Grace had known what it was like to be "scared," had even experienced a bad "fright" now and then, but never before had she felt terror so strong that it paralyzed not only the mind but the body as well. This morning, when Andy had called demanding his money, she was forced to lower her voice so that Judi working in the other part of the office could not hear her. "I'm sorry, Andy," she said. "It's terribly embarrassing, but I don't have any money. I'll pay you someday, though, I promise."
"Mrs. Hope," Andy had said, "I told you I want my money this afternoon." There had been a click on the line, then Andy had hung up before she could say anything else.
It was at that moment that Grace began to get worried. The worry graduated into fright, but the terror had begun only when Grace went out for lunch and two burly men were waiting alongside a black Oldsmobile for her. One with a squashed nose had said, "Mrs. Hope?"
Her heart began hammering. For a moment she was sure they were police who had come to arrest her for bad checks. "Ye… yes," she stammered, "I'm Mrs. Hope."
Squashed nose had nodded his head toward the back seat. "Get in."
"But I… but I…"
"Get in!" The words were like a barbed whip.
Still thinking they were police Grace woodenly slipped in the back seat, resigned to the fact that she was being taken to jail. She was thrown back as the vehicle abruptly accelerated. "Where… where are you taking me?"
The driver, who looked as if he had once been a not too successful wrestler, glanced up in the rear view mirror and answered, "Andy wants to see you."
There was something about the way he said it that made Grace's blood run cold.
The men drove rapidly and silently across town, and left the boulevard to wind up a small road leading to the Skyline area. Grace's terror fed on itself, so much so that she had to be helped from the car when they finally pulled up before what appeared to be a deserted estate with crumbling roof and weed overgrown yard, hidden by thick trees from the road.
Each man took an arm and led her up the stairs to the front door. At the doorway, both men stopped as a beautiful looking giant German Shepherd bared his fangs and growled in warning.
From inside the house, Grace heard Andy's voice saying, "It's all right, Samson. Let her in."
The men let go of Grace's arms, and turned to go back to the car.
"Come in, Mrs. Hope." With legs trembling uncontrollably, Grace did as she was ordered. Compared to the bright sunlight outside, it was almost dark in here. The dog followed her across the room: she jumped once as it nuzzled the back of her nylon dress, pressing his nose in at the junction of her legs. When her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she saw Andy for the first time sitting behind a huge desk, and recognized him as the little jockey who seemed to be a constant companion of Ricky Karl.
"Sit down, Mrs. Hope." He nodded toward the small milk stool in front on his desk. When she hesitated, he added, "I think you'd better know right from the start that unless you do exactly what I tell you to do, you're not going to leave here alive."
Grace sat down where he instructed; she had to, her legs would no longer support her terror-ridden body. The dog came around and sat on its haunches beside her; its long red tongue hanging out of the corner of its mouth, its almost human gaze never leaving her face. Grace hastily averted her eyes when she saw the pink shiny penis slip out of the dog's abdomen and begin to grow.
It was impossible to face Andy's evaluative stare. He seemed to be a judge looking at a condemned prisoner, trying to determine life imprisonment or the gas chamber.
Grace knew now what a bird with a broken wing must feel like as it sees a snake slithering toward it. This was the epitome of the primeval terror. But if she thought she had been frightened before, it was nothing compared to the horror which was to come within seconds. Andy threw over about a dozen 8 x 10 inch glossy photographs. "Look at them," he said, ominously.
She reached out with her right hand, but it was shaking so badly she had to use both hands. For a moment the scene in the photograph didn't register, then when she realized her eyes really weren't playing tricks on her, she almost fainted. The photograph showed a nude young woman, dead – very dead in the most horrible way. Where her vagina had once been was now only a huge black cavity. Her nose obviously had been broken, teeth were sharded, and in a final humiliation her throat had been cut. "Oh… my God!" Grace moaned, feeling that she was about to vomit.
Andy said, "That was Dorajane Dunlop. She owed us $710 which she refused to pay. Just so you'll know how she died, the boys all fucked her silly for four days. Then, we gave her to one of my men who don't like to fuck women – don't like women period; hates 'em. He knocked out all her teeth, broke her nose. Then he strapped her spread-eagled to the end of a table and used a blow torch to burn out her snatch. You know, during that time she only passed out once and then just for a second or two, the pain kept bringing her back to full consciousness. She screamed for two days and two nights until one of my other boys took pity on her and cut her throat."
