Chapter 2

SATED NOW, JOCK USED ZOE'S SHOWER, GOT into his clothes, and left her room.

At the door, he turned and smiled back at her. It was a smile without guile, without apology. Apparently, in his opinion, what he had done to her was no crime, no insult, not even an action to be dwelt upon by either of them. Copulation was life: no more, no less. When a male spotted a female he wanted to screw, his stripping and raping her was expectable-and the female was expendable. Jock had boasted of pushing into dozens of girls.-likely, he had no notion of their names or faces. Tomorrow he might not remember Zoe's.

Yet she knew she was more to him than the other women he had emptied his sexual spasms into. She had been a virgin until an hour ago-and he had never deflowered a virgin before. He had lilted it, blood and all.

Now his great gray eyes dwelt upon her warmly, almost tenderly, as he paused there in the bedroom door. "Look, baby, if you change your mind about marrying me, just let me know."

She didn't answer. She had already told him how she felt about him. And even his mistaking her for a whore when she was a virgin-well, it didn't change her feeling. She hoped she never saw any part of him again, especially that too big, too hard thing that had torn her crotch so ruthlessly.

He tarried a moment longer, as if waiting for her to speak, but when she didn't, he turned and strode down the hall. The bedroom door swung shut, leaving Zoe alone in her hurt and heartbreak. She had never been so miserable, so furious, and so frustrated in her life.

Clitey-her sister Clitey, had got her into this mess. What kind of woman had Clitey become in the ten years since she left Missouri? But Zoe knew she didn't need to answer that question, not even to herself. Clitey was a slut. A beautiful, well-groomed, party-giving slut. But a slut nonetheless. A nympho, Jock had called her-and he was probably right. Taking on all those men, every Friday night before her gambling games started-why, no ordinary woman could stand it. Surely only a nympho could keep her private parts moist enough, oily enough-either artificially or naturally-to have all those peckers pushing in and out of her the same night.

Zoe got out of bed and stood on her feet, slowly, carefully. More than-likely she would carry the scars of this night's rape for days, maybe weeks. When she could take time to look at herself, to dab medicine on the torn places, she would probably find terrible wounds that would take months to heal.

But suddenly she realized that she didn't feel sick at all-not weak either. She was uncomfortable, a little sore in the middle. But otherwise she was fine. Not dead, not even badly wounded.

Jock Tawnley's rod had stabbed her unmercifully-but nature had made her ready, all her life, for just such a stabbing. A woman's legs were made to part at the top, to force open the place for a man's prick to stick her. Zoe was not deeply hurt because she was not supposed to be. If, sometime, another man took her down and shoved his pecker into her,, she might not be hurt at all. In time there would be' nothing to it. Maybe that was why prostitutes were able to carry on, even to learn to relish their profession.

Well, Zoe was through with sex for now, and she hoped, forever until she married-if she ever did. After tonight, she would have to think about it a long time before she'd tie herself to going to bed regularly with any man, even legally. Let women who loved peckers, get themselves pecked all they wanted to. Women like Clitey. Zoe could stand it if no man ever pecked her again.

She pulled the soiled linen off the bed and heaped it into the waste basket. Even Clitey's wash-woman shouldn't be asked to clean it up. Then she went into the bathroom and soaked in the tub until she felt warmed through-and well.

Inspecting her hurts, she saw that all she needed was a little salve here and there. It must have been the breaking of her hymen and the stretching of her vaginal tissues that had made her think Jock was killing her when he forced himself into her maiden crotch. She was all right now. Beaten about, certainly de-prided as well as deflowered-but not really injured. Not at all.

All right then. She'd pick up what was left of her self-respect and go on with what she could make of her life.

The first plan she must make, in the light of what had happened to her-and of what she had learned about Clitey tonight-must be to leave this house and this town, as soon as she could. She had no money of her own as yet-and no possible place to go. She might have to stay here a little while, get along with Clitey until she could find a job and earn a few dollars to buy a bus or train ticket out of Texas. But the minute she had the fare, and maybe fifty cents or so for a bite to eat on the way, she would take out for Missouri; and she'd never leave its sheltered conservatism again. There, in the little town where she grew up, she would find old friends who would offer her a job, a home, a friendship-and decency. She would be through with Clitey and her men, the sounds of males stripping and stabbing every crotch they could catch in this evil house.

