On Friday Laura worked at a fast, steady pace all day, wanting to clear her desk before leaving on her vacation, even though that was a hopeless task. By four o'clock, she'd accomplished a great deal. She was just about to stretch the kink out of her neck and go to the pilot plant for the day's data sheets when Perry Coleman entered the office.
The charts were in his hands and he was smiling so shyly that he looked like a different man. "I know you've been hitting it pretty hard today, Miss Dandridge, so I thought I'd save you the trip out there."
"Thank you, Perry," she said, surprised and very pleased that, without warning, their relationship had suddenly fallen into the proper place. She was still wary of him, but willing to give him a chance to start again with her. Even if his present demeanor was a facade, it was far better than his attitude in the past, that past which she was willing to forgive and forget.
But he wouldn't forget it. He said, "Say, I'm just real sorry about getting wise with you yesterday. I didn't mean it and I shouldn't have said it."
"It's all right, Perry. You're forgiven."
"I was just sore, and I was afraid of losing my job."
"I understand. Jobs aren't that easy to get now."
"Especially for a guy like me," he said with a rueful grin. "And that other thing, with that woman, you know that'll never happen again."
"I'm sure," she said, and picked up her glasses and put them on, feeling her cheeks warming. "That was… very bad."
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he said,' "It sure was. And I sure am sorry. Right now, this is worth more to me than just about any woman," he said, and picked up his paycheck from her desk. "I've got to save some money and make something of myself before I start thinking about women again. It was a woman who got me in trouble before."
"It was?" she asked, fascinated, for she'd never heard about any of the details of his crime. "What was she like?"
"To tell you the honest truth, she looked sort of like you. But she was a lot different, of course. For one thing, she was a stripper."
"And she looked like me?" It was embarrassing, and also a little titillating. "Where did you know her?"
"Everywhere. I followed Patsy all over the country. I'd have done anything for her. As it turned out, I did five years for her, but that's another story. You cashing your check today?"
"No, I wait till Monday and go into town on my lunch hour.
"You don't cash it at the Happy Hour? They only charge you a buck."
"No. I've never been there." She'd heard of it, that watering place for the blue-collar workers as a rule, and young executives and engineers out for an occasional lark. "My father used to go there once in a while."
"But you've never seen it? You ought to, really." Looking at his check as he carefully folded it, he said, "You wouldn't get in any trouble there. It's really a nice place. If you wanted… well…"
"Yes?" Was he going to invite her there? Incredible.
"Well, I was thinking. If you wanted to cash your paycheck, if you wanted to sort of see how the other half lives, well, I'm going down there pretty quick and I'd see that all the boys treated you with respect. If you wanted to…"
Thank goodness it wasn't a direct invitation, for she'd feel bad about having to refuse it now that he was trying to be so nice. She smiled and said, "I'll think about dropping by. But there are a few things I have to finish up here first."
"I'll hang around there for an hour. I'll keep an eye out for you if you decide to drop by, Miss Dandridge."
She breathed a sigh of relief when he left. It was so nice to be called Miss Dandridge instead of the usual Laura. And it was nice to know that she'd handled the situation properly and had made him see the error of his ways. It gave her more confidence in her future as an executive. She thought about it some more as she worked, recalling the success her father had enjoyed in handling men. It was because he'd made it a point to know their personalities and their personal problems, their family life and the way they thought. And it wouldn't be so bad at the Happy Hour. Even without Coleman's dubious protection, none of the beer-drinking men would dare accost a secretary. If she went right away, before they all got roaring drunk, she could have a good look at the place, perhaps hear more of Perry Coleman's probably fictitious story, and cash her paycheck too.
Putting on her coat, she felt as if she was going on an interesting but dangerous tour of a ghetto. Outside, a soft summer rain was falling and as she drove through it she knew she wouldn't turn back. Seeing all the cars haphazardly parked around the rambling frame roadhouse, however, gave her pause. She might have changed her mind and driven right on if she hadn't seen Perry's car parked under the big locust tree, but then she parked her VW close to the road and wound her way through the cars, closer to the beckoning sounds of music and laughter.