Grace dropped the photographs to the floor and jumped to her feet, glancing frantically around for a way out of this horror dungeon. The German Shepherd stood growling in warning.
"He can kill you, Mrs. Hope. I've seen him kill men twice your size. Sit down. Pick up the rest of the pictures. I want you to see them all. Every one of them."
Grace was not aware she had obeyed instructions, but she did sit down on the stool and her hands began leafing through the pictures. Some part of her mind shut off all images however. All she knew for sure was that each photograph was of a person who had died under some of the most horrible circumstances imaginable. There were men and women alike there… all victims of unbelievable sadism and brutality.
When she finished looking at the photographs, Andy said, "These welshers tried to do the same thing you're trying to do – get out of paying us money. One of them owed us two hundred and fifty bucks. Another one, the blonde-haired guy you saw who was about twenty-three, he owed us twenty-eight hundred bucks. That's the most that any of those jokers owed us – twenty-eight hundred – until you came along. Now you owe us thirty-one, Mrs. Hope. And we want it. Now, today. Or else."
She must make him see that she wasn't trying to avoid payment of the debt. She must! "Andy," she pled, "I want to pay. All I need is a little time."
"You've got until six o'clock. That's time enough."
"As God is my witness, I…"
"God is a lousy credit reference, Mrs. Hope," Andy said, then stood in dismissal. "Six o'clock." The interview obviously was concluded.
Grace got to her feet and walked blindly toward the door. She stopped but did not turn around when he added, "Oh… and Mrs. Hope, don't try to go to the cops about this. I got a couple of guys on my payroll who work downtown… as cops… and I'll know who you talked to, when you talked to them, and what you said. When that happens, you're dead… and you'll go out in a way that'll make these other welshers look like they died happily in their sleep."
She stood there, head bowed, waiting for dismissal. After a moment it came, "You can go now. We'll see you at six."
She really wasn't aware of the journey back down the hill or across town to her office, but she did not fail to note the brazenness of Andy's henchmen – their utter unconcern for the law – by dropping her off right in front of Austin Motor Sales.
Grace walked from their car to the door. She glanced up automatically toward the clock and saw that it had been exactly one hour, to the minute, since she left.
Judi returned from her own lunch twenty minutes late, giggling and wise-cracking with Bill Hill. She took one look at Grace's face and sobered. "Jeez, honey. What's wrong?" She sucked in her breath and bit her lower lip as her eyes widened in alarm, "Has something happened to Stan?"
"No… no. Nothing's wrong." Grace turned her head, indicating she didn't want to discuss it.
Judi stood there undecided for a second, then shrugged: "Okay. If you change your mind and want to talk to someone about it, I'm available."
For the next three hours Grace worked like an automaton, the shock of what had transpired during lunch having completely numbed her senses. Gradually, sometime between four and four-thirty, she came to the conclusion that it would be far better to go to jail than to wind up a victim of Andy's sadistic torture. She would pay Andy, would give him his money out of the bank deposit. And then, on Monday or Tuesday when the auditors made their month-end check of deposits, she would be forced to confess her embezzlement. Jail, after all, was a safe haven. She would be alive there. Besides, she deserved to be put in jail. At least she couldn't get deeper into the morass of gambling debts that way.
At five o'clock, Grace began totaling up the bank deposit. There was $11,287.10 in checks, all worthless to her, and $4,921 in cash. She intended to make up a separate bank deposit slip showing only $1821 in cash receipts and give Andy the other $3100.
Once she had made the decision and filled out the two different deposit slips, Grace felt a great calmness descend on her. She felt more at peace than at any time since this whole thing had started that first night at the races.
At five thirty, she went into the ladies room to comb her hair before going to the bank. She stared in the mirror for a long period. It was the first time in many weeks that she had inspected herself critically. Her face looked as though she had been ill. No more innocence there, not any longer. No more the clear, direct stare of honesty and sincerity. Somehow or another she had assumed a furtive look… evasive. She swallowed painfully, then went back into the office.
The bank deposit was gone from her desk!
A silent scream of terror shrieked and reverberated through her brain. She spun around. "Judi! My God! What happened to the bank deposit?"
