Chapter 3

"Steve ... let me up. Right now!"

She tried to slide her legs out from under him. But his tongue brought a wave of amber heat to her senses. Her pulsing cunt flooded over with steamy juice, wetting the crotch of her panties thoroughly. She could feel the swelling lips rub against her panties, could feel the subtle, teasing friction over her cut.

It was like the time she'd masturbated in class by crossing her legs tightly and kicking one foot up and down. No one had known a thing. In civics class, the most boring subject in school.

Steve's lips pulled her titty flesh deep into his mouth, his hand was working down the hard, flat of her belly now, searching at the edge of her jean shorts, then slipped under. The most sex Robin had ever had was after the high school dance the year before. Harry Hagstrom had taken her into an empty darkened classroom and put his hand under her pink dress. She'd been scared, but curious. She'd let him kiss her, let him rub lightly along the damp, slick crevice of her cunt until she couldn't take any more. Her knees had trembled that night and she'd clung to the boy's shoulders as he grunted with eager surprise at her heat and at the pungent, sweet aroma that coated his fingers when he pulled them from her silk underwear.

And Stevie's fingers were closer to the pulsing lips of her pussy.

"Ohhhh. . . Steve what are you doing?"

"I love you Robin . . . Jesus . .. I. ."

"Nooooo... Uuuuhhhhh!" The breath rushed from her lungs as the buttons came open and the faded denims peeled back.

Steve's hand was shaking. He fondled the plump, hot softness of her pubes through sheer silk, moaning against her tit as he tried to find her nipple again with his tongue.

Weakly Robin pulled at his hair, but she seemed to have no strength left. Her muscles wouldn't react.

Steve was pushing her cut-off jeans down her slender thighs now. He was doing it without her help. She didn't want to help. She didn't want ...This was her brother!

"No. We have to s-s-stop ... Oh Stevie, Stevie!"

Robin's head fell back as her small tit was sucked deep into her brother's mouth again. This time he bit down on the nipple, rolled it between his teeth. Her back arched upwards from the sharp, frenzied sensation and her jeans fell past her knees, dangled around one ankle. Somehow Steve had worked his body between her thighs. He was on top of her, the towel bunched between their bodies.

"Steve...Steve...I don't want you to...Oh! Ohhhh!" It was the feel of his bare chest rubbing against her tits that started her babbling.

Her tiny bikini top was tangled loosely around her neck now. She was exposed, naked except for the skimpy satin underwear.

Stevie felt so hot against her. She couldn't resist the instinct to hug him, to hold him. Their tongues lathed together. She moaned into his mouth. She'd never kissed like this, didn't really know how. Stevie was showing her, his hands making her skin bum with tingling waves of delight. And then she felt him push the soppy crotchpiece of silk to one side, felt a finger divide the puffed lips of her pussy. Again Robin arched her back.

"Stevie . . . that's enough . . . you're scaring me!"

She rolled her body as if to escape. The towel was being pulled away from his loins. The bulge of his cock gouged along her heaving belly. She panicked. She held her breath.

Stevie touched her pussy, sending one finger along the groove of her cunt until the tiny, hooded clit rose from the sucking, slickened folds, rose to be touched.

"Ahhhh... Noooo! Oh Jesus Christ!" Robin cried.

Steve was rubbing the pink clit in circles, forcing it down into the hot meat. She felt new floods of juice rush from her hot pussy. Her heart pounded. She bucked again and drove her heels down on the sofa. It was wrong... had it been anyone else but Stevie pressing against her nakedness, pushing his fingertip up and down her seeping cunt, kissing her mouth with devouring kisses. Had it been anyone else she would have already fainted from fear or screamed or pissed in her panties. But it was Steve. Her brother. She trusted him, loved him.

"No! Oh God nooo! Steve let me up or I'm going to scream for Marcia . . . I'm not kidding. Ohhhh God!"

It had taken her a second to realize what it was that had replaced his finger. It was something smooth and hot and rounded and it quickly became soaked with her slick cunt-juice. Steve was rubbing it up under the silken band that covered her pussy.

It was his cock!

He was swishing it back and forth through the lips of her cunt, rubbing it over her cut. He jabbed his prick against the tumid, blood-filled cut that grew from her soft folds like a tiny penis.

