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Ravished Wife

12/9/2005

Hobbling on one leg the fat hairy man bent to pull on one
sock, too drunk to try holding onto the bed for support.
He
struggled, almost falling twice, but finally succeeded
and put his
foot down with a loud thump. As he looked for the other knee-
length black sock he raised his head momentarily to grin
at the
sleek young girl who lay on the bed watching him.
You fat bastard, Paula Moore thought as she smiled back
at
him. She was relieved that he had turned his head away in
search
of his other sock, but not half as relieved as she would be
when he
left the room, after he put his money on the table, of course.
She
inhaled deeply on the cigarette she was holding. The money
was the
important thing, she thought. He can do anything he wants
for
money ... and he had.
Paula could not ignore the burning pain that seared deep
into
her ravaged rectum. She hadn't been in the business
long, but she
was quickly learning the ways of "johns" who
were willing to pay a
girl for any perverted obscene pleasures they desired.
This fat
ugly man who now sat on the floor had not been the first to
demand
something unusual of her. Some had forced her to submit
to
fellatio or cunnilingus, while others had begged her to
be cruel to
them, beating them with a various assortment of instruments
they
had provided.
True, he hadn't been the first, but his demands had
been the
worst, she thought as she watched him crawling around the
floor
looking for his shorts his huge belly almost touching the
carpet.
It took an ugly man to do such an ugly thing, her thoughts
continued. Paula could still feel the pain of the slap he
had
given her when he had demanded that she do as he ordered.
How
terrible it had been, how animalistic when he had turned
her over
and suddenly thrust his finger brutally into the tight
virginal
ring of her anus.
Paula tried to force the horrible picture from her mind
but
could not. She remembered screaming with fear as much as
pain when
he had first violated her. That was when he had slapped her
with
his wide flat hand. She had tried to get away, but he had thrown
her back onto the large bed and had told her to shut up or she
would get even worse.
Worse, she thought. What could have been worse than having
that depraved creature force his fat stubby prick into
me like
that?
The throbbing in her rectum would not relent and she wished
that he would hurry and leave. She inhaled again on the long
cigarette, watching him pulling on his shorts while he
bent over,
unable to touch his toes because of the huge mass of flesh
that he
called his overpaid stomach. Lucky for me, she thought,
that his
prick hadn't been any bigger, or he might have really
hurt me. She
nearly laughed as she looked at the tiny bump in his shorts.
At
least Jed was a man in that respect, but in no other respect.
Paula Moore had experienced many emotions during the first
nineteen years of her life, but the strongest was hate.
Two men
shared the distinction of being hated by Paula. The first
was her
boss, Wade Jackson, but the second, the one who had caused
all her
misfortune was Jed Dearborn.
Paula could not forget Jed for a moment, not even while she
watched the drunken man hobbling around the room with one
leg in
his trousers, unable to gain his balance to put the other
pantleg
over his flabby calf.
She remembered the homespun restaurant in Davenport,
Iowa
where she had waited on tables and helped clean the kitchen
for ten
hours a day after her parents had died when she was just barely
eighteen. She had received a few thousand dollars from
the
insurance company, but by the time all the debts were settled
she
had less than three thousand left and had gone to work so
that she
could continue her schooling.
But Davenport was so small and so limiting for a young girl
who needed excitement. There were no boys her own age that
interested her, and the only men that did appeal to her were
already married, and therefore taboo to a girl whose strict
morals
refused her access to them. She was a woman at eighteen and
needed
a man, but none were available as far as she was concerned.
None were available, that is, until that hot August afternoon
when Jed walked through the door and sat down at the counter
she
was serving. His blond hair was longer than most men's,
but it
seemed to suit him perfectly. His entire face, perfectly
chiseled,
seemed to be centered around his deep blue eyes. Paula had
tried
not to stare when she brought him a glass of water, but it
was
impossible. He was the sexiest man she had ever seen and
she had
to look at him, secretly hoping that perhaps she would be
able to
touch him.
Paula remembered him well, though her memory could not
recall
any of their conversation. She inhaled the menthol cigarette
again
and watched the fat man pulling his suspenders over his
rounded
shoulders. There was no comparison between this ugly man
and Jed
with his large muscled shoulders and slim hips, she thought,
and
retreated back to her memory:
It had been Saturday when Paula met Jed, and she got off work
at three o'clock. Each word that Jed had said to her
had seemed
like magic, and for some reason, she had agreed to go with
him for
a drive. She pointed out parts of the rolling countryside
as he
guided his new red convertible along the highway, but he
hardly
listened to her. As far as he was concerned, the conversation
was
entirely one-sided, his side.
Jed talked incessantly about big cities, about gambling,
about
the girls he had known and all the money he had. It wasn't
long
before Paula stopped talking altogether. Despite her
intelligence
she believed his every word, and hung on his arm, taking
it all in
as gospel. She had thought he was the most exciting, most
interesting man she had ever met, and decided that she could
not
let him go.
He had talked through dinner and half the night, never
touching her, but teasing her with words she had long since
forgotten. But by dawn she was completely naked in his motel
room,
her virginity gone and her whole being fulfilled.
Paula thought about that bright morning as she watched
the fat
man tie the broad striped silk tie around his bulging throat.
She
remembered Jed fixing his own tie as she lay nude on the warm
sheets, her firm breasts rising with her breath. She remembered
running her slender fingers along the supple flesh of her
torso,
teasing herself with her own touch. It was that morning
that Jed
had made his proposal to take her to Miami. They could be
married
as soon as they arrived and live together forever as man
and wife.
Paula felt a sharp pain of anger rise in her breasts. That
bastard! Jed's promise was as full of hot air as everything
else
he had said. After she drew all of her savings out of the
Davenport Bank Monday morning, they had driven day and
night to
reach Miami.
For more than two weeks they played in bed and in town. But
Jed kept putting off the marriage, saying that his doctor
had to
run special blood tests to be sure there was nothing wrong
with
him. Paula had believed him and even felt sorry for him,
fearful
that something might really be wrong with his health.
All those hours for two weeks, gambling and dining and
drinking on her money, Jed saying that he had to wait for
a
transfer of funds from his San Francisco account, all that
time for
nothing! She easily remembered that terrible morning
Jed had left
the room to get a morning paper. When he hadn't come
back by noon,
she began to worry and by midnight was frantic with fear
that
something had happened to him.
She had called the police and even gone out looking for him
herself, but to no avail. For three days she waited for him
to
return, drinking and crying the whole time.