Judi, hearing the tone of panic in the other girl's voice, looked up from her desk in open mouthed amazement.
"What happened to it?" Grace yelled, wanting to run across the room, slap the little blonde, and shake her until she told the truth.
"Grace. Calm down. Jeez, I've never seen you like this. What's got into you? Mister Austin took it. He said he was going past the bank anyway and he'd drop it off."
Grace stood there, the disaster plainly written on her face, then one hiccuping sob was wrenched from her belly. She sat down weakly into her chair, weeping loudly.
"Grace? My God… what's wrong? Are you sick?" Judi came over rapidly, her face full of concern.
Grace shook her head wordlessly.
"Honey, come on. I know you. Something is terribly wrong. Let me help you."
"Take me home, Judi," she sobbed. "Take me home now."
The little blonde didn't hesitate a second. "All right." She quickly took her purse out of the drawer, then reached in Grace's desk and pulled out the other girl's handbag. "Come on," she coaxed, reaching down and pulling her to her feet.
All the way home, Judi kept glancing over toward the white-faced, violently trembling Grace. When they got to the apartment complex, Grace wordlessly slid out of the car, even before Judi cut the ignition, and ran blindly toward her room. Once inside, she locked the door and put the night chain on.
Judi hammered at the door. "Grace… let me in."
"Go away," she sobbed. "Leave me alone." She heard Judi's sigh of resignation through the door, then moments later the sound of the little blonde's apartment door opening.
Whereas an hour earlier she had been calmly resigned to going to jail, now she was in a state of sheer, blind, unreasoning panic. She glanced at her watch, not really seeing it… but realizing that the two hands were fingers of doom moving inexorably toward six o'clock, only eleven minutes away.
Grace sat there, a lonely huddled figure exuding terror, while life swirled on all around her. She could hear radios playing in other parts of the apartment complex, could hear the children laughing and screaming around the pool.
The pool! At that moment a small flicker of hope ignited in her breast. Ricky Karl! He knew Andy! Hope became a raging fire of certainty. Ricky Karl liked her as a woman. He wouldn't let them disfigure her. He would help her. Quickly then, because only eight minutes were left before six, she threw off the chain lock and dashed downstairs to the pool.
She stopped, dead still, when she saw Ricky was nowhere in sight. Then, running again, her high heels beating a rat-a-tat-tat of such urgency on the sidewalk that everyone glanced up curiously, she dashed toward the fat man's apartment section.
She punched the penthouse button on the elevator and prayed all the way during the journey to the top floor that he would be there.
The doors whispered open. R. KARL, the card above the bell read.
She pushed the button and heard soft chimes ringing inside.
There was no answer.
Frantically, she pushed the button again and hammered on the door. Her watch hands pointed to 5:55 now.
It was almost a minute before Ricky Karl opened the door in front of her; she had the impression that he had been standing there all along. Ricky was dressed in a very short karate-type silk gown that gaped open over his hairy chest and belly. It was obvious that he wore absolutely nothing beneath it.
"Well, Mrs. Hope," he purred. "What a pleasant surprise. Do come in."
She didn't want to enter his apartment, especially not with him dressed the way he was, so she stood steadfast and said, pleadingly, "I need your help."
The smile faded from his face. "I never discuss business in the hallways. Come in if you want to talk to me."
Grace knew she must not antagonize him, so she stepped across the corridor, feeling her shoes sink into the deep pile of the expensive carpet. Ricky closed the door behind her, then waddled into the living room. He turned, saw Grace still standing by the door, and jerked his head impatiently.
She followed him into the spacious, well-decorated living room which was easily twice the size of her entire apartment. Original oil paintings were tastefully hung on the walls. An all white couch sat in front of a picture window overlooking the city. He indicated that she was to sit there. "A drink?"
"No… no, thank you. I haven't time." Her eyes darted to her watch, there were less than three minutes left.
"I insist," he said, pleasantly. "Surely you can't be so rushed that you haven't time to enjoy the social amenities."
"Oh, please, Mister Karl," Grace began sobbing. "I don't have time. I'm in terrible trouble."
He paused, pursing his lips, then nodded once, and sat down on the ottoman in front of her. For a moment, revulsion almost overcame her terror, for his testicles like two ripe plums in a furry sack could be plainly seen above his ham-like thighs; it was as though he were deliberately exposing himself to her, she thought, quickly averting her eyes.
