Of all the goddam predicaments! This wet-headed, rodent of a man was fucking her-raping her. She was enjoying it. Against her will but every time that great thumping thrill-drill coursed in and out of her she felt a fresh charge of emotion. If it had been a real rape she would have been dry and it would have hurt but, woman's libber or not, male chauvinist pig or not, the sight of his naked figure with that great thumping cock sticking out like a bowsprit had been enough to send a thrill through her long-deprived belly, to start love's lubrication flowing in her needful pussy.
By the time he'd finished stripping her robe off, forced her down onto the rug, she had been ready, so ready his dry-shanked cock had slid smoothly into her without the slightest shudder of rebelling flesh. Smoothly, he had parted her passion-swollen vulva and put his prod between her love-dewed labia. With a slow, smooth, steady push he had driven his dong deep past her labia, deep into her.vagina, sliding smoothly and sliding deep, deep until his hard-boned pelvis was grinding against the blond ringlets of her long-unused pubic patch.
Somewhere the phone was ringing and she realized she must have left one of them on the hook. A lot of good it would do her now that she was nailed to the rug by his fleshy spike.
That spike had seemed oversized when she had seen it jutting out from his lithe body. Now that it was inside her it seemed to have grown at least twice as big or else she was shrinking. The knob on the end of his lance was still coursing carefully in and out of her but it seemed to have grown to the size of a golf ball, a tennis ball, and now, even though she was streaming with love's lubrication, she could feel a passage that was no longer smooth.
My god, Paula thought, some of those yearning, woman-hungry men had called her a bitch but she had never believed she could approach one that physically. Her cunt seemed to have gone into some spastic, shrinking, clutching convulsion that struggled to lock around the head of that sliding knob that still stirred her insides. She could feel the multiplex folds of her vagina locking, pulling at his cockhead, puckering her vulva in as he pushed, pushing it in so far that even the outer hairy parts of her labia were now slicked with the chrisms of love. Each time he pulled his lumbering bargepole back out the lining of her cunt bunched around it, moving ahead of the knob on his cock until her labia everted and half her cunt turned inside out in pink accordion folds of fluttering ecstasy.
And no matter what her rapist had taken, he was feeling her tight clasping cunt gripping and pulling at his cockhead. "Aaaaaahhhhh!" he snarled, still nibbling on her tits. He began pouring it to her harder, hotter, hurrying his beat until his wham-bam rhythm approached the joyous irresponsibility of a totally conscienceless stiff prick.
Paula felt her body responding to love's old sweet song. No longer knowing or caring who it belonged to, she was in total communion with a cock-with the biggest cock she could ever remember having felt inside her lovely quiff. Chauvinist pig or not, it felt gooood!
She felt her ass rising enthusiastically to meet his thrust and suddenly they were galloping, wham-bamming to a joyous photo finish, still linked together in classic missionary position and doing what came naturally. Her belly was twisting and writhing inside, every organ stretching, tensing in preparation for the lovely melting cataclysm to come. She could feel him building for a climax too, feel his cock suddenly grow even harder, bigger, hotter as he rammed deep, grunting with the effort to give her the final full measure of his devotion.
Suddenly her long straight legs were flying as she struggled to go to heaven feet first but he was on top and holding her firmly down to the rug as he poured his prodigious prod to her seething pussy.
"Oooooohhh!" she wailed as all those little rubber bands inside her belly started unwinding with a soul-stirring whirrrr. She was melting, moaning, twisting wildly in the throes of love, her legs clasping in joyous erotic scissor grips around his lean, hard ass.
"Oooooooohhhhhh, aaaaaaahhhhhh, woowwww-ww!" he howled and then he was spurting, shooting great gobs of goo into her as he fired his load, emptying his passion into her waiting cunt.
Paula was coming. This was no dream. This time she was coming with all her heart, with all her soul, with all eight inches of cock in her seething, love hungry cunt. She was dying but it felt so good she wouldn't mind dying again and again only it was feeling so good she couldn't focus her eyes and suddenly she was falling backward, spinning down and down around a funnel as she spun and dipped and slipped and skidded into ever-deeper blackness and then there was no light, no sensation at all.
When she woke the little breaker and enterer had dressed already. She opened her eyes cautiously and tried to remember to smile. It was important that she smile. If she didn't…
She managed and to her amazement he smiled back. "See!" he crowed, "I knew you wanted it. No hard feelings?" he grinned. "Until next time anyhow." With a leer and a wink, he stepped out of her front door, leaving Paula raped, shattered, naked on the rug of her own living room floor.
She lay numb. How had it happened? One minute her life had been orderly, everything in its place. And then disaster piled on top of disaster. Raped by a paroled breaker and enterer! And she had let him in herself. It would look extremely funny when she told the police about it. She could just see their knowing smiles. Then, remembering what had happened this morning with the TV cameras, in front of everybody down at City Hall, Paula knew there was only one way she could handle this situation.
She could grin and bear it. If ever she were to complain, this outrage on top of her free show this morning would be enough to finish her forever. She had already embarrassed the mayor, had turned his presentation ceremony into a joke. He wouldn't have a minute for her, for Paula's outrage and mortification. Hizzonner would only remember how she had screwed up his show. And if she were to call the police now and report what happened, wouldn't Hizzonner ever egg the reporters on to have a real field day at Paula's expense!