Finally, on the fourth morning, the hotel manager came
to the
door with the bill. He told her she had to pay the balance
before
he could let her stay any longer. Paula had opened her purse
and
saw her wallet was empty. Jed had taken every dollar she
had
hidden in the secret compartment and now the manager was
demanding
six hundred dollars!
Six hundred dollars, she thought, as she watched her customer
put a crisp hundred dollar bill on the table beside the bed.
She
had lost more than the six hundred for the hotel bill that
morning.
The obese stranger said something Paula did not hear and
left
the room and she immediately got out of bed and walked gingerly
toward the bathroom. Her anus burned with pain, and she
was sure
it was bleeding.
Once in the bathroom, she put out her cigarette and started
the water roaring. The hotter the better, she thought.
That's
what Wade had told her. Wade!
Watching the bathwater, she remembered what the hotel
manager
had told her. There was one way she could raise the money
...
yeah, one way, Wade Jackson. With hardly any hesitation
she had
allowed the manager to call Wade for her, and explain the
whole
situation. Half an hour later he had arrived with the six
hundred
dollars cash, told her to pack her things and took her from
the
hotel to his car.
Still half in tears over Jed, she wasn't aware of what
was
happening to her when Wade took her to his penthouse apartment
and
told her to unpack. Shocked, she refused at first, but he
told her
he needed a maid, and she could work off the money she had
owed
him.
Finally, she consented, thinking that she could work it
off as
his maid, but two days later she discovered differently,
when he
came into her room and her. Unable to resist for long,
she
succumbed to his and spent the next two weeks in his
bed,
learning more about sex than most women learn in a lifetime.
She didn't love Wade, but she had come to like him for
his
kindness to her, such as flowers, a fur coat and jewelry.
At the
time it didn't seem to be too bad; she had become his
mistress, and
he did treat her well taking her with him wherever he went.
She
was nurturing her hatred for Jed, but it didn't possess
her, not
until she found out what Wade really wanted.
Paula tried not to think about it, but when she gently lowered
herself into the tub, the pain forced her memory to work.
The hot
water on her ruptured anus seemed to burn throughout her
entire
body. "The bastards!" she said aloud, thinking
of Jed and Wade as
the pain seared through her abdomen and down into her tortured
rectum. No one on earth could be worse than those two, she
thought.
Everything with Wade had been fine until the night he brought
a guest to the apartment and left the man alone with her.
She
didn't know his name, but when he kept making advances
to her and
she refused he got angry and told her that he had paid Wade
a
hundred dollars for her, and he was going to get his money's
worth.
Well, he got his money's worth, she thought bitterly,
and so
had many other strange men since that night. The only difference
was that now Paula got half of all she made. She was in constant
demand, in so much demand that Wade had rented a special
apartment
for her to work in as well as one to live in. Paula would
entertain usually three or four times a night at generally
fifty to
a hundred dollars a trick, depending on what they wanted.
But it was no kind of life for her. She wanted out so badly
and had begged Wade again and again for release, but he only
threatened her with prison and disgrace. If she didn't
play his
game, everyone in Davenport and Miami would know what Paula
Moore
did for a living.
She sat soaking in the tub, slowly washing her breasts and
upper torso with a thickly lathered washrag. This is living?
she
thought. This is a living death, and I want out. But how?
She
couldn't do it alone, and most men she met would scorn
her, and any
man she would meet would probably want money, then leave
her no
better off than she was. There had to be some kind of man for
her,
someone who would care enough to take her out of this hell
and into
a real life.
There just had to be.
<br>
<br>
<br>
Chapter 2
<br>
Sammy Wynn fumbled in his pocket for a book of matches, trying
to ignore the greasy odor of the burning hamburger that
was cooking
on the grill. It had taken him nearly ten minutes to get the
waitress's attention, and then she had fouled up his
order so that
he had to tell her three times that he wanted a hamburger
with no
catsup.
He nervously lit his cigarette and watched her put catsup
on
the burned hamburger bun, spilling some on herself at the
same
time. Christ, he thought, what the hell am I doing here?
Sammy had asked himself that question nearly every day
for ten
years, ever since the night he and his older brother had
been
caught stealing two cases of beer from an unattended truck.
He was
twelve years old that night, but with the arrival of two
uniformed
policemen, he started a record of arrests that would follow
him
wherever he went.
He picked up the hamburger, remembering his mother's
reaction
to his minor crime. She had high hopes for him, having already
given up on his brother. So when the pair was arrested she
cried
for days over Sammy. He tried to console her but to no avail.
She
repeatedly called him jailbird and thief.
Stealing the beer had only been a prank, but with his mother's
constant ribbing and the fact that word of his arrest had
spread
through the overcrowded school he attended, it soon became
a badge
of honor. Sammy had become a man in the eyes of his peers,
a man
who had stolen, a man with a record. He tried to resist their
praise, but his efforts were hopeless. After his arrest
he had
become a celebrity, constantly sought after to tell his
story of
crime and arrest, and the brutality of the police.
He tried to get his school work done, and seemed to possess
a
great deal more ability than his fellows, but his popularity
prevented his study. They demanded his company, revering
him as a
leader in their impoverished community of underprivileged
boys,
many of whom would become criminals themselves in a few
short
years. His studies took second place to his role as a celebrity,
and soon were neglected altogether.
By the time Sammy was sixteen it was hopeless. He had to quit
school to help his mother support his five younger brothers,
all of
whom ate more than their share, but all of them studied,
and none
of them stole. When he quit school he thought he would return
within a year, but naturally he didn't. Life in Chicago's
south
side offered nothing to a young man with little money. He
was able
to shoot a little pool, and gamble in back alley crap games,
but
nothing else was left.
There were no girls who could share his thoughts. Most of
them had neither the intelligence nor the interest to hear
anything
but stories of excitement and brushes with the law. Sammy's
active
mind had no use for them. He refused to take drugs, and more
times
than he could count, he had refused to take part in crimes
that his
cronies had offered him a piece of. It was hard enough to
get a
job without adding more arrests to his record.
Sammy bit into a soggy potato chip as he thought about his
past life in the slums. The food in this restaurant was much
the
same as that in Chicago, except that there were less flies
for some
reason. He remembered the different warehouse jobs he
had held,
and the miserable year he had spent in the packing house,
cleaning
the stomachs of slaughtered cows. He could still recall
the smell
vividly.
He remembered the night he had come home, the slaughterhouse
smell all over his clothes, to find his mother lying on the
kitchen
floor. He had rushed to her and lifted her limp head but it
was
too late to do more than call the emergency rescue squad.
