The Captive (Bi Sex, Gang Bang, Anal, Mast, Voy, Kidnapping, Drug Use)

[ZN]

This has: Bi Sex, Gang Bang, Anal, Mast, Voy, Kidnapping, Drug Use.

Yes I am the author of this and all my other stories. This is one of
many handles I have used over the years. If you see any of my stories
with other titles anywhere Please let me know!! Also if you see my
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are all doing so without my permission!!

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of my stories are in anyway real or based on real people.

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and may NOT be changed in any way (such as altering the story or title)
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Zombie Night (c) 1986

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The Captive

Chapter 1

Neon lights oranged the sky as the town's avid move-goers queued up in
zig-zagged lines anxious for the late afternoon matinee to spill out of
Elston's sole movie, which only last year had been converted from a
1940's dance hall.

Auburn-haired Kathy McGuire gave her husband's hefty paw an extra
squeeze and leaned her head forward to peek at the promotion poster
that advertised this week's movie, the only local entertainment around
except for George Mason's bango trio that played twice a week in the
basement of the country club. The post depicted a teenage couple seated
on a Harley Davidson; the boy's high booted heels dug into the ground
to support the massive weight of the machine while a girl with long
blonde hair clasped her hands around the boy's stomach, letting her
hands drift down to the vee of his pants. The square-jawed youth was
turning to hand the girl a poorly-rolled brown cigarette.

"Any idea what this movie is about, honey?" Kathy asked demurely in her
hushed voice, knowing her husband didn't like to discuss anything in
public.

"Cop show," he sputtered with a jerk of his head.

"Oh, I thought maybe it would be a romance or a musical," Kathy pouted,
stepping back at her husband's side and staring straight ahead. The
orange of the twinkling neon caught the bored expression on her
delicate features. As if I even had to ask, thought the young woman
with a twinge of bitterness. Cop shows, violence, death, and justice
... that's all he cares about. With a sudden empty ache, the question
skipped through her mind: What would her husband have been, if not an
undercover policeman? What else could a suspicious, brusque man like
Art McGuire contribute to society, except for an occasional 'bust' on a
drug or prostitution ring?

Drawing her lips into a taut line of disgust, she stared up at her
husband, studying the dominance of his strong jaw line, the rippling of
his cheek muscles as he worked his lower jaw against his upper. He's
hard at work again, realized the finely-boned wife with a smattering of
guilt for feeling neglected. Mentally, she caressed the taut muscles in
his neck, the tightness in his shoulders. The pressure of work, a job
never completed, impossible to complete until the last criminal was
behind bars, showed in the furrows of his high, straight forehead.

Did it really matter that she wasn't getting her own way? No, she
conceded, it couldn't override Art's devotion to his work. His
determination. His sense of justice. For it was those qualities that
made Art who he was--a well respected member of the police force, a man
who loved children, hated to see them throw their futures away for a
few adolescent kicks. What he failed to give his wife in the way of
affection, he sacrificed whole-heartedly to the cause of purifying
America's youth. That, she could not complain about.

"Wanna see this movie," he grated, giving his wife's hand a jerk in a
compromised show of affection. "Got a hunch it's gonna help me bust
this drug ring we've been investigating," he whispered, cupping his
hand next to his mouth and tilting his head to accommodate the ten-inch
difference in their statures. As a policeman, he'd learned the power of
secrecy, discretion.

And Kathy had learned to respect that in her tall, broad-shouldered
husband. The excitement of the unknown; never knowing if it was a
whore, a pimp, or heroine smuggler that he was putting behind bars. The
task always involved one common ingredient: change. Different clothing
every day to disguise his identity, working miles away from home. Yet
it meant a continuous circus of moving from city to town, West coast to
the East coast, finally to settle here in the corn belt of Elston for a
few weeks, months? ... until this dope case was settled. Then on to
another assignment, Texas, California, Georgia?

The past eight years of their marriage had been a merry-go-round,
staying on one place long enough to open a bank account, always renting
a house, never buying. No thought of the future, only contemplating
scars from yesterday. And Kathy, seven years younger than her husband,
was growing weary of change.

Time to settle down, she'd finally admitted to herself. Time to plant a
tree and watch it grow. Although the subject had never been openly
discussed, she had her hopes that Art really wanted to have a family,
even though he'd grunted all too often about the decay of America's
moral standards, to make her believe he wanted to raise children.
Thinking he didn't want any would be too painful a realization to live
with.

And so she'd courageously endured it all, the loneliness of watching
the late-night movie on television, slipping into a cold empty bed and
reading ladies magazines, waiting for the telephone to ring or for Art
to come stumbling through the door, dog-tired and irritable from a day
of hunt and chase. Someday it would be different, she kept telling
herself; someday she might have a baby to coddle and love with the
fullness of her being, the way she wanted to love Art.

If only he'd put as much effort into our marriage as he does into
putting people behind bars, she thought, watching the black exit door
burst open to the sound of stampeding feet.

Kathy stood there leaning against her husband's firm chest, feeling his
strong hands weighing on her shoulders while they watched the pubescent
crowd brush past. None of them over sixteen, most of them were dressed
in sloppy levi jackets with tattered cuffs, cigarettes--still unlit--
dangling from their mouths. Faint shadows of fuzz tickling their upper
lips, they looked so incongruously innocent yet worldly at the same
time with a characteristic clumsiness particular to the young. In their
tight levis and tee shirts that showed off developing muscles and
sinews, their bodies rippled, fairly quivered with energy. They surged
on past like a herd of frightened buffalo, never looking to the right
or left of them, their loud, coarse voices guffawing in laughter,
cracking on the higher tones.

Sparring with his friend, one particularly rambunctious boy dodged a
flying fist by stepping back, sending five-foot-three Kathy McGuire
hurling into her husband's chest. The boy turned to apologize, but
taking one glance up at the tall man's face whose hands were resting on
the woman's shoulders, he thought better of it and instead quickened
his pace.

Kathy heard a deep, low rumble emanate in her husband's body, like a
dog ready to spring. He hated unruliness, hated insults, and hated
anyone touching his wife, intentional or otherwise. She knew it, and
although it made her feel secure, it often scared her, too. There was
hint of animal in Art, a part she'd chosen to ignore or better still,
not inspire.

Art clenched his fists, kneading his fingernails into the palms of his
hands. Oh, he couldn't wait to find out who was selling dope to these
kids, who was corrupting these poor stupid, unsuspecting souls.
Couldn't wait for that damned rock concert scheduled to take place out
at the Olson's property was over with this weekend, for then he could
get down to business and slap a few suspects behind bars, coax them to
cop a plea, and give names, dates, addresses to find the real
criminals--the smugglers, the big time dealers.

>From experience he knew who they'd be. The kids who smoked the evil
weed never made the money, the poor dupes. It was the middle-aged
pushers who wanted to make a fast buck, hit town, then split, leaving a
town full of kids to get picked up on a possession charge, ruin their
record, raise their father's car insurance.

What did marijuana do for them, anyway? Just look at them, he thought
with a sneer and ripple of his upper lip, glaring. They didn't even
dress decently ... they didn't care to look presentable. Why did they
show themselves in public in dirty jeans and tee shirts, like the bums
who dried out in jail?

Yes, the boys were bad enough, but the girls! My God! The girls! If he
had a daughter who dressed in skin-tight levis and sloppy shirts,
letting her hair grow long and messy, she wouldn't get out of the
house.

He remembered, glowering, one young girl ... couldn't have been more
than fourteen ... who'd been picked up on a charge of possession of
marijuana. They'd hauled her into juvie at the county court house; if
he hadn't been so concerned about her case, he never would have risked
divulging his identity. But, Christ, she'd been wearing a tee shirt so
tight you could see the nipples standing out straight under it. And the
other's they'd brought in that day! One wore a blouse cut so low and so
wide that her round, budding breasts actually bounced out. Then there
was one in a see-through blouse who might as well have been naked; the
blouse concealed nothing. Not the two round spheres of her firm, full
breasts, or the rosy aureoles that were vivid against the snowy flesh
or the pert, hard little nipples.

She'd worn pants, too ... pants so tight they looked as if they'd been
sprayed on. They pulled and strained across the round curves of her
buttocks, cupping them, molding them to her skin, rippling like flesh
itself as she moved lasciviously across the room. Art had noticed that
the pants bunched up and caught in the furrow of her buttocks,
outlining the little pucker of her anus. And every policeman in the
reception area was staring at her, practically panting with sheer, raw
desire to fuck her back there in the ass.

But the most disgusting of them all, Art remembered, was the girl who'd
been brought in in handcuffs. She was young--not more than fourteen and
slim, with a waist he could have spanned with his two hands. She'd even
had a certain beauty, with her olive skin, the raven hair that hung to
her shoulders, the eyes round as two black saucers.

No pants for this one, but a skirt as brief as a bikini. It had hardly
covered the hard little half-melons of her sensuous buttocks, barely
concealed the vee of her crotch.

The girl's full rich thighs were bare--why, oh why didn't these girls
wear bras and girdles and stockings like decent people? Her breasts
were lewdly tilted, the nipples taut under the sheer summer blouse she
wore.

That one had flashed Art a knowing look as she passed by, a look that
told him as plainly as words that she would be willing to 'put out' for
him. Her walk had been an open invitation to him and every other
policeman in the court building.

No, he'd resisted. They'd tried to pull that one on him again; the old
I'll-do-anything-if-you'll-let-me-out-of-juvie trick. He didn't bite.

But it had been damned tempting. Her walk had been an open invitation
to him and every other policeman in the room. Hips undulating
sensually, she prowled the room like a bitch in heat, just begging for
some man to shove his rock hard cock deep into her quivering little
belly. And there were plenty policemen in the juvie hall who were
willing to do it, too.

A deceptive calm settled over the hall when the girl sat down, just in
front of the desk where the girls were being booked. She smoothed her
skirt over the lushness of her hips, pressed her knees together, even
crossed her ankles demurely. Beneath the calm, though, was a subdued
current of excitement that threatened to explode at any moment. But as
the day wore on, as the girls' parents were phoned and alerted, the
excitement had drained away. The room was left blanketed in a lethargy
that weighed it down like heat.

Art had been waiting for a phone call from the Chief of Police in
Allsworth, and had seated himself near the front door, leaning back in
a chair. Twirling his thumbs, he'd pulled his golf cap--his incognito
uniform for the day--over his eyes, feigning sleep. It had been a long
hard night, and a few "z's" would set him up fine. A fly buzzed around
his ear, and he opened his eyes to slap at God's curse to mankind. Then
his eyes settled on the girl seated in the front row.

The lithe young body had gone slack with boredom, and the girl sprawled
in the chair, now, legs wide apart, knees splayed open teasingly. Art
stared absent-mindedly. No thin strip of nylon, however narrow, however
flimsy, concealed the quivering flesh of her smooth, curling thighs.
There was nothing to hide the thin triangle of dark, silken curls that
grew so sparsely there in the tight little vee between her legs,
nothing to hide the delicate pink tinted edges of her moist, pouting
little pussy.

The girl shifted in the seat, knowing his eyes were on her, and now her
legs slid farther apart, her smooth skinned, swelling thighs spread
open even wider. The pink tipped hair-lined split lay open now, parted
like the petals of a flower, and revealed the tiny bud of her clitoris
that nestled within.

Art stared in fascinated shock. The tiny, blushing mound attracted him
and held his attention riveted to it. He yearned to close his eyes, to
ignore the tender tip of flesh, to close his eyes and to close his
mind. But he was transfixed, powerless, trapped by the lewd sight.

He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that somebody was calling his
name, for what and who, he had no cognizance.

She was a menace to society, Art had though; just as much of a menace
spreading her lewdity as her parents were for letting her dress that
way. For being a female, she was no more feminine then those boys who
start fights in public and push women around.

But someday they'd grow up and find out it took more than a fast line
and a dollar stolen from their grandmother's social security check to
get through life. It took guts.

Kathy grabbed her husband's hand, guiding him through the crowd,
wondering what he was thinking about that made his hands clammy and
cold. Why didn't he talk to her? He seemed a thousand miles away.

They chose two seats in the back. Art always preferred to sit in the
shades of darkness among the youngest lovers, old lonely singles, and
those who'd snuck in a hip-flask filled with Wild Turkey, not caring
what was on the screen as long as it wasn't real. Life was real enough.

There, in the darkness, Art could watch the small town's youth slither
by in their patched levis, watch for nods of heads and bills slipped
into conspicuously open palms. That meant dope, and where there was
dope there was a potential bust.

Art clutched the hard, plastic arm of the seat, his knuckles turning
white as he watched with squinted eyes a blonde-haired boy named Jim
who'd been known to sell dope in small quantities, a lid or two but
never more. A year older than most of his freshman friends, and the son
of a well-known lawyer, he'd been busted once before, but released.
With surreptitious watchfulness, Art spied the adolescent zip open the
bulging breast pocket of his levi jacket and, cupping the plastic
baggie in his hand, held it close to his body and slipped it to the
dark haired boy sitting in the seat next to him.

Art wiggled in his seat! Nothing delighted him more than to catch a law
breakers with his fingers hot and dirty! Dope. Art sneered, his
nostrils flaring into dime-sized holes. He could smell it a mile away,
had a talent for seeking it out. These poor, dumb little snots thought
they were really hot stuff selling a couple bucks worth of dope. Well,
when that damned rock concert came to town that weekend, he'd have
every policeman in the whole damned county out there ready and waiting
for them to light up one match ... one joint, and they'd be sitting
down at juvie with that bare-assed little bitch, plucking at their
recent growth of pubic hair for lack of anything better to do.

At least now he suspected who might be one of the poor, duped middle
men in peddling that nasty weed. A low rumbling laugh jerked in his
belly. Just wait til that rock concert ... they think they're gonna
pull a big one with those screaming rock and roll bands that shake the
tree roots for a mile around, while the poor farmers' fences get
stampeded, trampled by the kids who hadn't an ounce of respect for
personal property. They're all gonna end up lying to their parents
about their whereabouts, then camp out over night and smoke marijuana
and take that mind-rotting LSD.

It had happened back in upstate New York a couple of years ago; Art
remembered--he was there. Rock concerts were nothing new, just a front
for the dope peddlers who eyed a chance to make a buck. But these
ignorant kids ate it up, didn't mind spending a month's allowance on a
ticket to have their ear drums blasted. Art snickered again, shooting a
fast glance around the crowd as the lights in the theater died.

He could imagine it now. The whole damned town of Elston would be
overrun by kids who'd come from miles around to hear the local talent.
The poor shop owners would have to lock up their merchandise for the
whole damned weekend and stare out from behind drawn shades, watching
their own moral town turn into a God damn drug circus. There's be
problems with under-age kids trying to buy beer, probably a few gang
fights over a naked dancing girl. Before the weekend was over the local
jail would be full.

But the pushers. Those were the ones he was really after. They had
money and a smooth way of talking that would make any unsuspecting kid
count out his pennies for some dope that would only rot his brain, ruin
his morals. The poor gullible kids, they didn't know any better. They'd
pay ten bucks for an ounce of alfalfa if some fancy talking guy told
them it was the real thing.

Yeah, he'd get them! He'd track them and trail them for the sake of
justice. Then let them see how smart they were. But somebody like Jim
here, he had probably just bought a couple of ounces worth and was
selling one ounce to his buddy. No big deal, just enough to cut his
expenses, like any smart businessman would do. But who was supplying
Jim? That was the crucial point, the reason why he was an undercover
cop.

The credits flickered across the movie screen to the background music
of roaring rock n' roll, amidst a cheer of hooting from the front rows
of the theater where the junior high rowdies always sat.

Art felt a light tug at his sleeve and, knowing Kathy wanted to feel
young like ninety-eight percent of the audience, wanted him to slip his
arm around her shoulder like he used to when they first started dating
nine years ago. Compliantly, he crossed his legs and stretched his
sleeved arm around the back of her seat.

Damn! he thought with a twinge of guilt. I just can't seem to get my
mind off of work. But Jesus, when I see a kid selling dope in front of
my nose, what the hell can I do? I can't just ignore it to give Kathy a
little rub on the thigh. What the hell kind of cop would that make me?

Aching for Art to take her in his arms, Kathy let her head fall on his
shoulder. Surely he felt something, too, when they were around all
these young kids, hugging and kissing so openly, not caring who saw
them, just enjoying the freedom of being together. Instinctively, she
knew her husband's attention was riveted on some suspicious looking
face, some off-handed remark, or obscene gesture. Anything that was
immoral was also illegal: that was Art's philosophy, and he never
ceased trying to prove it true.

Would he always be like this, she asked herself. He didn't have to tell
her why he had chosen this particular movie. God knows, the six o'clock
news would have been more entertaining and more their style, but with
silent patience she'd sit through this second rate film and watch
enviously as the couples surrounding them found pleasure in each
other's company, hugging and kissing between chomps of popcorn.

This was Art's mania, his livelihood. It would never be any different,
she thought with resignation. At least he could learn from it, learn
that being young does not necessarily imply vulnerability. These kids,
if her guess was right, knew more about some aspects of life than Art
would learn in fifty years of tracking down crime and watching gangster
movies.

Chapter 2

Two hours and fifteen minutes of watching budding bosoms poking out
from tight tee-shirts only to be leered at by tall, lean boys with
broad hairless chests and taut thighs, racing on motorcycles, drinking
beer, and pawing at each other's bodies like it was merchandise on a
sale table, and Kathy was ready to go home. Listening to the couples in
back of her, their lips smacking and tongues sucking as they sparred
and sparked in the darkness of the movie theater, the auburn-haired
wife nudged her husband in the ribs with her elbow and whispered,
"Let's go home, Art."

"But the gang bang hasn't even happened yet," he protested hissing.
"... And the leader of the gang still has to fight her boy friend."

Kathy smiled flirtatiously. "Let's go home and have our own gang bang,
Art. Huh? What' you say?"

What could he say? All those young kids making-out and carrying on like
there was no tomorrow had affected him, too, Especially that honey-
haired actress with the high, round breasts that she strutted around so
proudly to show off to all the guys who followed her with their tongues
hanging out. Art consoled himself with the fact that she would be gang-
banged in the end ... although they never really showed that in the
film, only implied it.

But he couldn't protest. He had a damned good looking wife who wanted
to go home and make love.

And good looking she was, too. Long, thick auburn hair that she tied
back with barrets and ribbons, hair that shone yellow and red in the
sunlight ... flashing blue eyes that cooled the flames of her red
tresses, showed off her peaches and cream complexion. A smattering of
Irish freckles pebbled her nose and cheeks, with just enough color to
catch and hold the sun's tanning rays. The look of health and vivacity
was she, and he couldn't help but smile every time he caught a glimpse
of her in a mirror or shop window.

Feminine too. She spoke in a soft, unobstreperous manner, always polite
but not syrupy to cause suspicion. Delicate was the word, delicate as
fine Irish lace.

She stood erect and proud, yet in a gentle unassuming way that couldn't
help but make you want to run up and throw your arms around her neck.

"Yeah, hon. We'll go," smirked Art, slipping his arm in his corduroy
jacket.

They silently slipped from the theater just at the climax of the film.
Art took one final peek over his right shoulder before giving up the
fantasy of "No Tomorrow" for real life. He loved movies and he loved
adventure.

The moon was just rising over the sloping hills surrounding the
outskirts of the town when they reached the car parked only a block
from the theater.

Kathy slid in, unlocking her own door, and slithered over to the middle
of the cold plastic seat and rubbed her hand along her husband's firm
thigh, then rested her head on his shoulder.

Ah, she felt young again, like a nineteen year old girl out on a date,
instead of a twenty-eight year old woman going home from a movie with
her husband. To be young, again, she thought with a sigh of nostalgia
for the recklessness of youth.

Well, tonight she just might be a little reckless herself! The movie
combined with the necking behind her had reminded her there was more to
life than washing dishes and reading magazines. Life was to be lived,
and tonight, by God, she was going to live!

Darlingly, she slithered her hand further up her husband's thigh til it
reached the warm vee of his pants, where her fingers explored the
growing bulge in his trousers with ever-increasing lust.

"Hey, baby," cooed Art, his knuckles white as he clutched hard at the
steering wheel. "You're gonna get it tonight, you little devil, you."

With a satisfied grin, she drank in the promising words, hoping that
tonight Art wouldn't get sidetracked by a sudden plotting inspiration
or a telephone call. Tonight would be theirs alone to share.

Art was breathing hard by the time the Dodge Dart pulled into the
driveway of their rented home in the newly constructed patch of tract
homes outside of Elston.

Out of habit that had become a ritual, Kathy got out of the car first
to open the garage door, walked to the door adjoining the garage to the
house, and stepped inside just as the phone burrrhhhhed.

"OH, God, she spat with a hiss, "now what's the matter?" After eight
years she'd learned to detect the different signals from the mere sound
of a telephone ringing. Perhaps it was a parapsychological talent she'd
developed from the necessity of paranoia. The short impatient rings ...
now more than two or three ... those were the hasslers. Four or five
meant a neighbor or Art's parents. Any more than that and it signaled
work.

Kathy reached the phone on its seventh ring. She didn't have to count
the rings any more, the sound was imprinted in her brain, indelibly.

"Hello?"

"Yes, he's locking the garage door now. Hold on a minute ..."

Unavoidably, she knew it was work. Probably some tip on the drug bust,
she guessed. But who could tell? The underground policemen with whom
Art worked seemed to communicate in a secret language that she couldn't
decipher.

