Ann Barot sat with her dimpled chin resting in the palm of her upturned hand, leaning over her graffiti carved desk, her large rimmed tortoise shell glasses slipping gradually off her straight nose. With visible anxiety, she nibbled on the hard black plastic of her pen that had traced the outline of her lips unconsciously as she pondered over her English makeup exam. Professor Bradley paced nervously back and forth before the handful of students as he checked his watch in three minute intervals. Wish these dipshit students would hurry up and get done. As if all I have to do is baby sit for these flunkies!
Ann had similar thoughts as she scratched notes on the margin of her blue book. Trace the development of Southern literature… and draw conclusions about the culture from its major literary influences… what the hell does that mean? With scratchy movements she noted Tennessee Williams, William Faulkner, let's see… Robert Penn Warren, yeah, that's a good one. Robert Anderson… no, she wasn't certain about that one.
Half an hour later she turned in her makeup exam, a smile of relief on her lips as she thanked the professor for his kind understanding in allowing her the liberty of blah, blah, blah. What a bore, she thought silently. And a pity too; she had found college tremendously stimulating just three days before Mike Boston' entered her life for a re-run of past attractions.
She stuffed her notebook and pen back into her straw bag and headed for the student union for a greatly needed cup of black coffee which, hopefully, would pump her full of courage to confront that kinky gym teacher of hers and explain why she hadn't made it to the field exam yesterday. Maybe I'd better think of some other excuse, she thought amusedly. Doubt that woman has ever felt any sympathy for a man.
Now she nestled into a concave green, chair and rested her weary, aching legs on the one directly across from her solitary table overlooking the library mall. Her slender fingers slithered toward the sugar dispenser and she measured two heaping teaspoons into the steaming blackness. Ah! she took a deep, satisfying sip. Already she could feel the caffeine coursing pleasantly through her tortured, dolorous, pain-wracked body with a mind to match.
Thoughts flooded her mind and she put her hand over her eyes and fought back the tears. What an idiot she had been! Had she actually believed she could please Mike Boston in any way? She had found out nothing yesterday. In fact she had only added to her own incrimination. She was digging her own gravel She had been fucked half crazy and turned on by people she would not even give the time of day to if she had met them on the street.
But, hadn't she liked it? She sat up straight, pulling her pant-clad leg off the chair. She had reverted to the wanton Mike had molded her into; she'd gone back to her evil ways. The pit of her stomach churned with fear that it might happen again and. she would not be able to hold back then either.
Suddenly, Ann felt intolerably lonely. Who did she have to talk to? Certainly not John! Anyway, he was always away from home these days. Is that house that damned important, she thought angrily. For an unbelievable second she considered the infirmary – talking to one of the counselors there. God no! She reconsidered. I've heard about how they lock you up, slap a hospital name tag on your wrist and have the campus police on your trail if you don't get back by seven o'clock at night. She shuddered at the remembrance of one girl who'd been given electric shock treatments and "put in sheets" just because she'd been discovered making out with her boy friend. No, none of that, thank you!
She dimly remembered them reviving her yesterday with a glass of cold water poured over her naked body. Mike had retired to his bedroom to prepare himself for another evening of wild partying, and the negro and the Chinaman were left with her to dress and take her home. They had played more with her, worming their fingers up her vagina and rectum, pulling her off the couch and onto her knees again while they held her by her long blonde hair and teased her into sucking their cocks again.
She did what she was told passionately, barely conscious, and both men were staggering from fatigue. All three were seated and exhausted. They tired of trying to get aroused again, and so drove her home to Mill Valley where her dog greeted her with sad dark eyes. He knew; dogs always did.
What would Mike do next? Ann knew all too well this was not the end. There would be more days like yesterday, she thought, as she examined her bare arms for bruises. Somehow, someway, she had to convince John to take that one flight. And if he didn't, she would have to do something, anything to appease Mike! No, she refused to lose another husband, anything but that.
The hateful sensation of numbness, of apathy to herself and others returned now, like a nightmare from the past. Everything looked bleak. Everything including the marriage she was trying to save. John was probably rubbing his hand up some stewardess's thigh right now. And Paul, Paul was dead. What did she have that was real, except for a headful of dead memories?
She checked the time and gulped down the sugary, sweet coffee. She drew her sunglasses out of her fashionable straw bag arid headed for the ladies' restroom before confronting Carol Nester, who did not expect a visit from her pupil.
Ann examined her image in the mirror and was surprised to see that she looked presentable. Looking at herself, she had to admit that no one would ever suspect her of having spent eight hours sucking on thugs and fucking herself into unconsciousness. She removed her sunglasses to check her mascara. Except for the eyes! Anyone who studied her dark sloe-eyes would see that they betrayed the lust and the agony her soul felt. Immediately, she put her sunglasses back on.
"Now for Carol Nester," murmured Ann to herself as she climbed the cracked -cement stairs of the Physical Education Building and, checking the office directory for her office hours and location, jotted the information down on a scrap of paper.
