Abby Farrington pulled her bright red Austin-Healy up in front of the palatial residence of her friends, Peter and Marge Lessing, eased out of the tiny front seat, and walked briskly up to the front door. Her mind had already formulated the scheme she planned to use to completely intimidate her next door neighbor, Laura Wilson, and she felt sure that the Lessings would cooperate with her wholeheartedly. She rang the rather ornate antique bell that hung beside the mansion's double oak doors, and waited only a few moments before the door was opened for her.
"Hello, Jackson," she said to the huge man who greeted her, "Are Peter and Marge home?"
"Uhh, yes they are, Mrs. Farrington. Come on in."
Abby didn't know whether Jackson was the man's first name or last, but it didn't really matter. She smiled almost conspiratorially as she followed the valet-butler in towards the main living room of the stately house, marveling at the physical endowments which the giant possessed, and aware at the same time of his minuscule mental capacities. She wondered idly whether she herself would be able to survive the kind of punishment she felt sure he would wreak upon any woman he got his hands on, the kind of punishment she planned to submit the young Laura Wilson to – and decided that she would just as soon not find out. Jackson's incredibly powerful body, combined with his almost total lack of intelligence, might very well cause irreparable damage to any woman unlucky enough to fall victim to his amorous advances.
Smiling to herself at the thought, Abby followed the ape-like man-servant into the living room, and giggled as he announced her in pseudo-formal terms.
"Mrs. Farrington to see you… boss," he muttered, and then turned quickly and left the room.
"Abby, baby, what a surprise! Did you leave something last night?"
Peter Lessing was a heavy set man in his late forties, with an almost tangible aura of smoothness which oozed from him like the old fashioned pomade he used to smother his shiny black hair. What many people mistook for sophistication was really only greasiness, an oily kind of ease that had been born of many years of semi-confidence games: business deals in which Peter, who had been born poor, managed to slither up the ladder of success and reach his now prominent position. Not that he wasn't charming in his own way – not at all. In fact, most people he met were immediately taken in by his carefully cultivated charm, and it was only the rare person who managed to see beneath the golden glitter, to the base metal that lay below.
"No, I didn't leave anything," Abby smiled, coming across the room to him to accept his proffered kiss. "I see you're getting your Neanderthal better and better trained everyday."
"Who? Oh, you mean Jackson. Yes, he's doing better, the brute; in fact, if you don't expect anything from him, he seems to be doing wonders!"
"Is Marge home?" Abby queried, coming around him to sit on the long, heavily overstuffed sofa that curled away to one side of the great fireplace.
"Yes, I'm right here," came the sultry voice from behind her, and Abby turned to greet the voluptuous Mrs. Lessing.
"Marge, how are you?"
"Oh, all right I guess. Nothing that an Alka-Seltzer won't cure. Why the unexpected visit?"
Marge Lessing was the perfect complement to her husband: tall, liquid, pulsing with a kind of feline grace and excitement that made men feel themselves pulled to her like magnets. Her heavily lidded eyes seemed half-closed all the time, which gave her liberally made-up face the perpetual look of some kind of Italian seductress, continually inviting, enticing, alluring, with just the slightest promise of the sensual delights a man could find in her bed.
"Well," Abby began in answer to her question, "I have a kind of request to make of you two."
"Request?" Peter repeated. "What kind of request, Abby? As you know, my dear, your wish is my command."
"I kind of doubt that," Abby laughed, "But I think you'll go for this little plan, though."
"What is it, Abby?" Marge asked.
"Well, George has got himself mixed up with our next-door neighbor…"
"Goddamn that George, he just won't stop, will he?" Peter laughed out loud. "I'll swear he's going to drop dead in some little lady's bed some night, if he doesn't watch out."
"And are you upset about that, Abby?" Marge asked, returning to the subject.
"No, of course not," Abby replied. "But still, as you must know Marge, there's always a little bit of the cat in a woman when she sees her husband with another woman."
"Marge!" Peter said in mock amazement, "Is that true?"
"Sometimes, Peter baby, sometimes…" his seductive wife answered playfully, and then she turned back to Abby, "And you've got it in for George's new flame, is that it?"
"Oh, not really," Abby answered. "I mean, she's harmless enough, but she's such a little snot, you know what I mean? I just think she can stand being taken down a peg."
"And you want us to help you, eh?" Peter broke in. "Sounds like fun. What do we have to do?"