Hearing clomping in the hallway, Kathy turned in time to hand Art the
receiver, shooting him a warning glance, silent though loaded with
emotion. Her lips drew into a taut line as she stood in the kitchen
pouring herself a glass of wine, listening to her husband grunt out
answers to the invisible invader of their privacy.

The auburn haired woman kicked off her shoes, and taking her wine glass
with her, padded down the carpeted hallway to their bedroom. Taking off
her light summer jacket, she let it fall on the straight backed chair
in the corner of the blue room. She unzipped the simple cotton dress
and slipped out of it. The soft cotton stroked over her body, sliding
over her smooth, creamy shoulders, onto her full, round breasts, then
down to her smooth, svelty curving buttocks, her voluptuous young
thighs, her smooth slim legs. At last it settled on the floor with a
faint sound that could have been a sigh.

Kathy stepped out of the crumpled pile of blue cotton that lay puddled
on the rug. She pulled the sheer froth of her slip over her head, and
dropped it, too, on the rug. Reaching behind her, she unhooked the bit
of white lace which was her bra, then slipped the straps off her
shoulders; it joined the dress and slip on the floor.

Her flimsy nylon panties came next, followed by first one stocking and
then the other, a garter belt, a pair of low-heeled shoes. The clothing
lay scattered around the room where Kathy opened the bottom drawer of
her bureau where she kept her seldom-worn clothes, most of which were
Christmas presents from Art and a little too daring for her taste, and
pulled out last year's present--a see-through nylon nightie that graced
the wisps of her pubic hair, so short was it.

She pulled it over her head then stood silently, straining to hear if
Art was still on the phone. A muffled voice from the hallway signified
he was, and so she sat herself before the long mirror of her dressing
table, picked up a hair brush and unclasping the brown tortoise-shell
barret from the right side of her head, began her nightly ritual.

Mentally, she counted as the hairbrush stroked her thick wealth of
hair. She stared at herself as she counted, satisfied with what she
saw.

But was Art?

Tonight he would be, she grinned salaciously at her mimicking image.
Against her better judgment, she smeared on an extra thick coating of
mascara to make her eyes look even bigger, deeper. That turned on Art,
she knew. After watching that movie with all the intonated but never
consummated sex, all the vibrancy of youthful energy, she wanted to fix
herself at her seductive best, hoping that the allurement of her long-
denied body would calm her jagged nerves. She'd been rather fidgety
lately, jumping at the slightest sound, and she'd chalked it all up to
lack of sex. Those were the symptoms peculiar to her chemistry; after
eight years she'd learned to recognize the signs of abstinence.

With a dab of cotton she dosed herself with the faintest and most
expensive of her perfumes. Art likes to buy me all these sexy things
... nighties, panties perfume ... but I never get a chance to try them
out on him. It all seemed so foolishly wasteful somehow. A tease.

Practicing moving in front of the big mirror, watching the brief hem of
the garment flare over her hips, exposing the tight, hair-fringed slit
of her pussy with every step, Kathy grinned with self confidence.

She slithered out of the bedroom, expecting to see her husband readying
himself for bed. Although it went against the grain of her gentle
nature, she was ready to seduce him ... shamelessly. Maybe that's been
my problem, she thought. I expect Art to take the initiative, but he's
just too preoccupied. Sometimes a girl has to take things into her own
hands ... like that blonde girl in the movie.

A vivid vision of Art's long, thick cock sprang into Kathy's mind.
Well, what else could she do?

But instead of getting ready for bed, Kathy saw that Art was still
dressed as he'd been, the only difference being his shirt was
unbuttoned and hanging out of his pants. He was sitting at the kitchen
table, a pen and paper his attention now as he drew what looked like
road maps. Leaning over his shoulder, pressing her warm smooth flesh
against his still clothed body, she leaned over to kiss his neck.
Surely that would do it!

"Oh ... Kathy," he acknowledged, reaching up to pat her petite hand
with his big one, his eyes never leaving the paper. Art didn't raise
his head, or turn: instead, he clutched her hand and continued drawing.

"What is it?" Kathy asked in a half-whisper, leaning low so that the
sweetness of her perfume would reach his nostrils.

"Map. Think we're closin' in on 'em. This weekend. Gonna happen this
weekend during the rock concert." He pounded his forehead with his free
hand. "Have to figure some way. Oh, Kathy, baby, forgive me, but I
gotta plot this out. You know how I am ... I can't figure anything out
unless I can see it on paper." Still, he didn't turn his head to see
his half-naked wife, her firm, round breasts bouncing out of the deep V
neckline of her black nightie. Or the naked, damp slit of her pussy
fully exposed. Or the mascara-heavy eyelashes that fluttered in shadows
over her high cheek bones.

"I'll only be a second, hon. Meet you in the bedroom in a minute," he
conjoled, reaching up to give her hand another pat in another show of
compromise.

Downtrodden, Kathy pouted her way back to the bedroom. Did he always
have to be so damned dedicated? she thought dejectedly. Was his work
really more important than she?

... These and other thoughts passed through the luscious redhead's mind
as she lay in bed hopefully awaiting her husband. An hour passed before
she could stand it no more and went looking for him. Then, too, her
wine glass was empty and her throat dry. Art was still at the kitchen
table, his thick fingers running through his thinning hair, a deep
furrow lining his forehead like the epitaph on a tombstone.

"That's just great," she muttered, halfway down the hallway, knowing
there was no use in trying to coax him, no use in trying to show off
her naked body in front of him. It didn't work with Art. Nothing held
his attention except for crime and drugs and prostitution.

She returned to the blue bedroom and turned out all but the pale night
light above the mirror. She lay nearly naked on her side, contemplating
her reflection in the large mirror of her dressing table.

Kathy studied the light yellow image of herself: The full rise of her
wide-set breasts with the deep cleavage between; the way her curvaceous
body swept into an incredibly tiny waist, with only the most gentle,
enticing curve to break the flatness of her smooth-muscled belly; the
rich swell of her hip and ass cheeks and the darker triangle of auburn
hair in the warm, moist vee of her legs; and then the long, perfect
sweep of her legs, one knee slightly higher than the other. Kathy knew
that any artist would give everything to recreate the sensual image
that was painted across the bedroom mirror.

But she was more than a picture. She was warm, flesh and blood woman,
and everybody but her husband seemed to be well aware of that blatant
fact.

The insistent aching in her loins was slowly becoming a smoldering
fire. She had to dampen the flames somehow--and there was only one way,
as much as she hated to do such an obscene thing. She blushed at the
very thought of it. Never, not since she was a sixteen year old curious
female, had she done such a disgraceful thing.

She would use her hand as she'd done that night so long ago. And she
would watch herself rubbing her own cunt in the mirror. Perhaps it was
a retaliatory act to repay Art for his neglected duty. She thought of
the blonde girl in the movie. Would that girl have done the same thing?
Another sip of her red wine, and Kathy was convinced that big bosomed
girl would have done just that.

Sighing with frustration, the nearly naked woman turned on her back and
cupped her ripely mature breasts in her hands, exploringly squeezing
and rolling the pliant flesh, teasing the rising nipples until they
were hard and throbbing, and finding the sensation surprisingly
rewarding. Her breath became more labored, as her searching fingers
slowly slid up and down the warm swells of her smooth, unblemished
body. She held back from contact with her cunt for a long time, until
she could feel the warm fluids begin to flow from her dilating pussy.
Then one hand moved through the soft bush of curling pubic hair, barely
touching her moistened cuntal slit.

''Ooooooohhhhhhhhh!!!!!!" the redhead moaned involuntarily, her rich,
full lips parting with her ever-increasing passion. Her fingers danced
lightly over her aroused pussy, feeling the droplets of cunt juice
forming along the palpitating furrow of her pussy. Her hands moved to
the acutely sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, caressing their ivory-
hued smoothness, and she lightly scraped the velvet skin with her
fingernails as her entire body began to slowly undulate on the bed. She
realized that she hadn't locked the door and that would certainly be
embarrassing if Art walked in on her while she was stretched out on the
bed with her hands between her parted legs. But then, she reconsidered,
it just might serve him right. If he were less of a cop and more of a
husband, I wouldn't have to do this.

To hell with him, thought Kathy defiantly, surprised at her own
acidulous attitude.

Knees raised, her long legs splayed wide, Kathy finally dipped her
fingers into the seething folds of her cunt. Aaahhh! She was wet and
ready ... ready for a hell of a lot more than just her hand!

Full of yearning, the young wife spread open the soft, swollen flanges
of her cunt, arching her back and thrusting her pelvis toward the
ceiling. She traced the delicate line of her coral-hued pussy lips with
the fingers of her right hand, torturing herself with the maddening
touch of her nails. She sought and found the erect bud of her clitoris
and slowly rubbed the sensitive organ with a circular motion of her
thumb until it throbbed urgently with uncontrollable desire. And then
she began to run her fingers up and down the full length of her cuntal
slit, even into the smooth crease of her tight ass cheeks until her
fingertips brushed across the tiny puckered ring of her anus.

Faster and faster her hand moved, until the copious juices of her
unquenchable passion were flowing from deep in her churning loins,
coating her fingers with a slippery wetness. With a sudden movement,
the auburn-haired wife fucked her middle finger all the way up into the
steaming warmth of her flexing cuntal channel.

"Ooohhh!" the lust incited redhead gasped. Her finger was so small,
when what she wanted most was to be filled to the bursting point with a
blood-engorged male cock! Furiously, she began to fuck the stiffened
digit in and out of her deprived pussy, whimpering with every stroke.
One finger was just not enough. In desperation, she sent another, and
still another finger up into her well-lubricated cunt, stretching her
pussy as wide as her husband's thick cock would have, but not going
anywhere near deep enough into her ravenous pussy to satisfy the
prurient fire that was now raging out of control deep within her too-
long-deprived loins.

But what else could Kathy do? Her thumb was hitting her clitoris with
every thrust, bringing her just to the brink, but no further, of a
climactic orgasm. Then she thought of a lewd addition to this shameful
act of self-stimulation, something she had never even thought of doing
before. But her desperate physical need was overshadowing any rational
objection to such a totally depraved act.

Scissoring her long legs and rolling onto her side, Kathy reached
behind herself with her left hand and wantonly split her ass cheeks
apart, exposing the tiny ring of her anus to the cool night air. Then
she put the middle finger of her right hand into her mouth, her tongue
swirling over it, coating its entire length with her saliva. Suddenly
she arched her back and thrust her smoothly rounded buttocks outward,
and pressed her moistened middle finger against her resisting anus.

"Oooohhh!" she gasped as the finger stretched the restraining sphincter
muscle and finally popped into the tight, wet depths of her rectum. She
lay still for a moment, then began to undulate her pelvis in little
circular motions. Having her finger fucked in her anus was a totally
new sensation for the love-starved woman. Relentlessly, she forced her
finger even deeper into her clenching anal hole, working it in and out
until finally the palm of her hand was slapping against her wide-
splayed buttocks. Rocking her pelvis back and forth, she began to screw
more and more savagely into her clasping rectum while her thumb
urgently stroked the tingling bud of her clitoris. "Aaahhh!" Kathy
groaned in ever mounting salacious pleasure.

In the big mirror she could see her hand as a dim blur flashing in and
out of her puckered anus and could feel her nails scraping the
sensitive inner flesh of her cuntal and rectal passages, but the slight
pain only caused her to increase the fury and violence of her manual
fucking. She could feel it building ... she was cumming!

Abruptly a sea of fire spread like a tidal wave through her quaking
belly, making her inner cunt muscles frantically clench and spurt great
gushes of thick, whitish cum from the contracting lips of her burning
hot cunt down over her fingers and the insides of her thrashing thighs
and the widespread crack of her spasming buttocks. Kathy knew that her
orgasmic fluid would stain the sheets of the bed, but she didn't care
as the rich aroma of her satiated pussy reached her flaring nostrils.
She kept both hands plunging into her straining cunt until she could
cum no more without screaming aloud.

Then, drained and exhausted, she collapsed flat on her back, her hair
making a dark red splash on the rumpled pillows. Kathy raised her head,
took one look at her reddened cheeks, her disheveled hair, and smeared
mascara and started to cry.

OH God! It was wonderful but terrible at the same time. Bittersweet, as
Beaudelaire would have put it. What was happening to her? How could she
have done such a disgraceful thing? She reached for a Kleenex in the
headboard of her marital bed, and dabbed at her eyes, examining the
black streaks on the soiled tissue as if it were the sins of the past
fifteen minutes. Kathy sobbed harder and, pulling back the coverlet,
buried her head in the pillow and pretended she was asleep when Art
finally slipped in beside her.

He reached out to touch her and, getting no encouraging response,
rolled over on his stomach and tried to sleep. The phone call that
night had distressed him, added to his enigmaed mind. Supposedly, a
paid informer had reported that the dealers were bringing in six
hundred pounds of top grade marijuana. How they would get it to its
point of distribution, the informer didn't say ... or know, though a
rented U-Haul truck was suspected. But the main crux of the dilemma
would be finding that one vehicle among the hundreds that would line
the road outside of the Olson farm that weekend. Another clue: the big
time dealers might use a decoy, something to take the heat off the real
operation, something to slow down the cop's pace. A pigeon ... a fat
pigeon. Now what could that mean?

Chapter 3

Other than the bowling alley, there was only one place for the minors
of Elston to frequent--a place affectionately called "The Hole." There,
in the secret darkness of the basement below one of the local bars,
teenagers came to shoot pool, smoke cigarettes and make connections for
paying off an older teenager to buy beer for a weekend party. No adults
were allowed in, except for the owner; not that any adults would want
to choke on the smokey air or drink in the musty odors of the damp
cement walls that sponged up the summer rains. No females either,
except for the very loosest, the ones looking for a lay.

Above the two pool tables hung bare light bulbs, attached to the
ceiling where the plumbing pipes criss-crossed and gurgled. That and a
cigarette machine, plus a broken chair that had fallen victim to too
many fights, were the only adornments in the place.

"The Hole" was nearly emptied now except for two young boys, one tall,
lean and blonde; the other with curly dark hair, shorter and stockier,
he was far more animated than his watchful friend.

With the pool cue tucked under his left arm, the tall-boy named Jim
flicked the match head over the zipper of his fly, lit his cigarette,
and watched the legs scissor past the ground level window where lead
bars gave the dimly lit room a prison-like effect.

"Chuck's late," said Jim somewhat nervously, taking a deep puff off his
cigarette and then leaning down to eye the eight ball. The cigarette
dangled from his lips, sending swirls of smoke above his head. This was
one of his first really big deals and he'd made too many plans to have
it crumble now.

"What's the stakes?" Mark wanted to know, smiling at his friend's
sloppy shot, watching the eight ball slip past the striped one and roll
into the pocket.

Jim straightened, his forehead lined with a frown. "Damn it, he hissed,
"I told you never to talk about this in public. Now look what you made
me do."

"Public? What the hell's public about you and me?" He shot his buddy a
questioning look and took another sip off his tepid coca-cola that sat
precariously on the rim of the pool table.

His knuckles whitening, Jim clutched at the pool cue, grinding and
twirling it in slow circles like he was trying to screw it into the
floor. His lips drawn taut, the fuzz on his upper lip glistened yellow
under the naked light bulb. "Man, I told you before that if you're
gonna go into business with me, man, you're gonna have to be cool. Like
this is no half assed job we're tryin' to pull off. This is lots of
bread, you understand? Lots of bread and lots of dope. Got that?"

"Yeah," sputtered Mark with a crooked smile, "if this is such a big
deal and I'm your partner, then why can't you tell me what's goin' on?
I mean I got a right to know." Mark's deep brown eyes pooled into
darkness as he spoke. "How stupid do you think I am? I ain't riskin' my
neck for your trip," he spat in retaliation, recognizing Jim's arrogant
bent.

"Okay, okay, okay," conceded Jim, knashing out the barely smoked
cigarette with the heel of his boot. He tried to invision how his
father, a lawyer, would handle this situation. Should he tell Mark the
truth, tell him that there was more involved in this operation than
just meeting someone at "The Hole" and going home to break up the
pound? Should he tell him that they'd planned to abduct the undercover
cop's wife and hold her hostage to keep the heat off while the U-Haul
van slipped by with six hundred pounds of fine-grade marijuana straight
from the sun-kissed fields of Mexico? Could Mark handle it, or would he
act like a typical fifteen year old kid and chicken out?

... Like John had done back East and blown Jim's cover, ending up in
his arrest, making his family move half way across the country to leave
the stigma of a bad record behind--just when Jim's father was running
for Senator?

Jim squinted against the darkness, pooched out his lips, his chin
wrinkling as he studied his friend. Shifting his weight from his right
foot to his left, he plunged his hands deep in his levi pockets and
stared hard and long. Drawing a deep breath, his facial muscles relaxed
and a slim, but evident, smile crossed his lips. "Okay, I'll tell you
anything you want to know. You're a big part of this," he conceded,
running his slender fingers that might have belonged to an artist of
pianist, through his baby fine blonde hair. For Jim was only sixteen
himself, a curse he'd have to live with, he realized, until he turned
the magic age of eighteen when he could do anything legally.

"Can you ride a motorcycle?" he stared Mark in the eye.

Mark answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "Yeah, sure. Why?"
Reaching down for the warmed bottle of soda, he clutched at it
tremblingly, then raised it to his lips for one long unsatisfying gulp.
For some ominous reason, he had the hunch that getting involved in
business with Jim wouldn't be such a good idea after all.
Instinctively, he had the feeling that there would be more to this buy
than the usual running through alleyways with a brown bag under one arm
and, meeting in his father's garage at two o'clock in the morning to
break up the pound.

An astute judge of character, Jim reached out to rest his calming hand
on Mark's shoulder. Mark was uptight, that was obvious. But then,
didn't every bank robber, every smuggler get nervous when they faced
the law? Wasn't that what made them act intuitively, do things they
never could have done under normal situations? Yes, Mark could handle
it. All he needed was a little breaking in, that was all.

"Here's the scoop, partner. You know how much we're figurin' on
getting' out of this deal with Chuck?" Jim grinned crookedly.

Mark shook his head, a vacuuous look in his dark liquid eyes.

"Ten pounds," he enunciated meticulously. "A big one zero, kid."

Mark's eyes saucered and Jim watched his friend's Adam apple rise up to
chin and fall abruptly in a gulp of shock.

"Yeah," Jim smacked his lips, nodding his head. "You know what that
means?"

"Yeah, that means if we get busted we get sent to juvie for the rest of
our lives ... no women, no music ..." His voice cracked and he tried to
pull away from Jim's grip. "I don't want no part of it, Jim. It's too
big, too much."

"Hey, come on Mark," purred Jim solicitously. "You gotta think big,
man! You know what we can do with all that money?"

He leaned down, resting both hands on his partner's broad shoulders,
his face inches away from Mark's, close enough so that Mark could count
his blemishes. "We invest it back in our business. Christ, if we keep
multiplying our investments, man, we're gonna be ownin' our own
smuggling planes by the time we count eighteen candles on our birthday
cakes. You hear me, man?"

Resignedly, Mark lowered his head. Jim was right. But still there was
something fishy about it; it was too easy, too simple. Life just wasn't
like that, according to what he'd heard from his father, and he trusted
his father. He'd worked hard his whole life, did things in small
measures, never risking more than he could lose, and they'd gotten
along okay in life. Was this necessary? ... Putting all the eggs in one
basket ... was that really such a good idea?

But Jim was too convincing, too conniving, too much like his lawyer
father whom everybody in Elston knew was a wheeler-dealer from the
East. Talk was he'd planned on running for the Senate but moved out
here to the Midwest for some suspicion-provoking reason.

"Look, all you gotta do is drive a motorcycle ... simple as that." Jim
raised his hands from Mark's shoulders, stepping back to gesture with
his delicate hands that had obviously never seen a day's work of mowing
lawns or emptying garbage. Mark noticed then for the first time now as
he watched his partner's gestures and mannerisms with measured concern.

"Yeah, well what do I do with that motorcycle? Where do I go?"

"Hey, you'll like this ..." Oh, oh, thought Mark. He's sounding too
sweet again: I have a feeling I'm gonna be doing the dirty work ..."
You know what you do? You go pick up a lady, a very pretty lady."

"Who?" Mark's mouth ovalled, and he stared hard at his blonde friend.

"Art's wife ..."

"Art's wife? Are you crazy man? Art's that undercover cop, ain't he?
The one who's always lookin' like he's gonna punch somebody out?" Mark
thrust his hands deep in his levi pockets, and studied the cigarette
butt-dirty cement floor, eyeing the sordid "Hole" where he'd first met
and gotten involved with Jim. He remembered with regret, how innocent
he'd been until he met Jim. Suddenly he wished he were back there
again, watching television with his parents, eating popcorn, studying
his Sunday School lesson. He swallowed hard, recalling a saying his
mother had always chimed when he made a wish that couldn't come true:
'If wishes were horses, the beggars could ride.' It had always seemed
foolish and nonsensical, but now he was beginning to understand the
wisdom of those words.

"Art's wife, huh?" he repeated staring down at the floor, scraping the
toe of his boot in circles around a crumpled butt.

"You pick her up and take her for a ride, that's all. That's all you
have to do for five pounds of dope--free." Jim snickered and shrugged
his shoulders. "From there you take her to a place that's safe and then
Robert will be there to take care of her."