Room 302, she saw the letters in bold black type on her slightly ajar office door. She halted now as she heard, low-toned voices inside. Stealthily so as not to arouse a stir. Ann took a quick peek. Yes, there was Carol Nester, dressed in her typical tee-shirt and gym shorts, her heavy brown legs tinned with white sweat socks and tennis shoes. But there was someone else in the room too: a young girl, who from the bits and pieces of the overheard conversation, was applying for the practice teaching position offered as part of the graduate program. The young girl was directed to another room and Carol Nester's muscular arm waved the secretary in, who, from the side profiled, looked like Carol's twin sister.
Then Ann overheard Carol's secretary: "She's twenty-three. just transferred from another state school. Seems she got into some trouble there," she rifled through papers in a manila file. "She came here when the scandal started."
"Scandal?" Carol Nester had arched her eyebrows hopefully.
Her secretary pushed her lips in a thin line and grinned. "Twelve girls. A daisy chain."
"And she was one of them?" Carol Nester's eyes were glowing in their tiny almond orbs.
There was a hesitation and the sound of more papers passing from hand to hand. "She was the leader!" blurted the gym teacher. "Where is she? Bring her back in, immediately." Ann watched the gym teacher trembling as though suddenly afflicted with Parkinson's disease.
The secretary opened the door of the adjoining office and called for the girl to come in before she left through the same entrance. The hopeful young girl looked obviously terrified like some poor little trapped animal suddenly thrust into a cage with a mad polar bear. She stood silently trembling in fear as the older woman made outrageous advances toward her. Ann covered her red ovalled mouth to muffle the gasp that escaped in shock. It was not until Carol Nester attempted to zip down the girl's dress that the young student tried to escape.
"You little fool!" growled the gym teacher. "Do you want me to tell the Dean of Women about your social activities at your last school?" Carol Nester's face was livid with anger now as Ann jerked her head back out of sight just in time to escape the glaring eyes of her teacher whose eyes scanned the walls and door for unwanted witnesses.
The girl wilted right on the spot. "Oh, Professor Nester! How could you know about that?"
"I know everything. Well, don't stall. Answer met Are you to let me be nice to you and reward you with entrance into our special program – or am I to inform on you, and have you thrown out of the whole state of California?"
The girl did not answer, but her head lowered and her shoulders slumped.
Carol Nester grinned in triumph, then slowly began to undress the girl. She exclaimed over and kissed every feature of the girl, from the freckled tight little breasts to the overly large white hips and full buttocks. She almost went wild when the girl's soft black pubic hair and pouting mound of Venus was finally uncovered. The older woman had forced the girl to undress her, then Carol shoved the student's body back until her hips were on the carpeted floor. She forced the girl's legs apart as Ann stood in shock just a few feet away.
From her vantage point, Ann heard Carol Nester's loud Groan of ecstasy as she peered between the girl's open thighs since Carol had her back to the door which, in her carelessness, she had left ajar. Then Ann saw what it was that excited Ann so much. The girl's clitoris! To Ann it looked the size and color of a Brazil nut-just as thick, and a bit longer. It was fully erect now, and Carol Nester lost no time in clamping her hungry mouth and lips over it. The girl squealed like a pig. Furthermore, she came within seconds and flooded the wildly sucking woman's mouth with a hotly flowing young cream thicker than honey.
Ann gasped as the girl continued to curb as Carol's educated tongue and fingers wreaked a divine havoc through her sensitive vaginal area. The girl lay there helpless in desire and panted as the older woman moved the girl's legs out and straddled her, then lowered her own steaming cunt lips to the girl's wide open mouth. The student ate hungrily, eagerly, as Carol continued her ministrations at the tender crotch. They both screamed out their climaxes, the sweat poured off their thrashing bodies and their eyes rolled back and forth like maddened stampeding sheep with Ann standing just inches away, her head now firmly lodged in, the tiny crack between the door and the door jamb.
Somewhere during this, it was obvious to Ann that the student was beginning to obtain control over the butch dyke. It was the girl who began directing operations, and it was she who-timidly at first, and then with increasing vigor – wormed a finger up the sweating anal passage between Carol Nester's broad white buttocks. The older woman groaned in pain and surprise, but a moment later was mewling in ecstasy as a second and third finger joined the first in an unbridled cavalcade of anal fingering.
And so it had gone for fifteen minutes, Ann' standing there glued to the door, until Carol Nester called a halt. Panting in exhaustion, she directed the still eager girl to her desk drawer and told her to pull out a black plastic box. The box was opened and Ann pulled her head back just in time as the girl's eyes lifted to her mistress, the girl's eyes wide in surprise and admiration, reverently pulling out an eight-inch dildo from which two large inflatable balls dangled. Ann continued to watch as the girl was instructed to fill the balls with hot water from the professor's private lavoratory. When the dildo was strapped on, the girl went, to work like a maniac on the older woman.