She went to the clothes closet that had so delighted her when Clitey had shown it to her this afternoon. In their first telephone talk after Mom's death-Clitey hadn't come back to Missouri for the funeral and only distant cousins had walked to the grave with Zoe-Clitey had asked for Zoe's dress and shoe sizes. In this closet, in the room that she had given to Zoe, there were at least two dozen lovely, expensive dresses, each one with matching shoes, plus slacks, shorts, under things, costume jewelry, and every other accessory that a young girl could want and need.

In her first glimpse of this fabulous wardrobe, Zoe had hugged Clitey joyously, sure that her sister meant to dress her for the teenage crowd she would meet in her new home. But now, eyeing the clothes distrustfully, she wondered if perhaps Clitey hadn't intended the imagine duds to attract men and to bring them to the gaming establishment that earned her such a big-figure income. It was more than-likely that Clitey planned to make her sister into the same high class prostitute that she so enjoyed being.

Well, that would never happen. Zoe would tell Clitey so, the first chance she got. But for tonight she might as well dress in something that cost a fortune-and go down to the Corral to watch the excitement, if any, that was there.

She selected gold things-a gold sheath that gave shine to her red-brown hair and reflected itself in her blue-blue eyes, gold pumps, a gold necklace, and gold earrings that dangled half way to her shoulders. She had never looked like this before. She wasn't sure she liked her mirrored prettiness but she ought to look grown-up, and hard, now. She was not a maiden any more. Her maidenhood and her maidenhead-were gone forever.

All at once her eyes found the front of her gold dress-she felt her face flaming in quick annoyance. Why, this dress was cut to the waist! Right down between the breasts the opening went, almost to her navel. Half of each breast showed plainly. Only the nipples were out of sight-and they seemed about to burst into view at the least movement. Why, a man could put his hand on a bare breast without taking a single garment off her. It was a wonder that Clitey hadn't cut a hole in the front of the skirt to reveal the crotch, pushed out and begging for a man's pecker! But of course she knew that this miniskirt could be flipped up for that purpose without the least effort. Either Clitey liked ultra-extreme styles or else she was paving a primrose lane for little Zora.

Zoe found a tiny gold handkerchief that almost matched the dress-and pinned it into the deep crevice. There was a line of nude stomach below the fill-in-but the half breasts were covered now. No man would be feasting his eyes, or his hands, on her bare bosom again tonight if she could help it.

She took a last glance into the mirror and decided that she looked like the kind of woman who would be helping her sister fleece men in a glittering gambling joint. She stepped into the hallway and closed her bedroom door quietly.

She had not taken more than a dozen steps toward the stairway when she heard soft laughter behind her-and spun about to face Clitey and a man. They were coming out of Clitey's bedroom and she looked as radiant as a bride who had just shared sexual climax with her husband. Of course, in Clitey's case, the climax had most certainly been enjoyed probably two or three climaxes, if the man's vitality had been up to it-only not legally.

Zoe's eyes swept her sister's beautiful face and figure, so like their mother's-yet so evilly different. Clitey Shaw Duncan Kerney Shaw-she had reassumed her maiden name after her last divorce-was duchess-tall, queen-beautiful, princess-desirable. Her eyes, so large that they appealed, so startlingly inured that they rebuffed, were as blue-green as a spruce corsage. The flawless cheeks, only slightly rouged, blended into rose-toned lips whose heart shape was enhanced by a sharp chin-line that held the suggestion of a dimple at its tip. And the wealth of dyed-gold hair was a sunlit setting for the dazzling beauty that was Clitey. In her fake-diamond ear drops, her shimmering-silver gown that was cut to the waist to show both breasts almost fully, and the jeweled slippers that glistened in the soft lights of the hallway, the woman was unbelievably lovely.

Something about Clitey was unbelievable, Zoe thought as she stared at her sister. What was it? The make-up, the clothes, the slimness of the seductive body? No, they were all as Zoe remembered them.

It was Clitey's hair that was different! She used to be a stringy-haired kid, like Mom. She hadn't inherited Pop's thick thatch, the way Zoe had. As a child, Clitey's hair had hardly covered her head; bald spots had shown through when she had come back from Texas to visit-and in the pictures she had sent home.