Still no positive response came from Mark.

"Look, man, if you don't want to do it, I can find a lot of other guys
who'd pick up that offer in a second." Jim snapped his fingers, the
sound cutting through the smoke-filled room like the sound of thunder.

Both heads raised and the words hung in the air as the sound of heavy
boots clomping down the steps stung through both of them. Had someone
been listening? Jim had heard their paid informers floating around
town, but, of course he didn't tell Mark that.

A slow, long exhalation of relief cooled the room when Chuck, the owner
of the bar overhead, stooped through the doorway.

There was no changing his mind now, realized Mark, almost with a sigh
of relief. At least now the decision was not his; he'd been forced into
it, he told himself. * * *

At eight-fifteen the next morning, Art was alert and sitting at his
desk at the police department in the county seat fifteen miles from
Elston, across the street from Juvenile Hall. He took a bitter sip of
the acrid black coffee, swearing to the gods above that he'd never buy
coffee out of a vending machine again, and leaned back on the legs of
the chair. With a grunt and a wince, he pushed the coffee to the side
of his desk, its sloshing liquid polluting the desk mat. An acidulous
belch, and he was back on all four legs of the chair. Grunting, he
pulled open the top drawer of his marred wooden desk and rummaged
amongst the unsharpened pencils and paper clips for his Rolaids. All he
could find was a dirty, crumpled up empty wrapper.

Damn, nothing was going right. He shook his head and crossed his arms
over his chest, in defeat. Jesus H. Christ, he thought, when is the
last time things went smoothly. Rubbing his forehead with his massaging
fingertips, he thought it might have been a couple weeks back ... what
was wrong? He always felt jumpy, nervous, twitchy. Like he had too much
energy. But why was he tired and tense all the time?

A fleeting image of Kathy lying in bed dressed in the black nightie
she'd blushed so shyly over when he first gave it to her ... and the
movie ... she'd wanted to go home. What was it she'd said? 'Let's go
home and have our own gang-bang!' Sex ... that was it. He hadn't had
enough lately. Well, damnit, it was his own fault, he realized.
Probably was the cause of the heartburn that had been eating away at
him lately, too.

It struck him like a bolt of lightning against a rotting tree trunk.
Kathy ... he'd been neglecting her lately. Christ, she never
complained, never said anything. What a wife! Art shook his head in
self-deprecation. And what a lousy husband he'd been lately!

Self-recriminatingly, he remembered how when they'd moved into their
rented house he'd promised to till the postage-stamp sized garden.
Kathy loved roses and had always wanted a rose garden. That was it!
He'd hire somebody to go out there and plant her a garden. Hot damn,
Voltaire's Penteguel couldn't have done any better!

He grabbed at the telephone directory, flipping through the yellow
pages. "Gardeners, gardeners," he chanted to himself trying to remember
the name of the horticulturist who lived across the street from them
called his business. Tracing his fingernail down the listings, he found
it, called it, and made arrangements for a young man to come out that
afternoon to start tilling the garden.

Fifteen miles away, Kathy awoke to see the sun filtering through the
lace of the curtains to form a bright pattern on the pale blue walls of
the bedroom. She yawned, realizing she'd over slept again, sat up and
stretched. It was good to be alive, she thought. It was good to have
slept well, to awake refreshed, despite the tormenting feelings she'd
fallen asleep with; but her dreams had cleansed her, she thought
thankfully. Now, in the warmth of the sun and the cheerful light of day
they seemed ridiculous, those guilty feelings last night. In fact, she
realized with a grin, she felt much better for having satisfied
herself.

She got up and slipped on a sundress that was discreet yet managed to
set off the delicious curving slope of her firm round buttocks, her
firm thighs and slim, tapering legs. The lipstick she painted on with
such care matched the pink dress, making her pink cheeks shine with
vibrancy. She ran a comb through her hair and dusted her nose with
powder before she went to the kitchen to turn on the heat under the tea
kettle. Today, instant coffee would do just fine. It was one of those
rosey days when she expected little and wanted nothing. Life was rich.

Hearing a slap against the side of the house, she went to the kitchen
door to retrieve the morning's newspaper. With unerring accuracy, the
newspaper boy, as usual, had managed to heave it too far to left and it
had landed in the hedge. One day, she thought stooping down and leaning
over the hedge to retrieve it from the prickly brambles, I'm going to
catch that little brat ...

The phone rang as her fingertips were scraping at the folded edge of
the paper, like a cat scratching in a litter box. With a feminine
grunt, she leaned over further and, in her careless haste, caught and
tore a fingernail. "Ohhh," she spat, deciding there was nothing but
local gossip in the newspaper anyway. She pivoted and ran up the cement
steps, letting the door slam shut behind her. Kathy caught the-phone on
the fifth ring.

"H-hello!" she breathed, examining the damage on her index fingernail.

"Kathy ... your lover boy here," Art paused, waiting for her giggle of
recognition. None came.

"Oh, hello Art." Her voice was calm and smooth as butter.

"Got a surprise coming for you today, baby. Oh, boy, you're gonna love
your little Artie when you find out what it is ... But don't ask," he
cautioned hastily. "It's gonna be a surprise, a downright shock to your
system, you sexy little thing you. I can only tell you one thing.
There's gonna be a young man coming to your door. Give him whatever he
wants ..."

"Art!" giggled Kathy with renewed interest. "What is this?"

"Just do as I say, honey. Just remember, give him anything he needs."

"Art, what are you talking about ..."

He cut her off short. "Gotta go now, doll. Got some work to do. Buddy
just came in and we gotta do some scouting. Oh, and I might be late
tonight. That rock concert starts tomorrow, you know."

She blew a kiss over the phone, the same as she'd done for the past
eight years. Gingerly, she set the receiver back on its cradle, chewing
on her lower lip with expectancy. Now just what did he mean? She put
her finger on her lip and stared out the window, watching as a boy on a
motorcycle pulled up in front of her house.

Today was full of surprises!

The tea kettle sang a high pitched tune, drawing her out of her
reverie. Standing on her tiptoes, cursing Art for always putting
everything up on the top shelf of the cupboard where it was convenient
for him, but injurious to her arches, she grabbed at the jar of instant
coffee.

Outside, Mark pulled up on a rented Honda 350, struggled with the kick
stand, and wiped his forehead beaded with sweat as he slipped the key
in his pocket. Clumsily, he faltered a moment, unable to remember if
Chuck had instructed him to turn it off or leave it running. Oh Christ,
but did it matter? When you were abducting, kidnapping a woman did it
matter if you turned off a motorcycle? None of it made sense, but he
guessed it had something to do with raising suspicion. He took a deep
breath, straightened his shoulders and headed for the front door of the
one story clapboard building, studying the overgrown lawn and brambly
hedge, thinking it was strange that someone as particular as a cop
would let his house look so sloppy. But then, reasoned the lad, no one
was supposed to know he was a cop.

What a joke! Jim and the rest of the kids had had Art pegged the first
time they set eyes on him, with his stiff white shirt and black wing-
tipped shoes. And going to all the movies the junior high kids went to.
God, he'd even seen Art in the malt shop after school, sitting there
sipping at a soda, pretending to be reading the Wall Street Journal
while he peeked over the top of his folded paper, sometimes holding it
upside down. How could a blunderer like Art have a wife as pretty as
his?

He would soon find out, he thought with a very real pain in the pit of
his stomach. Mark swallowed dryly and walked up the cement steps that
seemed to be endless, like a condemned man walking the deathly stretch
from his jail cell to the gas chamber.

Suddenly a thousand questions and insecurities crashed down on him like
a mountain waterfall, flooding his cheeks with the rising guilt of his
actions. 'Five pounds, five pounds,' chanted voicelessly inside his
head, giving him the courage to raise a quavering finger to press the
doorbell. As he watched a demure, petite-sized woman wipe her hands on
her apron and head toward the open screen door, a smile on her face
like she was expecting him, he was frozen with stage fright. He'd
expected a snarl, a door slammed in his face, an angry dog ready to
spring at his throat, but never, never this!

Before he had time to introduce himself, the door was opened to him,
and the auburn-haired housewife had stepped aside, allowing her guest
entrance and encouraging him with a swift motion of her hand.

"Hello," she said gaily. "My name is Kathy ... and you're ..."

"Ah, Mark ... I mean Martin," he stammered, flushing crimson. Christ,
she was so agreeable, so pretty and so young. Maybe he had the wrong
address.

"Well, Martin, I guess we have a big day ahead of us, don't we?" Kathy
motioned for the boy to follow her into the kitchen. "I was just having
my coffee, I hope that doesn't hold you up. Is there anything I can get
you? Do you need anything?" she asked, looking at him with all the
sweetness she could muster, hoping his answer might shed some light on
the mysterious surprise Art had promised.

"No, no, nothing, thank you."

Kathy watched her young guest studying the pattern of the tile only now
and then raising her head long enough to look at her questioningly;
when she countered his deep glance with her own penetrating blue eyes,
he averted her eyes immediately. He seems awfully young; I wonder if he
works. Ah, ha! Maybe he's here to cut the grass and trim the hedges;
God knows they need it. But she decided not to press the point, she
didn't want to ruin Art's surprise.

"Well, I know you've come here for a surprise ... that's what Art
said," smiled Kathy, sipping on her coffee, wrinkling up her nose.

"Huh?" Mark asked dumbly. What is going on here? he wondered. She acts
like she was expecting me! Jesus, what the hell am I so uptight about?
I think I could tell her to take off her clothes right here and she'd
start stripping. Boy, this is weird, too weird. Gotta get out of here.

"Mrs... . ah," all he could think of to call her was Mrs. Art. Nobody
knew Art's last name.

"Kathy, please call me Kathy, Martin," she half whispered, swallowing
the last of her coffee and rising from her chair.

"Kathy ... are you ready to go now?" he asked hesitantly, waiting for
her protesting resistance; that's the way it always happened on the
FBI. She was supposed to fight and scratch.

She shot him a pleasant grin and reached behind her back to untie her
apron strings, while Mark stared at her dumbfoundedly. "Be with you in
a second." He watched her dart off down the hallway, listening to the
light-footed pad, pad, pad of her footsteps smacking against the
hallway carpet. She returned fifteen seconds later with her handbag.
"All set, Mark ..."

Before reaching the front door, she turned. "Can you tell me where
we're going, Martin? Or is it a surprise?" she asked gaily.

"Ah, it's a surprise," he smirked, walking slowly so that the handcuffs
in his belt pouch didn't rattle or arouse suspicion in the inordinately
agreeable woman.

"Oh!" burst Kathy, clasping her hands together and staring at the
motorcycle with a giggle. "Don't tell me we're going on that! Wouldn't
you rather take my car?" She pointed to the garage. "It's just like in
the movie last night, I mean ... well," she suddenly felt embarrassed,
too much like a young girl, almost vulnerable. But Art's words, 'Give
him anything he wants,' halted those suspicions, shot them down like a
row of moving ducks in a shooting gallery.

"You just wait while I turn this thing around, Kathy," he gulped,
thinking for the first time that he'd have to drive through her
neighborhood. God, what if somebody should see them? He only prayed she
wouldn't start screaming or trying to jump off the bike or anything
dumb like that. 'Five pounds,' he assured himself, and turned the key
in the ignition to kick off the motor. Why the hell a motorcycle? he
questioned again. Why not a car? Why Art's wife?

"Okay, jump on," he commanded as imperiously as a fifteen year old's
cracking voice could sound.

Giggling, and feeling more like the buxom blonde teenager in last
night's movie than a twenty eight year old housewife, Kathy swung her
right leg over the high padded seat, surprised at her own agility.

"Hang on around my stomach," called Mark over his shoulder as the bike
ground its way in first gear out of the paved driveway and sped up to
second as it roared down the winding neighborhood streets. At the end
of the block, Mark stopped at the stop sign, letting a pick-up truck,
with "Harvey's Horticulture" printed in sprawling green letters on a
white background, pass by in front of him. He shivered and looked the
other way as the driver stuck his head out the window and called and
waved hello to his hostage. Biting into his lower lip, Mark felt cold
chills running up and down his aching spine.

Witness number one, coming up, he thought, his nostrils flaring with
the realization of what he was involved in. Hostage ... kidnap ...
juvie ... five pounds ... Christ, if he got caught he'd spend the rest
of his teenage years behind bars. What different would five pounds make
then?

Behind him, Kathy smiled at the sunshine. Oh, Art was quite a master at
surprise when he put his mind to it. He wasn't as dull and dedicated as
he seemed. She stared at the shirted back that rippled in the summer
wind, tempted to rest her head against the youth's firm, athletic body.
And where was this young, good looking boy with the deep brown eyes
taking her? He was going to take her for a ride ... maybe to meet Art
somewhere and they'd go have lunch under a weeping willow tree. This
boy was probably another paid informer, an undercover cop who was
learning the ropes at an early age. Maybe he'd even spent a little time
in Juvenile Hall, long enough to realize the only way to get out was by
cooperating, and now here he was, a young policeman himself. What else
could he be? She closed her eyes, feeling the sensual warm summer winds
blow her hair in swirls around her head. Oh, but it felt good. She
wanted it to last forever.

The suspense grew, and suddenly she just had to know. "Where are we
going?" she screamed till the tendons in her neck stood out like
telephone cords.

"Just for a ride!" he called back, changing lanes to allow a delivery
truck to pass by.

Mark headed for the outskirts of town, taking the side streets and
alleyways, winding and turning, just when Kathy thought she knew where
they were headed. It wasn't until they passed the high school, which
marked the boundary line of the village limits, that Kathy became
alarmed. After that, she knew, there was nothing but farming lands and
empty space. Too much empty space.

"Where are we going, Mark?" she called out against the slapping winds,
and she pulled a strand of auburn hair that clung to her eyelashes. Her
voice had lost its sweet patience, to be replaced by a high, shrill
call of alarm.

They were leaving the town behind and the houses were far apart now.
Kathy s hands were clammy. there was a sinking feeling at the pit of
her stomach and little fingers of fear began to claw at her. Something
was wrong, something was terribly wrong. The police department where
Art housed his office was on the other side of Elston.

Controlling herself, Kathy shouted again this time at the top of her
lungs, "Mark! Will you please tell me where we're going?" She clawed at
his stomach, her tiny fists pulling at his shirt.

He didn't turn or speak.

Kathy clawed at him again. Where was he taking her? Kathy closed her
eyes for a few seconds, it seemed an eternity. Behind her closed lids,
the sunshine blinded her with red flashes. She took a deep breath
fighting back the growing fear that had begun to gnaw at her. There had
to be some reason for this; Art had said to give him what he wanted ...
but he never said that person's name would be Mark, or that he would be
riding a motorcycle.

Clinging to his shirt with one clenched and desperate fist, Kathy
released the other hand to pound the boy's back. The motorcycle lurched
swerving to the right.

Jesus Christ, cringed Mark she's getting violent! He slowed the bike,
reaching into his pouch at the same time to draw out the tinkling hand
cuffs. In one simultaneous motion, he stopped the bike, supporting it
with his strong athletic legs, and clamped the handcuffs over her tiny
wrists.

"You beast! You little brat! What are you doing to me?" Kathy bellowed.

He had her now. No way could she jump off the bike without killing both
of them; she was handcuffed to him and the only way she could escape
was by pulling her hands over the top of his head--an impossible feat.

She began to tremble. She was shivering with cold, despite the warm
breeze, yet her forehead was covered with beads of perspiration. The
fear that had only flickered before settled, lead like at the very
center of her being and ached there.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry, her lips parched. Futilely
she ran her tongue over them. Above the roar of the motorcycle's motor,
she could hear the beat of her heart.

They traveled on, endlessly taking dirt roads Kathy had yet to explore.
The bike reared and roared like a lion in heat, jumping over rocks and
eating up the dirt, spewing it out in a fine dust behind them. How long
that journey took, she had no idea. Time had stopped her emotions had
stopped, but her faith held strong.

Art ... Art wouldn't let this happen to her. This was a trick, some
kind of stupid joke. All the gangster movies and cops shows on
television flickered in one dying second in her mind's eye. Those were
all brutal, ugly people with scars and missing teeth. She studied the
plaid shirted back of the fifteen year old boy who'd hand cuffed her to
his body. This was but a boy! An innocent looking young boy. My God, he
was probably still a virgin and hadn't even tasted the joys of sex yet!
What had she to worry about?

They churned and ground on to the crest of the hill that over looked a
wide valley below. A dilapidated, weathered cabin sat nestled in a
grove of oak trees, looking as if it might have been a summer home at
one time. Honey suckle, birch trees, and Dutchman's Breeches scattered
the wooded grounds, in a primeval, innocent setting.

The motorcycle ground to a halt, serving as a signal to the others who
popped out from behind trees, peeking their heads out of the broken
windows of the cabin.

A loud cheer rose in the stillness of the forest. Triumphantly, Mark
raised his hands spreading his two fingers in the sign of victory.

He was one step closer to five pounds of marijuana. He'd earned his
share, and it would high sailing from now on!

Chapter 4

Dodging her flailing arms and legs, ignoring the tiny fists that
pounded and beat with a steady staccato rhythm at their shoulders,
arms, and chest, the three young boys carried the screaming policeman's
wife to the one-room cabin. Jim took command of 'Operation Wife Bait,'
as he called it.

"All right, you guys," he commanded with a jerk of his blonde head,
"Clear off that mattress and put down a blanket. We're gonna keep our
little pigeon here as comfortable as possible." He stood with his hands
on his lithe hips, his delicate features angling severely as he spat
out the orders.

Kathy stared at him, a bewildered expression clouding her otherwise
sharp features. "What are you doing?" she asked softly, trying to
appeal to his sense of better judgment. "Her arms ached from the
handcuffs and her wrist burned in the vise-like grip of the steel
bands. Confusedly, she stared down at the handcuffs, raising her wrists
to eye level. "What do you want of me? I-I don't understand? You're all
so young! You should be out playing football or chasing girls, not
kidnapping a twenty-eight year old married woman."

Suddenly the fear she'd felt riding the motorcycle rushed back to
clutch at her, sending a shiver and chill through her whole body. She
shuddered her shoulders trembling. It was so ridiculous, funny almost.
It seemed like an eternity since she'd gotten up that morning drank her
coffee, retrieved the newspaper from its brambled burial ground--all
her routine, day-to-day activities that kept her alive, identified her
as Kathy McGuire wife of Art McGuire.

Now, somehow, that had all been swept away from her, like driftwood
carried away from the shoreline by an ebbing tide. She stared down at
the prim pink sundress she wore; it was as if she had never seen it
before. The sandals, too, the pink toe nails--they all belonged to
another person someone foreign but certainly not Kathy McGuire.

She stared again at Jim, her own blue eyes penetrating his cold, steely
ones. A cry of pure terror welled up in her throat, only to be
strangled there. He was about fifteen years old she guessed, but a
glint in his eyes told her that his experience was more than that. This
boy, this delicate featured boy, with his aristocratic hands and
acqueline nose looked like a young czar, a prince ... a militant boy in
command. With his erect posture and thrown-back shoulders, he carried a
presence about him not to be denied, Kathy could tell by the way the
other boys were waiting, staring mesmerically at their blonde haired
friend, that he was the leader, indisputably. But he was so young! He
hadn't even started shaving yet!

"Okay, take off her handcuffs!" boomed Jim, turning to point to Mark,
who started fumbling in his pockets, pulling out the lining so the key
could rattle free. Jim grimaced, but bent to pick it up. "Be more
careful next time," he warned, handing the key to Mark then indicating
with a jerk of his head in Kathy's direction.

Her hands free, Kathy shook her wrists, trying to get the circulation
back in her favor. Like lead, her wrists felt heavy and weak; she
rubbed them with her fingertips.

"Jim, how we gonna keep her from runnin' away?" Robert wanted to know,
watching the cop's beautiful wife massaging her own flesh.

"Running away?" Kathy wrinkled up her nose, eyeing the door. Maybe she
should try to run, but in her heeled sandals she'd be no match for this
fifteen year-old sprinter. "What do you want of me?" she asked for the
hundredth time. "Please, if it's money you want, I'd be happy to pay
you. That's all I can offer you."

"That's what you think!" countered Jim, with a salacious grin, running
his tongue over his lips. "Yeah," he said with a careless ease, "I
think she's gonna serve our purposes just right. Your ol' man is gonna
be pretty busy keepin' his eye on all the bare-breasted chicks chasin'
after the dopers," he guffawed. "You think he cares enough about you to
come looking for you?"

"Of course he does!" spat Kathy with a defiant jerk of her head, to
spring her thick hair loose of her forehead. "He'll find you kids all
right. And don't go making any slurring remarks about Art. He's a
darned good husband," she pouted, her lips in a tight line as she
glared back at her young captor.

"Listen, by the time he finds you, the marijuana is gonna be hidden
away, tighter'n a drum. He'll never find it."

The room was silent, except for a mouse scratching its way free of a
rumple of newspaper, yellow and water smeared. Mark and Robert stared
at each other, waiting, wondering who would be the victor in this test
of mental stamina.

"Okay, boys, ready for step number two of 'Operation Wife Bait?'" On
Signal, Robert opened a suitcase and drew out the rope.

"What ... are you boys going to do to me?" chanted Kathy, watching with
saucered eyes as the young freckle-faced boy approached her, all the
while testing the strength of the rope, jerking it hard. Satisfied, he
handed it to Jim, then stepped back and waited for the next command.

