tightening her anal ring on his
outward stroke.

Andy felt the sudden cooperative movements of her buttocks beneath him
and grinned knowingly over toward, Ricky, "She's getting with it now."
He surged into her with renewed power, knowing she was trying to bring
him pleasure. She was a fucking love slave, he thought, ready to do
anything I want. There obviously was no resistance at all left in this
innocent young bride impaled like a slave girl on his pile-driving cock.

Ricky was pleased, really pleased, with Grace's performance. Already he
had formulated a use for her at tomorrow night's party. There was a
young Cuban boy who was a real sex champion. He would match the boy and
the Hope woman together on stage ... and then, for a finale, Andy's dog
would mount her and fuck the shit out of her. Tony Tratino, the big man
in the national syndicate was due on the Coast then ... and he wanted to
see that Tony had a good time. It would be, he thought in smug
satisfaction, the last good time Tony ever experienced, for the Chicago
hoodlum was on his way out--a victim of a power play which would put
Ricky in the top national spot. He watched, smiling broadly, as he
observed the brutal sodomizing of the girl. The way she was twisting her
virginal little ass around made it appear as if she were beginning to
enjoy it. He watched the continuous flexing and unflexing of her
buttocks and the arching muscles of her back as she worked and ground
back into Andy like a god-damned nympho getting her first cock after
being stranded on a man-less island for six months. There was something
almost artistic about the way her long black hair danced back and forth
over her sweating face and around her neck and back as she squirmed
lewdly in front of the rhythmically fucking little bookie. Her face
rolled from side to side and Ricky could see it flushing red from her
efforts.

Grace could feel the man's cock twitching and beginning to swell and,
sensing he was nearing an orgasm, she began grunting and groaning with
him, encouraging and pleading with the motions of her ass for him to end
it and give her an enema of his hotly spewing sperm.

Andy simply went insane with the approach of his climax. The intolerable
pressure was building up in his balls and her twitching, clenching
asshole only increased the tingling torment. He began to ram rapidly
into her, buffeting her helplessly quivering buttocks with his pelvis,
his savage brutal strokes bringing new cries of pain and pleasure as he
drove deeper and harder than ever before.

Then gasping incoherently and sputtering like a madman, Andy shoved
forward with one last mighty thrust that seemed surely to rip through
the walls of her heaving belly and began spewing his hot, thick cum in
rushing torrents into the depth of her forcefully milking rectum. Grace,
sobbing with relief now that the travesty was almost concluded, ground
her buttocks around high in the air and pressed back against his
powerful loins while his pent up sperm filled her soft anal passage to
the bursting point with a warm, sticky wetness.

"Goddamn Sam," Andy said in wonderment, "that was the tightest asshole I
think I've ever been in ... and one of the best."

Grace was unable to staunch the tears that streamed down both sides of
her face. She was no longer a virgin anywhere; almost every conceivable
thing had been done to her, surely there was nothing left for them to do
to her now. They had humiliated her in every way, taken everything from
her and given back in return only a festering wound that would never
heal no matter how long she lived. She was only vaguely aware that
Andy's weight had lifted from her. She did feel his deflated penis pull
out of her tortured rectum with a wet sucking noise. She felt the sperm
draining from her forever stretched back passage, down the crevice to
her still quivering cuntal lips before running onto the pillows.

Suddenly, something cold touched her bare shoulders. It was Ricky with
another bottle of beer. "Sit up, my dear, and have a bit of
refreshment." Weary, too despairing to do anything but obey, she sat as
directed and took the bottle. "How do you feel?"

"Dirty!" The word was spat out automatically and she at once wished she
could recall it.

Ricky, however, did not seem to mind her outburst. He obviously was on
the trail of some other information. "I meant, are you feeling
uncomfortable or anything." He glanced at the beer, "Drink that. And
then tell me how you feel."

Grace downed the bottle, wondering what it was the fat man was after.
When she finished the contents, she said "You asked me how I feel ... I
feel sore." 

Andy snorted, accepting it as a personal compliment, and obviously
delighted at the predicament Ricky found himself in.

"You feel nothing else, my dear?"

Grace brushed the black hair out of her eyes with one weary gesture,
staring at him like a puzzled dog being told to do a trick but not
understanding what is expected of it.