The place was smoke-filled and raucous, and thick with people and smells. But it was exciting. She could feel as well as hear the beat of the juke box music as she stood in the doorway, looking over the heads of the rollicking workers, done with another week of toil. Miniskirted waitresses wended their way through the packed tables, carrying trays of beer, and three bartenders were being kept busy filling glasses and pitchers with the foamy brew. Laura was a bit taken aback by the vibrancy of the whole scene, and it startled her when Perry spoke close to her ear.
"I've got us a table over here," he said.
No one tried to grab her when she passed, but a lot of heads turned, and she was relieved to be able to sit down in a corner, all but out of sight.
He grinned broadly at her, looking younger than he usually did, and better too in jeans and sport shirt instead of his usual coveralls. "I'm sure glad you could drop in, Miss Dandridge. Would you like a beer? They've got it in bottles."
If anything, she'd planned to have a coke, but she was charmed by his offering her a bottled beer, as if it was the champagne of the Happy Hour. He beamed when she accepted, and he called the waitress over. She was pretty in a common sort of way, and of course, she knew Perry Coleman.
He said to her, very proudly, "Annie, this is one of my bosses, Miss Dandridge."
Laura smiled her best and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Annie. But I'm not his boss. I'm just a secretary."
"She came down to cash her check. Would you do it for her, Annie? And bring us a couple of beers. Draft for me, bottled for Miss Dandridge… the best."
The place was fascinating and so was his story. It was hard to concentrate on both at once, but as she sipped her beer, she got the general picture of both. The men there were all spending an appreciable amount of their week's pay, money which they needed to keep their households going. But it was well spent, for they all needed a chance to blow off some steam. Everyone did, and at times that included her. And Perry had done a terrible thing in counterfeiting that money, but he'd done it in the name of misdirected love and even people like Perry Coleman were susceptible to love. Just as she was.
She thought she could feel her second bottle of beer, and that was strange, for she'd been able to drink two or three beers with her father without having any ill effects. Listening to his story, looking around, she decided she was feeling more of the excitement of her surroundings than she was of the small amount of alcohol she'd had. She was glad she'd come. It was good to feel this kind of excitement now and then, and good to see how other people lived. And when he asked her about herself, she found he was a very good listener and she enjoyed telling about herself and her ambitions as she drank her third beer.
That third beer definitely got to her. She felt as if she might be ill, and the noisy room seemed to be closing in on her. Perry was an old hand at this sort of thing though, and he knew just what to do. He took her outside and walked her around the parking lot once, ignoring her apologies and assuring her that she was all right, and supporting her by the arm in a very gentlemanly manner. The rain had let up and the night air felt good, and it felt very good to sit down in his car.
"Where're you taking me?" she asked, when he started off.
"Home."
"That's good," she said, and settled down more comfortably. "I need to sleep. Drank too much beer. Have you got my purse?"
"Baby, I've got everything," he said, and she chuckled at his calling her that. She slept on the way to her apartment.
A dog's barking woke her up, and she peered groggily through the windshield to see a small house set off by itself on the edge of a cornfield. She remembered having seen it as a child, but she couldn't remember where it was and she knew it was far from her apartment.
"Where'd you take me?" she asked, as he got out.
He came around and opened her door, took her by the arm and pulled her out of the car. "Come on inside before it starts raining again."
"I've gotta go home," she protested, as he pulled her along. He was almost rough with her now, not at all like when he'd guided her around through all those cars, and she lost a shoe in the soft ground.
He wouldn't go back for it. He said he'd get it later, when she was comfortable inside, and she forgot about it when the big black dog appeared to bark with terrifying loudness at her side. It was almost a relief to get inside the dark little house, and then she was being kissed with a passionate ferocity that she'd never known existed before in a man.
It had to be Chuck kissing her, but it wasn't at all like him to hold her so tightly that she couldn't breathe, or to mash his mouth on hers so very hard and stab his tongue into her. She struggled to be free of him but that was no use at all, and then she struggled harder still when she felt his hands on her behind. They were digging in there, not really hurting her, but intolerably uncomfortable there, and she wrenched her mouth from his and told him to stop, to cut it out.