It was Stevie's cock!

Crying, heaving with dry sobs, she pushed her hands down, tried to push his pelvis away from her. But her legs were parted around his hips. She could get no leverage and she was weak besides. The steady, feathery friction continued. Steve had his hand on his cock, moving it like that! Rubbing her pussy with the swollen tip.

She remembered how his cock had looked that morning in his apartment. She didn't think she could bear to see his prick now. Her breath came in strangled gasps. Her eyes wouldn't focus. Something. . . a steady pulsing tickle was building through her thighs and belly. And in the core of her pussy ... way up in that hidden, protected tunnel she felt the beginning of a hot storm. It came at her in waves. She babbled words that made no sense, words she never spoke aloud.

"Fuck . . . Oh fuck. . . oh, Stevie I'm scared so scared!"

"Robin, Robin..."

He was kissing her tits again, holding her head with one hand while he worked his cock with the other. Worked his cock furiously in the hot wash of her cunt-juices.

Robin felt so hot, so slick, so itchy good! She gasped, but she couldn't stay still. Even as she knew it was wrong, she thrust her pelvis violently upward, rubbed it against the steely head of her brother's prick.

She thrashed and bucked and wiggled her slim ass, crying out. She clawed at Steve's back. Tears of confused fear trickled down her cheeks. She beat against his back with her fists, the sobbed and hugged him again, writhing her ass in tight circles on the sofa.

"Yiii. . . Ohhhh!"

She couldn't move fast enough. What was happening to her? Sure, she was coming. . . she knew that much. But it was like nothing she'd managed before when she had finger-fucked.

"I love you, Robin. . . Ohhhh Goddamn it. . . sonofabitch . . . Ahhhhh...Uhl-hhhh Robin!"

She clung frantically to her big brother's shoulders and pumped her hips savagely against his cock as he worked it up and down her slit. She felt the hot slime jet against her inner cunt-lips, felt it bottled by the pressure of Steve's pumping motion and spray back on the inside of her thighs. She couldn't think or worry or be ashamed . . . not now.

She could only work her slender ass like she would die if she didn't. She humped her hips, then arched and wiggled. The carnal thrills raged over her body, filled her blood.

He rammed his tongue between her teeth, stifling her cry. But she was still crying when she felt him lift his weight from her. She could see the blurred shape of his movements as he knelt there between her trembling thighs, as he pressed the towel down against the soppy, cummy mess that leaked around the edges of her silk panties.

"Robin . . I didn't plan anything like this. I just want you to know...I..." He gasped for breathe "I think it started the other morning when you came over.. . I didn't realize I could ever want to...

Robin rolled onto her stomach and cried into the hard sofa cushion. Steve leaned down, put his hand on her back. She shook it off.

"Just leave me . . . leave me alone."

Steve sat at the end of the sofa. The washer finished its cycle and she saw him going across the basement. He had twisted the towel back around his hips again.

Oh God, what had they done?

Robin choked back another rush of emotion. The dryer started up, she could hear the buttons on Steve's Levi's clicking against the metal drum as it turned. Steve stood with his back to her.

She wiped tears away. Everything had been her fault. The whole thing. She'd let it happen. Her mother had told her that the girl had to be strong.

She'd told her before her first date, almost before she'd started her period.

But now ... She began to cry again. She forced herself up, caught at her jean shorts and pulled them up and buttoned them. The hot cream that filled her slit oozed from her pussy as she stood. She felt it dribbling out, she felt it clinging to the thin, light curls of red hair that fringed her cunt. She yanked

the tangle of the bikini top from her neck, balled it in a fist and started for the stairs.

Steve turned. "Robin!"

"Don't speak to me right now, Stevie. I think I'll just lose my mind if you say anything at all...

"Robin . . .

She stopped at the foot of the steps, forced herself to look at him. "Stevie, I..."

His eyes were damp too. "I love you," he breathed.

Crying, she fled up the steps as strings of hot cum made slick lines down the insides of her thighs. She was bawling uncontrollably as she locked the bathroom door and ripped the sullied clothing from her body. She stared at herself in the mirror.