"What can I do for you, Mrs. Hope?" he asked after a moment.
"Please… oh… please… will you call Andy and tell him that I will pay him the money I owe, but I need more time. Only a week. A week! That's all I ask."
Ricky managed to look shocked. "You mean you actually made some bets and didn't have the money to back them. Why, Mrs. Hope… I'm surprised at you. That's not only dishonest, but very, very dangerous as well. I've known some people who were seriously hurt by doing that. Bookmakers have ways – usually unpleasant ways – to ensure payment."
"He's going to kill me," she sobbed. "Help me. Oh, please, help me."
"Now… now, I seriously doubt that he'll do anything too injurious for fifty or sixty dollars. They don't begin to really get tough until it runs in the hundreds."
"But… but I owe him three thousand one hundred dollars," she wailed.
"You're joking," Ricky said, jerking back in mock amazement, the movement causing his gown to open all the way now, revealing a stubby little penis that could barely be seen below the rolls of fat hanging from his belly.
"No… I'm not," she sobbed.
"Oh, my, my, my! I would say that you are in very serious trouble indeed. I'm not even sure I can help you. I don't have that kind of money at hand."
"I don't want your money. Just call Andy and ask him for a delay."
Ricky stood, making no effort to pull his gown together. He stared down at her, then said softly, "Let me look at you, Mrs. Hope." He saw her frightened eyes flicker toward him, and grinned inwardly as he knew she had seen his prick. He made a great pretense of studying her face, as if judging her honesty. The thought of her ripe, red lips ovalled around his cock made his penis begin to crawl into life. She saw that, too; he could tell by the way she flushed and looked away. "All right," he said, finally. "I don't know what I can do, but I'll call Andy tomorrow and ask him…"
Grace interrupted frantically, "But you don't understand. He wants his money by six o'clock. Tonight!"
Ricky looked down at his watch. "But it's six o'clock now."
"I know," she wailed.
"I'll see what I can do," Ricky said, reaching over toward the phone at the end of the couch. Now the gown had slipped completely off his waist, and Grace knew he must be aware he was exposing himself. That faded into insignificance alongside the fact that he had just said he would try to help. She watched, unable to tear her eyes away from his fat stubby fingers as he dialed a number.
"Hello, Andy. How are you this evening?" He looked over toward Grace and she thought his eyes now had grown bolder; they locked themselves on her breasts, and she saw his prick swelling even more. "Well, Andy, it seems you have a slight collection problem with Mrs. Hope. I would like to ask you a favour, please. Call off your dogs, give her some time… Yes, yes, I know you gave her until six o'clock. Yes, she's here."
Grace saw Ricky's eyes seem to widen in alarm. "But, Andy, you can't. I won't let you while she is in my apartment. What? No, I don't think I can guarantee her loan. Or at least, I don't think I can. Look I'll call you back in twenty minutes. Promise me you won't let your thugs do anything rash before six twenty. Thank you, Andy."
Ricky slowly replaced the phone on its cradle. When he turned back to Grace, the message of doom was clearly written on his face. "I'm sorry, my dear. He wants me to guarantee your note. But you see, I'm a businessman and I don't invest in non-interest bearing propositions. Now it would be different, of course, if you and I could reach some sort of understanding. I might even be persuaded to pick up your bad checks."
Grace blanched. "You know about those, too?"
"I know practically everything. About you and Jim Meloney…" The last was a shrewd guess on Ricky's part; he had seen Grace in the winner's circle that night, and he knew Meloney's reputation. One look at the girl's face told him he had struck pay dirt. He continued, "There are no secrets between me and Jim. He said you were very good, indeed. A bit inexperienced… but delightfully fresh."
"Oh, God!" Her head was reeling. This new assault on her sensitivities was almost more than she could bear. It wasn't bad enough that Jim Meloney had taken advantage of her, but to brag about it. To tell everything that had happened. It did not occur to Grace that Ricky had, in reality, said nothing incriminating. In her terror-drugged mind she assumed from his remarks that the fat man really did know – and that Jim had been the one who told him. She felt betrayed, degraded, and she burst into tears of shame.