"Now why don't you just have a seat down here on the bed," said the
fifteen year old leader sweetly, with innocence.

"No!"

"I said get on the bed!" screamed Jim, pointing with his delicate index
finger. "You get this straight now, you bitch! I am the leader here,
and you follow my orders. Is that clear?" He might have been a Sergeant
in the Army, or a Captain in the Navy judging from the way he ordered
and commanded, with no protests.

Staring him in the eye, wondering what kind of child monster he was,
Kathy obeyed, sitting down on the bed, her eyes never leaving the
steely gray orbs that belonged to her captor.

"Okay, boys, now get the whiskey."

"No!" she screamed again, kicking her heels into the dusty rotting
floor, making a hole in the weathered wood. She leaned back on her
hands and screamed as a hand flew over her mouth, and she yelled,
"Nooooo!" And then the neck of a foul-smelling bottle was forced into
her mouth, bruising her lips; she gagged on some of the burning liquid
and felt it searing its way all the way down her throat and stomach.
The bottle was pulled from her mouth, and Kathy fought for her breath
almost gagging and vomiting as the raw whiskey hit her empty stomach
and sensitive nervous system all at once. She opened her mouth to speak
again and the neck of the bottle was brutally rammed into her mouth.
Again the fiery liquid gurgled down the back of her throat and tears
came to her eyes as she choked.

"Get the grass!" Jim commanded, and everyone laughed. For the first
time, Kathy smelled an odor in the air, an odor she had never smelled
before. So that's what it was that made these boys, these innocent
little boys act like they were grown up criminals with heats of steel!
She'd read Art's manuals on the detection and behavior of drug
influence, and words like 'paranoia,' 'fantasy,' and 'schizophrenia'
had never been real, until now. It explained their behavior.

Choking, gagging, her breasts heaving for breath, they continued to
force feed her, the whiskey spilling over her chin and neck and soaking
the flimsy material of her cotton sundress so that it clung to her
flesh and revealed her deliciously full breasts. She struggled feebly,
unable to focus her fear, forgetting to cry out as she felt every nerve
in her body tingling and a wildly soothing feeling coming over her
brain. She even managed a wry smile, figuring she would soon be able to
talk the children out of this stupid prank.

Her reasoning was further confused as Jim knelt over her with a lighted
cigarette in his hand. He forced it between Kathy's lips. "Suck!" he
ordered.

"Yeah, suck!" said one of the boys. Jim stared hard at Robert who had
caused the outburst and frowned, letting the blushing boy know there
was one and only one leader of this gang.

Kathy obediently took a drag on the cigarette, feeling the smoke to be
heavily pungent and sickly sweet. She blew the smoke out.

"Hold your breath!" someone said. Was that brutal voice really a
fifteen year old's?

She turned and tried to see who was speaking but couldn't focus her
eyes. The rough, brown papered cigarette was forced on her again. This
time it was Mark, crouching near her. "Take a drag and hold in your
breath."

She obeyed as if she were a little child, dutifully inhaling the smoke
of the strange cigarette and holding her breath until she started to
choke. Time seemed to stand still, or had it disappeared entirely? She
couldn't tell; nor could she remember how many times she'd taken a drag
off the funny looking cigarette. Actually, it was a second joint! She
had smoked the first one completely and forgotten about it, just as she
had forgotten that these young boys hovering around her, were her
enemies, her captors. There was a lot she had forgotten ... Art, and
how she had gotten to this God forsaken beaten up old building out in
the middle of nowhere. She stared up at the ceiling, lying voluntarily
supine, watching a spider swing and play on its freshly woven web.
Pointing, she burst out laughing. The strangest, most ordinary things
seemed terribly funny.

It was humorous the way these three young boys crowded around her on
the dirty, tattered mattress, staring at her like she was something
from outer space, not part of their world, but something foreign and
enticing. There rapt attention made her feel invincible, as if she had
powers no one else possessed.

The world was transformed for Kathy. Robert held out the whiskey bottle
and she took it, happily gurgling on the acid taste. A warm glow surged
through her body as if her very flesh were melting into a pool of
butter; Kathy closed her eyes, a kaleidoscopic show of fireworks
flashing in back of her eyelids. The muscles in her legs relaxed and
without her knowledge her propped up legs fell limply, her skirt
inching up to mind-thigh with the fall.

Bathed in the afternoon sun with the mice scratching at the mattress,
teething out chunks of cotton to line their nests in the floor boards
of the old cabin, and the spiders silently weaving their webs of
destruction, Kathy slumbered. * * *

Art flicked his wrist, checking his Acutron watch for the tenth time.
He smiled: Four-thirty. The gardener certainly would have been there by
now, probably was out in the back yard, his forehead beaded with sweat,
his shirt tied around his naked waist as he ran the tiller up an; down
the sandy rows, chomping up earth worms and lurching on rocks. And
Kathy ... she would be sitting on the back steps, her apron demurely
pulled over her knees, watching, dreaming of her rose garden. Would she
plant American Beauties? Golden Yellow? She'd be thinking of him now,
praising the good Lord for giving her such a fine husband as he,
waiting for him to come home. Maybe she'd make pot roast, his favorite,
with just enough celery for flavoring ... not too much ... he hated
celery it was always stringy and stuck in his teeth. After dinner he'd
have a shot of cognac in a snifter and they'd sit in the darkened
living room listening to some soft music ... Guy Lombardo or Andre
Previn ... she'd sit on his knee, wearing that sexy black nightie he'd
given her for Christmas last year--the one she never wore, was too
embarrassed to try on in front of him until last night ...

OH, God, last night. He hoped it wouldn't be too late to make up for
last night!

Buddy, his partner, jolted him out of his reverie.

"Hey, come on Art. This is no time for day dreaming. We've got a hell
of a lot of scouting to do. Latest word is that they're bringin' it in
in a U-Haul truck trailer." He tugged at Art's sleeve.

"Hold it!" Art held up his hand. "Just let me give the little woman a
call ... let her know she oughta keep the bed warm tonight."

"I'll be out in the car," called Buddy, pulling the bill of his
baseball hat down over his eyes, letting the door of the phone booth
slide shut.

Impatiently, Art played with the change in his pocket, counting the
rings, finally hanging up on the tenth one. Oh hell, she was probably
out telling Helen, Bill's wife, about what a fine job her husband had
done on her garden. Yeah, that's where she was; he couldn't expect her
to stay home all the time.

Chapter 5

Jim sat cross-legged staring at Kathy's sleeping form. God, but she was
a pretty woman, so mature, yet soft and firm. Not at all like his own
mother who always had a hard look about her from all the make up she
wore to cover up her age lines. Just looking at Art's wife was making
his balls ache and his stubby young cock stiffen and jerk inside his
pants. Especially the way she was lying now, since Mark and Robert and
he had taken off all but her undergarments while she slumbered on. He
watched the moonlight slithering through the cracked open window,
listened to the crickets chirping outside as he studied her
magnificently rounded breasts just bursting out of the wisp of her
white lace bra that set off their snowy whiteness, the soft pink flesh
of her beautifully curved thighs displayed to him below the slip that
had ridden up practically to her waist. Best of all was the glimpse he
was getting of the narrow crotch band of soft white nylon between the
limply open legs that had parted slightly in her sleep. God, it didn't
even cover completely her pink little pussy, and Jim stared with lewd
pleasure at the thin red patch of pubic fleece there.

"Twenty-eight years old," Jim ovalled the words with incredulity. She
was breath taking, had a far better body than lots of the fourteen and
even sixteen year old girls he'd been fucking. He grinned to himself
and then at Mark and Robert who slumped against the wall, their heads
fallen to the sides as they snored. Legs stretched out straight in
front of them, they looked like two drunken soldiers with the empty
whiskey bottles separating their bodies.

The leader of the gang riveted his hungry eyes on the sleeping woman,
feeling a dull pounding ache coursing the length of his stubby young
cock. God, but he'd like to have it up in her right now, fuck it deep
inside her time after time as she moaned and thrashed and bucked under
him. And begged or more, too, just like Lydia had. By God, that would
he half the fun, to hear this red-headed cop's wife begging him, Jim,
for more! Wouldn't that chap Art's ass!

Kathy stirred and opened her eyes. She wasn't sure of where she was at
first, or who was sitting there in the middle of the room. With an
angry gesture, she pulled her slip down over her naked thighs, then
shot a withering look at Jim. "Do you have to stare at me? What would
what your mother think if she knew you were staring at woman her age?
Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" She raised up on her elbows, spitting
out the words like a snake's venom.

"Must I remind you, Mrs. McGuire, that you're out here in the middle of
the woods ... no husband, no cops, nothing but me and my buddies. What
I say goes!" He pointed to his chest, enunciating the words with care.

"This is ridiculous. You're ... you're a little monster, one of those
possessed children!" she screamed.

"Listen, lady, you better get used to it because I'm about ready to
possess you."

"What a joke!" she countered, with an angry chuckle.

With that, Jim's hand shot out, as he lurched for the mattress, falling
by her side. In the same grasp, he seized her fragile nylon panties and
her slip, ripping the clothes from her, letting them fall to the floor.
His hand shot out a second time; this time to tear the frail fabric of
her bra from her, letting them fall to the floor. His hand shot out a
across the room.

"Is that a joke?" he demanded, his voice cracking.

Kathy was too frozen to move. Mesmerized, she watched him struggle out
of his own clothes. His shirt came first, joining Kathy's bra in the
middle of the floor. Quickly, deftly, he unbuckled his belt, then
unzipped his levis, easing them and his cotton undershorts down over
his lithe hips. His tubby, fuzz-nested, cock sprang free, stiff as a
pole, its swollen head oozing droplets of excited lubricating fluid.
Kathy gasped in horror. Dear Lord! He was going to rape-fuck her! A
young boy like this, barely out of diapers was going to shove his
slender young cock up into her twenty-eight year old pussy! He
couldn't. It was lewd, a moral sin, a mental sin, a degradation! What
would Art say? He'd cry, he'd tear out his hair ... what he had left of
it ... he'd die! This was the boy, the poor duped soul he was trying to
save from himself.

Jim followed her glance downward as she lay, mesmerized by his jutting
young cock. "What's the matter? Don't you think it can do the job?"

Kathy stiffened as Jim's hand slid down over her stomach to the gentle
mound of her pelvis, then slipped between her legs to crawl with lust-
provoking slowness along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. That's
what he'd done with Lydia, and it worked.

Kathy gasped, trying to free herself from his lecherous, stroking
fingers; even so, a tiny warming spark of unwanted pleasure burst forth
in between her legs. Oh God! What if Art should find out? Huge wet
tears rose to her eyes and cascaded down her face. Even if dear, Good
Art never knew of this debauchery, or of last night's deprivation, she
would never be able to face him again, would never be able to let him
make love to her, with this guilty secret on her conscience.

She began to plead pitifully with Jim. "Don't do this to me, Jim.
Please. I'll do anything ... ANYTHING ... if only you'll let me go.
I'll go to Art and explain it to him ... he'll understand, he's a
reasonable man ... he'll let you go, let you have your marijuana. I
won't tell anyone ..." she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "Oh,
my God! Please, let me go!"

Jim gave her a look of withering contempt as he forced her naked body
back to the bed, then down upon it. In a moment he was on his knees,
over her defenseless form, his hungry eyes filled with lust, his mouth
twisted sadistically.

"I'll do anything ..." Kathy whimpered ... anything ..." her voice
trailed off as the utter hopelessness of her situation sank in. There
was nothing she could do, she knew, and tears, fresh and abundant,
flowed down her pale cheeks now.

Jim bent his head to Kathy's and fixed his lips wetly on her tightly
closed mouth. He forced his tongue between her futilely resisting lips,
flicked it in and out, then pressed it deep into her throat. Lydia had
like that, why wouldn't Kathy, too?

Kathy struggled against him until the last ounce of her strength had
died away, then submitted weakly. She lay beneath him, sobbing softly
as his hands roamed at will over her helpless body, stroking her neck,
her throat, the soft, naked flesh of her smooth white shoulders with an
expertise she wouldn't have believed possible of a young boy. They
moved down and he cupped a ripe young breast in the palm of each hand,
kneading and squeezing experimentally. His hot hungry lips explored her
face again, his tongue sank deep into her mouth once more, teasing and
tantalizingly. Then he ran it down the narrow valley between her milk
white breasts. With a lewd, savage cry of youth, he fastened his teeth
harshly onto the small bud of a nipple while Kathy recoiled in
anguished pleasure. She began to struggle feebly again, her naked flesh
squirming up against the hard lean young body that pinned her down,
vainly seeking to push him away.

"Stop, please stop," sobbed Kathy.

"You don't want me to stop, and you know it. I'll bet that old man of
yours hasn't given you a piece of cock in two weeks."

"Oh, no, NO!" But even as she denied it, Kathy felt a lewd twirling in
her stomach, a low, involuntary groan of pleasure rising in her throat.

"You do like it, don't you?" Jim mocked. He bent his blonde head again,
and now his lips roamed moistly over the snowy whiteness of her heaving
breasts, teasing the nipples into taut little cherries. At the same
time, his two hands slid down the quivering flesh of her belly, roved
over the soft, sensitive curves of her hips, slipped under the twin
half moons of her smoothly rounded buttocks.

His touch again sent little quivers of unwanted passion tingling
through Kathy and against her will she found herself responding to his
teasing touch. She made no effort to stop his hand that sought the
thin, softly resilient curls of her pubis, the fingers that parted the
silken strands of her hair there and slipped slowly, deliciously into
the narrow sensitive slit of her cunt, searching between the warmth of
her inner thighs until he found the tiny bud of her clitoris and
stroked it into throbbing erection.

Then, as suddenly as he had begun, Jim slipped his fingers from Kathy's
helplessly quivering cunt and reared up over her again. "You liked
that, didn't you?" he asked, and his harsh tone brought Kathy's mind
back to the reality of her situation with horrible abruptness. She
thought of Art again, and of the utter contempt he would have for her,
for giving in this way to her basest passion--to a young boy nearly
half her age! With a little cry of fear, she clamped her thighs
together against the boy's probing young cock.

Roughly Jim pulled her thighs apart, then hunched over her, his head
just above her loins. As she realized what he planned to do, she let
out another horrified cry. She'd never be able to live this down,
letting this young boy fuck her against her will without even fighting.
Sure, she'd screamed, but good were words when she was lying there
naked beneath him? She wouldn't let him have his way with her, though.
Somehow, she would fight it!

She thrashed around, flailing her arms until she was exhausted, while
Jim's superior young strength held her with a mocking grin. When she
lay back at last, limp and unresisting, he fixed his eyes on the thin,
tight little pussy slit up between her trembling legs, already moist
with unwanted desire.

Jim rested the palms of his hands on her soft inner thighs, while his
thumbs sought out the fleshy edges of her cunt. Then with a slow,
teasing outward movement with them that brought a low cry of shame from
Kathy, he pressed the soft, hair-fringed lips apart, exposing the pink,
glistening little hole of her pussy completely to his gaze. He uttered
a low, appreciative grunt, then slipped himself forward and buried his
hairless face in the vee of her openly spread loins. His tongue flicked
in and out of his mouth, running over his parted lips with lascivious
expectation. Then darting forth lizard-like, it slipped deep up inside
her wetly throbbing passage.

"Ohhhhh, God, God, aaahhhhh!"

Kathy cried out at the lewd, delicious sensation that raced through her
whole body, making it tingle against it will with a mad all-consuming
desire. Convulsively, against every effort of her will, her legs jerked
wide apart now, splaying out obscenely, hanging over the edges of the
mattress as though they belonged to a limp spread doll.

Jim ran his tongue up and down the thin, furrow, probing and exploring
with every-increasing lust until he found the tiny bud of her clitoris
again, and once again, with maddening spiraling motion of his tongue
licked the quivering little mound to trembling erection. Kathy whined
with agonized pleasure, torn between the exquisite feelings that the
boy's insistent licking of her unguarded cunt aroused in her, and the
shame and humiliation at the wicked delight her traitorous body was
experiencing. At last Jim's mouth closed down over the hardened flesh
that strained against his flicking tongue, and breathing heavily with
his insane passion, he began to suck it as if it were a grape, a plum,
a berry--some piece of succulent fruit from which he must extract the
last exquisite drop of sweetness. Satiated at last, he gave the tiny
tender bud a sharp nip with his teeth while Kathy cried out with a
tortured cry of pain that mingled with intense pleasure she felt, too.

She arched backwards, struggling one more time to free herself from the
monster child who ravaged her so obscenely. Then with a mingled groan
of despair and desire, she slumped back against the bed while the young
boy began again the maddening licking of her cuntal lips. He slithered
his tongue in and out of her passion and saliva drenched pussy, flicked
at the soft folds of throbbing pink flesh there, then withdrew to push
her legs up and like downwards at the narrow crevice between the smooth
twin mounds of her nakedly upturned buttocks.

Christ but she was a hot little bitch! Ready to fuck now, just aching
for it. Well, Jim was the one to give this frustrated housewife just
what she wanted, he thought, eyeing her with a triumphant gleam in his
eye. He took his hard, stubby cock in one hand and kneeling up between
her widespread thighs guided it to the tiny vertical little mouth
between her legs, pushing forward insistently until the thick, rubbery
head slipped through the long red strands of her pubic hair towards the
tightly giving lips of her visibly pulsating pussy.

Kathy groaned and grasped and held her breath as feelings of
irrepressible desire mixed and mingled with those of agonizing guilt
within her. She fought against the delicious quiverings that wracked
her body, while the thought of the disgrace of this wild tongue-fucking
of her open-spread pussy wracked her mind. Then, as the blood-swollen
tip of the boy's cock slipped into and penetrated slightly the tightly
clenched opening of her naked cunt, she seemed to see Art standing
before her. The searing contact of Jim's fleshy cockhead with her
vulnerable cuntal lips sent her into sharp little spasms of pain and
pleasure and she began to scream. "Oh, don't," she begged. "For God's
sake! Jim! JIM!"

But then, with a sudden thrust, he flicked his hips forward and thrust
his lancing cock deep into the narrow tight hole, fucking it up into
her without mercy. "Jim," she'd called him, and a feeling of elation
warmed his whole being. "Jim!" Well, now he was a person to her--a
human being--a man! It was up to him, Jim, to show her how much of a
man he was, too, and that was just what he intended to do. In no time
at all, he would have her completely broken to his will, subjugated
like the lowest of whores.

He thrust his hips forward again, fucking on and on until Kathy felt as
if his huge fleshy shaft had exploded up inside her to fill the very
center of her being, sending forbidden waves of painful ecstasy
crashing through her. Vainly she sought to save herself from this
ultimate humiliation, struggling once more against the young man's
cruel invasion of her womb's tender hidden recess.

She lay still and exhausted beneath him at last, impaled on the iron-
stiff cock that filled every part of her insides, pressing against the
soft, ridged flesh of her cunt, inflaming it, turning it into a searing
sheath of fire. Jim lay still, too, then suddenly arched back, raising
himself above Kathy to stare contemptuously into her face. "You love
it, don't you?" he asked with a mocking leer.

Kathy's lips trembled and she stifled another sob, refusing to answer
his imperious question.

Jim flicked forward, fucking deep into her trembling belly once again,
and now Kathy let out a long wail of pain. He partially withdrew once
more, again raised himself, again demanded arrogantly, "Love it, don't
you?" His tone had become sharp, brutal, not at all like a fifteen year
old boy. Kathy, terrified, at last found her voice and gasped, "Y-yes!"

"Yes what?" Jim's voice left no doubt that he knew he had her in his
power.

"Yes, Jim," Kathy whispered. "I ... I ... I... I love it."

"Want some more cock?" Jim grinned with lewd delight at Kathy's
submission to him.

"Oh ... no ... o . o ...!" Kathy wailed.

"No?" There was a threat of retribution in Jim's cracking voice.

"Y-yes. Yes, Jim, I do!" Kathy hurriedly amended as, even through her
discomfort, she caught his tone of displeasure.

"Then beg me for it!"

"No!"

"Come on, beg me, bitch!"

Oh, how could a young boy be so cruel! Kathy sucked in her breath, "Do
it," she pleaded with Jim.

"Say, 'Fuck me." Fuck me with your cock!'"

Kathy's head lolled to one side in abject humiliation and shame as she
submitted even more completely to his degrading demands. With tears
streaming down her face, she pleaded, "Oh, Jim, fuck me. Please fuck
me. That's what I want you to do. For God's sake, fuck me with your
cock!"

He slipped his hands beneath the smoothly rounded cheeks of her
buttocks as he began the slow rhythmic but frenzied thrust which would
soon build to climax. He slaved above her, fucking in and out of her
tightly clenched pussy in long, smooth strokes, sending his cock deep
into her moist sucking cunt that clasped and released it, clasped and
released it of its own accord, then withdrew to fuck deep again,
withdraw again. His fuzz covered young testicles slapped against her
anus, and the feeling of his nearly hairless groin smoothly sliding
over her pubic hair drove Kathy insane. It was so unlike Art's thick
forest of pubic hair that had always ground into her pelvis, scratching
and scraping over her tender genitals. Then, as though wishing to press
the ultimate humiliation upon her, the tip of his outstretched finger
invaded the tiny puckered opening of her anus, and Kathy groaned in
unexpected pain. But moments later, the groans turned to soft, mewling
sounds of pleasure, as he slowly wormed it deeper and the rubberily
stretching little rectal mouth slowly grew used to the unaccustomed
presence there.