What kind of vitamins had Clitey fed her hair, these years, to produce this gorgeous halo about her come-hither face? The hair didn't look like a wig; it was Clitey's own, because there was no line of juncture between the real and the false, which wigs never really hid ... Well, maybe Clitey had found a hair-growing process. If anybody could uncover anything to improve a woman's sexual invitation, Clitey could.

Then Zoe's eyes moved from her sister to the man beside Clitey, and she stepped back a little, frozen into amazed disbelief at her own reaction to this magnificent male.

Clitey murmured, "Well, well, here's my sweet Little Sis ... Zoe, darling, this is Lincoln Tawnley 'Link' to me and I'm sure to you too."

"Hi, Little Sis." The tall man's eyes went the length of Zoe just once, impersonally, almost disinterestedly. Then, his hand on Clitey's elbow, he moved past the younger girl. His fingers touched a panel in the wall beside them, revealing the entrance to an elevator that Zoe had not known was there. They stepped into it, the panel closed into a flawless wall again, and they were gone.

But Zoe's reaction to Link Tawnley was not gone. She had never been so electrified at first sight of any human being before. And the feeling was not instant love, not attraction nor desire, not even a wish to face the man again. It was pure animal magnetism, the heady self-destruction that a moth must feel as it rushed to singe its wings and die in a flaming candle.

Link looked as young as Jock-and yet three times as old. His hair was as black, his eyes as gray, his body as lean and straight as his son's. But the sun-baked olive face was slightly lined, the shoulders were set in a man's assurance, and the eyes were so steely that they held no hint of softness nor tolerance.

It was those eyes that had made Zoe shiver, that made her tremble still; the piercing depth of the gaze, even in its one swift sweep over her. And the lips-lips that were a straight slash across a handsome, leathery, outdoor face-why, those lips were cruel, bitter, almost vicious. They belonged to the kind of man who would train birds to kill each other and sell them into their deaths; a man who would instruct his son to "get so tired of popping his nuts that he'd settle down without women." Yes, Link Tawnley looked all of that and more. He was the most magnetic-and the most menacing-male that Zoe had ever met. She hoped she would never cross himor do anything to cause him to cross her.

Clitey had looked up at him as if she adored him. Of course she probably put out the gaiety of What-a-man-you-are to every male who took her to bed-so he would take her again, and spend his money in her Corral ... Yet, in her look of virgin-Joy, a moment ago, Clitey had seemed completely in love with Link.

And it-would be possible for her to be. A female slut could love a male slut. And only two houses would be corrupted if they attached themselves to each other permanently.

What would Link be like in bed? Zoe wondered, shivering harder at the thought. Evidently he was able to please, to satisfy, to over joy a woman to whom men must be no more than commonplace. If Jock's pecker could cut a girl as deeply, as savagely as it did, what must his father's prick be able to do to a woman? Would it slice her wide open, tear her crotch apart-or-would it so magnetize her that she would hold herself open for it, thrill to the glorious pain of its ruthless stabbing, cling to its presence in her crotch until the last drop of his climax was drained from him?

What a woman it-would take to interest, and to do it physically, but Link's eyes had not echoed her plea for a shared love, and he didn't look like the kind of man who would marry a slut.

Jock had said that his father wanted no women, good or bad, living at the Tawnley Feather Farm. Zoe would bet any amount of money, if she had any to bet, that Jock's mother had been chaste when Link married her-and had stayed true to him as long as she lived. The Tawnley men appeared to be the kind who laid women whenever they felt the urge to do so-but let no pushover gain their name. Jock had said, "I've cut a virgin all to hell ... I don't want any other guys sticking you, now that I've broke you in ... Do you want to marry me, Zoe, baby?"

So Clitey's relationship with Link was-likely to be that of physical contact, of infrequent nights of impersonal copulation; nothing more.

Zoe might as well go on down to the Corral and watch Clitey watch Link-and the other men who would be there by now. Zoe might gamble a little herself, if Clitey offered to stake her to some cash to join the boys. She might drink her first liquor too, get woozy enough to forget how big Jock Tawnley's pecker had looked, how fiercely it had cut her. She might even be able to force herself to pretend that she was having a good time at Clitey's gaming tables.