If he
had had a father it never would have happened, he thought
bitterly,
but it had.
His mother had worked herself half to death trying to support
her children. Now she needed support, especially for the
hospital
bills. It was then, at eighteen, that Sammy turned to crime
for
his own self-support as well as hers.
At first he tried burglary. His quick mind enabled him to
form almost elaborate plans, and his physical agility
allowed him
access to places where most thieves would not have tried.
But the
business was too risky, and after a year he gave it up, trying
afterwards to establish a small protection racket in the
surrounding neighborhoods.
He made enough money to get by, and though his mother was
out
of the hospital, she could not work at all, forcing him to
support
the whole family. Sammy was smart enough, though, to make
deals
with the syndicate, and keep himself out of trouble with
them. But
soon, his take was reduced further and further as the syndicate
took a larger and larger percentage of his illicit earnings.
The bastards, Sammy thought, as he wiped the catsup off
his
chin and reached for another cigarette. They had forced
him to
expand further until he was carrying a pistol and planning
robberies. Finally, just a week before his twenty-second
birthday,
Sammy and two friends held up a jewelry store in broad daylight.
They didn't have a chance. One was shot leaving, the
store,
and the other was tackled by a burly policeman. Sammy had
run for
blocks before he stopped. Time had ran out for him and he
had to
leave town.
That's what did it, he thought angrily, a lousy jewelry
store
stick-up and I'm forced out of town like a hunted animal.
He
didn't think his friends would tell who he was, but
he couldn't
have taken the chance.
On the train out of Chicago he had read a tourist's add
for
the glamorous city of Miami. It was there he had thought
he could
make a fresh start.
Fresh start, Bull! he thought as he left the restaurant.
Wade Jackson gave me a fresh start alright, a fresh start
on crime.
Sammy had met Wade on his first night in Miami two weeks ago.
The pair had a good time with a couple of Wade's girlfriends,
and
Sammy thought he was a pretty fair sport. It was only after
Sammy
had told him that he needed a job that he discovered Wade's
true
business.
But after all, it was a job, and for the time being, Sammy
needed the money.
Wade Jackson's enterprise enveloped every hotel
and nearly all
the motels in Miami. Miami, the convention city, had more
tourists
and conventioneers than any one man could handle, but Wade
made the
effort anyway. He controlled the lives of over a hundred
prostitutes in every part of the city. They catered strictly
within certain areas, and each was expected to make a quota
of
"tricks" each week, some more than others.
Often Wade's contacts
made the arrangements for the girls, but many were on their
own.
They were all carefully watched and had to account for every
cent
they were suspected of making. If they didn't make
quota, or held
out some of the money, they were dealt with severely.
A few of the girls knew each other, meeting at some of Wade's
'specially arranged parties, but no one person know
enough to
really hurt the organization.
Sammy, himself, had already come into contact with twenty-one
of the girls; he was a collector. Each week he was responsible
to
pick up twenty-five thousand dollars in cash from his twenty-five
girls, his reward being one percent of the take, which came
to a
nice round two hundred and fifty dollars a week. In a few
months
he would be able to quit and find something else, including
different restaurants to eat in.
But for now, he had four more collections to make before
his
first week on the job was finished. He looked at the addresses
in
his notebook and started the car. With luck he could be finished
in two hours.
<br>
<br>
<br>
Chapter 3
<br>
"Breakfast is ready, " Pamela Lee called up
the stairs.
Jeff didn't answer his wife's call., but walked
down the
stairs, stopping for a moment in front of a mirror to straighten
his tie. At forty he already had a distinguishing streak
of grey
at his temples that offset his youthful-looking face.
He thought
that the grey was one of his rewards for being the managing
editor
of one of Miami's largest newspapers. His professionalism
had
earned him an impeccable reputation across the country,
as well as
in the city, a reputation he sometimes regretted.
"Hi, Honey, " he greeted his wife as he entered
the dining
room, and looked at her admiringly.
Though ten years younger than her husband, Pamela made
an
almost perfect wife. She loved her husband as much as he
loved
her, and focused all of her concern around him and their
life
together.
They had met in Washington, had dated for nearly a year before
they were married. And each day of the past three years had
been
good to them both, even through the small quarrels that
all married
people suffer.
Pamela ensured good food, a clean house and good company
for
her husband without fail. Only one point of friction remained
between them. Her concern for social acceptance. She felt
it
proper that they be a part of the same circle of socially
elite
people that she had known before they were married. She
had argued
that it was important for his work, but he countered that
he didn't
give a damn. Pamela knew it irritated him, but thought she
was
right and would not relent, though she tried not to bring
the
subject into conversation too often. She hoped to convert
him by a
soft-sell technique.
But society pages were the furthest from Jeff's mind
as he sat
at the table and unfolded his napkin. For more than two years,
ever since he had been offered the job in Miami, Jeff had
been
occupied by one thought: prostitution.
He examined his poached egg and began to eat. His morning
occupation consisted of scanning his own paper's
night edition,
then his competitors' products, making mental notes
of errors in
each between bites of breakfast.
"Hmmf, " he grunted after he finished and picked
up his coffee
cup. There had been nothing of any consequence in any of
the
papers, with the exception of the editorials in his own.
I wish no
news were really good news, he thought.
Every morning Pamela watched him read the papers and wolf
down
his breakfast, while she sat silently across from him.
She knew
that he didn't want to be disturbed, and so never said
anything
until he finished reading and gave his usual, "Hmmf."
She knew now,
that he was ready for conversation.
"What's the matter, Jeff, " she asked
as she did every morning.
"The same old thing, " he replied, not really
wanting to talk.
"How's your other work going then, " she
asked, slightly
annoyed by his curt answer.
"Don't get me started on that so early, "
he answered her, not
wanting to get into an argument. Pamela would always listen,
he
thought, but it all goes right over her head. She was too
naive to
believe that anything like organized prostitution would
take place
in Miami.
"Please, " she asked, "I want to know."
"Alright, " he said, "You asked for it.
Yesterday I finally
got a name. Not just any name, but the name of the head of this
organization that you don't think exists."
Pamela looked at him attentively, though she didn't
really
care about the so-called syndicate because she had made
up her mind
that there was no such thing.
"Ready for a shock, " he continued. "Try
Wade Jackson."
Pamela uttered an audible gasp and for a moment was stunned.
Then it came to her; he was only joking, and she began to laugh.
"Think it's funny?" he asked, his brow
furrowed in growing
anger.