"Now… now, my dear," Ricky moved over, sat down beside her, and put his arm around her shoulder. "There's nothing to cry about. I think you'll find that I'm every bit as much a man as Jim Meloney. And, if you and I become friends, I'll agree to act as your protector."
"What… what you're suggesting is that… that I…" She could not finish the abhorrent thought.
Ricky pulled her resisting body closer to him, running his fat, stubby fingers up and down along the outside of her arm. "What I am suggesting is quite simple. You spend the evening with me and we get to know each other better. You and I will become very good friends, indeed."
Grace jumped up, unable to masque the revulsion his vile proposition had evoked within her. "Never. I'd rather die first."
Ricky's pleasant smile never left his face. He shrugged. "As you wish." He walked across the room and disappeared down the corridor. Grace stood up, her hand balled into a fist tightly against her mouth. She heard the outer door open, then Ricky's voice say, "Tell Andy I can't guarantee her loan. She's here. Take her, but remember no rough stuff in my apartment. I don't want blood stains all over the place."
The two burly men who had taken Grace to Andy's country place earlier in the day came into the room. They seemed to dwarf everything else – including Ricky. Grace screamed loudly, and continued screaming as the one with the smashed nose came to her. He raised his hand and viciously slapped her face. She fell, dazed, back onto the couch… sobbing. She felt her shoulders being roughly grasped and then suddenly she was yanked brutally to her feet. The movement caused her little shirtwaist dress to split open down the front, revealing her lime green bra and slip.
"Ricky… Mister Karl… please… please help me," she cried.
"I'm sorry, my dear." He turned away from her and went to his bar. She screamed again, even louder this time in an effort to attract attention.
Ricky looked at her over the top of his bar. "It will do you no good to yell. The place is completely soundproofed. And it will do you no good to call out for the police. The man holding you is a policeman in Andy's hire. Show her your badge." The man relinquished his hold on Grace's body and fished in his inside pocket. Flipping open his wallet, he showed the trembling girl his badge. She had no way of knowing it was just a special deputy's badge – handed out for political favours. To her it was the ultimate symbol of authority.
Now the second man, the wrestler, moved to the other side of Grace. Both took an arm and began dragging her out of the room.
Oh, God. No! The memory of that horrible picture of the other girl flashed in her mind. Anything… anything at all – even the filthy caresses of the unspeakable vile Ricky Karl would be better than to suffer that kind of fate.
The two men had pulled her roughly toward the door. Grace, feeling her last resistance crumbling, cried out, "Help me, Ricky. Help me. I'll do anything… anything you say… only help me."
At a nod from the fat man, the two henchmen loosened their hold on the girl's arms. She dropped to the floor in a heap, sobbing helplessly, and heard Ricky say, "Stick around. I may change my mind."
The two men left, closing the front door behind them. Ricky came over carrying a water tumbler half full of an amber liquid. "Drink this," he commanded.
Woodenly, Grace reached up and accepted the glass. She took a swallow and began choking as the whiskey burned a painful trail down her gullet. "Drink it all," he said and stood there until she drained it.
"Now get to your feet," he said.
Grace painfully stood and made a feeble effort to close the front of her ripped dress.
"Let's get something straight right now," Ricky said, and his voice indicated he would brook no further disobedience or reluctance on her part. "You are to do everything I say without complaint or protest. Is that understood?"
Grace closed her eyes in mortification. There was no telling what this horrible monster might want her to do. He might even want her to go to bed with him. Her mind reeled at the thought of permitting him to violate her body in that manner; and yet – with an instinctive sureness that sprang from a surprisingly deep sense of survival – she knew she would force herself to go to bed with him if necessary.
"Answer me," he snapped.
Grace nodded her head acquiescently without opening her eyes, and thus did not see the look of gloating that lit up Ricky's round moon face like a neon sign. He stared at the ripe contours of her body only partially hidden by her dress, relishing the thought of the humiliation he was about to bring the proud bitch. She deserved everything she was going to get. He would start her training by making her crawl across the room on her hands and knees to him, and she would continue to crawl – like some well disciplined, frightened animal – until he was ready to discard her.
"Take off your clothes… slowly. The dress first," he said.
Only then did Grace look up, an abject pleading in her eyes. Oh, God! It was going to be just as bad as she had thought. He was expecting her to go to bed. The last plea remained unspoken as she saw the look of warning on his face and remembered the two thugs outside the door.