But that wasn't yet the worst of it, she knew. There was something for a woman's libber that was even worse. While that male chauvinist pig of a cocksman had been fucking her, violating her privacy, using her as a sex object, despising her mind, ignoring her erudition-what had she been doing? Had she fought? Had she kicked and screamed and scratched and gotten a couple of black eyes defending her chastity?
Bullshit! Instead, she had Iain on her back and kicked her heels in the air and wrapped her thighs around his sinewy back and she had moaned and shrieked and yodeled her delight as he violated her. Still flat on her back, with her cunt still brimming with joy juice, with the mixed essences of male and female running thickly out of her pussy and down between the cheeks of her firm ass, Paula drew a deep, ragged breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and shuddered. It was no good. Soon she was sobbing.
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch! He must have seen an early newscast or else he'd been there on the spot and had seen her. Could it be coincidence that mild-mannered Harry Riggs, professional breaker and enterer, had picked this of all days to rape his parole officer?
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch! He must have seen she was a pushover, that she was round heeled whether she wanted to admit it or not. He must have seen past all her brittle self-sufficiency, seen that behind her facade of independence she was as empty, as deprived, as starved for love as he was after doing five-to-ten.
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch! He must have known before he walked into her house what he was going to do, that he was just going to strip for action and then he was going to walk up to her and undress her and put her down and put it in and keep it in and empty his five-to-ten year accumulation of rancor, of loneliness, of deprived desire into her equally deprived duff.
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch! He must have planned it all before he even phoned her. Big deal out of state! He hadn't even mentioned it, hadn't seemed even slightly put out when she had told him no dice. Hadn't had anything, probably, inside that manila envelope except a handful of newspaper to make an impressive bulk.
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch! He must have known how it was all going to work out, that she was going to surrender to her belly, that her independence was going to melt and turn into come just as her brains had turned into pussy juice and run right out of her cunt.
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch! He must have known that she thought she controlled him, held his future in the palm of her hand.
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch! He must have known even before he started that she was going to like it, going to need it, going to want more, that she was going to start squealing and moaning and wrapping her legs around the man who was raping her.
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch! He must have planned it this way, fucking her into a dead faint and then getting dressed and leaving before she even had time to make up her mind whether she wanted it or not, whether she was going to turn him in or not.
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch! He must have gotten out of the way quickly so she could be alone, so she wouldn't be embarrassed to weep now that she knew what she was really crying about, now that she knew she was wailing and sobbing and moaning not because she had been raped, but because he had gone off and wasn't sticking around to do it again only slower and nicer this time, taking a little time for some smooth sensual foreplay.
That miserable little son-of-a-bitch!
She wanted to kill him. Putting him in prison was not enough. After what he'd done to her-not what he'd done to her body-what the hell, a douche and a shower and a half-hour's rest and she'd be good as new, but what he'd done to her mind.
She knew now exactly how much of an ass she had been all these years, what an ass she had made of herself by trying to pretend she didn't have an ass, that she only had some full, firm musculature designed to sit on, to piss through, to watch grow old and flabby.
She had told herself she didn't need men, didn't want to play in a world where the rules were stacked in their favor. Now she had to admit, not just to the world, but to herself, that it wasn't true. She might despise them, might hate them with a purple passion but Paula knew she could never ever lie to herself again. Hate them she might, despise them even but she needed them. Maybe not every part of them. Like those chauvinist pigs who got together to swill beer and sing, "I only want a body, not a sweetheart," Paula guessed she could do without scintillating conversation. She didn't need clothes or social position in a man. She didn't need anything in a man. All she needed was a man's cock inside her, coursing steadily in and out, in and out in the dance of love, fulfilling her, filling her full, fucking the chauvinistic daylights out of her.
That was all she had ever needed, ever wanted, and now that miserable little son-of-a-bitch-that was exactly what he had given her! Why couldn't he have stuck around to give her some more?
She still lay on her back, on the rug, blubbering, tears streaming down the sides of her face, come streaming down the crack of her ass. It was undignified. What if he were to see her now?
And what was she doing wondering, worrying about what some goddam convicted 'felon thought? She took a deep breath, struggled valiantly, and made herself stop blubbering. She tried to get up and was overcome with a lassitude she hadn't known in years. She felt relaxed, loose, as if every joint in her body had been painlessly disconnected. This, she realized, was the way cats managed to drape themselves in unbelievable positions and sleep undisturbed while the world came to pieces around them. This was total relaxation in a way she had not been relaxed since-since she had seen her life and her career sour in a blind alley-since she had turned woman's libber.
She lay still, managing to control her residual sobbing with deep breathing and finally mustered enough strength to roll over and get on her hands and knees. Still fighting off an overwhelming desire just to lie down and sleep, she crawled into the bath and began fiddling with the valves in the tub.
She got the curtain drawn and flipped the diverter valve, recalling too late that she hadn't put on a shower cap. The water was not cold but it was cool enough to rouse her from total lethargy. She rinsed off and squatted beneath the spray to douche come from her comely cunt. Only gradually did she become aware of the telephone's insistent jangling. She wondered if the goddam thing would ever stop ringing.