"But Jeff, he's no criminal. Whyóówhy Wade Jackson
donates
thousands of dollars to charities each year. I ought to
know, I'm
on enough committees. Wade Jackson, really!"
Just like a woman, Jeff thought. Totally illogical, and
won't
believe anything she doesn't want to.
"He's not the only one, " he told her. "Why
do you think none
of the money in town will give me any support?"
But Pamela wasn't listening. If Jeff was going to behave
like
this, then she wouldn't hear a word he said. After all,
men like
Wade Jackson don't give money to the needy and helpless,
then turn
around and operate prostitution rings. It was too ridiculous
to
even consider.
But Jeff had started, and nothing would stop him until he
was
finished. "Most of your precious society friends
who have any
political or business control don't want me to stop
Jackson. I've
seen every one possible, and only one will help. Of course,
they
won't say no, but they won't help either.
"If you have any idea of how much tourist money flows
through
this city each week, you wouldn't believe it. But that's
not all,
damnit. Jackson is raking off millions each year from his
girls
and gives a pittance to the right people and a few charities,
justifying his position as a man of good standing.
"Miami could live more than well enough off of legitimate
tourist money and taxes, but people like Jackson are ruining
it.
And I'll be goddamned if I'm going to raise my kids
in a town that
will turn to filth if it isn't stopped!"
At Jeff's "children" Pamela awoke from
her dreams of the
winter ball. She and Jeff both wanted children, but the
problem
for her was the sexual intercourse. Pamela thought she
enjoyed it
with Jeff, but surely not as much as he did. Her mother had
told
her all about the ugly things that men had done to women,
and
Pamela had subconsciously hidden the words, but not the
feelings.
She felt that more than once a week was excessive, even though
Jeff
demanded more. She knew that once they had a baby they could
cut
down on their sexual activity and he wouldn't object.
"I just wish you would come out of the clouds and try
to
understand, " he almost pleaded with her. "Too
many people have
ignored the problem for too long, and if they continue there's
just
no telling what might happen."
"Jeff, I do try to understand, but are you sure you're
on the
right track?"
Jeff sighed and shrugged his shoulders. It's no use,
he
thought as he got up from the table and went to the closet
for his
jacket. It's not her fault she doesn't understand,
but for
Christ's sake ...
"Have a good day, " she said as she kissed him
softly on the
cheek, her right arm holding his waist.
"You, too, " he replied and walked out the door
toward his car.
Why can't they all understand, he thought as he pulled
out of
the driveway. The city's businesses and a few money
hungry men are
either too afraid or too greedy to do something about Jackson,
and
the rest of them are like Pam. If she and her friends at the
country club could see some of the things I have seen at night,
they might change their minds.
Jeff kept driving toward the office where he would put in
an
appearance before continuing to follow more leads that
he had
gotten the night before. He thought about his wife and her
archaic
idea that no one with money could be bad. If only he could
convince her without shocking her too much. The conventions
could
be the answer, and the most important of all conventions,
the
National Republican Party Convention, was in town. If
he were to
Lake Pamela with him that evening she could see what happens
afterwards in hotel rooms, or at least in the bars. But then,
it
might be too much too soon. There must be something to make
her
see, but what?
<br>
<br>
<br>
Chapter 4
<br>
"Paula Moore, " Sammy said aloud as he sat in
his car in front
of one of the larger hotels. He was to meet her in the cocktail
lounge and wait if she wasn't there.
She's probably like the rest, he thought as he walked
through
the revolving door and headed toward the bar. Sammy had
seen
twenty-four girls during the week, and none of them were
beautiful,
though some were attractive. He wondered how they got the
prices
they asked for. Even the better looking ones wouldn't
be accepted
in any beauty contest, that was for goddamn sure, he thought.
In a moment he entered the lounge and waited for his eyes
to
adjust to the blue darkness. There were two men sitting
at one end
of the long bar, glancing at a single girl who sat near the
center.
Their conversation was half whispered, but anyone could
tell they
were talking about the dark-haired girl. Eager to get this
last
confrontation over with he walked toward her swiftly,
hoping that
she was the one.
"Paula Moore?" he asked, expecting to see another
thirty-year-
old woman who had been through too much.
Sammy barely heard her say, "Yes?"
Even in the half-light of the cocktail lounge he could see
that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met. She
wore no
more make-up than a normal woman, and had accented every
feature of
her near-perfect face. He could see the straight line of
her
finely chiseled nose and the outline of her soft, almost
glowing
cheeks.
"Yes, " she said again, "I'm Paula
Moore. What do you want?"
Sammy could hardly speak as he watched her lips stop speaking
and close in puzzled silence. His eyes followed her chin
and the
sleek line of her neck before he caught hold of himself.
"I'm S-Sammy Wynn, " he finally said.
"Are you sure, " she said sarcastically, pleased
with herself.
"I'm from Wade, " Sammy said immediately,
wanting to slap her
back for being so quick with him.
He was almost pleased with himself until he saw her face
drop
its smiling mask and almost tremble.
He didn't want to hurt her, not a girl as beautiful as
this.
"Don't be afraid, " he told her. "Come
on, let's sit in a
booth."
Paula obeyed as if she were a well-trained puppy, and quickly
followed him to a nearby booth. She nearly gasped aloud
when he
stopped and offered her a seat before sitting himself.
None of
Wade's hoods had ever been polite to her. Most of them
treated her
like a common streetwalker, and in fact, had all taken her
services
at one time or another. It was in their unspoken contract,
and she
could do nothing about it.
Paula watched him curiously as he called to the cocktail
waitress and ordered two scotch and waters before she could
protest. As soon as the cocktail waitress left she told
him that
she couldn't drink anything but tea while she was on
duty.
"Don't worry about it, " Sammy replied.
"I'm not going to tell
anyone about it, if you won't."
This is too much, she thought, but then, he is awfully young,
almost as young as I am. Her mind wondered about Sammy as
they
waited for their drinks, which were delivered shortly.
Neither of
them spoke, each waiting for the other to make a move. Sammy,
his
eyes glued to the sensuous woman across from him, had nothing
to
say. He only wanted to look, while Paula, at the same time,
was
curious about Wade's new hireling, but was unsure
of herself.
Tonight was pickup night for her money, yet the young man
had said
nothing. He seemed polite, she thought, and much too young
to be
working for Wade, besides, she seemed to see a glimmer of
intelligence behind his eyes. Finally she spoke:
"Did Wade send you to tell me something?"
"You're beautiful, " he answered in his
South Chicago accent.
"Wade said that?" she burst out laughing.