Her neck was rubbed raw. Her red hair was strings and tangles. She hated herself, hated being eighteen and a redhead and hated all men. Robin pressed a damp washrag under her tender pubes, stared fearfully at the thick, sharp-smelling curds. Half-forgotten pieces of biology class came back to her. Those tiny, swimming tadpoles. Could they get through a virgin's cherry? Was it remotely possible that she could get pregnant just from having Steve's semen there on the outer surface of her cunt?

Her hands trembled. She felt sick inside. When was her period anyway? Now she was too upset to remember. She sat on the toilet seat and held a mirror down while spreading her knees as wide as they'd go.

With the smooth, blunt end of a hairbrush she delved gingerly between the tiny, inner lips, then pressed ever so lightly against the membrane that she knew was her hymen. She was panting, afraid, trembling suddenly with horror. It was too much for a eighteen-year-old to handle. She shook off the ugly thoughts. She got quickly into the tub and turned on the shower. . . sexual intercourse between persons so closely related.

"I did not have sexual intercourse," she muttered, letting the hot spray sting her closed eyelids. "I am not pregnant, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!"

Later when she came out of the bathroom, Steve was gone. She looked and found the food she'd boxed for him was gone too. Robin went to her room and lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She was still staring when the phone began to ring. She let it ring. To hell with it. To hell with everything.

Marcia watched the lavender princess phone by her bed as if she could see the sound which jangled forth Each time she thought it would be the last ring and each time the phone jabbed its pleading call into her senses.

At last she covered the damned thing with a pillow and grabbed for a cigarette. The first tendril of smoke choked her and she had to wait until the coughing spasms died before touching the filter to her lips again. At last the phone was quiet.

It was Sam. She knew it was Sam. She pushed her long hair back from her forehead and stared at the gold wristwatch on the bedside table. She hated it. The smoke curling upward from her cigarette burned her eyes. She stubbed it out and lay back in bed. The phone began to ring again.

"Damn you!" she cried. She shivered, remembering Sam's touch. The way he'd displayed her to his friends. Uncouth was the word. Crude. He had money but used it in a vulgar, ugly way. Even the beautiful, golden watch had been sullied by his ugliness.

The phone went on ringing.

Marcia swung her long legs out of bed and walked the width of the bedroom. It stopped. Thank god for that. But her relief was shattered by footsteps on the stairs, in the hail outside her door.

"Marcia?" Robin called. "Some guy named Sam wants to talk to you.

"Tell him . . . tell him I'm not here."

"I already said you were upstairs.

"Tell him I'm asleep, tell him anything!"

Marcia clawed another cigarette from the pack and stabbed it into her mouth. Her hand shook as she held the match up.

Robin's footsteps faded back downstairs.

Maybe she could send the watch back. Maybe that would do it. But Marcia knew that it wouldn't be as simple as that. She sucked angrily at the cigarette. All she could think of was Sam's hands on her flesh last evening. At the party he felt her up. . . or almost... right in front of all those people. And what kind of people were they?

Gamblers. Men with shiny teeth and eyes and vulgar mouths. They showed off their women as if they were finely-bred pets. Marcia had caught a glimpse of the butt of a gun under one man's coat.

Sam had gotten her drunk. In the kitchen he'd made her take off her panties and put them in his pocket. Then later, when everyone was watching the movie, he'd put a finger deep into her cunt. She hadn't been able to stop him. The movie . . that awful movie. Not just a skin flick, not just a blow job or a three-way suck-fuck or anything so innocent.

A woman had been whipped. Really whipped. Marcia was sure it wasn't just acting. She'd seen the blows clearly, seen the welts appear, seen the woman screaming.

She mashed her second cigarette out and covered her face with her hands. She felt sick to her stomach. She'd fought against Sam's rubbing fingers, tried to hold his wrist still, but he had finger-fucked her up to a pitch of breathless helplessness and then teased her over the edge. She'd shivered there on the divan and let him massage her clitoris until a gasping sigh broke from her lips and the man next to her looked over with a crooked, knowing smile on his lips.

Still weak from Sam's avid attention, she'd looked at the screen to see blood on the woman's back as the whip came down again and again.

Marcia went to a drawer and rummaged wildly for a clean pair of panties. She dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of flared blue jeans and a tight, brightly striped jersey.