"Well, if it's all right with you, I thought I might invite the Wilsons over here for your next party. We're going to invite them up to our cottage next week-end, to kind of warm them up, you might say, and then at your party we might just… how should I put it… really lay it to them?"
"Sounds great!" Peter exclaimed enthusiastically. "I mean, if she's passed George's inspection, she must be worth the trouble."
"What's her husband like?" Marge asked a little too carelessly.
"I'll tell you after this weekend," Abby laughed. "But from all outward appearances, he should be enough to keep both of us busy."
"Then I too accept," Marge smiled wickedly. "We'll be happy to help you any way we can."
"Good! I knew I could count on you," Abby smiled. "There's just one other thing…" She paused slightly.
"And what might that be?" Peter grinned.
"I think that what little Laura Wilson needs is a real shock – oh, not that you and my husband couldn't handle that," Abby added quickly to Peter. "But I was thinking, it might be interesting to see Jackson in action as well. I mean, we've never really seen what he can do, have we?"
Peter straightened up where he was standing by the fireplace, and frowned slightly, a hint of apprehension showing plainly in his face.
"You want to let Jackson go to work on this Laura Wilson?" he asked dubiously.
"Well, I thought it might be fun," Abby answered.
Again, the frown creased Peter Lessing's ponderous face, and he looked skeptical.
"I don't know, Abby," he said slowly. "I don't know if I can trust Jackson… I mean, he might really hurt her."
"Oh, I doubt that," Abby said quickly. "I mean, he is human, after all, though just barely. And if you made it clear to him that he wasn't to harm the girl… you know he'll do anything you say."
"I don't know…"
"Oh, come on, Peter, be a sport," Marge chimed in. "I'm sure it would be all right. We can all watch and make sure he doesn't do anything to her. And besides, Abby's right. It would be a hell of a sight to see. I've wondered myself just what our Jackson would do in that kind of situation."
"But Marge…"
"No 'buts'. It's the least we can do for a friend," Peter's wife smiled seductively. "Come on, darling, do it for me."
Peter looked at the two women, staring at him with an almost visible hunger in their eyes, an almost childish pleading etched across their excited faces.
"Oh, all right," he finally said with a laugh. "I know I won't get any peace around here until I agree. I can see you two have been dying to see Jackson in the flesh for a long time, so I might as well say yes."
"Oh, Peter, you're a doll," Abby cried, leaping up to throw her arms around him and kiss him soundly on the lips. "Why don't you call him in and tell him."
"No, I'll do that later, when I can make sure he's calm, and listening. I don't want him to make any mistakes, you know."
"But you will do that won't you. I mean you won't change your mind the minute I leave?"
"Don't worry about that, Abby," Marge said, crossing the room to stand by her husband. "I'll be here to make sure everything is taken care of. For some reason, I'm getting just as excited about this little adventure as you are."
"Yeah, and I know what that reason is, you sexy little voyeur," Marge's husband laughed out loud. "Don't worry, Abby, everything will be taken care of."
"Well, you're both dolls," Abby smiled, taking each of their hands. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Well, that's what friends are for," Marge said warmly, and, strangely enough, she meant it.
Laura Wilson hesitantly opened the front door to her house, and her heart jumped to her throat. George Farrington was standing outside, his hand raised to knock again, and she stared at the upraised fist in sudden terror.
"Hey, don't be frightened," he said jokingly. "You scared me as much as I did you."
The young wife drew in a deep breath, and stepped aside. She knew that it would do no good to try to keep him out; that until she and Bill figured out some way to thwart him, she would have to remain his unwilling servant. Today was the first time she had heard from him in days, and she had hoped that he might have decided not to do anything more to her. Perhaps he has changed his mind, was all she had been able to think of since that terrible night, though she knew it was not true. That would just not be like her neighbor at all and was just too much to pray for.
"Shall we start with coffee again," George said with a cocky grin as he stepped inside, his words a directive more than a question.
"I don't have the time, George. I have to pick Bill up at the office," Laura lied, trying to stall him off as best she could.
"Now, Laura. I'm picking Bill up in two hours. Should we go in the same car, or did you want to split him?" George laughed. He had told her husband that he would drive him home, in order to make sure that he would be safe and alone with Laura.
"All right," Bill's wife said in defeat, walking dejectedly to the kitchen to heat the coffee. George followed her down the hallway silently, and she wished he would speak. What could he want? she wondered. The only good that had come from her night with George Farrington was that now she and her husband were fighting for something together; but they had no weapons, no defense, and did not really know what they were fighting against. George had not made anything clear and it was up to him to set the battle line: they would be on the defensive until then, no matter what.