Refusing to think about what she was doing, Grace lifted the hem of the dress over her head and she stood there, shamefully submitting to his inspection. His eyes were like twin spotlights on a police launch, sweeping up and down the hidden estuaries of her body, taking note of the green nylon undergarments, the dark brown hosiery encasing well rounded calves, the smooth curved spheres of her white young buttocks. "Now take off your brassiere. Do it slowly, I want to enjoy it." Ricky watched as she put her long slender arms in back of her, causing her proud full breasts to protrude even further, and unfastened the bra snap. The undergarment hung loosely to the magnificent globes for a moment before she hunched her shoulders together and removed it all together.
He drew in his breath. Christ! Her firmly rising young tits were better than he had even suspected. They were big, but perfect, he thought, staring at the milk white mounds of succulent flesh – looking even whiter in contrast to her golden tan. The aureoles were the size of brown half dollar pieces and the nipples were the size of pencil erasers. He walked up to her and reached out with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, rolling the nipple between them as if he were testing the fineness of some rare material. She cringed her breasts away from his touch and had begun to draw back when she apparently saw the look of warning on his face. Her shoulders slumped in resignation.
God, he thought. She's just too God-damned good to be true. I wonder what her snooty little snatch and asshole looks like. "Take off your slip."
With the removal of each new garment, Grace felt the growth of shame and helplessness. Again and again as she found herself balking she silently said, "Your life depends on this man. Do as he says. Don't think about what you're doing. Just do it."
There was actually a low groan of lust and anticipation from Ricky Karl when he saw her standing there just in high heels and stockings, and a jade-coloured garter belt with tiny black flowers made of lace which framed a pair of sea green bikini panties that clung like a second translucent skin to her delicious curves and body indentations. Beneath her panties, Ricky could see the swelling bulge of her pouting young pubic mound and a lacy dark shadow where her raven black pubic hair grew in sparse little curls between her thighs.
Grace knew now how a terrified female slave must feel when hauled before a cruel, unrelenting, sadistic master. She was afraid to refuse his commands, even more afraid to accede to them for it was obvious what the filthy beast had in mind… he was going to make her go to bed with him. Torn by the battle waging inside of her, she stood trembling waiting for his next order, for there was only one thing more repugnant, more frightening than being here in this room with this vile fat man… and that was to be not in this room, to be outside where Andy and his torturers and murderers could lay their hands on her. She wasn't sure she understood his next request, but when he repeated it, angrily, this time, Grace did as he instructed. She unfastened her garters so she could roll her soft flimsy panties, down over the curves of her hips and legs, then refastened the snaps again and stood upright. Now she wore only high heels, sheer hosiery, and the garter belt. She felt the cool breeze from his air conditioning unit on her nakedly trembling buttocks and between her thighs. Somehow, wearing these items only she felt more nude than she had ever felt before.
Grace watched as the heavy-set man finally unknotted the silken rope around his waist and removed the gown. She knew revulsion was written on her face; it was impossible to hide it. She assumed that he had an erection, but his penis was so insignificant that it was difficult to tell. Ricky backed away until he reached the couch, then sat down with knees splayed out obscenely and hands clasped behind his head. His testicles hung down in front of the cushion. "Get on your hands and knees," he said.
What could the gross, contemptible beast have in mind, she wondered dully, as she obediently got down to her knees, feeling the thick pile of the rug pressing up between her widespread fingers soft against her knees.
"Now crawl over here to me," he said hoarsely, his voice a croak of feral lust.
As though she were viewing some obscene horror film too disgusting to believe, she saw his testicles, his stubby fat penis, his hairy belly coming closer, ever closer, as she crawled from the one side of the room to the couch. She stopped when about six feet away.
"Okay, baby. Now blow it." Ricky said.
"What?" She didn't understand, for a moment – one insane moment of glorious hope – she thought he was telling her to "blow", to go… was giving her permission to leave, that she had done what he had wanted and now she wouldn't have to go to bed with him.
Ricky, seeing her hesitation and indecision, thought for a second that she was refusing him, and his mood abruptly changed from wild anticipation to blind anger. "You stupid bitch," he yelled. "You agreed to do everything I asked. I'm not going to tell you again. Blow me!"