Then she went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face and brushed her teeth. She studied her face. There were no obvious lines of depravity. Maybe it just didn't happen that fast. She felt terribly vulnerable, terribly young. And she felt so sophisticated when she found out that Sam Philbert was a man in his thirties. Early thirties. She'd wanted to date him so badly that she'd even lied to her mother about his age. It wouldn't have mattered.

Sam could act so nicey-nice when he needed to, even refined. Her mother had been thoroughly charmed. Her father stayed out of such encounters. He'd

shaken hands briefly and gone off to his study.

Marcia put on her eye makeup quickly and went back to her bedroom. The gold watch glinted at her from the table. She picked it up and shoved it deep into a pocket of her jeans. She'd get it boxed and mail it . . . but she didn't know his address. He seemed to circulate through endless hotel rooms. Nice hotels, but hotels just the same. Didn't he have a home?

She thought she remembered some vague reference. She started downstairs but turned at the bathroom and got out her toothbrush again. Her teeth felt clean, but there was that clinging reminder of Sam Philbert's cock sliding in and out of her mouth. She had to be imagining it. There couldn't possibly be any taste of cum left. She scrubbed anyway, the image of that bursting, foaming cockhead flashed through her mind.

She spit out the white froth and held her toothbrush under the faucet. Her breasts tingled. Her cunt had become damp, warm and damp and slick feeling. Marcia blotted the white from her lips and padded downstairs.

Robin was staring out the window as Marcia came in the kitchen. Marcia put on some coffee and punched two slices of bread in the toaster.

Robin didn't turn around, didn't say anything. Marcia went over . . . touched her arm.

"What's wrong with you?"

Robin turned around then. Her eyes were red from crying and a droplet hung from her eyelash.

"Hey, something is wrong, isn't it?" Marcia insisted.

"Naw. Nothing." Robin pulled in a shuddery breath and went down the hail to her room.

Marcia shrugged, dug to get a cigarette out of her pocket, then shoved it back again. She poured the coffee when it boiled and buttered the toast. It was bright and warm outside. She thought of her younger sister. What could Robin possibly have to worry about?

Marcia burned her tongue on the coffee. If only her own life were as simple as Robin's. Robin seemed to never have troubles with boys, never got wrought up over anything it seemed. Maybe she was having a bad time with her period.

Marcia shook her head, smiled. Big deal. Robin didn't know how good she had things.

Marcia thought of frying an egg, but she was too upset to be very hungry. She had to get out for a while. She went back to Robin's room and found her sister sobbing quietly on the bed. They'd never been very close, but the fact that she was a female brought a rush of sympathy to Marcia.

"Hey, baby, what's wrong?" She touched Robin's shoulders. "Having a bad period?"

"Huh-uh. I'm okay."

Marcia rubbed Robin gently between the shoulder blades. "Did that guy who called . . . did he say anything when you told him I was asleep?"

Robin sniffled noisily, wiped a hand under her nose. "Naw. He just kinda laughed. He the guy you dated last night?"

Marcia stood up. "Yeah."

Marcia suddenly felt scared. When Sam laughed, there usually wasn't anything funny about it.

Marcia gave Robin a final pat and went back to the kitchen. She stood in the middle of the floor, picking at a hangnail, thinking. Then she hurried out of the house and turned down the walk toward the shopping center. She didn't want to be around in case Sam dropped by. But she hadn't made three blocks when she saw his car round the corner and descend upon her.

She tried to smile as Sam braked, but she knew it looked forced.

"Hey there, good-lookin. I thought you were still wiped out from last night. Your little sis said so.

"I have some things to shop for. I was just..."

Sam leaned across and opened the door. "Get in."

Marcia got in. She smelled the leather seats, the cologne Sam used. He was wearing sharply creased flared pants. The stitching looked expensive. His shirt was open at the neck. Black chest hair curled out like wire. The diamond on his finger twinkled as he shifted and moved the Lincoln away from the curb.

"Where's your watch, baby?"

"Oh . . I . . . well, it's right here." She pulled it from her pocket. "I was afraid I might scratch it if I wore it ..."

"I like you to wear it." Sam shifted and the engine purred powerfully as the Lincoln gained speed. Sam glanced at her, looked at the watch in her palm. "Put it on. I like to see it on your body. I like it touching your skin."