She started down the two flights of stairs to the sub-basement, her spike heels making no sound on the thickly carpeted steps.

Why would anybody's residence have two basements? Well,-likely for the same reason that this residence had a secret elevator-and doubtless other get-aways and hide-outs. The better to escape detection, arrest, and jail, of course. Clitey was selling booze in a dry country, tossing dice in a non-gambling state, and putting out sex that society frowned upon. She had bad need of all her elaborate precautions, Zoe was sure.

Half way down the last flight of stairs, she came to a landing and met the appraising, glassy smile of a man she had met earlier, a fellow of whom Clitey had said, "Little Sis, this is Reem-my friend and partner, like all my employees."

And now Zoe could see what Reem's job was here. He had the sharpest, beadiest eyes that a man. could possess-and his red formal jacket with its gold trim, showed a definite bulge that had to be a gun. He was obviously Clitey's look-out guard, stationed where he could spy all who came to or went from the Corral God's sake, would Clitey kill to keep her illegal business in operation? Yes, apparently she would.

The man named Reem said, "Okay, Miss Shaw. I know you. Go on down." And she walked past him. As she lifted a hand to locate the device that opened the door of the Corral, she caught a guttural chuckle somewhere down this half-dark corridor. Paused with her hand in the air, she listened without meaning to-without wanting to.

A low-toned Mexican voice, plainly a man's, was boasting, "Me, I could go een there eef I wanted to. I have been at Clitey's tables. I could fuck Clitey eenstead of you, you peeg of a Tutie Bear. I have fucked Clitey more than once. You know thees, Tutie Bear?"

A woman's voice, almost as low as the man's, spoke derisively, "You're screwin' me now, not Clitey, you pig of a dog! You want to screw, then screw-or I spit on youi"

The man hedged, "Wait. I shut thee door first."

But his would-be sex partner guffawed, "Who the hell cares about doors? Not you, Mendez. And not me. Newa me, by Gawd. Evvabody screws in the kitchen, screws on the living room rug, screws wherever they damn well want to, whether anybody's watchin' or not, here at Clitey's. So for Christ's sake get on me and start screwin'-or out you go!"

There was the sound of one bare body squishing onto another. The man's voice jibed, "So you want I pee or get off the pot, huh? So I do thees, you fat bitch. I pee in you goo. And I make a new hole in you while I pee."

Zoe's eyes were seeing through the shadows now and she made out the lines of several doors on the north side of the long hallway. All were unlighted, including the open one from which the voices had erupted.

The woman had called the man "Mendez", so he must be Link Tawnley's foreman; Jock had mentioned that name. As for the "peeg, Tutie Bear," Zoe felt no need, nor wish to know, who the woman was. And she certainly didn't care what either of them looked, like; she hoped she would never encounter them in person.

The south half of the corridor was one long hall, showing no door or other opening, obviously pretending to be the end of this second basement. Zoe stuck a bobbie pin in the exact crack between strips of paneling that Clitey had indicated to her this afternoon-an invisible dot that only a small point like a pin or a ballpoint pen could locate. The panel swung wide, throwing light and laughter into Zoe's face.

She had been here earlier, just before she ran from the fat old man so she was ready for the gaudy glamour, the brittle brilliance of the Corral. Texas-big, its reds and golds screamed at her. It was windowless, and the red walls and carpets were reflected in the gold light fixtures, in the chairs and the bar, in the gold tables with their red tops.

There was only one woman in the room-Clitey, the hostess, the owner, the recipient of every pecker and every penny within reach. There were a dozen men, Zoe guessed, without counting them. The Tawnley men were there, along with three others whom Zoe remembered meeting when she arrived this afternoon; the remainder were strangers to her. Well, the fat old man wasn't exactly a stranger; any male who had chased you with his prick hanging out was a known-and-recognized enemy, whether you knew his name or not.

All the attendants were in gold and red, like the armed guard on the stairs; all seemed gay, at ease, bent only on the good time of the masculine guests. Making them partners in this enterprise was real damn sharp of Clitey, Zoe mused. They couldn't turn her in without implicating themselves and they weren't-likely to do it anyway, not as long as they were sharing in the earnings of this plainly profitable place. And, on top of everything else, they appeared to enjoy the fringe benefit of unrestricted, unqualified sex, from Clitey down to that awful-sounding Tutie Bear, who must be some kind of employee hereabouts. God's sake, as Daddy used to say, what a damned-awful racket to live by!