Sammy flushed and a broad grin spread across his handsome
young face. He was embarrassed by his awkwardness, but
pleased
that she laughed, and he joined her laughter.
"N-No, " he finally managed through his laughter.
"I mean, I
think you're beautiful."
Pamela stopped laughing and looked at the young man, one
hand
resting on her half-exposed full breast. He's really
serious, she
thought. I'm a prostitute sitting in a bar waiting
for a customer,
and he's serious.
"Why, thank you, " she said in astonishment.
If he were any of the others, she thought, he would just be
on
the make, wanting her body, and willing to pay for it. But
he's
different, and she knew she was right.
She raised her glass and toasted, "To you."
Sammy couldn't stop smiling, pleased that she seemed
to like
him, and that she didn't think he was like the rest of
Wade's
henchmen. Wade crossed his mind, and he remembered why
he had
come. If she's going to like me, he thought, I'll
have to be
honest.
Paula put her drink on the table and was surprised when Sammy
said, "I'd better tell you right now that I'm
here for the
collection."
"Oh, " she said, pretending that she was sure
of it all the
time. So maybe he was like the rest of them after all.
Quickly, before she could open her purse to give him her
week's take, he spoke again. "I-I don't
want you to think I'm like
the rest of Wade's men, " he said, almost pleading
for acceptance.
"I just need the money right now, and as soon as I make
enough,
I'll quit."
"I understand, " she said, wanting to believe
him, but sorry
that he was so naive.
"No you don't, " he said, almost angrily.
"You don't
understand Chicago, or slums, or what happens to people
who never
have anything. I never wanted to be working for someone
like Wade.
I never wanted to have anything to do with crime. It's
just that,
well ..."
And Sammy continued to talk for almost an hour, stopping
only
long enough to order more drinks. He had never been able
to talk
to anyone before, especially a girl, but this one seemed
different.
She listened, and he thought that she understood as he poured
out
the years of bitterness, the years that he spent pretending
to be a
hero because he had stolen a case of beer once. He told her
the
whole story, his voice angry at times, sad at others. No
one had
known Sammy Wynn before, but he wanted her to know him.
"... And so, " he continued, "I never
finished school, never
had a chance to go to college. But I suppose, even if I had
finished high school, I wouldn't have had the money
to go to
college."
Paula stared at him, no words coming from her lips. She could
feel the salty tears that had formed in her eyes. Here was
someone
who shared something with her. She knew his pain and felt
his
losses, losses that, though not exactly like hers, had
had the same
effect on his life. They were two people who had not been
masters
of their own lives. Circumstances beyond their control
had brought
them together, under Wade Jackson, to sit together in a
dimly lit
cocktail lounge and communicate like human beings.
"Oh, Sammy, " she whispered, and put out her
hand to touch his.
"If only I could tell you ..."
"You can, " he said, knowing that they had found
something
together. "Try it. I just found out that telling someone
you
trust helps and I'm glad I told you. Go ahead and try."
Slowly at first she began to speak, afraid that he might
not
understand as she had. She began with her father's
death, the job,
and then faltered when she started to talk about Jed Dearborn.
But, when she looked at Sammy, she stopped hesitating and
told him
the whole story, right up to the present.
"Well, " she said when she had finished. "What
do you think?"
"Not, what do I think, " he said, "But
how do you feel?"
Paula thought for a moment. How do I feel? The hate was
gone. That's right, the hate is gone. When her mind
pictured Jed
and Wade, she could only feel pity for them, sharpened by
a tinge
of disgust, but at least no more hate.
"I feel like a weight has been taken off me, "
she told Sammy
in amazement. "It's almost too good to be true."
More than two hours had passed since they had ordered drinks
and began talking. Sammy's eyes had roamed over every
inch of her
that he could see, savoring the fine smooth skin of her breasts
that lay half-exposed from her low-cut dress, displaying
their firm
fullness. He had heard every word she had said, but his mind
could
not refuse his imagined pleasures of her luscious body.
He
watched, listened and learned more about her, feeling
more and more
emotion for her until he could no longer stand it.
During a pause in their conversation he finally blurted,
"If
you weren't ... I mean ... If I had the money ... I'd, "
he groped
for the words, "I'd like to make love with you."
Paula looked up from her drink, surprised that he would
say
such a thing, but when she saw his blushing face, she knew
what he
meant. How else, she thought, could he tell me he cared for
me.
His talk had mentioned girls only casually. He's probably
never
had a steady girl friend, so how would he know how to tell
me, a
whore, he cares?
"Why, Sammy?" she asked, wanting to see if he
could answer to
satisfy her.
"I don't know, " he replied. "I mean,
it's not like you think.
I don't want you like all ..."
"Like all those other men, Sammy?"
"Yeah, I mean, no, not like them. I know I haven't
known you
very long, " he said, not knowing that she thought
his little speech
was cute, "But I think I know you pretty good and, well,
I like
you."
Sammy stopped talking and looked like he had been deflated
from the effort. He had never told any girl that he cared
for her
before, and the commitment had been almost too much for
him. He
was afraid she would react differently, either thinking
that he was
just looking for a piece of tail, or that she didn't
like him,
really, and would reject him. Silently he watched for her
reaction.
"You look like you've just been busted, "
she said smiling at
him.
Sammy sat up a little, not sure if she were teasing him or
not. He was too unsure of himself to know that she did care,
and
was touched by the way he had blurted out his confession.
"Are you afraid I'll turn you down, " she
asked him. "Don't be
ridiculous. I may be in for trouble for it, but I think that
after
talking with you for the last two hours I should be able to
judge
not only you, but my own feelings."
Sammy's face became all grin as she talked. He wasn't
going
to be rejected. They would be able to make love, maybe on
her day
off, which wouldn't be until the convention was over,
but be could
wait. He could wait a long time for a beautiful girl like
her.
"And, well, " she continued. "We're
spending too much of your
money buying drinks here. Let's drive over to my place."
Unbelievable! She wanted him too, and tonight, not in a
week.
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction and a hint of desire.
He wanted
her, and wanted her badly. Maybe this was his fresh start.
Misunderstanding his expression she said, "Don't
worry about
the syndicate. I make a hell of a lot more money than they
think I
do and it'll be no problem at all to take a few bucks extra
and
tell them I worked all night."
"No, " he interrupted. "I didn't
think that, I just ..."
"Paula!" a voice from the bar yelled. "Telephone."
She started to stand and Sammy got up with her, picking up
her
coat. "No, wait, " she said. "I'll
have to answer it, they know
I'm here."