Marcia smiled thinly, opened the band and slipped the heavy watch onto her wrist. She found herself holding her breath.

Sam put a hand an her knee as he drove towards the shopping center. Her flesh crawled under his palm. She was thankful for the layer of denim which separated her flesh from Sam's fingers.

"The boys were really kidding me about you last night."

"Oh?" Marcia looked longingly at the passing sidewalk. She wished she were alone, safely out of sight from Sam's snake eyes. What had she seen in him that first time anyway? Why had she been so stupid as to date him?

"Yeah. They said I was going to get the truant officer uptight. They thought you were high-school stuff. Then I want to tell them you'd been to college."

"Just part of a year. . . The Lincoln was cruising quickly by the shopping center. "Sam, I want to do some shopping here."

"Thought we might drop by my room at the Hilton first. Have a drink, have a little lunch sent up."

"I think that would be lovely, but I just don't have time today, I..."

"You can change your mind."

Marcia opened her mouth to say something, but shut it again. Her heart was racing. Surely he could hear it. He liked to scare her. She twisted her fingers together and bit her bottom lip.

Sam looped onto the freeway, then looped off again. A black doorman saluted at the Hilton entrance and a runner came to take the car away. The black man was young with a pencil-thin mustache and keen, brown eyes. He gave Marcia a long look, then squinted at Sam.

Marcia knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that she was some hooker with a co-ed style front. She could work without so much hassle that way. Marcia tried to give the doorman a very unwhorelike smile but it didn't seem to work. He sucked a tooth and moved off to an incoming taxicab.

Marcia was barely conscious of the elevator ride, of the long walk down the silent, carpeted hail. She felt like a slave. Her hands were damp with sweat and she was dizzy.

Then the door closed behind her and Sam was making her a drink. She sipped it, then swallowed more down. Anything to kill the jumpiness.

"You're not as scared as you're acting," Sam said, holding his glass in one hand as he unbuttoned his shirt with the other.

Marcia couldn't think of a thing to say. She looked toward the door. She might just make it. Sam stepped in front of her. She gulped her drink greedily. The alcohol was already getting into her blood. He took the glass from her fingers and put it on the table.

"Take off those jeans, college girl." His voice was low and even and tinged with meanness. And he smiled the whole time.

"Sam, I don't feel like ... like doing anything. I told you yesterday

I didn't have any way to keep from getting pregnant."

He held her chin up. She had to let him kiss her. There was no way out of it. The kiss wasn't too awful. At least he didn't shove his tongue into her mouth.

"We haven't even had a good old-fashioned fuck yet," he said, smiling coldly.

Marcia dropped her eyes at the sound of that word.

"Take off your clothes."

"I want to leave."

This time Sam pinned her arms at her side and kissed her neck savagely. He was stronger than she'd thought. She couldn't free her hands, couldn't twist away. He shoved a thigh between hers and rubbed it across her cunt.

Marcia's jeans rode up tight against her cuntlips, flattening them back to expose her cut to damp silk. Sam rubbed again, his mouth wetting the soft flesh below her ear. She was being affected, but held back. It was merely a mechanical reaction. Sam knew all the right places, the erogenous zones. That didn't make her hate him any less.

"Off!"

He had her jeans unbuttoned, was yanking them down.

Marcia started pulling them back up.

He hit her, not hard enough to hurt bad but the shock, the sharpness of it sent her backwards on her heels. The edge of the bed caught her behind the knees and she sat down. Sam pushed her down and yanked at her jeans again.

Marcia cried out and tried to catch at them, but they were to her knees already. She bent her legs, tried to keep herself dressed. It was too late.

Sam stood with the jeans twisted in his hands, gloating. Marcia was determined that he wouldn't get her panties off, damn him. She was trembling terribly and wished she was better able to hide her fear. Sam seemed to enjoy that more than anything else. He grasped her panties and stripped them down easily.

"No . . . please let me go. I don't want to be here, I don't want to be with you or wear your watch. . ."

She struggled with the catch, slipped the pretty little thing from her wrist and put it on the table by the bed.