Zoe dropped down at a corner table that was away from the gaming groups. A red-coated waiter was at her elbow at once. "Yes, Miss Shaw?" Golly, did everybody here know everybody else? Heck, yes, of course they did. It was part of Clitey's togetherness.

She wanted to say, "Bring me a coke." But she saw Clitey's eyes on her, along with the curious stares of several men. She'd be damned if she'd order a sweet-child drink. She cleared her throat and stammered, "Bring me some kind of-of whiskey."

Clitey left the dice table and crossed to Zoe's corner, catching the waiter before he was gone from the little table. "Bring her a jigger of vodka in a glass of ginger ale," she instructed.

She sat down across from her sister. "I want you to learn to drink-and drink heavy-as soon as you can, Little Sis. But it had better be gradual. I don't want you getting sick and chickening out on booze before you learn to hold it."

She laid a cool hand on Zoe's steamy fist. "Well, well, did you have a big experience with the Tawnley youngster, Little Sis?'

Zoe felt her face reddening, burning like a thousand prairie fires. "I don't know what you mean by 'a big experience.' But that-that monster ... Why, he-he-"

"He destroyed your virginity?"

Zoe stared across the small space between them. But Clitey didn't look upset by her question-or its obvious answer. She seemed to know what it would be-and to approve it.

Zoe snapped, "Yes, he did! Clitey, how could you bring me to this-this awful place where men throw girls into bed and-and attack them, without anybody trying to stop them? How could you?

"Now, now, Little Sis, don't get all lathered up about it." Clitey was smiling-and there was no hostility, no defensiveness in the smile. "I'm sorry you got screwed tonight, sweetie. I didn't intend to let the men get to you until I'd got you started on pills, so you'd be sure not to get caught. But you're not-likely to be knocked up after just one pricking, however good the kid was. And you'll be glad, as soon as you get used to the idea of it, that you got that foolishness over. You're a pretty girl, lots prettier than I ever was, and I want you to help me here in the Corral. With your looks and my know-how, we'll haul in twice as many men as before and make twice as much money. I'll make you my partner, and you'll get rich along with me."

Zoe could hardly credit her ears. Was Clitey taking it for granted that "Little Sis" was going to enroll in prostitution and gambling and drinking, without so much as a wince or a protest? If she was, it was time to straighten her out.

Zoe said, "Honest, Clitey, I can't ever do what you do. Not even if I wanted to-and I damn well don't want to. I couldn't go to bed with one man after another, the whole afternoon before these games, letting every leering lout take his turn at stuffing his big fat prick into me! Why, the very thought of it makes me want to throw up!"

Clitey laughed softly, seductively. "Sure, sure, Little Sis. I used to think indiscriminate sex was vulgar, and that any sex at all was distasteful. But I got over that stupid notion, and I'm glad I did. When I married that goddamned Jim Duncan, he raped me vary night for months-through flu, menstruation, everything. I had to get used to that dick of his, whether I wanted to or not, so I made myself learn to like his screwing as much as he did. When he left me for a goddamned little virgin he picked up somewhere, I married Dan Kerney, and he couldn't get stiff once a week. I had to masturbate a hundred times to his screwing me once, so I walked out on him. I've made my own living since then, and you can see, it's a goddamn good living, Little Sis. I'd rather be screwed than eat-especially when the divine ox, Link, is around. I open up to all these guys on Friday nights-and to whatever other guys I take a shine to, other nights."

She paused, dropping her tone to a level of coaxing. "Give my kind of life a chance, Little Sis. You'll find you like it, I'm sure. Screwing's a hell of a lot of fun. And gambling's a goddamned good money-maker. You'll be as happy with both of them as I am."

"You'd better not ... not count on that." Zoe wished she could batter down these beautiful red walls and fly so far that she'd never come back. "I don't want to ... to do what you do, Clitey."