It was Andy who spoke up, "He means do you feel like you have to take a
piss? If you do, he wants you to squat over him and piss on him."

Ricky turned with a mock frown of disapproval on his face, "Now... now.
We must not be crude."

Grace could not believe what she was hearing, but one look at Ricky's
hot excited expression and at his eyes wide with anticipation, convinced
her that once again she had underestimated the extent of the man's
degeneracy. He was serious.

Before she could answer or say anything, the white telephone on Ricky's
desk rang shrilly. The fat man jumped, seeming to shrivel, and Andy
glanced furtively back and forth between boss and telephone. Grace
actually heard Ricky swallow nervously as he waddled rapidly to the
desk.

"Yes?" he said, then his composure abruptly left him when he heard the
voice on the other end of the line. He began trembling, and the receiver
shook against his ear. "All right," he said, then hung up.

His face was white when he looked over toward Andy. "That was Pete. Tony
is on his way over."

"Oh, Jesus!" Now Andy seemed to be just as frightened as the fat man.
Grace watched them both uncomprehendingly; they looked almost as terror
stricken as she had been when she first saw the photographs.

"Where are the boys?" Ricky asked.

"I let 'em go as soon as the cunt started to cooperate with you."

"Get them back, quickly. I don't like Tony coming here like this.
There's been a leak."

Both men jumped violently when the chimes sounded. "Don't answer it,"
Andy whimpered. His fright was contagious. Grace didn't know what was
transpiring, but she wanted no part of it. Both men looked as if they
feared for their lives. The chimes sounded again and Andy quickly began
putting on his clothes. Ricky picked up his robe, but was trembling so
badly that it took him several seconds to get his arms in the sleeves.

"What about the cunt?" Andy asked.

"Get your clothes and get into the bathroom. Don't come out until I tell
you," Ricky said to her, his voice almost unrecognizable in its fear.
Then he added, "And don't urinate. Save it."

Grace was near a state of panic as she quickly grabbed up her clothes
and ran toward the indicated bedroom beyond which the bathroom lay.
Panting, her heart pounding in new terror, she had just closed the
bedroom door behind her when she heard Ricky's voice, sounding jovial,
"Well, Tony. Do come in. What a pleasant surprise." She stood there,
back to the door, trying to get her breath back to normal.

In the other room, the conversation became staccato, and she could hear
the deep tones of another man's voice, saying, "You're small fry, Ricky.
You shouldn't have tried to play marbles with the big boys."

"Tony ... listen to me, Tony. Andy will tell you. It's all a mistake."

"Yeh ... a mistake," Tony said. "A mistake for you and Andy."

Grace shrank back as she heard the shrill scream of pleading from Ricky,
"No ... Tony! Nooo ... oooooo." The sound of two shots was like one
explosion, and Grace's body jumped as though the slugs had hit her.
Almost immediately two more shots were fired and there was a loud gasp
then a thud.

Like a trapped animal, Grace glanced frantically around the bedroom
seeking some avenue of escape. Oh, God. If she were found here, she
would be executed too. On the side of the room, just past Ricky's round
bed, a wardrobe closet door stood open. She ran for it, just as she
heard Tony's voice say in the front room, "Take a look around, make sure
the place is empty. Hurry."

She shoved clothes aside, jumped in and used her fingernails to close
the door behind her, then huddled frightened and trembling in the dark
interior expecting at any moment to have the door yanked open and the
cruel face of her executioner smile in triumph at her. She tried to
silence her breathing, then was sure that they must be able to hear the
horrible pounding of her heart.

Footsteps entered the bedroom and she heard the bathroom door and shower
stall door being opened. A moment later, although it seemed like an
eternity, she heard another's man's voice say, "All clear, Tony."

The front door slammed.

She waited, sure that it was a trick to lure her out, but then heard the
distant wailing of a siren. She mustn't be found here, the whole sordid
story would come out. And if she were held as a witness by the police,
there was a better than even chance that she would be silenced by
members of the organization. Her only hope now was to get out and get
out fast.

Jumping out of the wardrobe, she yanked her dress on over her head and,
carrying shoes and undergarments, ran for the front room.

The sight that met her eyes almost caused her to faint. Ricky, still
looking obscene in death, lay in a growing puddle of blood in the middle
of his white rug, the whole side of his head blown away. Halfway to the
front door where he had been gunned down, Andy stared lifelessly up at
the ceiling.