And Laura knew, though she would not admit it to herself, that she still had horribly mixed emotions about that fateful night with George Farrington. As she pulled a cup and saucer from the cupboard, she could not rid her mind of the image of George's obscene demands on her body… demands she had complied with.
"I'm not drinking alone," he said, interrupting her thoughts abruptly.
Without protesting, Laura drew another mug from the shelf and turned to face him. He sat at the breakfast table smoking an extra long cigarette, watching her through the fragile smoke ring he had just blown. He took his time to speak.
"Haven't you anything to say?" he asked finally. "You didn't think that I would evaporate, did you? That's one trick I haven't learned yet, but I'm working on it." George was pleased with what he said, considering himself something of a wit, but Laura was unamused.
"Of course not," she said, trying to cover her turbulent emotions. "But, I thought perhaps you had changed your mind. Really, George, if you would think about it…"
"Oh, I've been thinking about it," her neighbor grinned lewdly. "But I've only been making plans, not destroying them. The coffee is ready."
Laura turned to the counter and unplugged the pot, pouring them both a cup. Don't let him put anything in it, she prayed to herself silently. Images of his licentiously naked body still lurked in her mind, urging her to do those things he had forced her to do before. She could not deny that he had made her feel like a complete woman for the first time in her life, but she could not remove the horrible guilt that inked her conscience.
"What kind of plans do you mean," she said hesitantly, hoping to discover what he really wanted. If she only had something definite to tell Bill, then maybe they would have something to fight with. If it was only sex he was thinking of, then she would be in for something more than their first encounter, and Laura wondered silently to herself if she had the strength of will to go through all that soul-destroying shame and humiliation again.
"Plans for all of us," George answered her, taking a sip of the hot black drink. He didn't need to put anything into the cups, knowing by her nervous fidgeting that he wouldn't need the potion this time.
"When I bring Bill home, I'll tell him my plan also. By the way, you haven't told him about the other night, have you?"
"No," Laura lied. "How could I?"
"Good. He doesn't need to know yet." His reply puzzled her. "You won't have to tell him that I was here this afternoon either."
"George, I can't…"
"Of course, you can. We have the time. Take your coat off while I tell you what is going to happen."
Laura had forgotten that she still wore her light coat. She had been planning to go for a drive when he had arrived. She took it off and laid it on the kitchen chair.
"You, Bill, Abby and I," he continued, "will be taking a little trip together this weekend."
Laura was again surprised. "I don't think I could stand it," she said, her eyes opening in shock. "I just couldn't be together with Abby and Bill, knowing that we've done what we've done…"
"And will do again," George interrupted. "You look warm. Take off your blouse."
Laura was shocked and she looked away from him toward the open kitchen window. The thought of stripping in her own kitchen confused her, and when George told her to close the window and draw the drapes, she obeyed almost mechanically, and then stood silent. He glared at her and continued to speak, while she started slowly to unbutton her blouse.
"There's nothing to worry about," he said lecherously. "The four of us will have a very cozy time in our little vacation cabin. Abby has told you about our retreat, hasn't she?" Laura nodded and fumbled with the third button on her blouse.
His lewdly shining eyes burned into her brain and his obscene smile infuriated her. She wanted to smash those perfect teeth and end her torment forever, but he continued to talk in his usual smooth way, while she moved as though a slave following her master's commands.
"The four of us will get to know one another very well before the weekend's over."
For a moment, Laura didn't understand what he meant, and then it hit her like a bolt of lightning. Bill would never stand for it! It was the first time that she realized that George was talking about swapping partners, and while she had heard of people doing the same thing, especially in the counties north of San Francisco, she had never met anyone who had actually done it. Her mind recoiled in horror at what he was suggesting, but her hands somehow continued to move on and, against her conscious will, unfasten the fourth and fifth buttons of her blouse.
The kitchen air felt enticingly cool in the deep cleavage between her firm young breasts, and she suddenly knew that George was going to take her again, that he was going to do it to her right in her own kitchen, in broad daylight. She and her husband had never made love during the day, except on their honeymoon, and even then the drapes were drawn in a large dark hotel room. The prospect strangely excited her, but she held back, her vow not to let her lusting neighbor touch her again flickering through her swirling brain.
He continued talking about the trip.