Sammy knew exactly what she meant. Each girl who worked
for
Jackson had a specific area of responsibility, a place
where she
would work from and could be contacted if not at home, or
wherever
she took her customers. It reminded him that she was, after
all,
still a hooker, no matter how beautiful, or how wonderful
he
thought she was, she was still a prostitute. But for the
moment,
he didn't care, he cared for her more than he had for
any girl he
had ever met, and what she did for a living could be either
ignored
or changed. His thoughts raced as he watched her firm sensuous
buttocks move in perfect rhythm as she walked to the telephone.
"Hello, " she said into the receiver, "This
is Paula."
"Hi, Baby, Red."
Red, she thought, big ugly Red, one of Wade's "in
crowd." She
remembered him from the first, always hanging around,
guarding
Wade's precious body, and when Wade had turned her
out, Red had
been one of the first of the gang to take advantage of her
new
business. He had been rough and surly with her, and left
her in a
great deal of pain. But she couldn't hate him either,
not since
meeting Sammy. He was just another blob among the many blobs
in
her life.
"How's business tonight, " he asked,
wanting her to remember
his superiority.
"Fair, " she answered, wanting to say as little
as she could to
him.
"Well, I'm gonna make it better for ya, "
he continued. "We've
lined up a helluva trick for ya. He's willin' to
pay two bills for
just an hour, so put on some fresh makeup and be down here
right
away."
Not now, she thought. "But, Red, I've got another
big one
right here, and I don't want to turn him down."
"I don't give a rat's ass, " he said.
"These is orders from
the boss!"
"Alright, " she said, hoping to hang up immediately.
"One more thing, Baby. Has that new collector been
around
yet?"
"He just left, " she lied. "He said he
had to check on
something before he could get back to turn the money in."
"Good, " he said, sure that he had a good worker
in the young
Sammy. "See ya in fifteen minutes, " and he
hung up.
Paula stood for a moment with the phone still at her ear.
When Red told her to be somewhere she had to be there, or suffer
a
beating like she had when she refused one time before. She
remembered they had caught her at the airport and taken
her back to
Wade's where after four of them had used her, they beat
her so
badly she couldn't work for three weeks. If they found
out that
she would refuse to be with Sammy, especially for nothing,
it could
be worse, maybe for both of them.
"Who was that, " Sammy's voice said from
behind her.
"Oh, Sammy, " she cried, turning to bury her
head against his
strong shoulder. "That was Red, " she said
starting to cry. "He
said there's a customer for me, one that I have to see
..." Her
voice broke off, choked with emotion.
There's no way out, she thought, trying to find a way
to
explain to the first man who had moved her in a long time that
she
must go, or face the consequences. She knew that she had
done the
right thing to tell Sammy, though she didn't want him
to be hurt,
and didn't want him to remember that she was still nothing
but a
prostitute.
If he could only understand what they would do to me, she
thought. If he could only see what I had looked like when
they had
finished with me before. I can't lie to him, her mind
rationalized
through the veil of tears. We've got to start off right.
"Are-are you going?" he asked, his own throat
tight, trying to
hold back a choking sob. He knew the answer before he had
asked,
but one last ray of hope held him, pleading with an unknown
force
to change what was happening.
"Oh, Sammy, " she cried again, not seeing that
the bartender
stood nearby, listening to every word.
"Come on, " he said roughly. "I'll
drive you over."
"You're so sweet, " she said. "But
it would be better if I
took a cab. I'd better just go alone."
Sammy knew that she didn't want to go, but knew also,
that she
must. He was too new in town, and she meant too much to him
to be
hurt for disobeying orders. His heart went out for her and
her
plight, more than for his own temporary loss, but he held
himself
back.
"I'll walk you out then, " he said, controlling
his voice.
Without answering she allowed him to help her with her coat,
all the time thinking of what she must go through. She remembered
the fat ugly man from the night before, the one who had sodomized
her for the first time, forcing her to do things that went
against
her very nature, degrading her in her own eyes. A tool, that's
what I am, she thought bitterly, nothing more than a fucking
machine for terrible old men who can't get a girl any
other way. I
might as well have never been born for all the good I've
done
myself. How stupid! Why couldn't I have met Sammy a
year and a
half ago? Why did it have to be now, as a whore peddling her
wares
in a bar?
Sammy knew what she was thinking as they walked outside
and he
hailed a cab, but couldn't find words to console her.
If there
were only a way to be free, a way to control my own life as well
as
hers, he thought. Then it would be different, and we wouldn't
have
to bow to anyone.
Paula got into the taxi he had called with a shrill whistle
and gave the driver an address. She didn't want to look
at Sammy,
or say goodbye, but she couldn't possibly leave without
something,
she thought.
"Will you wait for me, " she asked. "I
know it's too much to
ask, but ..."
His voice cut her off, "Of course, I'll wait, "
he said,
controlling his feelings, trying to make her feel that
it would be
alright.
He recognized his anger, but contained it, not giving her
the
slightest idea how he felt. If she really wants to come back,
he
thought, then she will. But he couldn't get the picture
of her
being with another man out of his mind, no matter how well
he tried
to rationalize the situation.
Sammy stepped back from the curb as the yellow cab pulled
away. He could see her tears as she turned and waved back
at him,
blowing a small but meaningful kiss at him as the taxi turned
the
corner.
Well, fuck it! he thought and turned back toward the bar.
She's gone and I couldn't change it, so what the
hell, I'll just
get drunk, he declared silently to himself.
"Double scotch and a water back, " he called
to the bartender
as he re-entered the cocktail lounge.
The two men sitting at the bar watched him with interest
as he
stumbled past them, already half drunk from the previous
two hours
drinking. If I'm gonna get drunk, he thought glancing
at the two
men, I'm gonna do it right.
The drink went down fast and hard and he chased it with a
large gulp of ice water, trying not to think of the girl he
had
just seen drive away.
But in the taxi just a few blocks away, Paula fought with
herself in mute anger and frustration. She kept thinking
of what
Wade's henchmen might do to her, knowing that it would
be much
worse than the beating she had received months before.
But her
mind could not free itself from Sammy's grip. He's
so wonderful
and kind, she thought. I know he's afraid for me, and
he doesn't
want to see me hurt. Oh, God, I just can't!
"Driver, " she said, urgency straining in
her voice. "Driver,
take me back to the hotel!"