Immediately she was grabbed by the hair and forced into another hot, tonguing kiss, and even though her scalp hurt she now yielded to the good, powerful feelings sweeping over her. She slung her arms about his neck and dug into his mouth with her tongue, feeling the heat of him clear down to her toes and wanting him to feel the same thing. She squirmed her breasts against his chest because they itched in such a wonderful way, and when he had both hands on her bottom again she wanted to moan with the bliss she felt at being able to thrust her passion-engorged loins against his hardness. She felt him ruck her skirt up in the back and she didn't care. His clutching hands felt even better on her panty-clad bottom, and she went up on her toes as she kissed him harder, secure in his arms from the dizziness that assailed her.
She was allowed to breathe in a great, shuddering breath as he panted heavily at her ear. "You like this, Miss Tightass? You want to fuck?"
"Don't say that," she mumbled against the warmth of his pulsing throat. "Don't say anything."
"You got a great ass, baby. You were made for fucking."
His hands were on her bare flesh now. He had one of his hands inside her panties to squeeze and knead her bare buttocks and make the nylon crotchband ride up in her seething, wet slit. Her blouse was out of the waistband of her skirt and he was using his other hand to roughly massage her breast. She wanted him to kiss her again, not only to add to the wonderful sensuality she was feeling but also to quiet his chuckling and the hot, dirty words he was saying in her ear. And when he did kiss her, she plastered herself against his strong body and licked and lapped and sucked at his tongue. She pushed herself against his moving hands and squirmed against his body and let the good feelings run rampant in her.
"Let's see what's goin' on," he said, and she was pushed back to lean against a wall.
The lights blinded her and she covered her eyes, and now his laugh was harsh, as were his words. "Well, look at her now. Miss Tightass with her tits showing and her skirt all twisted up and her stockings run. And all ready for more. Let's see how you look with your hair down."
She realized it was Coleman then, and that gave her the strength to fight back as he came at her again. But he was so strong and she was so vulnerable. She couldn't stop him from yanking the barrettes out of her hair and at the same time cover her breasts, which had somehow gotten free of her brassiere. And when her hair was down, she couldn't keep both his hands from pinching and poking her exposed flesh. He kept her pinned to the wall with his body as he ripped and pulled and tugged at her blouse and bra, ignoring her pleas, laughing at her screams. He kissed her again and she wasn't even able to bite him. He had his hand on her bare breast then, molding it to whatever shape he wanted. She knew she was being raped, and it terrified her. But there in his arms she felt so helpless to resist that her temptation was very great to simply go along with it and have it over with as quickly as possible.
Still she couldn't do that. She had to ignore the shamefully wonderful feelings sweeping through her and fight back, even though her chance of escape was absurd. She had to push and claw and kick at him, even though it meant getting into ever closer contact with his hard, hot, panting body.
At first she thought it was his prick that was touching her vulva, but then she almost wilted with relief when she realized it was his fingers there, working back and forth over her slick, wet clitoris even though her legs were clamped tightly together over it. For a moment it felt better by far than her own hand did, better by far than anything she'd ever known in her life, but then it was the foul hand of a rapist there and she renewed her struggles to escape.
"Stop it! Perry, stop it! I'll have you arrested!"
He slapped her across the face, banging her head back against the wall so hard that she almost blacked out. She managed to keep on her feet, and freed of the dreadful attack for a moment, she plucked feebly at her torn clothing while she tried to clear her head.
The sight of him undressing did it. For a few moments she stood there paralyzed, not really believing he was actually taking off all his clothes. But then she saw his penis, as thick as she'd remembered it but so very long. It was twice as large as the gnawing cavity in her belly and it was upward-curving, a stout shaft capped with a huge knob, and fitted with a single eye that stared accusingly at her. In a flash she was perfectly sober and able to slip away from his groping hand and get out the front door.
She kicked off her remaining shoe dashing across his porch and then was off at a ragged sprint through the darkness. She didn't try to cover herself as she ran. She ardently hoped it was her nightmare, but the rain in her face and the dog barking and, worst of all, the fast footsteps behind her, told her it was all too real. He caught up with her before she'd gone twenty feet.
