Chapter 1

Icy terror soared around Zoe, swooping closer with every frightened tap of her feet. She felt her breath hot and hard, her wild heart pounding her. If she stopped, she'd be lost. But, God's sake, she had to stop, just for a second, just long enough for an extra gasp of air ... Surely she had time to-Then she heard that bedeviled, belabored puffing, down the hall-and she grabbed a half-breath and raced on. She would run until she died, if she had to, to escape that repulsive old man.

He had started chasing her around the red-and-gold gaming room called The Corral, when he'd found her down there alone. Skunk-drunk, he'd caught her and pounced on her-and she'd scooted out from under him when his hands let her go to open his pants. Horrified, she'd run the length of the sub-basement room and gained the carpeted steps.

One scared glance over her shoulder had shown him pounding after her in weaving, drunken hops.

The front of his pants was gaping, his fat old prick dangling out. God's sake, if she wanted any man shoving into her-which she didn't-she'd never choose a loathsome old gramps like him with a fleshy, flabby rod like his!

She reached the first basement and dashed on up to the ground floor. She stopped for breath, listening-and heard nothing. Then she caught the sound of a muffled tumble down a stairway-and she knew the old fool had tripped and fallen back to the Corral.

God's sake, she'd lost him at last. She hoped he stayed lost. Now if she could get to Clitey before the leering old sot picked himself up and started after her again, she would be safe-she thought ... she hoped ...

But she couldn't be sure of that. She wasn't sure of anything any more. She had been unnerved, unsettled-just plain God-awful scared!-ever since she had arrived at Clitey's house this afternoon.

There was something stand-offish about this Texas oil city, with its crumby cafes and dirty bars, and smelly gambling joints. There was no friendliness in the rows of drilling rigs which stretched into the western horizon, each one lighted by its slanting lines of yellow bulbs.

And there was something terrifying about this three-level house that had one story above ground and two below; that had strange men tossing money onto red-felt tables at odd hours-and other men showing off their wrinkled genitals as they chased girls they meant to throw down and rape.

Why hadn't Zoe stayed in Missouri?

In the softly lighted hallway, she ran her fingers over a closed bedroom door, seeking the knob. But before she could turn it, she drew back, repelled by the sounds coming from behind it. A man and a woman-were in there-and even a teenager from Missouri could tell what they were doing. Plainly, Clitey was in bed with a man. And, even more plainly, she liked what he was doing to her-as much as he did, maybe even more.

Suddenly there was a rush behind Zoe in the corridor-and a man's hands caught her, spinning her toward him. He was young, hardly older than her own sixteen years. His black hair and gray eyes gave him a handsome aura, in spite of his unsteady chin. His face was a boy's, atop a man's frame.

His voice was hoarse, throaty, "Aren't you Zora Shaw?"

She nodded.

"Then I guess you want to go to bed with me."

Zoe tensed even tighter. God's sake, no, she didn't want to go to bed with this pink-cheeked stripling. He'd be better than the old man with the dangling rod-but she'd never gone to bed with any male and she didn't intend to start tonight.

She shook her head vigorously.

The boy stared. "But you're Clitey's sister so, gad, you must be half-nympho. Sex is part of Clitey's bait, you know. Link says all the men who gamble here at Clitey's Corral on Friday nights, get a piece of Clitey first. Link's getting his now."

She wanted to say, You're wrong about Clitey. But that would be a little silly, with both of them hearing the sounds of sexual satisfaction in the bedroom behind them. She wanted to ask, Do I have to hold Open House on my privates, just because I'm related to the woman who runs this polluted place? But he'd already answered that question-and his answer had been yes.

He added, "The guys say Clitey puts out such a good piece that you don't mind her sky-high whiskey prices-or the whopping cut the house gets out of every game you ante into."

He waited, as if pausing to let Zoe break in. When she didn't, he went on, "Well, it looks like I got here too late for my bite of Clitey. It's almost nine o'clock-that's when the games start, you know, and Link won't pull out of Clitey until he has to. So I figured you must be taking on all the men she didn't have time to, meaning me. I'd as soon have a piece of you as Clitey."

She found her voice-at least part of it. She gasped, "Oh, no, I-Why, I never-No, you can't have a-piece of me!"

His mouth dropped open. "Gads and goldfish, don't try to tell me you're a tight-holed little virgin?"

Should she tell him the truth-or should she try to brazen it out and hope to shut him up by making him think she was too hardened a woman to be intrigued by the-likes of his boyish sexiness?