"But I… but I…" Grace immediately felt a rash of tears. She wanted him to know she wasn't being disobedient. She had agreed to do anything – even, if necessary, going to bed with him. She sobbed, "I don't know what you want me to do." She looked up piteously pleading to him.
Ricky saw the tears and the expression on her face and it dawned on him that she was telling the truth. "Let me get this straight," he said slowly, without taking his hands from behind his head, "You've never given a blow job to a boyfriend or your husband."
"I don't know what you mean by 'blow job'."
That put a completely different perspective on the situation, Ricky thought. He wasn't displeased, not at all. And the thought of being the first man ever to spew a gob of hot cum down her lovely, virginal throat made it all the more exciting. There was one thing, however. If she hadn't done it before, she might rebel – no telling what hang-ups a broad has until she's done it the first time. The second time they don't think it's quite so bad, and by the time they've gone the route ten or twelve times they accept it quite naturally. To get rid of any hang-ups Grace might have, Ricky felt the shock treatment might be best. "Get to your feet," he said, his voice less harsh than before.
Grace, feeling something almost akin to happiness because the master was no longer threatening her, stood as instructed.
"Go over to the top right hand drawer of my desk in the corner there." He watched as Grace's undulating buttocks moved enticingly toward the desk. "There's a large manila envelope in the drawer. Take it out. Open it." He almost laughed when he heard her horrified gasp and saw her face blanche in fear. These were even larger reproductions of the same pictures she had seen at Andy's. "Oh… God…" she moaned.
"Put them back," Ricky demanded. He waited until she fumbled them back into the drawer, noting that she had begun her terrified trembling again. "Now come back here to me and kneel in front of me again." He watched as she walked embarrassed and self-conscious toward him. She held her shoulders stiff, obviously in a futile attempt to keep her full breasts from swaying back and forth. The sight of that beautiful fleecy cuntal triangle between her nylon encased legs, the white untanned globes of her buttocks, and the incredible lushness of her upper thighs almost drove Ricky insane. He couldn't recall ever seeing such a luscious body before, and the knowledge that she was completely subservient to him for the rest of the night, the weekend… or until he got tired of her, was as pleasurable as hanging a new painting or placing a new piece of sculpture in his study.
Grace was fighting panic again when she knelt in the same spot she had been in before. The shock of seeing that poor mutilated girl again had driven everything but fear and a desire to please out of her mind.
"Crawl up between my legs," Ricky said, and then waited as she shuffled slightly forward. She was refusing to look at his cock, and that didn't bother him at all. "All right now," he said, putting new threat in his voice. "You have exactly fifteen seconds to wrap your hot little lips around my prick and start sucking. And in case you don't know the meaning of the word prick, either, then its my penis. That's a blow job." He took his left hand from behind his head and glanced at the expensive gold chronometer. "Ten seconds now."
Grace was stunned. She couldn't believe the perverted obscenity she had just heard. He was testing her. That must be it. A test. He really didn't want her to do it, just wanted to see if she would obey instructions. He would stop her before she actually had to do it. She heard his voice intoning, "five seconds… four seconds… three seconds…"
She resisted only a split second longer. She was almost sickened by the sight of the short fleshy instrument. She pretended to go along with his lewd demand. She opened her mouth and moved her head forward, expecting a reprieve at any moment. Now she looked at the penis for the first time. It was, she thought, larger than it had looked from a distance. The purplish mushroomed head had the same implicit viciousness as a hammerhead shark. In the center, where the tiny hole opened and closed with each throb of his heart, a tiny white pearl of viscous seminal fluid had oozed to the surface. The white trunk of the prick was laced with thin blue veins, and she could even see them swell with each beat of his pulse. Closer, closer, closer it came and now it was so close she could not focus on it any longer… all she saw was the blurry indistinctness of something elongated growing out of the thick gray-black of pubic hair.
With a sudden feeling of desperation, Grace abruptly knew that his was not a test after all. He actually wanted her to do this horrible perverted, filthy thing… wanted her to take his hardened penis into her mouth.
She had already started to pull back in protest when Ricky Karl viciously put both hands on the side of her face, holding her face and mouth captive. "No…" she began, but it was choked off as he rammed the thick rod of flesh in, crushing through her softly resisting lips into the warm moist saliva of her mouth. She could feel the spongy bluntness of the head sliding the entire length of her tongue, coming to rest far far back in her throat. She gagged and gasped, mumbling inarticulately, as he began fucking his cock in and out of her mouth with powerful little strokes that jolted her head.