Sam was on her like a lion, striking her in the face with his open hand . . . back and forth. She tasted blood, tried to scream but was struck silent, her ears ringing. Then his mouth covered hers and she felt his tongue slide deep. Like a serpent, that tongue. His body weighed her down, his hands clawed at the jersey she wore, searching up under it for a tit. He found the large swell of tit flesh and pinched her nipple until she squealed again, tears on her cheeks now.

His pants were off now. How had he done it so quickly? How was he daring to rape her like this? And that was exactly what it was. Rape.

Marcia had read about rape cases, everybody had. And here she was, under a man she realized she'd never known at all. She'd let herself in for a small portion of hell. She'd backed herself into a horror movie and Sam Philbert was writing the script.

"You're hurting . . . please .. . mmmmm!"

His mouth shut hers. He licked at her full lips, sucked one between his lips and bit it. She felt his hands up between her thighs, at her cuntlips, parting them . . then his cock. The head of his prick felt hot against her slit.

Sam pumped his hips forward and there was a wet sound as an inch of steely cock divided her pussy-lips, then slid toward the clenched mouth of her pussy. Marcia groaned, her face stinging. She tucked her ass under, tried to make the angle wrong for him to enter her cunt. But he was strong and cruel and gasping with a strange, perverted lust.

He bit her shoulder, bit her chin. She cried out again and let her body go limp. He worked his thick hands over her tits and nipples. His fingers hurt. He didn't know how to caress a woman. He was a sadist, a rapist. Marcia knew she'd never really had any good sex. That first time in the back seat of a car hadn't been much better than this. It had hurt and her cunt had bled, and the boy had been more interested in sinking his prick into her juicy pussy than anything else. It was the same with Sam.

"You like it, don't you, baby?"

"No. . . I hate you. I want up. I want to leave..."

He hit her again and this time she was able to hold back the tears. She was too scared to cry. She was beginning to wonder if he might kill her before he was through. His cock had pushed past the muscled ring of her cunt-hole. She still held herself clenched, but when he drove cruelly forward, his prick stretched the delicate muscles painfully and she instinctively relaxed them, parted her thighs to let it be over with.

Sam laughed roughly in her ear. "You like it all right?

"Noooo!"

"Oh yes you do .. . and you like it deep too!"

He drove under with his hips and Marcia choked as she felt the rigid, hot cock-shaft slipping past her sopping cuntlips. Her cuntlips smacked stickily as he eased himself back and then stabbed suddenly deep again.

Marcia squirmed her ass on the bed, clawed at his shoulders. Sam sunk his teeth into her neck. She felt herself sinking into death. He had a firm bite on her throat .. . like a dog teasing for the kill. She went limp again and let her arms flop back on the bed, her legs fell apart. Sam growled and let go her throat. Then he gouged hard fingers into her thighs and pushed them even further apart, back until the tendons cramped painfully at her groin. Her pussy was spread apart obscenely.

"Oh God please help me. . . somebody ."

"I'm the only one can help you," Sam hissed.

He looked sharply into her face, watching while he fucked her with grinding, forceful movements. Marcia turned her face away, tried to keep it empty of expression. But it was hard to shut off all her circuits, just like that. There was something that burned down in the pit of her pussy, a tiny glow. And Sam was aware of that glow. He had found it and was ravishing it, stroking it in a way that made her lips curl back from her teeth.

"That's what you like, right? Real deep . . . like this . . . " Sam fucked deep and hard.

Marcia shut her eyes against his steady gaze. She licked her lips, stopped breathing altogether.

"Your cunt's hot. Your cunt's young and tight and juicy . . . that's what I like. I knew I'd like your pussy, baby. I want to fill it with cum!"

"No. . .I can't. . . you can't."

"How about this?"

Sam had pulled his cock almost completely out of her cunt. Just the swollen, purple crown was nestled inside the grip of her cuntlips. He teased her with tiny fucks. The friction was delicate, especially after his brutal attack on her only moments before.

Marcia shook her head, bit hard on her lower lip.

"Let me up . . . let me go

"You know that feels good, baby! I can tell by your eyes?

"Noooo... noooo!"

She flopped her head back and forth on the pillow. Her legs were very far apart and she felt the muscles in her thighs hardening, her calves bulging out with the tension Sam's teasing cockhead was bringing to her cunt. She couldn't let herself move. She just couldn't! He would know that... he would know that something was happening. Oh damn! How could it feel like that when she hated Sam so? And she did hate him. More than ever.