"Abby has plans for Bill, too," he grinned, seeing the anguished look on her face. "You don't think it can be done? Well, it just may surprise you how easy it's going to be."
Laura forgot the cool air that was playing lewd caressing games with the near-nakedness of her swelling breasts. She could not be part of a conspiracy against her husband, because if he were to be unfaithful, then it would be her fault, and she had done enough already. But George anticipated her thoughts.
"And don't think for a minute, little girl, that you are going to tell him in advance. If you warn him, it would take the fun out of it. Neither of you can get out of this now, and you know it. Bill would be run out of Oak Park within a week if I were ever to spill what I know, so just relax and let's enjoy it." George's grin broadened as he saw the defeated look cross the young wife's beautiful face, as though the end of the world were coming.
Thwarted, Laura dropped her hands to her sides. What could she do? Her confidently smiling neighbor held all the trump cards, and she would just have to play along. Obviously, nothing else would work.
"I told you to take off your blouse," he said, startling her out of her thoughts. Slowly she did as he said, slightly embarrassed, but, in spite of her helplessness, strangely aroused by the thought of him looking at her naked breasts in broad daylight.
George stared at the lushly round firmness of her obscenely exposed breasts, the cool air extending her nipples and causing them to become quiveringly erect. Goose flesh covered her body as she mechanically dropped her blouse to the freshly washed floor, the buttons clicking on the tile, and her hands hung limply at her sides awaiting his next command.
"Shoes," he said, and she bent to remove them, the weight of her heavy breasts pressing toward the floor as she stood first on one foot, then the other. She spent a moment longer than necessary arranging her shoes neatly on the floor, and the weight of her voluptuously full breasts, hanging loosely beneath her, pulled at the muscles in her chest, the muscles that kept her body firm and young looking.
George watched the shimmering white breasts as they swayed gently beneath Laura's moving body. He knew exactly how it made her feel, but said nothing as she arranged her shoes: if she wanted to work herself up, he would let her.
"Well, what are you stalling for?" he asked, finally, enjoying his power to command her to the utmost. She straightened up at his words and started to walk meekly toward him.
"No," he said. "The skirt. Take off your skirt, and make it good."
Laura's face flushed. She was being made into a common stripper whose only purpose was to give him a cheap thrill, she thought wretchedly to herself. But there was nothing she could do – she had to obey this fiendish man's every command, or risk the destruction of her life in Oak Park. Slowly, she put both hands behind her back to find the zipper of her skirt. Her shoulders were back as she started hesitantly to unzip the skirt, and she had to lean forward slightly to unfasten the button, her milky white breasts again swaying sensuously with the motion of her body. Her golden brown nipples were tautly erect and a red flush of sexual excitement began to spread itself involuntarily across her blushing face.
The button came undone easily, and she started to slide the skirt down over her softly flaring hips. It came off easily and fell to the floor with the blouse and shoes, and she stood completely naked except for the white silk panties, which George did not have to tell her to take off. This she did by herself, easily, turning her back to him and exposing the lushly full moons of her buttocks, which gleamed marble-like in the shaded light.
George could feel his huge blood-filled penis pressing hard against his pants as she dropped the flimsy nylon panties onto the tile floor, and it was all he could do to keep from stripping himself and taking her then and there. But he had other plans for his seductive little neighbor, who he knew was still resisting his advances.
"Show me that you are enjoying yourself," he said, and for a moment she thought to walk toward him, but knew that he did not want that. He wanted to further humiliate her and she knew there was nothing at all she could do about it. And now… standing completely naked and exposed in front of him in her own kitchen, she was not certain there was anything she wanted to do about it… Not certain the small subtle flames now beginning to lick at her aroused young body would allow her to do anything but bend to his will. The traitorous dampness now growing between her legs urged her to go to him, and she could see that his left hand was below the table top, obviously massaging his swollen penis. With a sudden start, Laura realized that she wanted to be doing that for him herself, wanted to enclose his huge maleness in her hotly grasping hands, but she knew also that he wanted something else, something even more bizarre and tantalizing from her before he took her.
She had read enough novels to guess her own next move. She put her hands to her lewdly naked breasts and cupped the firm, succulent flesh, her eyes glued to his. She knew he wanted her to excite him by touching herself until he was ready to take her, and the dampness between her legs increased as she rubbed her hands with tantalizing slowness around the rigidity of her swollen nipples.
"Sit on the table and play with yourself for me," George suddenly said, his eyes glowing from the passion building in his mind.