Jim felt his own lust tormented cock expand in an agonizing spasm, the
inside of his testicles seemed to explode and split wide open. The hot
white liquid churning there raced the full length of his rock-like
prick, and then he spewed it forth into the depths of Kathy's hotly
contracting belly. It mingled momentarily there with her own excitedly
flooding juices, then overflowed back out her tightly locked cunt lips
to trickle in thin lewd rivulets of surrender down the soft whiteness
of her thighs. With a loud sigh, Jim collapsed on her voluptuously
curved young body, already gone limp and exhausted beneath him ... her
legs spread lewdly open in utter and total defeat ...

A fifteen year old boy's body had won the round, indisputably.
Undoubtedly the day would come when she would bitterly regret what had
just happened between them, but Kathy couldn't think of anything now,
but their mutual bliss at having just achieved orgasm. Again she locked
her legs around his sweating body, holding him tightly between her
quavering thighs.

Kathy was wrong about the eventual day of discovery. The time of
judgment had come even as they cried out their lust for each other's
body.

Chapter 6

High cirrus clouds slivered across the moon, shedding shreds of light
on the beaten, weathered cabin where Kathy McGuire lay entangled with
her young lover on the barren mattress. All was silent except for an
occasional snore from one of the drunken teenagers and the crickets who
serenaded the strange and rowdy newcomers to the peaceful country side.
For a hopeful moment, the night animals thought quiet would fall over
the forest again ... until Lydia Johnson stampeded through the woods,
the pine boughs cracking under her sandals.

Resting her hands on the rotted window ledge, she shaded her eyes
against the moon's glare and peered inside the cracked glass. Jim was
raised his leg off Kathy's thighs, the moon light catching the blonde
highlights of his hair. Infuriated, she clawed at the glass, her
fingernails making an eery, spine-tingling squeak.

Inside the cabin, Kathy lurched. "What was that?"

"Nothing," yawned Jim. "Probably just the trees rubbing against the
window." He rolled over, contemplating whether or not he should tie up
Art McGuire's wife, wondering if she would try to fool him and run out
in the middle of the night.

The door bust open, swinging on its rusty hinges to slap into the
cracking plaster on the yellowed wall.

"A great show, Jim! Just great!"

Jerking, he raised his head to stare at a dark shadow standing in the
doorway. The voice ... Lydia's voice! OH, Christ! She stood there with
her hands on her slender hips, her long raven hair shimmering in the
moon light. How the hell did she knew where he was? He smelled trouble.

"You bastard!" She took another step forward. "You stood me up for a
date tonight, or don't you remember? Leaving this note on my window
sill ... how stupid ... maybe you didn't realize this, you moron, but
the paper you wrote this note on has the plans to your little
kidnapping all spelled out. Wouldn't Art like to see that?"

"You ... you wouldn't!"

"Oh, wouldn't l?" she spat venomously. "You don't have time to take me
out and fuck me, but you have time to fuck this woman who's old enough
to be your mother. Your ass has had it when Art finds out about this."

"Who is she?" whimpered Kathy, holding her dress up to cover her naked
breasts, hugging her knees.

"That's Lydia ... my girl friend," Jim answered miserably.

"Was your girl friend, pal," Lydia said bitterly, her full mouth
curling in a snarl.

"Get out of here!" Jim said, his mouth white with anger. "If you tell
Art or anybody about this, I swear to God I'll break your fucking
neck!"

Although taken aback by his threatening words, the young girl stood
defiantly as she composed herself, scheming. "Take a flying fuck at the
moon, Jim. I plan on getting my revenge. You let me have a crack at the
cop's wife and my mouth is sealed. That simple."

"I'll ... so help me!" Jim blurted out, starting to reach for the young
girl, but suddenly thought better of it. Maybe she wasn't lying ...
what the hell.

"Okay," you win, Lydia."

"No!" Kathy screamed sharply, mustering up as much dignity as a woman
stark naked with her lover's cum still dripping her pussy can manage.
She eyed the beautiful teenage girl coldly.

"I just changed my mind," grinned Lydia sadistically. "I want both of
you together." With a smile, the black-haired teenager began stripping
her clothes off. She looked at Kathy's wet cunt and said, "Jim, you
sure dropped a load of cum in her hot little pussy--I've just got to
lick that up first, even if its secondhand. Kathy--you don't mind if I
call you Kathy, do you?--lie down and open your legs!"

Dazed and shocked as she had never been before in her life, Kathy
watched the now-naked young girl advance toward her as she half-
crouched on the bed that was still soaked with the mixture of her cum
and Jim's. For the first time she took a good look at Lydia's face and
found it impossible to believe that any youngster so evilly could be so
beautiful!

For Lydia was indeed beautiful. Her smooth flesh was deeply tanned and
her hair shone blue-black. Her face was classically sculpted, with a
slight almond-tilt to her dark brown eyes. Her full mouth was a
sensuous slash, needing no lipstick to make it glisten provocatively.
Her eyelashes were too long and thick to be false. And her young,
thrusting breasts fairly begged to be caressed, even to be squeezed
tightly together while a man ran his long cock up between them.

Lydia's waist swept out to hips and thighs that were made to cradle a
man. Her cunt was covered with hair as dark as that on her head, softly
curling. Her legs were long and slenderly tapered in proportion to the
rest of her lush young body. As she lowered herself to the mattress and
reached for Kathy, Lydia's pink tongue flicked across the wide fullness
of her lower lip in lewd anticipation. Then her searching fingers
touched Kathy's tense body for the first time, causing the young
housewife to close her eyes and groan in abject humiliation.

The redheaded woman had never even considered having sex with another
female, yet she knew full well that she had to submit to this
licentious debauchery for the sake of saving her own life. Kathy's
breath came in stifled gasps. She looked to Jim for help, but he
obviously had no intention of stopping his girl friend. Then, as Lydia
snuggled her lithe young body close to her own, Kathy realized the
teenaged girl was trembling as violently as herself. She felt the
younger girl's finger caressing her breasts and moving over the flat
plane of her stomach and then fluttering down between her still wet
thighs, sliding in on the thick coating of cum that Jim had spewed out
there when he had fucked her only minutes before.

Art ... Art was right. The morals of teenagers these days was downright
deplorable. And it all had to do with drugs! It was true. What was
immoral was illegal, too. My God, these children would stop at nothing
to debase and humiliate her only because she was married to a man who
tried to help.

"Why do you want to do something so vile?" Kathy murmured even as Lydia
forced the older woman's tense thighs apart and climbed between them
like a man, crushing their pussies tightly together. Unconsciously, and
against her will, Kathy found her own body responding to this
flagrantly immoral lovemaking, feeling the heat beginning to surge once
more through her rebellious loins. She could see the stunned face of
young Jim across the room, and could see that his bulging eyes were
glued to the forbidden scene that was unfolding before his eyes. She
felt her full, aching breasts pressed hotly against the teenager's firm
bosom, her nipples rubbing together suggestively and hardening
erotically. "You're really so beautiful, you don't need anything like
this!" Kathy gasped, trying to sound motherly, to convince the young
girl that the difference in their ages was an added perversion.

"I know what I need," the young girl murmured. "It's called sex. S-E-
X!" Her dark eyes looked mockingly down into the redhead's glazed
features. "And so do you, Kathy. Now I'm gonna show you the other side
of the coin--how great it can be with another chick! And Jim is gonna
get so hot watching that he'll fuck me twice as wild as he did you!"

Stunned by this lewd lascivious declaration of lust, Kathy could only
lie absolutely still as Lydia slowly began to run her lips over the
housewife's body. Her tongue was like cool, wet fire as it flicked and
laved every inch of Kathy's flesh. Kathy could not prevent her yearning
body from betraying her. Nerve-ends tingled with just the feather-light
brushing of Lydia's hair over her smooth flesh. Whereas Jim had been
urgently male in his licking and kissing of her body, Lydia was
torturously feminine, and Kathy suddenly realized that something she
had once heard was turning out to be true--that only a woman really
knew how to make love to another woman, and knew all the erogenous
zones that can set a healthy female on fire! And that was exactly what
this dark-tressed beauty was doing to her right now.

Kathy heard herself moan and felt her legs involuntarily parting as the
girl's face disappeared between her thighs. She tried to concentrate on
Art, on the love she felt for him, their marriage, the motorcycle ride,
but with Lydia's flicking tongue tip dancing wetly up and down the
sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, and her delicate fingers spreading
the flexing lips of her cunt, baring the soft, pink, inner mouth of her
cunt, she realized there was no distraction strong enough to shut out
the agonizing pleasure.

Lydia bent low over the older woman's splayed thighs. She had never
thought it possible that she would actually get to eat Kathy McGuire,
wife of Art McGuire, the town's favorite narc-cop.

Lydia brought her lips lightly in contact with the hair-lined warmth of
Kathy's pussy, blowing her breath softly across her naked little cunt
furrow, almost laughing at the way the redhead writhed and
involuntarily raised her hips to every caress. She could scent their
mingled cum, see the glistening droplets still oozing from the
moistened entrance to Kathy's cuntal passage. Sighing, Lydia tightly
fastened her soft lips to the young wife's dilating pussy and sucked
voraciously even as her skilled young tongue swept the length or her
quivering pussy slit, butterflying from side to side, eagerly licking
up the copious sex juices that the couple had orgasmed forth just a
short while before. She was rewarded instantly by feeling Kathy's
smooth, hot thighs closing around her burrowing face and Kathy's hands
pulling her head tight into her seething genitals. Kathy was moaning
incoherently as Lydia licked away every drop of their lewdly
intertwined cum before devoting herself to driving Kathy wild with her
tongue and lips.

"Oh, My God!" Kathy moaned in helpless surrender to this new form of
unbelievable torture. Wouldn't these children stop at anything? The way
the dark haired girl was kissing and licking and sucking her pussy--it
was even better than the way Jim had done it to her!

Relentlessly, Lydia kept up her oral ravishment of the now wantonly
undulating redhead. With her wide experience, she was able to judge
perfectly Kathy's mounting passion, and sensed when she reached the
point of no return. At that instant, Lydia raised her half-contorted
cum-slick face, only to have Kathy groan and pull it down to the "vee"
of her loins again. Lydia raised her face up once more and began to
mock her.

"I've had all I need--unless you want to do the same to me," she said,
a licentious grin on her semen-smeared lips. "You want to lick my
pussy, don't you Kathy?"

Already debased beyond belief, yet out of her mind with desire, Kathy
could only mumble, "Yes ... oh yes!"

With the grace of an acrobat, the younger girl wriggled around on the
mattress and slid her leg over Kathy's staring face, rocking on her
knees and slowly lowering her pussy with its dark, softly curling hair
toward Kathy's nervously flicking tongue. The redhead was aware of Jim
gaping at them, and though she didn't want the young boy to think ill
of her, she could not help herself as the heady aroma of Lydia's young
pussy filled her nostrils. Sighing, Kathy reached up to pull the
perfect hemispheres of the girl's buttocks downward. Less than an inch
from her parted lips, Lydia's cuntal flanges were steadily dilating
with anticipation, and Kathy could see the pale inner flesh of her
cunt. Abruptly, Kathy thrust her pelvis downward, gluing her pulsing
cunt to Kathy's waiting mouth. Kathy hesitated only a second before
urgently spearing the hot, wet tip of her tongue far up into the
teenager's lust-swollen pussy, trying to lick and suck this young girl
to an earth-shattering orgasm.

"Ummmm" Kathy moaned involuntarily as for the first time in her life
she tasted the piquant sweetness of another female's aroused cunt. With
her tongue she fucked-deep into the exposed pussy folds, then let the
tip slide snakelike through the girl's quivering cuntal furrow until
she found the erected button of Lydia's clitoris. She thrilled as the
wanton younger girl jerked and ground her cunt downward in frantic
response to the slightest touching of the sensation-filled bud. Just
above her face, centered in the raven-haired girl's perfect buttocks,
was the tight puckered ring of her anus. Remembering how it had felt to
her when Jim had fingered her there, Kathy began working the middle
digit of her right hand against the tiny aperture, forcing the tightly
resisting rectal muscles to give way to her prodding pressure. As she
got her finger in to the first knuckle, the redhead was rewarded by a
muffled cry of animalistic joy from the avidly tensing teenager. Lydia
screwed urgently back on the invading finger and Kathy quickly inserted
a second--and then felt Lydia doing the same to her!

Wildly, the two beautiful young women finger and tongue fucked each
other, rolling on the bed, gasping, sucking and licking, and moaning in
wanton sex, savagely devouring each other's sweating bodies. With her
greater experience, Lydia held back until she could feel the first
tremblings of orgasm begin to wrack Kathy, and then as the redhead's
spasming pussy spewed forth its sweet fluids into her sucking mouth,
she let her own released come surging down the streaming tube of her
cuntal channel to Kathy's eagerly awaiting mouth. The flood inundated
the red-haired woman's lust-twisted face and she mindlessly swallowed
the fragrant juices as they spilled into her gaping mouth and joined
the male sperm that was still churning deep within her belly.

Her beautiful face still buried in Lydia's cum-flooded cunt, Kathy
began to sob out her shame and humiliation. But quickly she
rationalized the emotions aside ... Art need never know. She had been
forced to do what she did--and she was only human! Could she be blamed
if her body betrayed her? Certainly not! What would they have done to
her if she'd refused?

She could not look young Jim in the eye as she turned to lie on her
side. She let Lydia's hands rove at will over her trembling flesh, all
guilt vanquished by the very touch of the sex-skilled young girl. With
a satisfied grin, Lydia winked at Jim.

"Well, I feel much better now that I've had the cop's wife ... and hey,
is that a hard-on I see? Bring it over here and let me check it out."

Jim wanted to break her neck! The little bitch had him in her grasp,
all right. He'd have to please her or she'd go running to the cops,
tell everything. That would be the end of his short career. His dad had
been able to get him off the possession and selling charge back East,
but kidnapping ... that was a Federal rap! Damn it! He'd planned on
just keeping Kathy McGuire around for an afternoon, letting her go home
that night. It would have been her word against theirs, but when they
started smoking dope and drinking that whiskey, everything seemed to
fall apart.

Slowly he stood up and walked toward the bed, stepping over Mark's and
Robert's legs, the both of them awake now, groaning and rubbing their
aching heads. Jim's rigid cock jerked with each step, his balls already
filling again with semen because of the way the blatant display of
lesbianism had aroused him. Like a helpless slave in old New Orleans
vendue, he allowed Lydia to finger his swollen genitals, even to guide
the pulsing head of his cock to her soft lips and suck it appraisingly
into the hot vault of her mouth. He felt her dexterous tongue swirl
around the length of his cock shaft while her hand squeezed his bloated
testicles.

"Not as hard as I've seen it before," the girl said. "But it will do,"
she teased. "I've been waiting a hell of a long time for this fuck, and
you'd better make it a good one, Jim boy!" she threatened. "Lie on the
bed on your back while we get you nice and wet. You, Kathy, come on,
we're going down on him together, and then he's going to fuck us both
until neither of us can walk!"

God damn! thought Jim, a crooked smile growing on his face. He stared
over into the dark corner of the room, watching Robert stagger to his
feet, gag dryly, then crawl on all fours over to the bed.

"Hey! How 'bout me," grunted Robert, his long hair hanging in his eyes
that looked like roadmaps, so red were they. "That ain't fair! You got
two women and you already had Kathy once ... me and Mark don't get
anything!"

"Get lost, creep!" spat Jim nastily. "I'm the leader of this gang, I
get the women! Now go outside and throw up before you smell up this
whole damned place!"

Robert's eyes crossed with hatred, his lips curled with anger. Who did
Jim think he was, talking to him, Robert, like that and in front of
women, too. And what had Jim offered him for risking his neck, except
five lousy bucks and a couple of joints? Shit!" He stumbled out the
door.

Jim lay down, his long cock sticking up in the air as the two women
bent over him. Kathy gagged slightly, staring down at mushroom head of
Jim's young cock. She hadn't even done that to Art ... ever! Faltering,
she waited, hoping Jim would not miss her mouth, praying Lydia could do
the work of two. But it didn't work.

It was Lydia who protested, "Hey, come on bitch! Get down on him! I
can't do this all by myself."

Obediently, her tongue slithered out to touch Jim's trembling flesh.
"Suck his balls!" she heard Lydia mumble from where she labored over
the head of his cock.

Kathy experimentally sucked his young balls into her mouth and rolled
them on her tongue as Lydia's avid lips ovaled tightly around the
mushroom-shaped head of Jim's cock. Between them they licked the thick
staff until it was slick and gleaming with their saliva. Then Lydia
pulled Kathy back and straddled the boy, her hips over his rigid
phallus, her wet cunt lips sliding up and down the length of his
stiffened cock.

"Hold it straight up and aim it right at my pussy!" she ordered Kathy.
The redhead obeyed, thankful that they'd granted her a reprieve. She
watched the bulbous head disappear into the soft lips of Lydia's pussy
as she held it upright by the thick base. The young girl, who couldn't
have been a day over fourteen, closed her eyes in blissful anticipation
of being fucked to the depths of her belly with a rampant male cock.
Suddenly she dropped her entire weight on the trembling youth.

"Eeeeyyyaagghhh" the dark-haired girl cried out as with a wet sluicing
sound as Jim's cock was buried to the hilt in her hotly straining young
pussy, and his fuzz-covered balls were wedged in the wide-splayed crack
of her ass-cheeks. "Oh, fuck! What a sweet prick!"

Furiously, the raven-haired girl began to rise and fall on Jim's blood
engorged cock, groaning in wanton, lewd ecstasy, swinging her churning
buttocks in a wide raping circle.

Groaning, the blonde haired boy screwed wildly up into the thrashing
young cunt as Lydia labored frantically over his upheaving pelvis.

Fascinated, Kathy watched intently as his long, slippery pole of male
flesh fucked in and out of the girl's tightly-clasping pussy and saw
the sheer animal lust on Lydia's passion-contorted face. She realized
this was the first time she ever seen two people fucking, and it had a
wildly arousing erotic effect on her. She found her hand straying under
the tossing buttocks of Lydia to cup and fondle Jim's hairless bouncing
balls while her mouth came down on his belly, her tongue making hot,
wet little circles on his hard-muscled flesh.

"Put your cunt on his mouth and let him eat you!" the girl rasped.

Quickly Kathy swung her leg over Jim's gaping mouth and squirmed her
still-wet pussy down onto his feverish lips. Without hesitation he
spread the tip of his tongue like a burrowing snaked far up into her
clasping cunt. Now she and Lydia worked on the boy together, rocking
back and forth, facing each other. Suddenly Lydia reached out to pull
Kathy's face close and kissed her full on the mouth, driving her
swirling tongue deep into Kathy's eagerly parted lips.

For Kathy time seemed to stand still as they ravaged each other's
straining bodies. Now all conception of right and wrong vanished from
her mind. She was aware only of the wild perverse sexual pleasure the
three were enjoying here in the old dilapidated cabin.

Strangely enough, it was the raven haired teenager who gave out first.
She had cum convulsively time after time as the boy's relentless cock
slammed into her wetly dripping cunt lips, crying out her lewd, obscene
completion, her lovely young face a frenzied mask of lust.

But Jim was riding high! He felt like he could fuck forever! Better
still, he had two women to fondle and fuck him. Life couldn't be
sweeter. Kathy was so drained from her earlier orgasms that she
couldn't climb to the peak again, but it was fantastically stimulating
to have Jim's young mouth working on her cunt so laboriously while
Lydia sucked her tongue and urgently squeezed her jouncing breasts.
Finally with a final cry of completely sensual satiation, Lydia ended
the three-way coupling.

"Ohhh ... aahhhhh! Again! I'm cumming again, you beautiful fucker! ...
Stop before you tear my cunt in half!" With a quick movement, Lydia
dislodged herself from the boy's savagely impaling cock and rolled away
on the mattress, hands covering her ravaged pussy. She shook like a
bowl of jello for a minute as Jim pushed Kathy off his face.

"And what the hell do I do with this?" Jim demanded, taking his slickly
wet cock in his fist and pumping it at the two women. "This was all
your idea, Lydia. Everything was just cool until you came by." Shit!
What good were two women when neither of them had the energy to make
it?

"Okay, fella, you asked for it. We're gonna show little Miss Copper
here what fucking is all about. Your husband ever fuck you in the ass,
Kathy? Or hasn't Art got it in him any more?" Lydia rolled over onto
her belly and then raised herself up on her hand and knees, salaciously
waving her smooth, round buttocks in the moonlight. "Put your cock in
my asshole--that's really tight!"

On the other side of the room, just below the yellowed old calendar
that hung from a two-penny nail, the month turned to March, 1962, Mark
struggled to open his liquor-crossed eyes to stare at the mattress
where Lydia was waving her ass cheeks in the air. He reached out his
hands on the floor to support himself in one last effort to get to his
feet, but everytime he turned his head his stomach started to revolt,
sending a shot of warm saliva to his mouth in warning. Tomorrow, he
promised himself, his eyes closing. Tomorrow he'd get in on the action.