There, she thought, I've done it and God help me, she
added in
silent prayer. She knew she wouldn't back out now,
not after
feeling the relief that was flooding through her firm round
breasts. She had made the decision and would stick with
it, and
stick with Sammy. I'll do anything for him, she thought
as the
taxi pulled up in front of the hotel.
She nearly jumped out, throwing a five dollar bill on the
front seat and not waiting for the change as she ran through
the
revolving door and headed for the open door of the cocktail
lounge.
"Sammy!" she cried as she burst through the
door into the
darkness.
Sitting at the bar hunched over his third double scotch
in
almost as many minutes, Sammy was startled to hear her unexpected
voice. For a split second he thought he was hearing things,
but he
had to turn around to be sure.
It was true!
Paula stood silhouetted in the doorway, tears streaming
down
her face. Sammy looked only long enough to be sure that he
wasn't
seeing an alcohol fogged mirage then jumped off the stool
and ran
to her.
"Oh, Sammy, Sammy!" she cried, throwing her
arms around his
neck.
She felt complete, and sure that she had made the right
decision as she felt his closeness. It was so good to feel
a man
who cared, a man who could love her for herself and not just
her
body, she thought ecstatically.
Wanting him as she had no other man, Paula held him tighter
and pressed her lips to his, tasting the heavy sting of scotch
in
his mouth as she plunged her eager tongue into his mouth
and
brushed the wet insides of his lips, trying to tell him that
she
was his. Paula and Sammy, she thought. No, Sammy and Paula;
that
was better.
After a long extended kiss, Sammy pulled back and held her
soft face gently in his cupped hands.
"I can't believe it, " he said. "It's
too ..."
"Don't say anything now, " she interrupted.
"I want you so
badly. Please, take me home."
Their arms around each other, they walked slowly out of
the
bar, knowing that they needn't hurry now, that they
would have all
night. They didn't, however, know that every word
they had said
had been carefully overheard by George, the bartender;
every word
that he would later remember when asked.
<br>
* * *
<br>
The key clicked in the metal lock and the door swung open.
Sammy stood back and let Paula enter He followed her in,
carefully
looking at the decor, surprised that her apartment was
decorated in
Early American, neat and expensive.
"I'll be just a minute, " she said without
turning around. "I
want to change first, so fix yourself a drink and one for
me too."
He did as she asked and then walked around the apartment,
examining everything carefully, curious about the things
that she
hadn't told him, things that he must learn for himself.
"Like it?" she asked, coming back into the room
in a bright
red robe. "I've decorated everything myself."
"It's nice, " he said, hesitating to say
anything more.
Sammy could not help thinking that this was where she had
had
so many men in her bed, the same bed that he was going to make
love
to her in.
Sensing that something was wrong Paula walked to him and
put
both arms around his neck, and drew his whole body to her,
at the
same time inserting one leg between his. She could feel
his tight,
muscular thighs and the bulge of his penis, still soft,
yet slowly
filling with blood, growing with each breath.
He could smell the soft aroma of her hair as she crushed her
lips to his. It had been so long since he had had a woman, and
never before had he wanted a girl as much as he wanted Paula.
He
inhaled deeply, then let go of his grip on her. He couldn't
help
thinking that this was where she did her work, just beyond
the
bedroom door. There were too many thoughts running through
his
head each contradicting the other. He wanted to climb into
bed
with her and make love as wildly as he could, and yet at the
same
time he couldn't forget all the others, the others
who had paid her
for screwing her.
"Let's have some coffee, " he said suddenly.
Surprised, Paula let go of him and agreed to make some. Her
intuition told her that he was being reserved, but she didn't
know
why. Perhaps, she thought, he's got a sex problem,
or maybe he's
just afraid. She giggled slightly, thinking how nice it
would be
if he really were afraid.
"What's funny?" he asked, thinking that
she might be laughing
at him.
"Oh, nothing, " she replied. "You're
just sweet, that's all."
Sammy smiled and followed her into the kitchen, watching
the
graceful movements of her sleek young body as she walked,
almost
bouncing. She's really somethin', he thought,
trying to remember
if he had ever made love to a woman as beautiful and sensuous
as
Paula.
Minutes later she poured hot black coffee from the ceramic
pot. "Black?" she asked, turning to face him.
"That's fine, " he answered, trying to
think of something to
say to her, something that would relieve the tension he
felt both
in his mind and between his thighs.
"Come on, " she said, breaking the momentary
silence. "I've
got to wash all this makeup off, and I don't want to leave
you even
for a minute."
Sammy obeyed and followed her through the bedroom to the
large
white bathroom that she had decorated with prints of movie
stars.
He stood quietly, looking at the prints while she turned
the water
on in the basin.
"Have a seat, " she said gaily, pointing to
the toilet with a
dramatic gesture.
Sammy grinned and sat down, feeling awkward at being in
her
bathroom while she was there.
"Those a hobby?" he asked, pointing at the pictures.
"No, not really. I got them on sale, and couldn't
think of
any other place to put them."
Sammy said nothing as he watched her bend over the washbasin
and begin soaping the makeup away from her face. His eyes
took
careful note of her features, trying to think of someone
to compare
them to. She was so natural, so free, he thought, suddenly
remembering that she wasn't really free. His eyes
caught the front
of her robe as she bent, exposing her breasts from beneath
the open
front. They hung gently without a bra, and yet retained
their
perfect shape, almost staring back at him from the tips
of their
sensitive pink nipples.
Paula looked up from between her soapy hands and saw him
staring at her. She knew that he was watching her breasts,
and
somehow felt a little embarrassed at having him look at
her naked
breasts, even though so many men had seen her completely
nude, and
used her. But she knew that Sammy wouldn't use her like
they had.
He would make love to her, not just fuck her like the others
had.
"How much did you collect this week, " she asked,
wanting him
to talk to her.
"Huh, " he said, surprised at the sudden sound
of her deep
sensuous voice. "Oh, about twenty-five grand."
She whistled.
"Yeah, it's a lot of dough, alright. I wish it
were mine
instead of Wade's, but that's the story of my life."
"I didn't know it was that much, " she said,
still amazed by
the vastness of the sum. "Just think how much the girls
could make
by themselves if they didn't have to give him half or
more."
It was coming out into the open, Sammy thought as she spoke.
If he was going to make love to her, he would have to let it
out.
He would have to know if this was where she screwed all those
men
for money.
"I remember, " he said softly, "How much
you gave me tonight.
But, well, how much do you charge everybody."
Realizing now what was bothering him, she answered, leaving
enough room for him to continue later. "Well, it all
depends.