"Let's try your cut now... " Sam held his cock, slid it slickly up the

throbbing membranes of her pussy.

A breath caught in Marcia's throat as the spongy tip of his cock grazed her cut. Then Sam was rubbing back and forth over her excited clit. She felt his heat, sensed the tiny pisshole at the very tip. Her clit swelled with trapped blood and she felt the surrounding tissue swell and become spongy like the glans of Sam's cock.

Still she fought back the pleasure. It was like holding up a great weight. And yet even as she held herself like a statue, her pussy began to throb. Her cunt was moving, pulsing. The slick muscles inside her pussy convulsed, opened and convulsed again. More hot cuntjuice flooded from the tiny pores. She could hear the juice popping and sucking around Sam's hard cock.

He laughed again and worked the cocktip more rapidly over her clit.

"Unhhhhnnnn!" Marcia moaned, putting her shaking hands against his shoulders. Pushing at him. "Ohhhh, noooo!"

"Yeah."

Sam's cock flopped and slipped around her bulging clit. It stood a half inch above the surrounding flesh and to Marcia it felt like it was charged with high voltage.

"You got the finest pussy I ever had," Sam breathed.

He kissed her mouth sloppily, driving his tongue in and out between her teeth like a small cock. Marcia didn't want to kiss him. But he found her tongue and sucked at it. She let him take it into his mouth. Anything to get it over

with. She wanted him to come!

And Sam had the same idea. He plunged his cock back into her cunt again, plunged it deep. The sudden filling made her clench the big muscles in her thighs and Marcia knew that she had tightened her cunt muscles inside too.

Sam grunted like a pig and fucked his hot prick in and out of her pussy. If only she could hold back, if only she could think of something else! But the friction, the teasing he'd done around her cut overpowered her. She recognized the signs of an impending climax. She could have it right now if she wanted, if she started fucking him back. But she stayed still. She tried to think of how Victorian ladies suppressed their orgasms. It wasn't proper in those days for a lady to enjoy sex. It was something she submitted to.

"Move your ass, you bitch!" Sam barked.

He doubled his fist and held it above her face. Marcia knew that he was capable of much cruelty. She began to move her hips. Slowly, without imagination. It seemed to satisfy the man fucking her, at least for the moment. He clung to the small of her back and fucked violently. She see-sawed her pelvis up and down mechanically.

"Can't you do better than that?"

"I . . . I'm trying."

"I know you're a better fuck than this.. . move your ass!"

Marcia was afraid to move her ass much faster. Already the burning itch of orgasm teased the flesh of her clitoris. Her tits seemed to be on fire, the nipples fully extended.

Sam had pushed her jersey up under her arms and the rub of his chest hair against her full tits only added to her trembly excitement. But maybe she could make him come and if she did it quickly enough, save herself added shame.

She moved her hands down, down to slip them under one of Sam's thighs. She found the hot wrinkled sac of his balls and cupped the slick eggs in her palm. She squeezed and fondled them, tickling gingerly with her fingers. Then she pressed them upward, up against the swollen gland that would begin the exploding spasms of Sam Philbert's orgasm.

The muscles in his belly went taut against her wrist. He tried to say something but the words came out all garbled. He kissed her, missing her mouth and sliding his slack lips down one cheek, drooling hotly against her neck.

She moved his balls, rolling them until his cock jumped violently up inside her cunt. The tube that ran along the underside of Sam's cock bulged suddenly. Sam was flopping, trying to fuck deeper but wanting her to keep doing what she was doing too. He choked, sighed, dug his fingers into the flesh of her ass.

Then Marcia could feel the steady pulse as his tubes filled and he shot the potent cream up to the end of his prick and out into the steamy, slick depths of her pussy.

"Ohhh," she gasped, excited by what was happening. To feel it actually happening! To be making it happen! It was so damned hard to hold back now

. . . but she had to! She couldn't submit to Sam's sexuality. It would only give him more power over her. She thought of pain, thought of ugly things that had happened to her. Anything to dampen the raging inferno in her cunt as Sam fucked his slippery swollen cock in and out of her soft cunt.