She decided on the last one and said coolly, "I know what's what, Jock."

She remembered that his name was Jock Tawnley. Clitey had introduced him, along with several other men, an hour or so ago. The man named Link, who was making love to Clitey, was a Tawnley too. They must be brothers-and regulars here. They seemed to know their way around this millionaire's mansion with the red-and-gold gaming room in its sub-basement.

But everybody was more at home here than Zoe-the skinny, auburn-haired, blue-eyed girl that Clitey had sent for after Mom's death two weeks ago; the naive kid who had expected to find her sister living on the rich leavings of two divorced husbands-before she learned that Clitey's castle and

Cadillac came from the men she chose so carefully and plied so well with her glamourous games, her lilting liquor, and her beautiful body.

Now, as Jock kept silent, Zoe added icily, "And I don't think you could show me a thing, youngster."

Instantly his head shot up, his face afire. "By gad, I'm as good a man as Link-or any of the other older guys. If I wanted to, I could show you plenty of peter. I could cut you as good as they could!"

She let a patronizing smile flit across her face, hoping it would hide her inner trembling. She was almost as afraid of this kid as she had been of the old duffer. If he decided to haul out that thing that was bulging his pants and shove it into her, she couldn't stop him. He was twice her size-and he wasn't drunk. If he pushed himself on top of her, the way the old man had done, she wouldn't be able to wiggle loose.

She tried to bluff, "Save your imagine cut for your next turn with Clitey. Or hold it for some sweet young thing like yourself."

That dig at his virility ought to make him mad enough to turn his back on her-and go huffing down the two flights of stairs to the craps and the dominoes and the poker.

Counting on her tone to disguise her shaking shoulders, she tossed her burnished head and started to whip past him.

But, like a roaring tornado in her ears, the boy exploded into savage fury. His hands clamped onto her shoulders, eating into the flesh like searing strips of red-hot iron. His arms bound her tight against him, so tight that she felt the outline of his genitals: hard and young and frightfully over-sized, throbbing against his clothes, pushing at her through the thin barrier between them.

She choked, "Please, Jock, I-I'm sorry I said what I-did. I know you're a-a man. You don't have to-to prove it to me ... So let me-go ... Please, Jock, let me go!"

But his throaty voice was raging, ravishing her already, "By God, I'll let you go when I'm danged good and ready to! And that'll be when I've cut you better than any other man ever did! No baby-blue-eyed little whore can call me a 'youngster' without me showing her how big a man I am!"

"Please, Jock, I-I don't want to find out how-how big you are."

She could already feel how big he was-and she knew that that bigness, that hardness, would be more than her "tight-holed" virginity could take without pain. She had always hoped to be deflowered by a man with a little one-and a man who loved her too much to want to hurt her. Was she, instead, to be torn apart by this wild-eyed boy who was bent on pushing everything he had into her whether she had room for it or not?

Yes, she guessed she was. The boy had picked her up in his powerful arms, clamping one hand over her mouth to stifle her sere s-and was marching down the hall. Her struggle meant nothing to him-nor did the constant kicking she made against his legs. What could she do to break his hold on her-what could she do?

Nothing ... Nothing at all ... As terror mounted within her, she felt herself carried into one of the guest rooms, thrown onto abed, and pawed by clumsy hands that tore her clothes from her in great chunks: ripping her dress and slip into shreds, tearing her bra and panties off, and exposing her white body to his greedy eyes as it had never been shown to a male before.

Frantic now, she slapped his face. If she could hit him hard enough, maybe rake her fingernails down his cheeks, draw the blood in great gashes-

But he was ahead of her. He yelled, "Oh, no, you don't, you scratching little bitch!"

And, before she realized what was happening, he was tearing a sheet from the bed and ripping it into strips, all the while sitting on her so she couldn't escape him. The next moment he had fashioned a rope from the cloth and swung her flailing arms above her head, tying them there.

He pulled off his shirt and undershirt, then kicked off his shoes, all without moving from her. Next, he flipped off his pants and shorts in one sweeping pull, raising his hips from her stomach for only an instant.

In the next motion, he was flopping over-and thudding down upon her.

Suddenly she sobbed, "Jock, nobody ever-touched me before I Don't make me take your-your thing, please don't! Let me go before you-"

"Shut up, you lying little slut! Nobody in this gambling hole could be a danged virgin!"

Seizing another strip of the torn sheet, he shoved it into her mouth. Then he began to vent his lust upon her.