Lydia wriggled until her knees were wide apart, her smooth white ass
cheeks splayed open with the tiny rose of her anus centered above the
hotly swollen lips of her wetly dripping cunt, she dropped to her
elbows leaving her slowly-churning buttocks elevated high in the lewd
invitation. Jim didn't see how he could get his long, thickly throbbing
cock up into the tight rectal opening his girl friend offered, but he
sure as hell wasn't going to turn down the offer. With a groan he knelt
behind her, hovering over her subserviently positioned young body. He
took his cock in his hand brought the passion-swollen knob to the
little target and pressed forward.

Lydia moaned aloud and tried to screw her anus back onto his prodding
shaft, but her efforts only dislodged the impatiently seeking tip,
letting the glans slide down the crack of her buttocks and plunge once
more into the well-reamed depths of her fourteen year-old cunt. Twice
again the nervous youth tried and failed until Lydia, now beginning to
grown in frustration, said to Kathy, "For God's sake, help him fuck it
to my asshole!"

Filled with dread wondering what would stop these immoral teenagers and
deciding nothing would, Kathy, afraid to disobey, took Jim's hot,
slippery cock in both hands and held it tightly to the constricting
ring of the girl's contracted anus. Jim grasped her undulating hips and
held her tight.

Then he lunged forward with all the strength of his muscular young
body.

"Eeeeeyyyyeee!!!!" the dark-haired girl yelled as she felt her rubbery
muscle expand and yield--and his cock was in!

Almost bug-eyed, Kathy saw Lydia's tender rectum expand to many times
its normal sized as the plundering glans of the blond boy's cock forced
its way up into her tightly-constricted anal hole. She heard Lydia gasp
in pain, yet saw her jerk her hips back to absorb even more of the
unnaturally invading cock head. Jim paused for a moment giving the
kneeling girl a chance to adjust to the anally-stretching intrusion,
then pushed further up into the clenching confines of her rectum and
slowly began to fuck in and out. With each outstroke, a ring of pink
anal flesh clung to his cock, and then was pushed deep up into the
straining girl's buttocks again as he fucked forward.

Back and forth he fucked his stubby young cock, each time going a
little deeper up into her wide-stretched asshole, bringing along low
moans of masochistic pleasure from Lydia.

The dark haired girl swung her hips from side to side and began to
rhythmically rotate the creamy moons of her buttocks, wishing he would
fuck his boated cock all the way into the butt of her spine. The
initial entry was part that hurt--and it hurt like hell! But she knew
that once his cock was fucked all the way up her grasping rectum with
his balls flattened against her straining soft ass cheeks and his hard
cock pushing almost into her trembling young belly, it would be good,
even wilder than being fucked in the cunt! To urge him on she began to
sway her impaled buttocks back and forth in time to his slow fucking
movements up into her hungrily seething anus.

"Harder!" she gasped. "Deeper! Get it in meeee!"

"You asked for it!" the boy retorted, and put every ounce of strength
into one great inward fuck.

Her eyes wide with disbelief, Kathy watched the entire length of Jim's
cock slam up into the teenager's widely-stretched anus, and heard his
cum-laden balls slap wetly down against the softly curling strands of
Lydia's cum-soaked pussy hairs. From the way the raven-haired girl
screamed, Kathy was sure she would faint, but instead she began to jerk
and fuck furiously back with her hotly churning ass cheeks.

I can't believe it! thought Kathy, bug-eyed. These kids ... and they
are no more than infants ... know more about sex than Art and I could
even imagine!

Art! ... Kathy clapped her hands over her ears! Art! In her lewd, new
found sexual pleasure, as she responded to the girl called Lydia's
perverted assault, she had forgotten him completely. Now she dared not
think of him, think of how he would react were he ever to find out what
had just transpired. Dear God! What had possessed her? What evil demon
had taken control of her body and soul, leading her to such
unexplainable depths of degradation? What? and why?

Wide-eyed, Kathy watched as Jim's rod of flesh drilled in and out of
his girl friend's tautly stretched anus while Lydia tossed her blue-
black hair wildly from side to side, her sensuous lips twisted in a
grimace of pure animalistic ecstasy. It had taken her a hell of a long
time to get this blonde haired boy to concede to fucking her in the
ass, but maybe it was worth the waiting and the put-downs --
particularly as the way things worked out, she had both Jim and the
over-sexed cop's wife at the same time! The girl, gasping out her
lustful pleasure, swept all thoughts from her mind except how good it
felt to be obscenely fucked in the ass while the woman she intended to
make her lesbian partner watched! She'd never thought that Kathy
McGuire, wife of the blundering narc, would ever turn on!

Then the savage fucking had its effect on her straining body and she
knew she was going to orgasm at any moment. Lydia cried out, "Jim, oh
Jim ... I'm cumming! Cum with me--fill my hot little asshole with your
cum, you wild fucker!"

"You bet I will!" the nearly exhausted boy groaned, speeding his
strokes, feeling the seminal fire race the length of his laboring cock
and then begin to spurt into Lydia's tightly clenched anus.

Kathy had never seen anything like the way the two teenagers reached
orgasm together. Their bodies twitched and jerked against each other,
and she saw the boy's cock swell and spasm, and then the super heated
gush of his white cum exploded into Lydia's obscenely milking anus,
draining her lover of every drop of his adolescent semen. She heard the
loud, wet popping sound as Jim finally pulled his flaccid cock from the
girl's clenching ass cheeks, bringing with it a long thick string of
cum that eventually broke and left a sticky stripe across the upturned
buttocks and thighs of Lydia.

The entire lust-inciting performance had been something Kathy had never
dreamed possible even in her most obscene dream. It was wild, something
perverted farmers did to their sheep and cows, certainly not to women
of stature. She covered her head with her arms, and heaved a suppressed
sob of complete despair. Images of Art, proud and stern, passed before
her eyes, along with an arrogantly leering Lydia, and a cruel, hateful
Jim. They whirled in Kathy's tormented brain, chasing one another until
at last everything dissolved in a blur of exploding confusion and Kathy
fell into a light, troubled sleep.

Chapter 7

Art McGuire rummaged through his pockets for a dime and finding none,
plunged into it once more and dug for a handful of change. Selecting
two worn nickels, he headed for the phone booth for the second time
that day. Certainly Kathy would be home by now. He only hoped she
wouldn't be too angry when he told her he wouldn't be home until very
late that evening ... maybe not until the sun was sliding up to the up
over the grassy rolling hills outside of Elston.

The coins tinkled into the machine, he dialed the number, staring out
of the glass cage, watching a VW van full of teenagers make an abrupt,
illegal U-turn in the middle of the intersection. Losing count of the
rings, he finally gave up and slammed the receiver back on the cradle,
waiting long enough for the nickels to tinkle down into the tray, then,
scraping his fingers to retrieve the change, he dumped it in again,
this time dialing information for Bill, the horticulturist's number.
Repeating it over and over to himself until the coins were deposited a
third time, he dialed the number. Helen, Bill's wife picked it up
almost immediately.

"Helen, this is Art ..." Is Bill there?"

"Hi, Bill, this is Art ... yeah, just fine. Listen, what did Kathy have
to say when you showed up with your shovel." He chuckled nervously,
anxiously.

"She what?" Art's eyes widened, his lower jaw dropped to his chin. His
cheeks flushed with anger. "You wouldn't be pulling my leg, now would
you Bill? ... This isn't a practical joke, is it? ... A what?" Art
pounded his forehead with his fist, his upper jaw worked against his
lower one, and his face graduated from a deep red to a pale pink, and
then snow white, and finally slate gray without ever once hitting its
normal complexion. Arms swinging at his sides, he took yard-long steps
back to the Dodge and slammed the door, never turning to stare at a
bewildered Buddy who stepped on the accelerator. The squealed out of
the parking lot.

When they reached the four-way stop at the intersection, Buddy turned
to his partner. "What's eatin' ya?" He watched Art unroll a fresh pack
of Rolaids and slip not one, but two into his mouth. "Jesus, Art, you
look like you're about to faint. What the hell is it? We been pals a
long time, if there's something ..."

Art chomped on the chalky discs, his lips stained white with alkaline.

On a lighter note, Buddy chuckled, "How did Kathy like her garden?"

"Kathy never got her garden." Art stared straight ahead, his eyes
squinting, his mind plotting, thinking.

"What?" They sped through the intersection.

"Talked to Bill," started Art, crossing his arms over his back of a
motorcycle."

That doesn't sound like Kathy to me!" Buddy paused, then rested his
hand on Art's shoulder conjolingly. "Hey, pal. We gotta learn to expect
that kinda stuff. You know, we spend a lot of time away from home ...
can't expect the little woman to sit home and watch TV all the time."

'Somethin's wrong, Buddy. Why, just last night she ..." He couldn't
talk about it. Oh, God, but with a young boy! How could he live it
down? How long had she been cheating behind his back? No, that wasn't
like Kathy; he knew better ...

"Turn around, Buddy. We're going back to the station. Something's wrong
with Kathy. I think she's been kidnapped.

"Kidnapped?" Buddy's forehead furrowed. "Why the hell would anybody
want to kidnap Kathy?"

"I don't know, but somebody just did," Art's jaws worked up and down on
the Rolaids, titillating, pulverizing. He swallowed dryly, gulped and
pointed. "Back to the station we're going back to the station."

The blue unmarked Dodge made a hazardous U-turn in the middle of Elston
where young people lined the streets, sitting on hoods of cars, cross-
legged on stoops ... anywhere that would accommodate them. The rock
concert crowd had come to town for the weekend.

Art stared at them, cursing, muttering to himself. Kneading his fists,
he slapped them into the padded dashboard, but he wasn't certain if he
was cursing Kathy or his work. And he didn't know which hunch to
follow. The ping-pong game going on his head could not determine a
winner of his dilemma. Kathy ... work ... Kathy ... work. Then it hit!
Kathy ... Kathy was the pigeon! "Take the heat off ... a patsy ..."
That was it! Oh, Jesus!

Buddy wouldn't believe it, refused to. "Naw. She's probably just out
for the afternoon. Wait a couple more hours ... till one or two maybe.
Then start worrying. And for Chrissakes, Art, put those Rolaids away!"

Art grunted and stuffed the wrapper into his shirt pocket. "Okay, but I
want to head back to the office to see if they've picked up the trail
on Jim's girl friend. What was her name again, Lydia?"

"Good thinkin', Art. I have a feeling she's going to lead us to the
scene, all right."

The morning sun filtered through the pine boughs, creating shimmers of
moving light on the mattress where Kathy slept. From a high bough a
blue jay scolded. All lay in peaceful silence ...

Then with an ear-drum shattering rumble, the valley below transformed
into an electrified jungle of sound. Someone had plugged in the
amplifiers that would turn the primeval setting of Olson's farm into a
galvanized roar of activity. The rock concert was starting.

Kathy jumped to her feet, drawing the remnants of her nearly buttonless
cotton sundress over her near naked body, and stepped over Lydia's
recumbent form, her knees drawn up to her chest with her raven hair
spilling over her shoulders. Kathy shuddered, remembering the night
before, then pushing the dark memories aside, stumbled to the window,
dirty and broken that overlooked the green valley below. Staring
saucer-eyed, she watched mesmerically as waves of people, like
pulsating, vibrating polka dots, drifted over the wooded hills. On the
march, they might have been the Chosen People following Moses, so
driftless and wandering did they appear.

"The rock concert. O dear Lord!" muttered Kathy to herself, squinting
back the tears. Art would be down there somewhere ... probably already
was milling around in the crowd, and here she was so close, yet so
distant. These children, these diabolic children ... she winced,
wondering what perverted and disgusting things they'd planned for her
that day. It hadn't been so painful with only Jim to cope with and
placate, but Lydia. My God, Lydia! Her vile games, her beautiful body,
her sneers: what would that girl do next? She seemed to hold the cards,
held the power to pull the punches. Even Jim, as militant and austere
as he was, couldn't hold a fig to Lydia's immature and prurient
imagination. Kathy swallowed dryly, remembering the horrifying scene
last night: Jim's stubby young cock fucking in and out of Lydia's tight
rectum! And Kathy knew that if she did not get out of that cabin soon,
that would be her fate. She'd rather die!

Somehow she had to get out of their evil grip that feasted on her
screams and groans. Turning to mentally measure the distance from where
she stood to the door, Kathy's eyes locked with Jim's. A cold shiver
raced down her spine. How long had he been watching her? What was he
thinking? Oh Art! ... Oh save me, Art!

Down below in the valley, invisible to Kathy's naked eye, Robert roamed
the grounds, watching the strangers filter over the hills, coming in
hordes, carrying blankets, sleeping bags, and coolers with them. He
moved slowly, his head pounding from last night's overdose of marijuana
and whiskey. The young boy gritted his teeth and shook a clenched fist,
staring at the cabin. Fuck you, Jim, he thought. You really think
you're hot shit, don't you? Well, little stupid Robert is gonna get
back at you for your insults. I promise you that!

Seething, the fourteen year old picked a spot on the hillside to the
left of the stage where ten-foot speakers were being set up on either
side. He watched the roadies, the equipment managers, plugging in the
amplifiers, splicing wires, and tacking down cords. A wry smile crossed
Robert's lips as he glared up at the silent cabin on the hill, and he
chuckled to himself as he chewed on a blade of grass. He could make
darned good use of those speakers, and he wouldn't need a tuner or any
of the other fancy equipment that rock 'n roll bands used. What he
wouldn't give for just five minutes of amplified time.

He pulled himself to his feet and neared the stage, patting the bulging
pocket of his short-sleeved shirt. Grinning, he approached a young man
with long hair and a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"Hi!" greeted the roadie, kneeling down to adjust a screw on the
complex tuner. "Great day, huh?"

"Yeah ..." Robert faltered, wondering if he should even suggest it. For
a second he stood there feeling young and stupid, and drew in a deep
breath.

The young man turned and whispered. "Hey, man you got a joint by any
chance? Jesus, there are so fuckin' many cops around here I'm paranoid
as hell to light one up. Spent all last night on the road, coming in
from Chicago. Did a gig there ..." His eyes popped as he watched the
young boy, who didn't look a day over fourteen, judging from the fuzz
on his upper lip, delve into his shirt pocket and draw out a baggie of
deep, rich gold pot.

"Jesus!" the roadie gasped. "I ain't seen any dope of that quality for
a while. Gold, isn't it?"

Not sure what that meant, Robert nodded. Flooded with self confidence,
he nudged the man's elbow. "Tell you what," he rasped. "I'll make a
trade with you. Five minutes of speaker time for this lid."

"Hey? Sounds fair to me. What's the catch?"

Robert spilled out his plan behind a cupped hand.

"Far out!" the tee-shirted young man, laughed. "That's really far out!
This is gonna be good, real good!" ...

Not far away, mingling in the same crowd, Art stood with his feet
slightly apart, his hands on his hips, surveying the woods around.
Scornfully, he watched the young people spread out their sleeping bags
and blankets, setting up for an afternoon of sunshine, music, and dope.
Many of the young girls were already taking off their sweaters and
blouses to lie in the sun in their tiny halters and bikini tops.

Art winced at the blaring sun and pulled the front bill of his golf hat
down to protect his eyes. Somewhere he'd managed to loose his
sunglasses last night. It had been a tough night--and all nighter.
Three times he'd called home, expecting to hear Kathy's voice, tired
and concerned. No answer. Twice he'd stopped by, but the house was just
as she'd left it: no sign of struggle or protest. Everything was in its
place. A puzzlement.

Art kicked at an ant hill on the ground and sent it flying, then
wondered what had made him do such a thing. He shook his head, then
bent over to pick up a bent stick, stripped the bark from it and threw
it. A young girl winced, wondering who the stupid looking man was who
was throwing sticks at her, finally surmising that it must be some kind
of pervert out looking for little girls. There was always one of them
in the crowd, if not, eight or ten. But Art didn't notice her scorn.
His eyes were on the hill, on a dark looking shadow that looked like a
cabin.

His eyes lit up! That must be it. They'd had reports that Lydia, who'd
been followed for the past eighteen hours, had headed off the main path
leading to the Olson's farm, supposedly on her way to a hide-out.
Squinting to sharpen his focus, his head angled out from his shoulders,
and his lips pooched out in concentration. Hot damn! He snapped his
fingers. That had to be it.

Kathy, oh dear sweet Kathy! His chin fell to his chest and slowly shook
his head back and forth. What had they done to her? Had they forced her
to take some kind of dope? Had they threatened her with knives? Rape
... oh my God, had they raped her? Who was in that cabin holding her
hostage? These and a thousand other unanswerable questions flooded Art
McGuire's mind as the first of the rock group bands warmed up for a
'killer of a show.' He gritted his teeth and raced off for the unmarked
Dodge to get his bullhorn. It was time for attack.

Chapter 8

Inside of the dust stuffy cabin, Jim, Lydia, and Mark were all growing
impatient. They watched with envy the crowd filling the valley, wishing
that they, too, could be down there listening to the music, drinking
beer and smoking joints. They stared at each other and then back at
Kathy.

Mark slumped against the wall, lifeless and worn; never having had a
hangover before, he was convinced he was coming down with the flu.
Gurgles and belches rumbled in his empty stomach and he took caution
not to move too quickly, for fear last night's liquid dinner would
become today's misery. He didn't have to stay, but he had his
suspicions, especially after the way Jim had treated Robert, kicking
him out like that. And it hadn't been fair, not a bit. After all the
effort he'd gone through, he'd wait another couple of hours for his
share of the dope.

"Well," sighed Lydia, with a grimace. "This is really a lot of fun,
guys. We could sit and count each other's pubic hairs," she groaned
with boredom.

"Hey, come on!" shot the blonde-haired leader. "You're the one who came
in last night and pulled all your stunts, now just sit tight. If it's
excitement you want, we still got a half lid of dope left. We could
always give some to Mrs. McGuire here and watch her go crazy to fuck.
Bet she'd like that ..."

Kathy stiffened from her perch on the mattress. When would these
children stop?

"We can't let her go until the connection is made," reasoned Jim,
trying to placate his irascible girl friend. "Then, baby, it's fat
city!"

"Yeah, well how long is that going to take?" pouted Lydia, sitting
cross-legged drawing faces on the dusty floor with her index finger.

"Won't be long ... here!" Jim threw her the plastic baggie half filled
with dope. "Roll us a couple of numbers ... it'll help pass the time."

Lydia obeyed, and handed a tightly rolled cigarette to Kathy who sat
cowering in the corner. Kathy hesitated, then recalled the awful
perversions of the night before, and accepted. It had not been so bad
yesterday, she remembered; in fact the marijuana had had an alarmingly
calming affect on her. Accepting it, Kathy inhaled deeply, letting the
smoke swirl around her lungs as long as possible before blowing it out
again; a strange feeling of peace and well-being came over her. She,
oddly, was no longer frightened as she had been before, although it was
obvious that she was in greater danger than ever. She was certain,
though, through the drug she was taking, that nothing could touch her,
nothing could harm her, and she was just as certain that, if she were
threatened, she would have no desire to protect herself.

She was content simply to sit on the bed, staring at the mattress,
counting the stripes that rippled across it. Even the music that
filtered from the valley below took on a certain enjoyable rhythm, and
she tapped her finger in time to it.

She heard her name called from somewhere outside, and although it was
her husband, Art, it seemed to Kathy that it was the voice of the Angel
Gabrielle, inviting her to enter a paradise here on earth. She noticed
Lydia start at the sound of the voice; it seemed as loud to Kathy as a
cannon shot--and then cup her hand to her ear as it was repeated. Kathy
herself heard the words clearly, although they hardly registered.
"Attention! Attention!" Art was bellowing. "You are surrounded by the
police. We know that you are holding Kathy McGuire."

"What are we going to do?" spat Mark, with bloodshot eyes. A sinking
feel, very real and very painful, welled in his stomach. He clasped his
hand over his mouth, his cheeks reddening, and held his breath until
the warmness subsided.

"Look!" hissed Jim, holding up his hand. "He has no idea who's in here
holding his wife ... it could be Chuck and his dealer friends, or a
bunch of ladies at a lunch club. He's just guessing, he doesn't know.
All we can do is fake him out. Just lay low," he gestured with his
hands.

A delicate hand reached up to punch out the cardboard that held the
glass pane in its ridged cell. In a low, gruff voice, Jim raised his
head, just high enough to reach the hole. "Yes, we have Kathy McGuire
in here as our hostage. She is unharmed and quite well." Hearing her
name mentioned, Kathy grinned, smiled and nodded. "We will not let her
go."

Art nodded. He felt slightly faint from the heat and the anxiety and
the fear for Kathy that gnawed at him. All the thoughts that he'd had
before came flooding back to his mind. Had she been forced to take dope
by these wretched creatures, these dope dealers?

He had to get Kathy out of there ... now!

He never thought it would come to this, but there was no choice. He
would have to offer himself in exchange for Kathy; there was no other
way. If he died, at least he would die knowing that Kathy realized how
much he cared for her. Raising the bullhorn to his trembling lips, he
boomed out his offer.

Jim, on the other side of the wall, grinned triumphantly. It worked!
"Okay, here's what we do ... when he comes in the door Lydia, you knock
him over the head with that old lamp, and Mark, you tie up his hands.
Got that?"

The two compatriots in crime nodded, staring at each other wondering if
it was really worth it. Wouldn't the concert be more fun then being
holed up here in this stuffy old cabin taking orders from Jim?

Jim called out his offer. "We accept your offer. Come out with your
hands up and enter by way of the back door."