She darted past them, feeling nothing but fright, and opened the front
door. The penthouse corridor was empty. Outside, the siren was coming
closer, too close. Above the elevator door, a light glowed to indicate
the cage was on the way up. Frantically she glanced around, then bolted
for the stairs.

Exactly one minute and thirty seconds later, she was walking past the
pool carrying her shoes in her hands. No one paid attention to the
windblown dark-haired girl; they all were too busy craning their necks
and gawking at the two police cars that had just screeched to a halt in
front of the complex.

No one would ever know the monumental self-control it took for Grace to
continue her slow pace. She fought the normal desire to run and hide,
fought her tears, fought the black wave of unconsciousness that
threatened to inundate her at any moment.

She had, fortunately, left her apartment unlocked because she had no key
and even if she'd had one her hands were trembling so violently that
fitting key into lock would have been a physical impossibility.

She opened the door, closed it behind her, and carefully locked it.
Then, swaying like a tall tree in a high wind, she fainted, falling
unconscious in a soft heap on the floor.


Chapter 9


Grace had absolutely no idea how long she had remained unconscious, for
she had swum reluctantly toward the surface of reality, afraid that if
she did awaken, the horrible nightmare would be there to greet her.

Slowly and painfully she staggered to her feet. She hurt all
over--vagina, rectum, head, mind! Dully she surveyed her apartment, not
really seeing anything in it. Her brain was trying to tell her
something, but she was too weary to know what it was saying.

She felt dirty, but she knew she had on her a dirt now that could never
be washed off in a shower. And because it was all really too much to
think about at the moment, she went into the bedroom and lay face down
on the bed.

The children screaming outside awakened her shortly before ten o'clock
in the morning. She felt different. Something had changed. She tried to
think of what it might be, then felt the slow growth of new hope in her
mind as she suddenly realized she was finally free of Ricky and Andy and
the debt. This realization made her sit up in bed. Was it true? Could it
be true? Oh, God, am I free of those filthy beasts? Have I escaped their
trap? Am I... am I a free woman? Instinctively she knew the answer was
in the affirmative. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to shout. She wanted
to weep from joy.

Quickly she leapt from her bed and went into the front room, really
seeing it now for the first time in weeks. This was her home. She was
safe here. Reaching up on the mantle, she pulled down Stan's picture and
kissed it. She had neglected him terribly, but she had been sick. Now
that sickness, that horrible fever was gone, never again to plague her.
She would write him two and three times a day to make up for her
neglect. And she would be a much better wife in the future. He would
never know the torture she had gone through, never know the horrible
things she had done, never know that her traitorous body had betrayed
him.

Her loving glance around the room and all the familiar wonderful
belongings came to rest on the table beside the door. The mail was
there, quite a few letters in fact, for she had been too involved to
check the mailbox for the last five days, and the manager must have
emptied the box for her and brought them upstairs. Suddenly she felt the
need to read a letter from Stan, to mentally hear his voice pronouncing
the words of love and concern.

She began rifling through the mail. The third letter down was a brown
envelope from the Internal Revenue Service. She blinked, then smiled in
wide-eyed delight. Their income tax refund! Why... why, there was almost
$600 coming back to them, and she had forgotten all about it! It was a
sign from the heavens. A blessing. A good luck omen.

Quickly she ripped open the envelope. Yes, it was all there, $584.

Now she truly felt free. It was as though a great cloud had lifted from
the face of the sun. There was enough here to pay off everyone of the
bad checks she had written. She would do that today, right now ... after
she took her shower. She would explain to the store managers that there
had been just a mistake in addition, which had been
discovered--fortunately in time. She knew they would believe her story.
The lie had worked with other store managers, it would work with these.
Besides, all they would care about was getting their money!

She was singing as she stepped under the shower ... feeling a greater
happiness than she had felt in months. She felt good physically,
mentally, emotionally. It was a beautiful day outside... a splendid day.
Really, too good a day to waste in the house. She needed to get outside,
to get next to people.

It would take only thirty minutes or so to pay off all the bad checks.
When she finished doing that, she would still have almost forty dollars
left and a glorious afternoon to spend.

Maybe, she thought with a sudden quickening of breath and pulse, she
might even stop by the track ... just for a quick race or two ...


The End