She was driven down in the mud under his heavy body, and it stunned her. She could hardly fight at all as her panties were torn from her body and she was rolled over, her slip and skirt up around her waist, her breasts defenseless. He was wedging her legs open with his knee, and though she knew this was the time to kick him in the testicles, she couldn't do it for he wouldn't let her. He was incredibly naked, and she could feel his penis, hot on her leg.
"Get away, Czar!" he shouted, and at least the deafening barking stopped. She screamed, but she knew no one heard.
It was better to fight, and she pounded at him with her fists and twisted frantically under him, but he just laughed and worked his penis closer to where lie was rubbing his fingers. Right in her cunt he was doing it, and even through the pain and fear and confusion, it felt good.
"I'm a virgin," she panted. "Please don't."
"You won't be for long," he said, and got both his legs between hers.
Her mother had once told her that if it ever got that far, she should cease resistance to rape and thus spare herself unnecessary injury. She had to fight on, though, when she felt his penis, unmistakable because of its size, pressing against her weakest, softest flesh. She still didn't think it could be happening to her, and now it was the sharp pain that accompanied his grunting surge at her that brought her back.
"Goddamn, you're tight," he rasped, and shoved even more of himself into her.
It didn't hurt as before, when he'd ruptured her hymen, but it was terribly uncomfortable. She tried to open herself wider for the ghastly wedge going into her and she panted, "Do it. Get it over with. But don't make me pregnant."
"Don't worry about that," he said, drawing back, giving her blessed relief. "Don't worry about a thing."
She found she could relax and go with it. His second insertion, deeper than before, could be stood without feeling sick and paralyzed. The rain was washing the mud off her face and his body was keeping her warm, and she was starting to think she'd survive it. The worst was over and he was right in that it wouldn't do her any good to worry.
"You like that, baby? You startin' to get with 'it?" he asked, and slowly slid himself out and in again.
"I hate it. I hate you."
"I bet I'm going too slow for you," he said, and assailed her with his penis, pumping it in and out with strokes that should have destroyed the insides of her body. But she could even stand that, once she opened herself wider and got her hips cocked up at the right angle for him. She could stand anything. She wished, though, that she was drunk again, as she had, been in the house, when the good feelings had been all over her and she hadn't cared what was happening to her. She closed her eyes and thought about being drunk, and she was drunk then.
"Don't pass out on me, baby. Keep that ass moving."
His clutching fingers made her move it, and that was better still. It did feel good to fuck, even with a huge prick like that in her, even though she was bleeding and lying in the mud. She squirmed and humped back at him, let him kiss her and feel her breasts to further add to her drunken, wanton pleasure. She'd see him arrested, she'd see him executed, but that was later; for now she'd get all she could of the marvelous feelings of being fulfilled as a woman.
"Come, baby. Come. You can't help yourself," he urged her, panting at her ear and completely filling her cunt with exactly what it needed.
"Can't help it," she moaned. "Can't stop it."
She was on the way to the biggest orgasm by far that she'd ever known. It was mounting to a crescendo, driven inexorably on by his slipping, sliding prick, and she was clutching at his back and trying to kiss him in a desperate need to feel all she could of it, every bit, and then he pulled it out.
"No! More! Do it now!" she cried.
"Oh, you'll get more," he said, and then she was being rolled face down in the mud.
Spitting at it, trying to push herself up, she felt him mounting her from behind. She flattened herself again to escape it, but there was no escape. The hands parting her buttocks were too strong and the penis pushing at her rear was too wet and slick. She tried with all her might to get drunk again and she'd almost succeeded when the sharp pain came. But soon the pain receded, the friction in her anus became tolerable-then it became good.
She grinned and clutched the wet earth, loving the feeling of it against her bare breasts. She opened her legs wider and arched her back for him, and felt her orgasm returning, mounting with each of his hot breaths at her ear. His weight was good bearing down on her, making her helpless to resist, and his prick was good, going in and out of her body. She was good and drunk and being fucked half to death and loving every moment of it, and when thunder rolled in the distance she felt her orgasm burst in her and she panted, "Fuck me. Come with me."
"I am," he groaned, sounding as weak and helpless as she for a moment, and she let herself shiver and shudder in his surging embrace and share completely in the ecstasy she was knowing.