Oh no! Her mind raced again in confusion. He wanted her to finger herself!
Oh God, the same shame again!
She had masturbated guiltily a few times when Bill had been neglecting her for so long, but to do it in front of another person, in front of a man… and in her own kitchen! Her mind rebelled at the obscene thought, but her hand was no longer under her control and slid compulsively from her tautly vibrating breasts down across her exposed belly to her trembling thighs, as she moved her silky buttocks up on the edge of the table and lifted her knees up to her breasts. The whole of her throbbing loins were exposed to her neighbor's lewdly seeking eyes, and suddenly she was even more afraid than when he had taken her from behind. She could not pinpoint her fear, but it was there, cruel and unyielding. She only wanted natural sex, or at least as close as she might come to it, with this sadistic man, but to masturbate in front of him was too much for her agonized mind.
But, while her mind rebelled in futile protest, her betraying fingers plotted a course of their own down through the soft blonde silken hairs above her quivering vaginal opening. George watched her part the thin pubic hair between her legs, and with a small mewling groan slip a finger down the wetly pink slit and play with the swollen clitoris that throbbed there with a seeming life of its own.
George had excited himself tremendously, playing with his aching cock, and watching his helpless young neighbor begin to finger herself wild. But now he stopped, unwilling to spoil his little plan by losing control. He would let this desperately undulating young woman finger-fuck herself to distraction, and then he would play his little trick.
Laura sat back on the table, almost unaware now of the man watching excitedly in her kitchen, her fingers sliding from her fully swollen clitoris to the smoothly wet opening of her ruby-red cunt, that throbbed and contracted unceasingly between her open legs as though it were a hungry animal craving to be fed. Her blonde head rolled salaciously back and forth on her tensed shoulders, her long hair swinging around her straining neck and shuddering breasts as though she were being lashed by an invisible tormentor standing over her. And down between her widely splayed thighs, her probing fingers stroked rapaciously at the softly pink flesh of her vagina, and then suddenly, with a wet and slippery noise, pushed themselves deep up inside the hair-lined lips of her aching cunt.
"Ooooooooohhhhhhh," she moaned aloud, her eyes closing and her mouth dropping open at the first sensuous touch. Her twisting body stilled for a moment, absorbing like sweet nectar the pleasure rippling through her, and then, with a deep throated groan that seemed to come from the very depths of her primeval being, she began to move her fingers in small and erotic circles, teasing cruelly at the fleshy smooth walls of her inner vagina. It was good, soooo good… but not good enough! She needed a man!
"George, George… please…" she moaned piteously in her agony, her eyes still tightly closed to block out the sight of the triumphant grin she knew he would be bearing.
But there was not a sound from her tormentor, and she opened her eyes slightly, praying to see him standing before her, naked, his erected cock jutting out from his powerful body and ready to fill her with its massive flesh.
But, oh God, NO!
He was gone!
Her eyes raced desperately around the shaded room, hoping against hope that it was all a lie, that he was still there… but it was to no avail.
He was gone!
Laura groaned in helpless agony and let her hand slip wetly from between her desperately twitching legs. There was no use in going on: the thought of having George take her had made doing it to herself useless. She would never be able to satisfy herself now, and she could only curse George Farrington for having toyed with her in this way, and curse herself for again falling so easily into the trap he had set for her. The raging fire in her belly still stormed out of control, but her disgust and self-hatred for having again actually wanted her lecherous neighbor to take her, made any thought of satisfying her lust seem completely abhorrent to Laura.
Helplessly, she slid from the kitchen table to the floor and with effort picked up her fallen clothes. Tiny tears began to stream unheeded down her cheeks.
God! Oh God, what was going to become of her! She knew that this afternoon she had had no choice but to follow George's commands and strip her clothes from her body as he told her, but to suddenly begin enjoying it and end up begging for it was another thing. Perhaps she was just the whore that Bill had shouted she was when he found out about her night with George. Perhaps that was all she was, just a hot, fucking little whore who was ready to drop her pants at any cock that came along.
Laura dropped to the floor, crying in great gasping sobs and trying to blot out the horrible thoughts she was thinking from her mind, but it was only after she was completely cried out that she managed to lift herself to her feet and stagger down the hallway to the bathroom, to prepare herself for Bill's homecoming. The dark shadow of what was to come the following weekend hung heavy over her like a black cloak of doom, but she knew there was nothing that could be done to stop it… nothing at all. And even if something could be done to stop it… she just didn't think she had the strength to do it.