"You will when you've had time to think it over. You'll realize how easy, and how profitable, this kind of thing is." The older girl smiled again, her face relaxed and assured. "Right now you're a little upset because that Tawnley boy got to you. But you'll feel all right about it in the morning." She leaned closer. "That screwing was a good thing for both of you kids, Little Sis. Link said Jock had never been into a girl before, and I knew that you were a virgin. You broke each other in. Isn't that sweet?"

Zoe half rose from her seat, feeling dizzy and shaken. "I-I don't believe you? Why, that-that monster told me he had ... had shoved his ... his pecker into girls all his life, ever since he was in kindergarten! He said he knew as much about screwing as any older man did. And he ... he acted like he did, too. He was-awful, Clitey! He didn't kiss me or ... or anything. He just pulled off my clothes and then his and ... and started shoving his prick into me. It was so big it scared me. And he was awful pushy. He hurt me so bad I thought I couldn't stand it. And all the time he was doing it to me, he was bragging about all the girls he'd put it to!"

"Maybe you'd called him a kid, Little Sis; made him think that you thought he wasn't old enough to shave or get a hard on. Nothing makes a young man madder than that, you know-or you ought to know. Call a kid sexually immature, and he'll rape you if it's the last thing he does ... Had you told him he wouldn't know how to open up a girl, Little Sis?"

"Well, I-Well, yes, I had. But I didn't know it would affect him that way."

"You know it now. And you know too, from Link's telling me and me telling you, that Jock was just as much a virgin as you were, no matter how many wild lies he gave you about bedding down with a hundred girls. Unless he had affairs that his dad didn't know about-and I doubt that, because Link knows everything about everybody close to him-then that green youngster hadn't used his dick for anything except to pee through, until he used it on you tonight."

She rose and patted Zoe's shoulder. "Well, well, you even covered up your breasts, Little Sis. God, what for?" She leaned down and unpinned the gold handkerchief, lifting it from the crevice, exposing Zoe's ripe, round bosom. Both breasts popped out like grapefruit from a sack. The nipples held back, teetering on the edge of the cloth, their brown points barely visible.

Zoe rushed both hands to her breasts, trying to cover the full white mounds of flesh.

Clitey laughed, "You might as well get used to showing off what you've got, Little Sis. You'll be nude more often than dressed, around here. And I go topless at the games a lot of the time. The men love it. Pinching a nipple makes them forget how much cash they're losing, if they're low man at dice or black-jack or poker. And you've got to keep them sexed up, sweetie. Don't ever let any man anywhere forget that you're a woman. Rub your breasts on them whenever you get close enough. And you can rub better if you don't have them covered up."

She leaned closer and flipped Zoe's nipples into full sight. "There you are, Little Sis. You've got a neat pair of breasts, big beauties. And as soon as you get used to showing them, you'll be proud of how big, how firm they are. You'll oil them every day and then massage them like hell, to make them even bigger and firmer. You'll like to have the boys feeling them during the games. It'll give you a tingle, help you work up and let you go off when you get the guy into bed. So don't be so bashful, sweetie. Let all the men here tonight get a load of your big, bouncy breasts. I wish mine were as big as yours."

She released a string or zipper somewhere in her clothes, and dropped the whole front of her dress along with whatever was under it if anything, to her waist. Her breasts stood out nude, pointed like a young girl's. The nipples were gilded a bright gold, and each breast was made up in rosy pink. Giving Zoe one last reassuring smile, Clitey glided smoothly away, dropping to the table where Link Tawnley sat, pushing one bared breast under his arm.

The man did not jump at her touch, did not even register any notice of the breast. The man on the other side of Clitey reached out and thumped the gold nipple closest to him, making some snide comment that caused the whole table to snort with delight. But Link ignored that too. He was frowning, studying the board, placing his bet.

Apparently Link was exactly what his son had said he was-immune to women. He could empty his sex urge into a girl, and then put her aside without a lingering thought. He was inhuman. He was a male but not a man, Zoe thought a little bitterly.

He was heartless enough to be glad that his virgin son had raped Clitey's virgin sister. Probably they had laughed about it together, wondering if the novices knew where the pecker was supposed to go, if the un-stabbed crotch was hard to open up ... All right, let them laugh. Damn them both, Clitey and Link. Damn the whole lot of people in this miserable room tonight ...

Well, maybe not damn them all. Maybe not damn the red-faced boy who was coming toward her now. Maybe not damn Jock Tawnley.