"Get your legs apart and push that thing up to me, you little bitch! God, you're tight ... you can't really have kept the men out of your hairy little hole all these years ... You've got the tightest stuff I ever tried to poke my pecker into ...

"Oh, Lord, quit slobbering all over me! It's not gonna do you any good, you know. I'm gonna cut you good, in spite of-hell ... I never cut a virgin. If you really are one-which, I don't think you are-it'll be something. I didn't know there were any virgins any more, not after girls got to be six or seven ... The little bitches I grew up with were holding open their flaps for my prick as soon as we started school ...

"I'm cutting you now, I'm finally breaking into you ... Lie still and take it, you wiggly little worm. I don't care how loud you grunt and groan, I'm gonna bust into you as far as this pecker will go. And you'll never have a bigger pecker stuck into you than mine!

"Okay, okay, I'm in. How is it? Am I still a 'youngster' who can't show you anything?

"Oh, my gad, you're soaking us! You're a danged mess! Lord above, you are a virgin ... When will you quit bleeding? And how'll we clean up this danged place?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't have spoken if she'd wanted to, because of the gag-but she didn't have the strength any more. She only lay helpless under the body that pounded hers, up and down, in and out, not stopping its seige even when her blood washed them both. On and on he forced himself into her, more excited with every new push that seemed to slice completely through her. Then, panting wildly, he let himself go-and she felt him throb within her, felt the flow of his semen through all the tortured tenderness of her cunt. And at last came his shrinking prick, dropping from her, spent, too limp to push any more. He pulled the gag from her mouth, untied her hands, and moved away from her on the bed.

For a few moments they lay there together, too exhausted to speak or move again. Then, awkwardly, he said, very low, "Zoe, I-well, I wouldn't have screwed you so hard if I'd known."

She wasn't crying any more. She was too numb to cry now. She could feel the torn tissue that must be adding blood to her broken hymen, the private parts of her that-would be swollen and sore for days to come.

But she said, "I know it, Jock. I know you had to-to prove your manhood. I-drove you to it."

He rolled close to her and kissed her lips quietly, quickly. "Link won't have any women around our place. My mother died years ago and we've had only men there since. Link says they'd muddy up his business activities ... But I've always told him I was going to get married some day. And he's always said, sure, I could run right out and get married if I ever found a virgin-which he was damned sure I never would ... Well, now, I have. I've cut you all to hell-and I'm the first man who ever did ... God, Zoe, that makes me your-well, I don't know what to call it. But it's my pecker that broke you in. Any other pecker you ever feel, you'll remember how big, and how good, mine was. You'll compare mine with all the others that stick you from now on I"

Her voice was a low moan, "I hope I never have any other-other pecker to-to compare yours with! I hope I never-"

He interrupted excitedly, "Baby, I don't like to think about any other guy screwing you, now that I've broke you in. I think I'd kind of like to go on sticking you all by myself-anyway, for a while. This is the only time you'll bleed all over us like this. And next time you won't be hurt so bad. You're all stretched open now-and I'll break into you real easy next time."

"Oh, no, you won't! I'll never let you-"

"Zoe, baby, do you want to marry me?"

Startled, and still stunned from his brutal rape, she sat up with a jerk. Then, groaning from the pain that shot through her crotch, she fell back on her elbows, staring at him in amazement.

Unable to speak aloud in her surprise, she whispered, "Marry you? God's sake, no-no! I'd never marry a man who-who tore me open like you did, without caring how much it hurt me!"

"But, baby, I didn't know you were a danged virgin-you know I didn't! You acted like a seasoned old whore-and that was what I was sure you were. I figured that if I didn't screw you the way a man would, you'd tell Clitey that I was a washout when I tried to stab a girl. And then I knew she'd tell Link-and I'd never live it down. He wants me to get so tired of popping my nuts that I'll go home and settle down with him and the foreman and the birds, without needing any women."

One of his words snagged her sickened mind. "What do you mean, 'settle down with the birds?"

"Just what I said, baby. Haven't you heard of the Tawnley Feather Farm? We raise fighting cocks, the fanciest in the whole country. Ship'em to Mexico and other places that hold cock fights, even to some places in this country where they fight birds illegally. Link sends 'em out by the thousand-well, anyway, by the hundred at a time. He's worked up a hell of a business, him and his hired hands and his foreman, Mendez. It's a real pretty place to live, and-"

"Who is Link? I mean, what relation is he to you?"

"Relation? Why, baby, I thought you knew. He's my dad."