Art turned pale and bit his lips. An explosion of amplified sound shot
up from the valley and Art ducked, certain it was gun fire. He gasped,
released his clutch on the tree bough and rose to his feet. He walked
mechanically, lifting one foot after the other, putting it down again,
lifting it. The short stretch of space seemed to expand for miles and
miles. The few minutes it took seemed like light years. Halfway across
he paused, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. Then he walked
on once more, slowly, steadily. Kathy would be waiting for him, just
inside the door. As he entered, she would be allowed to leave. She
would fall on her knees, kiss his feet, begging him to let her stay.
But with firm resolve he walked on.

Art heard a new command: "Come in with your back to the door." Turning,
he walked on once more. He had just about reached the doorstep now ...
one more step, he told himself, edging backwards.

Then everything went dark.

"Jesus, I said hit him not kill him!" sputtered Jim, watching the hulk
of flesh crumble to the floor to lay in the shards of broken lamp
glass. A small trickle of blood oozed from Art's forehead, directly
above his eye. He moaned, trying to raise to his feet, then fell limp
again.

"Good shot, huh?" beamed Lydia, standing over her prey triumphantly.

"Too good," scolded Jim. "Help me drag him inside so we can tie him
up."

Lydia pulled on his legs, while Jim and Mark labored over his arms and
chest. A buzz of activity hung over the moaning body, all except for
Kathy, who sat on the bed, smoking another of the rolled cigarettes.
Kathy stared at the three youngsters, thinking what wonderful, happy
children they were, working so assiduously over the body of that man
who fell backwards on the step. Wondering who it was, she craned
forward, crawling over the mattress on all fours. She squinted into the
sun. "Art!" she tittered gleefully. "What's Art doing here?" she asked
the others.

"Jesus, she is loaded," giggled Lydia, holding Art's hands secure while
Mark tied a rope around his wrists.

Kathy looked at Lydia and smiled, as she inhaled deeply on the sweet-
smelling tobacco. It made everything seem so beautiful, she thought, so
perfect. Nothing mattered except the warm, wonderful sensation of the
moment. She wanted to share in it.

Art was alert now, though a bit groggy from the blow on his head. To
soothe the laceration, he tried to raise his hands to massage the bump.
He tugged, and for the first moment, realized he was tied.

Kathy started to giggle. "What's the matter, Art?" she teased. "Oh,
don't be such a grouch," she scolded, playfully. "This is just a game,
so don't look so serious."

Art squinted against the pain, his nose wrinkling, his mouth gaping
open. What was wrong with Kathy? They'd drugged her ... my Cod, his
wife was smoking pot! The little bastards, the fucking little snots! He
focused on the fuzzy-lipped teenagers working at the rope behind him,
at the budding breasted young girl who leered down at him, whispering
obscenities in his ears, just to taunt him. They were nothing but kids!

Kathy lay back on the mattress, waggling her hand back and forth at
Art. She looked up with a start of pleasure. Jim was a beautiful young
boy, she thought, Lydia was beautiful, life was beautiful, and she
wouldn't for a moment have changed anything. "Hi," she said, again,
grinning lopsidedly, her eyes squinting slightly to focus.

Mockingly, Mark turned. "Hi!" he grinned, waving back.

Kathy squinted dreamily at the others. Art was there, too, she saw. But
how marvelous that was. Everything was wonderful! Jim--and in her
confused, drugged state, the memory of Jim's hands on her naked body
sent her soaring--Jim was here! And Art. And Mark. And Lydia. And
everybody! She puffed the cigarette again, inhaling deeply. And when
Jim moved forward, walking towards the mattress, she grinned up at him
and offered him her joint.

The blonde-haired leader of the gang took one long look at Art, then
his wife. It was all over for him anyway ... the five pounds, the
accomplishments and failures of his first real job. He might as well
make the best of it.

He moved forward, then sat down on the mattress, one eye on Art who sat
slumped against the wall, struggling to make sense of what was
transpiring. He remembered he'd come here to save his wife ... but his
wife was in no danger, yet.

Jim plopped down next to Kathy, pulling her brutally to him. She
giggled, responded with an unearthly thrill. Her entire body tingled
with anticipation of the pleasure to come when Jim fucked her again as
she knew he was going to do ... yes, that was the word--fucked her--
just the way he had before, her mouth ... her cunt.

Without a word of protest, she let Jim ease his hands under the loose
cloth of the dress she was wearing, slipping it down, unbuttoning the
front of it so that Kathy sat there before all the world with her
lovely rounded white mounds of her breasts thrust out like twin moons,
hanging suspended in the open air. There was a burst of applause from
the group sitting on the floor, mingled with a groan of fury and agony
from Art, and then Jim's hand slid down across the tender, pointed
breasts to Kathy's slim waist, moving back and forth gently, caressing
the pale skin.

Slowly, patiently, he traced the deliciously rounded orbs of her
buttocks under the panties she wore, torn down the sides from his
previous assault. He stroked her lightly, casually, and then the
fingers found the smooth white cleft between her buttocks, traced the
line of it--down, down--thrust forward between her legs, spreading them
wide, found the petal-pink slit of her cuntal lips, and caressed them,
too, before retreating at last.

Once again, Jim traced the thin, fuzz-lined furrow of Kathy's buttocks,
moved between the rounded cheeks of her ass. This time, though, he
paused at the tiny puckered opening of her anus and smilingly wormed
the tip of a finger in while Kathy grunted softly in unexpected
discomfort, then withdrew it quickly, with a dry little sucking sound.
Art, watching a few feet away, let out a shriek that sounded like a
wounded bull and then made a final, desperate attempt to break away, to
rescue Kathy. The ropes held him tight.

Now Jim ripped the remains of Kathy's underwear, tearing the thin
elastic bands away from her panties, they tumbled to the floor,
mattress.

Across the room, Mark sucked in his breath at the sight of Kathy
McGuire's nude body. My God, she was gorgeous. He'd never seen a woman
with such delicacy, and such sheer beauty. She was far more beautiful
than any of the girls at school. Mark smiled in appreciation. It was
Jim's turn now, but his time would come.

He watched, spellbound as Jim placed his hands on the young naked
wife's ripe, full breasts, pressing his thumbs and forefingers against
the tiny little buds of her nipples, rolling them into a tight
erection. Mark felt his prick jerk inside his pants as he anticipated
his turn.

Now Jim's hands roved down Kathy's body, caressing the firm flesh of
her gently swelling belly, moving on to explore the mass of red, softly
curling pussy fleece between her legs. Kathy lay transfixed in her
drugged haze, a rising tide of passion surging through her at the
delicious touch of the young boy's fingers and the palm of his hand.
Tingling with excitement, she opened her knees so that Jim could stroke
her thighs and run his hands down the outside of her thighs, over them,
spreading them further apart in a slow, methodical movement, running
his hands up and down the tender pink flesh of her inner thighs.

Kathy whimpered in ecstasy, and then drew her legs together in shocked
surprise as the warm air blew from the open door across the narrow
cuntal slit. Again Jim spread her thighs wide, and now his hand slipped
closer to her pinkly glistening pussy, gently parting the sensitive
fleece-lined lips while Kathy closed her eyes, head hanging backward,
gasped with pleasure. She felt the surging desire flowing through her
whole body, but converging there, a wild, throbbing sensation that was
beyond her control, a desire that turned her narrow cuntal hole into a
hot, seeping tunnel of moisture. She groaned softly and lifted her feet
up with heels far apart on the edge of the bed and presented the whole
of her naked pussy to his lewdly gaping eyes.

Now Jim's finger wormed tenderly into the wetness of it, and Kathy's
entire being tingled. He probed deeper, fingering the fleshy lips,
withdrew to find the hard, taut bud of her clitoris. He stroked that,
too, gently, until Kathy responded with a sudden spasm of delight and
sensuous grinding of her buttocks that was visible to all the
onlookers.

She remembered them in some dim way, their faces merging with the
bright colors and sweet sounds which were the setting for the marvelous
sensations she felt, and the music, too. She turned her head to see
Art.

She loved him so much, she knew. But he seemed angry. Now why would he
be angry? How could anyone disapprove of anything as wonderful as this?
Kathy brushed the question aside, lying back now, as Jim's finger eased
gently into her hotly steaming cunt, probing deeper and deeper into her
moistly welcoming cunt. She moaned and tossed beneath him, then with a
sudden movement threw her arms up around his neck, as she began to
rotate her hips against his searching-finger.

She caught sight of Art's face again, bright red now with fury, with
shock at her acceptance. I'll make it up to him, she promised herself.
I'll explain, and he'll understand; we always communicated well. He
loves children, so I'm sure he must love Jim, too. And I know he loves
me. He won't be angry when I tell him that.

She held Jim closer to her, but there was something wrong--something
awfully wrong. She didn't know what it was at first and then it dawned
on her that Jim's young body, that should feel soft and fresh and warm,
was scratchy. She focused her eyes on him, puzzled, and then it hit her
that he was still clothed.

It half spoiled the fun. She began to rip the buttons off his shirt,
but when her limp fingers slid around them, she reached for the zipper
of his pants. That was easier, she found. She pulled and something
snapped; she pulled on the metal tab and they rustled open; then she
put her hand inside, maneuvering under Jim's jockey shorts to find the
hidden, half-hard length of his pubescent flesh.

Kathy clasped her fingers around the young boy's blood swollen cock,
massaged it gently, moving the foreskin back and forth, back and forth,
until it grew strong and wiry. Then she drew it out, holding it in her
hand. She gazed at it, admiring its size, staring unblinking, unwinking
at the small hole that was like an eye at the very tip of his cock,
noticing with a flash of pleasure the drops of lubricating fluid that
gathered there, oozing from it slowly.

"Ooooh!" she moaned, falling back on the bed, her legs spread wide, her
heels splayed out over the sides of it. "Ohh, Jim!"

With a quick twist of his wrist, he pulled his shirt off, unbuckled his
belt, letting his pants slip down. He'd been kneeling, but now he
stood, leaning over Kathy lying limp and waiting on the bed. "What do
you want me to do?" he asked coldly.

"Ooohhh," Kathy moaned. "Ohhh ... you know!"

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do!"

"Tell me," he ordered.

"I want you to fuck me," Kathy said, all inhibitions wiped away by the
exhilarating effect of the marijuana.

Jim shot a quick, evil glance at Art, who watched the scene in complete
and utter shock. "Say it again, Kathy," he ordered her, twisting the
emotional knife one more time. "Say it again so your husband can hear."

Art wanted to hear her say it, Kathy thought. But of course she would
for him. She would do anything to make Art happy. They were man and
wife. "Fuck me, Jim," she said in a low, passion-thickened voice. "Fuck
me like you did before!"

She heard a scream that sounded as if it came from Art, but she
couldn't understand why he would scream when she was doing what he
wanted her to do, and then the scream died away and she forgot about it
as Jim, kneeling eagerly between her open thighs, used the thick,
bulbous head of his cock to part the soft silken strands of her pubic
hair, sweeping them away from the pale pink lips of her cunt, leaving
the exciting little vertical mouth up between her legs completely open
to him. Now he forced the lustfully throbbing head of his pubescent
cock into her moistly seeping pussy, pushing inch by inch into the
softly yielding walls of her hungrily welcoming cunt. He settled his
body upon Kathy, grinding his hips between her open thighs, filling her
to bursting, then withdrew momentarily, penetrated her again, deeper
this time until the head beat rhythmically, relentlessly against the
bottom of her belly up inside.

"Ooooh, darling, you fuck me sooo good," she moaned and mouth open,
moved her head from side to side. He rotated his hips, and Kathy moved
against them, rotating hers in turn, while beads of perspiration formed
on her upper lip. Jim reached down around her hips and cupped her naked
buttocks to pull them up closer to his own surging loins, and Kathy was
filled with an insane pleasure, a bliss so intense she found it almost
unbearable. Nothing was real now, nothing existed except Jim's huge,
young cock thrusting in and out, setting her quivering, quaking body on
fire with pure passion.

"Oh oh ohooh, God!" she grunted softly as though speaking to herself
beneath him.

His strokes quickened now, as Kathy's tightly gripping cunt lips
grasped and sucked at his charging shaft hungrily, milking it crazily.
His soft, hairless, sperm-filled balls slapped flatly against the naked
cheeks of her upturned ass, and Kathy shrieked in wild abandon as she
gave herself up to the lewd, obscene fucking she was getting. She
writhed beneath Jim's tough, muscular, lean body, her legs jerking back
spasmodically to wrap themselves around his torso, ankles locking
behind his back, while he ground his fleshy, lust-hardened cock ever
deeper into her greedily devouring young belly. And then, before Art's
horrified eyes, Kathy began to lurch from side to side, her face
contorted, her mouth wide open, in the mindless grip of her great
passion. She gasped, panting hard, her breasts heaving, and her mewls
of pleasure grew to a frenzied cry.

Jim felt the warm, sticky fluid of Kathy's beginning orgasm as it rose
and spilled into her warm, tight cunt, oozed around his plunging shaft,
bathing it hotly in its slippery wetness.

"Oh, God, God, I'm cummming!" Kathy wailed, and the satiated Jim
thought, Christ, me too, and then he felt the boiling sperm in his
inflated balls bubble up and spurt forward, mingling with Kathy's own
hot juices, felt it spray the inside of her pussy, felt the incredible
tensions of the past few minutes dissolve and disappear in a wildly
exploding moment of supreme joy.

He fell back, exhausted, beside Kathy on the mattress, and lay there
next to her for a few moments, eyes closed. The rock 'n roll music had
stopped for a few moments and someone was talking, introducing another
act maybe. Then he heard Mark say, "Okay, Jim. Now it's my turn."

He rose dizzily, found his pants and shirt, pulled them on, moving away
from Kathy who lay back on the bed in an attitude of utter depravity.
He caught a glimpse of Art's face, and at first found it hard to
recognize him! The man was a tortured, maddened animal, snarling at the
leash, ready to kill.

Even if Jim didn't get the dope he'd been promised for diverting the
police, at least he'd had a fine piece of ass to chalk up to his
youthful experiences.

Chapter 9

It had not been an easy task dragging the two microphones up the steep
wooded hillside, or finding enough extension cords to stretch that far,
but the equipment manager was confident he'd made a fair trade. Using
the military tactics he'd learned in Viet Nam, he snuck along close to
the ground, crawling on his knees in the lower bushes, one microphone
dangling over each shoulder. Nearing the cabin, he circumvented the
beaten structure, wondering why in hell's name the young boy wanted to
wire the place for sound, then deciding it was not his business to
wonder, only to get those microphones stationed outside the door, now
open, luckily.

Surreptitiously and soundless as a cat, he edged the microphone closer,
closer to the door. The other he placed near the cracked window in the
front of the cabin, fastening it with a wild grape vine tied to the
rusted pipe. That done, he wiped his hands on his pants, and snuck back
to the grounds below.

Had he stayed to listen, he would have heard Mark, now lying on the bed
next to Kathy gazing hungrily at the sperm glistening lips of her open
cunt. "Put your legs over my shoulders!" the boy commanded imperiously,
following Jim's example, seeing how well it had worked. She did, and
she felt a new thrill surge through her as he bent his head over her
hotly pulsing, still-moist cunt, and placed his hands on her cum-
flooded pussy lips.

Carefully, deliberately, he opened them, exposing the coral colored
flesh to his lust filled eyes. As his hot breath blew across Kathy's
cunt, still dripping from Jim's sperm moments before she writhed in
delight, then curled her legs and wriggled her toes with the sudden,
exquisite sensation. Mark bent his head still nearer, and then his
tongue lashed out, finding the tiny, narrow slit, and began to tease
back and forth insistently inside it.

It was so good, Kathy thought again. How could this be bad, when it was
so good? The idea puzzled her and so she dismissed it from her mind and
lay back, opening her thighs wider to his face and enjoying what was
happening to her. Mark slavered over her, his tongue and mouth worming
into the warmly quivering little hole between her thighs. It followed
the narrow slit from one end to the other, savoring every delicious
taste as it advanced. Then Mark retreated and began slowly,
exploringly, to lick the entire pubic curl-fringed length once more.
He'd only done this once before, and he paused when he reached the tiny
bud of her clitoris, not certain if he should stop there or go on.

Kathy thrashed and bucked under his assault on her sensitive little
cuntal mound, letting out sharp little screams of pleasure from time to
time, that split the silent air like lightning flashes, Mark's tongue
flicked in and out between her legs, faster and faster now, making a
wet sluicing sound echo through the cabin as the young nakedly writhing
woman's heart beat like a hammer and her breath caught in her breasts.

Suddenly, the delicious sucking of her warm, moist pussy stopped, and
Kathy uttered a tortured cry of mixed dismay and disappointment. "Don't
stop! Oh, God, don't stop! Go on-lick it! Lick it deeper!"

Oh, God! What had happened? What was happening? Why had Mark risen from
above her, leaving her lying on the bed, her legs still spread wide,
her hungrily churning cunt exposed and waiting for the marvelous
licking and sucking of his rough-textured young tongue. Kathy turned,
straining to see. Through the fog of drugs that clouded her mind, she
somehow understood that everyone was looking at Art, over against the
wall. Something had happened to him, she thought. He was white and now
he slumped against the wall, collapsing like a punctured tire tube.

Jim poked his inert body with his foot; Art didn't budge. Now he leaned
over him, his head bent down, listening to his heart beat. "He's okay,"
Jim said, straightening up.

Art mumbled something Kathy couldn't decipher, and then lifted his
head, threw his shoulders back and gathered all his strength, all his
energy as he confronted the young hoodlum. "You'll be sorry for this,
you little punk."

"Then watch to see what happens to your hot-cunted little wife next,"
threatened the blonde boy villanously.

"You wouldn't dare do anything to harm her ... I'll ... I'll put you
all behind bars, you dirty punks!"

"Oh, so that's how you feel about it, narco. Well watch this," Jim
spat. "Mark turn her over, give her the old ass fuck."

Mark scratched his head, as if he understood only slowly. Biting into
his lower lip, he took a deep breath and turned Kathy over so that she
was lying on her stomach.

At first Kathy made no effort to resist. Everything had been so
beautiful, she thought. But there was something wrong with Art; he
didn't look well. Perhaps he'd been working too hard, Art had a
tendency to do that. Not take care of himself, eat too many spicy
foods. Her mind wandered again to Art's favorite foods, how he loved
Mexican food and beer, anything with chili powder, just as she felt her
legs being spread wide, as she felt Mark's tongue search out the tight,
tiny hole of her puckered, brown-ringed anus. And then she understood
what Jim had said, when was it? So long ago. So long ago as time was
measured in this cabin where she seemed to have lived for all eternity.

"Up her ass!" That was what Jim had said.

And up her ass meant--Kathy pondered the matter, trying to visualize
it--up her ass meant sodomy! She was to be lewdly sodomized, right here
in front of everybody, in front of Art. Kathy's drug befuddled brain
whirled again, and even through the haze bits and pieces of things she
had heard came back to her. They couldn't do that to her! It wasn't
legal. Art would never permit them to do that to her! She believed in
law and order just as Art did, and she had to fight against such
outrageous things because Art expected her to. And then she felt
someone kissing the lovely rounded orbs of her buttocks, nipping at
them, flicking his tongue against them. Furiously she kicked her legs,
thrashing about to rid herself of this unwanted intrusion. But Jim came
to Mark's rescue and held her ankles and pinned them down to the
mattress.

"Spread you legs," he ordered in a voice of steel.

Kathy did as she was told, opening them until she was afraid they
wouldn't spread any further. "Like that?" she gasped.

"Not like that," Jim said, giving her a swift slap on her firmly
rounded young buttocks, leaving a red, angry print of his hand on them.
Kathy winced and then screamed aloud as Jim took her by the thighs and
forced her legs farther apart. She gasped again as Mark's finger teased
momentarily, then wormed its way deep into the little puckered orifice
of her anus. In and out it ground, in and out, and Kathy felt a searing
pressure that moments later, when her rectal walls had adjusted turned
to a dull, but strangely soothing pleasure, bringing an aching longing
in her, a weird masochistic desire she knew in her heart to be wicked
and evil. But she knew she could never resist, not when she felt such
excitement and joy and sheer ecstasy in the act.

She groaned and wiggled her hips salaciously back up to trap of it as
Mark's fingers prodded and probed experimentally inside her tightly
clenched little anus, widening it, bringing a delightful, pleasurable
throb to it that made her gasp for breath.

Mark grinned; he'd never done this to a woman before, and reasoning
that if one finger would made her gasp like that, two would bring
double the pleasure. A second joined the first, and Mark began to work
the two back and forth, preparing it for the entrance of his lust
swollen young cock. He was almost ready, Kathy knew; he was breathing
hard, panting over her prone body, and his fingers thrust in and out as
if he no longer had control of them, skewering Kathy helplessly on the
lewdly worming digits.

"What do you think of that, Art?" mimicked Jim. "How does that look to
ya? Think you could ever get it up enough to fuck your wife in the
ass?"

Lydia jeered next to him.

Mark's attention turned once more to Kathy, lying on the bed. Mark
pulled her naked young buttocks up to a kneeling position, as he'd seen
Jim do last night with Lydia, and mounted her as if he were a stallion,
and now he took his thick, swollen young cock and wrapped Kathy's tiny
fingers around it. "Put it in," he ordered, guiding Kathy's hand down
toward the hairless, rubbery little circle of her rectum. Kathy, too
terrified to resist, and with an overwhelming desire to comply at the
same time, placed the tip of the still, blunt instrument against the
tiny opening of her backside. With a quick brutal thrust that this time
brought a scream of discomfort from her, Mark popped the blood-filled
head just up inside the small, tightly clenched hole, then slowly
pressed forward and forced the elastically yielding walls further and
further apart until he was sunk deep up in the tightness of her bowels.