Gloating above her with his eyes almost vacant from the intensity of feeling and lust, Ricky began to undulate his pelvis even more, sliding the short fat prick in and out of her mouth, never quite withdrawing, leaving the hot, swollen head just inside the warm, soft grotto of her unwilling mouth. Grace made an effort to twist her nakedness away from him, to pull back, but she was held mercilessly captive by his hands pressing against her cheeks, and when she reared back slightly and put her hands on his hip bones to push him away, Ricky increased his pressure on her cheeks and said, "Remember the photographs, my dear."
The total helplessness of her situation caused a sudden black fog of fatalistic acceptance to descend on Grace's mind. She closed her eyes tightly to block out the repulsive sight of the graying pubic hairs sprouting like ash-coloured weeds at the thick base of the cock which rammed without mercy into her contorted face. Moisture filled her mouth as saliva glands sought to dampen, dilute, and identify the alien taste of this, this thing being buried deep in her throat.
Ricky stared down with lewd delight at the labouring figure of the unwilling girl; the sight of his cock moving in and out between her full, ovally rounded lips drove him into a frenzy, and in spite of her gagged and choked protests, he began shoving forward even more forcefully, raising his fat buttocks high off the couch and thrusting with all his strength. He held her head tighter as she coughed and sputtered with each powerful in stroke and as the swollen head of his cock rhythmically fucked back against her tonsils. He delighted in watching her tender, lipstick rimmed lips clasping tighter and tighter around the trunk as her mouth muscles wearied and her warmly ovalled cavity became accustomed to the unnatural invasion.
"Suck… suck it, Goddamn you. Suck it," he bellowed suddenly, "or I'll throw you naked out the door to Andy's men."
Grace felt nothing, not even fear any longer. She knew she had to please this man, and he was telling her how to please him… and so she did everything he requested, even more. She licked and sucked at the fleshy hardened rod imbedded in her mouth, creating a vacuum that brought a low moan almost of pain from the fat man. She was salivating so much now that the cock slicked in and out almost effortlessly. She sucked until her cheeks indented grotesquely, until her throat muscles were flaming tendons of pure agony. And she licked around the head, using her tongue, her teeth… acting automatically now, knowing by the grunts and low animal groans what was pleasurable to him and what was not.
And with this intense desire to bring him pleasure, because her only hope of salvation lay in pleasing him, she gradually became aware that her own traitorous young body was reacting sexually to this oral degradation. She could feel new warmth in her vagina, a dampness between her thighs, and the knowledge that she was becoming aroused was more repulsive and brought her more mental distress than the perverted act she was being forced to perform with her helpless mouth.
Her thoughts were suddenly forced back to the man and his cock in her throat, for she felt his loins crush smotheringly into her face and the fleshy roll of his stomach pressing against her lightly perspiring forehead. His hands gripped her behind the head pulling it forward as though he were attempting to shove his cock all the way down her throat and into her belly. "Suck harder, you bitch, I'm cumming on your tonsils," he bellowed, then groaned in animal delight, and flooded her mouth with his hot, thick cum which spurted thickly down her throat in great, pulsating waves of heated liquid roaring in jet-like torrents from testicles and seminal ducts.
Grace gulped and swallowed automatically; not to do so would have caused her to strangle, swallowing the pungent male elixir first in small amounts and then in greater dosage as the cum continued to spurt unceasingly. Then abruptly, in spite of her revulsion at the lewd act forced on her, her jerking throat subtly changed its rhythm and strangely, she was swallowing hungrily, feeling the need to further debase herself in punishment. She wallowed obscenely in the pleasure of subjugation to the fat man's wildly spewing cock jerking into her face. She wanted to be punished – she needed this degradation. She sucked… and sucked, stroking his testicles lovingly – wanting more… more.
"Okay, that's enough," said Ricky with a deep sigh, falling back in temporary satiation against the couch.
And from behind her, Grace heard a familiar voice, unmistakable in its lewd hunger. "If you're through with the hot little cunt, how about giving me a crack at her."
She turned, then gasped in fright and sought to crawl closer to Ricky as she saw the little figure of the bookmaker, named Andy, leering lustfully down at her.