The sight was too much for Ann; Christ! she thought. If Mike and those two other guys were here right now I'd let them fuck me blind! She gritted her teeth at the thought of her predicament: her husband, whom she loved passionately, was gone three-quarters of the time, and the man she loathed and despised was conspicuously available, but offered her nothing but torment and sleepless nights. She mused on the lewd performance she'd given them yesterday. It wasn't to be the last and, for a brief moment, she felt a quivering sensation in her thighs at the thought of Mike Boston's exciting toys – like the one being used by the two lesbian women.
Obviously, this was no time to be knocking on her gym teacher's door, and she tip-toed down the creaking steps of the Physical Education Building, careful that her wooden platform shoes wouldn't give her presence away.
She drove home then, with no recollection of the bridge or of following any road signs. Magically, she was seated in her living room, her faithful dog at her side, resting his heavy jaw on her leg when the phone jarred her out of her trance.
"Oh, hi, honey." It was John. "Yeah. I think I did okay on it. The hardest one was on Southern writers, but I'm sure I passed. You won't be home till when?" Oh, Christ, she thought to herself, another four days of cold feet and sleeping alone. "All right, I'll see you then… surprise?" Probably another week of work, she mused wearily. "Can't wait to see you, baby." Click. '
Wonder what that's all about? Ann sighed and picked up the latest copy of Vogue next to her arrangement of red roses and unidentified white tiny flowers, a gift from John last week. Thumbing through the pages, she came across the horoscope section and mused at the accuracy of its promise: "… your husband if married, and lover if single, will soon bring you news that will send your heart soaring with joy." Wonder what that' could be? Maybe he's got another woman stashed away in London and, he wants a divorce and I'll end up with Mike Boston's entourage until I'm eighty-three. Dante whipped his long snake-like tail across the low coffee table, sending the magazines flying across the room. Maybe that's an omen, thought Ann. Maybe it has something to do with flying.
John had promised her that when he returned, he would have something very special for her, but right now he was working on it. "Oh shit!" she said aloud, her hands on her hips in a defensive stance. John wouldn't be back for four more days, which left her exactly sixty hours for her to coerce, drug or hypnotize him into Mike's evil plan, or leave the country herself. No, I vetoed that one, she thought. She shook her blonde head, her long thick hair swayed lusciously from the weight of its waves. There was just one thing to do: bide time, play along with Mike, do whatever he wanted until John came home and then she would spill the beans: she'd tell him everything, and if necessary, she'd pack her bags and split. "Nothing gained, nothing lost," she said, looking around the room at the fashionable splendor of her surroundings.
John was crazy about handmade art and the house echoed his fine taste in decor like the antique Tiffany stain glass lamp that hung from a heavy iron chain from the rustic roof beams of the A framed ceiling that opened up into a glass wall affording a full breath-taking view of the 'magic mountain' dotted with trees. She looked through that window now and spotted a hawk circling gracefully in the strong mountain air current; its self assurance and effortless glide lent strength to her tortured heart. This was her heaven, her bungalow in the woods, and she hated to give it up, but reminding herself that a human life is far more precious than material possessions she resigned herself to her fate.
A heavy thud of the wrought iron door knocker, and she knew she had visitors.
"Hello, Miss Ann." It was the Chinaman, Fred, Mike's secretary with an envelope in his skinny hand. A chock of straight black hair hung in his black eyes, and he pulled it into place, giving Ann a knowing look through his broadly grinning mouth. "He says he trusts you will comply," continued Fred with a deep bow that nauseated Ann. For a second she considered sicking her dog, who sat growling at her feet, on him.
"Stay!" she snapped at Dante whose white incisors were wet with saliva.
With no reply, except for the quaking in her bones, she accepted the envelope and thanked him curtly, slamming the door.
Fumbling to rip off a corner of the formally addressed envelope, she pulled out the letter, her eyes darting through line after line. She wanted to get to the heart of the message; the details could wait for later, more quiet moments.
She threw it on the table beside her open magazine, still opened to the horoscope section, and fell into the nearest chair. "Just as I thought," she moaned. "That son of. a bitch wants me to come to a party tomorrow night-to meet John's contacts! Shit!"
Daringly, she picked it up again. "In Mexico? What's he trying to pull anyway?" She read oil: "a plane will be leaving for Mexicali at precisely four-thirty in the afternoon. You are expected to be there promptly. All other arrangements will be taken care of by our host, Pedro Cortes. "
I'm not going to let this ruin my life, she protested, as she pulled on her riding Levi's and, holding her breath to help flatten her stomach, zipped them up, tucking her tee-shirt in. Then, with one foot resting on the bed frame, she pulled on her Toni Lama cowgirl boots-another gift from John. Ann removed all jewelry, except for the hand-wrought wedding ring John had had made for her in Spain, and yanked her hair back straight, securing it with a long tortoise shell barrett.
She was off in her red Volkswagen convertible, Dante sitting erect in the back seat, his head thrust over the side of the car allowing his saliva to drip down the polished redness of the automobile as they headed for the ranch. Careening around the mountain road, Ann headed for the ranch where her horse, David, was waiting for his mistress to brush and stroke him into obedience.