He began to grind it experimentally back and forth, and the pressure
Kathy felt as he entered her suddenly blended with the intense
humiliation she felt and slowly but surely turned to an oddly rising
sexual stimulation. She moved experimentally back against him, arching
her body, thrusting her buttocks up and outward, rotating them in tiny
teasing circles, meeting Mark's forward ones. Oh, God, she thought
again, as a helpless ecstasy rose deep within her throat, this was
horrible ... horrible ... but, at the same time, wickedly beautiful to
be used and fucked in the ass like a common whore. There was agony and
ecstasy, all whirled together in one great sensual moment, and Kathy
thought, in spite of her initial revulsion, that the last few hours had
been just that, agony and ecstasy, and she had lived through the most
sensuously exciting moments of her life while poor Art had endured the
worst. Someday, she thought, she would explain to Art, and make
everything up to him, and she would let him do just this back in her
rectum and he would be happy as he had never been before, but she knew
he was miserable, but there wasn't really anything she could do about
it, or was there?

The boy's sperm-bloated balls smacked hard down against the slavishly
kneeling Kathy's cunt as his thick, fuzz-nested cock sank deep up
inside her rectal passage, pushing almost to her pelvis. He was ready
to cum, holding back for just a moment. He withdrew, pulling his prick
out almost to the tip, then with a loud grunt he fucked it deep up into
her belly again, as she moaned aloud with the exquisite joy she felt.

Then Mark began to jerk in a wild spasm of intense pleasure as the
white hot sperm spurted the length of his thrusting, pulsing rod, to
gush forth in a delicious torrent into Kathy's now openly accepting
little rectum. The now half insane young woman half-moaned, half-
screamed as the boiling white liquid surged hotly up through her
waiting bowels and she thought, Oh my God, I'm cumming, too.

She felt the boy's final withdrawal as he pulled his now limp cock from
her rectum with a slight wet sucking noise that sounded as though a
cork were being pulled, and then the two collapsed, completely spent;
Mark panting for breath as he lay by her side, Kathy covered with
sweat, but weak and-happy and strangely satisfied.

Kathy would have liked to fall asleep--just to close her eyes and sink
into a sweet oblivion which would bring her back to strength and
reality--but as she dozed off, a blood curdling scream brought her back
to the hear and now. She raised her weary head and saw that it was poor
Art who had uttered the horrendous cry. And now he had slumped forward
again, all strength gone, a shadow of the former strong and proud man
that Kathy had married. Again Kathy wondered just what had happened to
Art, to make him behave this way. But she was too tired, too confused,
to worry about it. She would sleep awhile, she told herself. And when
she awoke, perhaps she would understand all that was going on around
her ...

Chapter 10

The music had stopped, and the crowd grew impatient until the
amplifiers crackled and sizzled and far away in the distance, no one
knew where, a sound became discernibly audible. Sitting near the stage,
Robert jumped to his feet, his face a show of gleeful revenge. This was
it! He slipped his tennis shoes back on, threw his shirt over his
shoulder, and headed up the hill. It had cost him a lid of dope, but it
would be worth it, just to show that smart-ass Jim that he was just a
stupid, blundering fourteen year-old kid who'd do a job for five bucks
only to be insulted.

If his guess was right, and he'd be willing to bet his last nickel on
it, the sounds coming over that microphone would set the woods on fire!

Inside the cabin, Art had slumped to the ground once again, lying in a
pathetic heap like a pile of old clothes. Jim looked at him with
disgust, then went over to shake him by the shoulders.

"Where am I?" muttered Art, opening his eyes, blinking with the effort.

"Just don't want you to miss the show. Our star for the day is ... Mrs.
Art McGuire!" mimicked the blonde haired boy, feigning a microphone in
his hand, gesturing as if on stage before a crowd, not realizing that
thousands of people were indeed listening.

Art shook his head, wondering what had happened to him and why. How had
they prevailed on Kathy to put on this obscene exhibition--and in front
of him? It was the dope, he told himself ... that damned marijuana.
That's what was making his dear Kathy act like this. He had feared all
along that she could be provoked to an outrageous sensuality, always
had that streak in her, but this? It was beyond any nightmare he had
ever imagined.

"Stop!" screamed Art, unable to watch any more of this humiliating
display of disgust. "Immunity ... I'll grant you immunity ... anything,
just don't rape my wife again!" He felt his knees buckling under him
and closed his eyes. The whole room, the whole woods, the valley seemed
to echo his own words. He chalked it up to anxiety, but continued his
pleading. "I'll let you get off, anything you want ... just let her
go!"

Down in the valley, the crowd stopped its milling around, beer cans
immobilized in mid-air, couples lying in embrace under trees sat up
straight; everyone listened. Where was it coming from? The stage was
bare, for it was in-between acts. It was a joke, it had to be a joke.

"How the hell do we know you're telling the truth?" returned Jim. "How
do we know you won't turn the cops on us as soon as we leave?"

"My word," pleaded Art. "You have my word. There are witnesses ... look
they're five of us here ..."

"But we wouldn't want to leave the little woman high and dry, now would
we Art?" insisted Jim.

They drew numbers.

Jim was the first in line, unzipping his fly as he crossed the room. He
bent over Kathy and whispered, "Come on, lady, do your stuff," taking
her hand and guiding it to the jerking protuberance still hidden by the
stiff cotton of his levis. "Take it out," he ordered, and Kathy drew
forth his massive cock, feeling it stiffen in her clutch. She began to
manipulate the foreskin, easing it back over Jim's now swollen cock,
pulling it forward again. She ran her fingernail along the rigid flesh,
along the vein the stood out beneath it, her fingernails scratching
gently along its surface to send shocks of rapture through his loins,
and Kathy rocked back and forth, massaging Jim's erect cock, thrilling
to Jim's pleasure, responding to his every motion. Oh, she thought as
she had before, I'm making him so happy. I am so happy. Everybody's
happy but poor Art.

That made her want to cry; she loved Art so, and here she was, making
everyone else happy and she couldn't do anything for her own dear
husband. She continued to stroke Jim's cock with one hand while she
wiped a tear from her eye with the other.

"Ooooh, does that make you happy, Jim?" she cooed.

The valley roared with laughter.

And Mark, too, she thought, looking up to see him standing beside her.
Without waiting to be asked, she reached out and herself unzipped
Mark's fly, drawing his thick cock out just as she had drawn out Jim's.
With ecstatic little mewls of pleasure that sounded like a cat in heat,
she caressed it, too, into a hard, erect mass of flesh.

She struggled to sit up, but Mark pushed her back on the pillow, then
knelt over her, his legs straddling her shoulders. "Take it in your
mouth," he ordered, as she continued to stroke his rigidly pulsating
hardness. "Come on, Kathy, suck it!" His voice sounded harsh and gruff,
unlike the gentle, mild-mannered Mark who'd picked her up ... when was
it they went for that nice bike ride?

Without a murmur, Kathy opened her lips to receive the tip of his
stiff, swollen cock, closing her mouth around it, clasping it, sucking
it in, her cheeks hollowing as she did so. She ran her tongue around
the throbbing head, felt the tiny opening that capped it, licked it
gently at first, then more roughly, as tiny droplets of a thick,
viscous fluid dribbled out. She ran them over her tongue, savoring
their acrid taste before she swallowed them. Now she ran her tongue
along the ridge beneath the one named Mark's wetly burning cock, and an
electric shock seemed to go through his body, jolting him convulsively.
"God, this little bitch sucks cock good," he groaned out loud. She was
the best!

He arched his back, withdrawing his thick, piston-like cock, then with
a sharp, sudden motion, rammed his fourteen year old, still maturing,
cock deep inside Kathy's mouth, thrusting it back almost to her throat.

She gasped at the unexpected violence of the movement, then fought for
breath. She caught it as Mark withdrew again, beginning to fuck in and
out of her roundly ovalled lips, the countable pubic hairs surrounding
his loins grazing the tip of her nose, while his chestnut-sized balls
swung back and forth and smacked against her chin with a loud,
resounding slap. Kathy increased her mouthing on Mark's cock, grinding
down hard on the fleshy instrument that filled the hot, wet cavern of
her mouth. One hand snaked around his slender hips, slipped beneath the
top of his pants, and Kathy uttered a little cry of disappointment. Why
hadn't he taken his clothes off? She was lying there without a stitch
on, her slim, luscious young body exposed completely to him and Jim
and, yes, all the rest who watched from the other side of the room--Art
and Lydia.

Without stopping her feathery fingering of Jim's cock, she devoted her
other hand to the struggle to strip Mark of his clothes. She wedged her
free hand under his pants, wiggled them down as he rolled his hips to
help. And then, they slid over it, slid it around to touch his balls,
to tease them, gently squeezing them. She slid her hand on, her
fingernails tickling the base of his pulsing cock, running along the
underside of his prick as he withdrew it on the backstroke while he
continued all the while the rhythmic fucking of her open mouth.

Mark could feel the boiling sperm building up in his scrotum, and a
sideward glance at Jim's lust contorted face told him that his balls,
too, were almost bursting, his loins aching with the excruciating
excitement Kathy's hand imparted to his slipperily fucking cock. She
held it tighter and tighter now, moving back and forth on it,
manipulating it, milking it, drawing it down and releasing it, teasing,
tantalizing with an expertness Jim would never have expected. My God!
He couldn't stand it any longer, he thought, giving out a weird, harsh
cry. Kathy felt his prick expand and contract in her hand, and then
heard his helpless gasps of passion as the hot fluid spurted thickly
and wetly in a wide arc, gushing like a boiling geyser onto her nakedly
rippling stomach, then flowing down over the smoothness of her thighs,
seeping hotly down between them like a searing stream of molten lava.

As Jim cried out, Mark's own grating shriek mingled with his voice, and
his balls exploded, too. The crowd heard it all, as he shot his load of
warm male semen into the soft, fleshy warmth of Kathy's hungry,
expectant mouth. The young woman moaned, her body contracting and
heaving rhythmically as her own moist juices seeped wetly from the
walls of her cunt again, flowing forth to flood her pink slitted cunt
in her own cascading orgasmic juices. Gulping desperately to keep from
choking she greedily sucked at and swallowed the churning liquid that
seemed to flow endlessly into her mouth, mewling with pleasure as she
did so, fighting to hold every succulent drop within her mouth, licking
hungrily at the few drops which trickled lewdly from he corners of her
lips. As Mark's cock went limp and flaccid between her teeth, as Jim's
collapsed within her hand, Kathy lay back, sperm covered, still,
satiated, her eyes closed, her nakedly glistening young body
motionless.

>From across the room, Art had stared at the whole scene with a
disbelief so great it came close to blotting out his disgust. His eyes
bulged from their sockets, his face was red and apoplectic. The world
whirled around him, making him feel dizzy, sick, as if he were standing
at some great height, looking down into an abyss miles below. His
fingernails clawed into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists
in agony and revulsion. He didn't care in the least; nothing physical
could hurt him. His soul was scorched, withered by the sights he had
been forced to endure. He no longer had reason to live, he told
himself. The only thing in his life he held dear, had protected, that
had never hurt him, had now destroyed him--his wife.

Below, in the valley, the uproarious had a new cause for excitement as
they listened to a new character in the strange drama occurring
somewhere close; no one knew where or who was involved. They thought it
was a spoof, that someone was playing a record, a tape maybe, from a
pornographic movie track.

Robert burst in the door of the cabin. "Well, I see you've been having
a good time without me!" he grinned, stepping over Art's slumping hulk.
"Everybody's had their piece of fun and now it's my turn."

No one protested, no one held him back.

Watching Robert stomp towards his wife, Art seemed to be in a state of
shock, unable to move, unable to cry out, to protest; for Robert was
unbuckling his belt as he did so, whipping down the zipper of his
pants, pulling them down. He stood over the reclining Kathy, leering
obscenely at her, "My turn, lady," he announced.

And then he squatted down by Kathy's bed, leaning over her, spreading
her full, sperm-drenched thighs apart with his young hands. The pink
slit of her pussy was exposed to full view, now, quivering and
unbelievably coming to life again along its full, hair-fringed length.
Robert drew his finger slowly, carefully, along the line of it,
stroking it gently, searching out the tiny bud of her clitoris, coaxing
it into a taut erection. Kathy gasped in delight at the welcome
pleasure that sent little featherlike twitches spinning through her
crotch, and on into the blood that coursed like a re-kindled wildfire
through every vein she had. Robert felt her response and looked up into
her face. "Good, isn't it?" he asked.

"Ooooh yesss," Kathy moaned, knowing nothing now but her mad desire for
fulfillment. "I love your cock."

That brought a chorus of laughter from the crowd.

"Well, it's gonna get better," leered Robert, his eye on Jim. He
smirked over his shoulder at Mark, too, and then he plunged his
forefinger deep inside Kathy's warm, moistly palpitating cunt, worming
it into the hilt, withdrawing, entering again. Oh, God, it felt good,
Kathy thought, it felt so good she wished something so wonderful could
happen to everyone. To Art, for example. And then she looked up to see
that it was happening to Art. "Oh, look!" she chuckled. "Lydia's going
to suck Art's cock now."

While Robert's finger moved in and out of her tight little cunt, finger
fucking her, Lydia was on her knees before the unresisting Art,
unzipping his pants and inserting her hand inside them, feeling under
his shorts, and finally finding his soft, flaccid cock. She began to
stroke it gently at first, then more vigorously, nursing it to life,
until strength flowed mystically into it and it jerked upright.

Lydia drew it out then, holding Art's cock in her hand and then began
to tease it, forcing the foreskin back, then running her finger along
the tender underside of it. Kathy saw her husband's prick swell to
enormous proportions--was that her straitlaced Art? she asked herself
in amazement--then saw him begin to respond to Lydia's ministrations,
moving back and forth as she clasped him tight, just as Jim had done
when Kathy had held his prick in her own hand. And now Lydia was
bending her head, taking Art's cock into her wide-open mouth, closing
her lips around its tender flesh, sucking on it, her cheeks working
madly as Art's shaft became rock hard, and began to fuck in and out of
Lydia's widely ovaled mouth, shooting forward almost to her throat,
retreating, entering again. The fear and anger combination he had felt
such a short time before seemed to fade away, and Art began to feel
nothing but ecstatic joy that Lydia brought to him. He shook his head,
trying to sort things out for himself. For a moment everything seemed
clear; he, Art McGuire was indulging in forbidden, perverted pleasures.
And then it seemed that it was no longer forbidden, although no one
could deny the pleasure of it, and Art relaxed and his pulsing cock
moved in and out of the young girl's warm buttery mouth and he felt the
churning in his loins, the dull, throbbing ache, and knew that this was
the most important, the most exciting, the most wonderful thing that
had ever happened to him.

He looked over at his wife, and saw that she was doing just what Lydia
was doing, sucking the desire swollen cock of some boy--Art had never
seen him before. At the same time, Art saw that the boy was named Mark
was between Kathy's legs now, his thick, hard cock moving against her
pussy, parting her softly curling pubic hairs, then that Mark had taken
his full hardened length in his hand and was guiding it forward, using
the rubbery head to open wide the full fleshy lips of her cunt. Now the
tip slipped through the tight, elastic opening, sliding along the
smooth, moist cuntal hole, sinking in farther and farther, while Kathy
opened her legs as wide as she could and pulled her thighs back to take
this marvelous virile hardness deep up inside her hungrily waiting
belly.

Art plunged forward into Lydia's mouth, withdrew, plunged in again,
while shivers of ecstasy rippled through his whole body, and a strange,
uninhibited wave of joy washed over him that he had never believed
possible.

He glanced at Kathy again, and saw that still a third man, Jim was
kneeling beside her; Jim had inserted his finger deep into Kathy's
nakedly twitching anus, and she was swiveling around it, her hips
rotated. She groaned as he thrust a second finger into the soft, warm
depths, and then, as she became accustomed to the intrusion, fucked his
hardened cock into her rectum as she began to moan and mewl with insane
sounding pleasure.

The crowd loved it! The next band was setting up their equipment, ready
to start; a hiss emanated from the crowd. They didn't want to hear
music, they wanted to hear more of this strange story that was unfolded
about their ears.

Art quickened his thrust into Lydia's all encompassing mouth, fucking
into it hard and deep, his cock boring in to touch her throat, so that
the girl choked and fought back, yet Art plunged on and on, aware that
never in his life had he felt such thrills, such excitement. And Kathy
was as dazzled and delighted as he, moving against the three men who
invaded her in such diverse ways, screwing back against her fingers,
their cocks, their tongues. He saw her begin to sway and rock in a wild
erotic abandon, saw that the others moved with her, and realized that
he, too, was caught in the grip of the same mad passion, moving with
the others, swaying to their rhythm in some formalized, classic dance.

The ache in his loins became unbearable, the throbbing length of his
rigid staff maddening beyond belief, and then, he heard Kathy's wild
groans of passion, her repeated shout, "I'm cumming ... Oh God, I'm
cuuummming!" heard the ecstatic moans of the three boys, heard their
panted, exhausted breathing as together they sent their hot, sticky
semen spurting into all the openings of her hungrily accepting young
body. As they did, Art could no longer hold back, no longer control
himself. He, too, uttered a raucous, passion-filled cry, then sent his
boiling white sperm spewing into Lydia's hungrily sucking fourteen year
old mouth.

It seemed that everyone went limp then, lying back, while the whole
world whirred around them. Art was the first to rouse himself from the
torpor, to look at the others, to evaluate the situation. It was
difficult for him to define; he only knew that everything had changed.
He stared at the boys, his eyes roving over their slumped, inert
bodies. They were still a bunch of stupid punks, he told himself, still
a lot of dope-smoking dupes. Yet they had taught him something that
they had known for a long time. They had taught him that he need not be
ashamed of his passion, need feel no guilt--that it was a marvelous
thing to experience what he had just felt.

Art sensed that he owed these kids something. They had, he knew
already, changed the whole course of his life. They had shown him what
life was all about, what happiness was, how he? Art McGuire, 'uptight'
and 'strung out' as they would call it, could attain happiness with his
wife.

Chapter 11

Slowly, as Kathy slept she returned to full cognizance. The rock and
roll music was blaring up from the people-crowded valley below,
vibrating the beams of the rustic cabin, filling every corner with
inescapable sound. Robert, Mark, Lydia, and even Jim had left now,
anxious to get down into the crowd and mill around with their friends.
And hopefully, to find out what happened with Chuck. Had the U-Haul
truck made it to its destination?

Kathy groaned on the mattress. Her hair was disheveled and she wore no
make-up. Yet she looked more beautiful than ever, Art told himself. She
had picked up the remnants of her clothing and hung it on her body, in
an attempt at modesty.

Hesitantly, she raised her head, her eyes meeting Art's. Frightened of
Art, sure of what he would think of her, she looked but did not speak.
He had seen her debauched, degraded, subjected to the most vile
outrages by a gang of fourteen year old children. Certainly, he would
want nothing to do with her. Kathy brushed a tear from her eyes, then
lowered them, afraid to look at her husband. He was so good, so fine,
so decent; so far above passion. And even though he had succumbed to
Lydia's temptations, that had been only once--and surely a man was
entitled to that. Whereas a woman never was, and certainly not to the
extent that Kathy had, indulging in every perversion, every excess
known. Kathy caught a sob in her throat, then edged towards the edge of
the mattress.

He spoke to her quietly, "Kathy."

She glanced at him, under half closed eye lids. Why was he acting like
this? Surely he must hate her. How could he help it, after what she had
done? In anguish, she buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

"Kathy?" Art's voice was gentle as the winds.

"Yes?"

He crossed the room and took her hands in his. "Everything's all right,
Kathy. Everything's different."

Kathy could no longer suppress her sobs. "Yes," she said, fresh tears
springing to her eyes. "Everything's different ... I'm sorry, Art. I
still love you, Art. But I don't blame you if you don't want me now."

She turned to hide her face, but Art caught her wrists.

"I don't know how to say this to you, how to explain. I feel I've been
such an ass all my life, leaving you alone at night, not giving you a
family, not making love to you when you needed me to."

"You mean you really think I'm still a desirable woman," Kathy sobbed.

"You sure are, Kathy. I've wanted to fuck you, Kathy, good and hard
like the boys did to you, but somehow I guess I felt too old, over the
hill, as they say," admitted Art.

Kathy's eyes opened wide again. Was this her Art, the man she'd married
eight years ago? If it was, she had never known him to be so gentle.
And now she realized she hadn't much liked the man she had known. She
would get along beautifully with this Art.

"Kathy, I've been thinking about it," started Art, his finger tracing
the stripes of the mattress. "You know, I'm getting tired of this hunt
and chase kind of life we've been leading. You think I'm too old to
start a family, Kathy."

She averted her eyes once more, staring at the wall. Her tears now were
from happiness. "Oh Art, do you know how long I've been waiting to hear
that?"

He grinned. "Oh, by the way just in case you're interested--they busted
Chuck last night."

"Chuck?"

"Yeah, the guy who had bribed these kids into kidnapping you. He got
stopped for drunken driving ... simple as that. Bust is made. Another
case settled."

The End

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