Usually it's a hundred for a short-timer, "
she said, immediately
regretting that she had said short timer so lightly. "Sometimes
the prices are higher, like the one Red called me about tonight.
But then other times I even go as low as fifty backs if I'm
having
a slow night."
Sammy could hardly believe his ears. She was talking about
it
just as if it were a regular business and not prostitution.
He
felt sparks of anger and the ache of disappointment as he
listened.
He wanted her so much, but she seemed to be ruining everything.
Still washing her face, Paula waited for Sammy to say
something. If they were going to have anything at all between
them, she thought, then he would have to understand that
she was a
prostitute, and nothing else. If he could accept that for
the time
being, then later on there would be no problems. Please,
she
thought, say it now, and get it over with.
"How, uh, how many guys do you usually have a night, "
he
finally asked, shrugging his shoulders as if he were ashamed
of the
question.
"Generally about four, " she said quickly.
Now the clincher, she thought. If he can take it, now will
be
the time.
Sammy's voice cracked, "Do you, I mean, where
do you do it?"
"Oh, Sammy, " she cried aloud and turned from
the basin,
putting her arms around him and sitting on his lap. "I
couldn't, I
just couldn't even think of making love with you in
a business bed.
No, my Darling, I've never brought anyone else here.
This is my
home and my refuge, and if you want, it can be yours, too."
Thank God, he thought, completely relieved. He knew suddenly
why she had talked so matter-of-factly about her business.
She was
so natural, so beautiful, and now that he knew this was her
own
home, she did seem almost free to him.
He pulled her more tightly toward him, feeling her breasts
crush in their softness against his chest. Accidentally
his elbow
pressed against the chrome handle behind him and the room
filled
with the sound of running water as the toilet flushed beneath
them.
Paula began laughing uncontrollably as Sammy's face
turned
beet red. What a way to start, she thought, laughing almost
hysterically. A prostitute and her collection man sitting
on the
toilet about to make love, it's too much.
Sammy had joined her laughter, his embarrassment easing
away.
He was holding her so that she wouldn't fall, when suddenly
he felt
his hand firmly placed over her round smooth breast. He
knew that
there was no reason to remove it. His fingers luxuriated
in the
softness, and felt as if they belonged on her round white
flesh.
He wanted to hold her and protect her against everything
in the
world outside.
Paula, too, had become aware of the warm hand on her hardening
breast. No other hand had touched her like that, she felt,
so
gently and firm, yet not demanding, not wanting what all
the others
had wanted. Instead of tensing as she had done with so many
other
men, she felt herself relaxing at his touch, while at the
same
time, recognized for the first time in her life, a tingling
in her
breasts as her nipples quickly filled with warm desire
until they
were tight and hard, demanding something that she had never
felt
before, not even with Jed.
"I've never loved anyone, " he said breaking
the silence
between them. "But if it's what I imagined it
to be, then I feel
it now."
She wanted to believe him so badly. If it's true, she
thought, if it's true ... But she was afraid to finish
the sentence
in her mind. Her thoughts were changing to colors instead
of
pictures, and she could not reply or adjust the strange
desires
that were growing within her.
"Is that too quick for you?" he asked, suddenly
shifting his
weight. "Maybe we need more time."
He made a motion to get up, but she stopped him, bending down
and gently touching his lips with hers, as if it were the
first
time. She needed him to know that she felt the same, even
though
she couldn't find the words, and she let her lips rest
on his,
softly inhaling his breath through her moist open lips.
This has
got to be right, she thought. She wanted to kiss him out of
love,
cleanly and gently, and not with the contrived manners
of sex she
had learned so well over the past months.
They stopped for a moment staring into each other's
eyes.
"I never felt like this before, " she said.
"No one could have
said that and meant it as much as you do."
There was no need for another word, he thought, as he kissed
her again, this time eagerly, showing her that he wanted
her now.
He trapped her lower lip between his and sucked it into his
mouth,
feeling her tongue, hard and wet slip in behind, probing
at the
insides of his mouth. They embraced more tightly, almost
crushing
each other with urgent strength as a fire began to build
between
his legs.
"Let's move, " she said almost breathlessly
as she stood up.
Sammy got to his feet, but was uncertain about what he should
do. He knew what he wanted and what a man would do in a normal
situation. But she was a prostitute and had already had
other men
tonight. Maybe she wouldn't be ready, maybe she wanted
to wait.
"Sammy, I want you, " she said almost pleading.
"I want you
and you alone, more than I ever wanted anybody!"
She turned and he followed her, but his mind couldn't
rest.
Why did she have to say something like that, always referring
to
other men. Maybe it was all the same to her. Maybe all men
were
alike, and she would be just performing again. He tried
to put it
out of his mind as he came up behind her beside the bed and
looked
at her, feeling his penis now hard and pressing inside his
trousers.
As they sat on the bed silently, he started to kiss her again,
lightly touching the soft clean skin of her cheek. No one
else has
screwed her here, he thought, but goddamn it, why has there
ever
been anyone else ever? It angered him to think of all those
other
men. Men! She had no right, he thought. She's mine,
and mine
alone.
His hands moved over her robe to the open front and traced
a
path to the single large button that fastened it. Easily
he opened
it and ran his hand up the smooth white skin of her naked torso
until he got to the top, then eased it from her arms and watched
it
flop onto the bed in a silent pile. His fingers roamed over
her
trembling breasts and across her belly exploring every
tingling
inch of her nakedness, wanting to tear at her and make love
to her
savagely until the pressure in his loins was drained.
As she lay back onto the bed he leaned over her and began
caressing the tight pink tip of one nipple, playing with
it gently
and biting it just enough to make her groan. He sucked the
hard
round end of her breast into his mouth and felt her tremble
as she
ran her hands through his hair.
Panting through his nostrils he wanted more for his hungry
mouth and began to move his head lower across, the soft skin
of her
belly. Someone else had made love to her tonight, he thought,
but
he had only fucked her. I'm gonna make love to her like
no one
ever had. She'll never want anyone else, his mind continued
as his
head moved toward the soft brown triangle of her loins.
His tongue slid through the silken pubic hair that covered
her
vagina and found the pink lips that had parted in anticipation
of
his tongue. He turned his head back and forth for a moment,
whiffing the honeyed smell of her vagina, then slipped
his tongue
into the warm waiting slit and ran it teasingly along the
quivering
pink flesh.
He heard her moan as he expertly sought out her clitoris
with
the hard, wet tip of his tongue. He took it between his lips
and
pulled at the tiny erect bud making her whole body tremble
as she

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Very realistic. Good writing.

2/19/2006