Chapter 10
EACH OF THE MALE MEMBERS OF THE club received an invitation in his morning mail, which read as follows: "You and your better half are invited to a little soiree at our lodge. We plan on going up this evening and spending the night. To avoid confusion as to directions, etc., we'll all drive up in our car and return tomorrow. Please come if you possibly can, because we know you'll enjoy the evening's festivities." They were signed by Allison and Steve.
"I wonder what Steve's cooking up this time?" Jerry mused. It was the first time he'd spoken directly to Pam all morning, partly due to his hangover, and partly because he was still angry.
"We'll never know," Pam replied.
His reaction put her on the defensive.
"Well, we can't just go off and leave Sue! Not when she's running a temperature," Pam stormed.
"Look who's decided to play the doting mother, all of a sudden! I didn't notice you worrying any on our last outing. Oh, pardon me. I forgot. You had big strong Steve to comfort you then."
His sarcasm hit its mark, and Pam hated him at that moment. The thought of spending an entire weekend with him became intolerable, and the impending party seemed a perfect means of escape. If they didn't go, they'd just spend the time tearing one another to pieces.
Sue's condition seemed no worse than beforemaybe even a little bit better. But Pam didn't like the thoughts of taking her away from home. If her mother could spend the night here, though, the situation would be entirely different. It wouldn't be like taking her out of her own bed, or leaving her with an inexperienced sitter.
One telephone call confirmed the arrangements. Pam threw a few things into an overnight case and spent the remainder of the day playing with the kids and having a drink now and then. She left Jerry to his own resources and tried to pretend he wasn't even there.
She was in a gay mood by the time the gang pulled up. Her efforts to put her domestic troubles out of her mind had been successful, and she commandeered a seat between Bob and Maggie. Since the incident in the woods, she'd counted on Bob as a friend, and a warm regard had sprung up between them. As they got under way, she noticed that Mr. Yoles' house was dark. Somehow, it was a relief to know that he and his odd spouse weren't at large tonight.
Steve put the car in gear, and they were off.
"Where is this lodge of yours, anyway?" Bert asked.
"Oh, it's about five hundred miles as the crow flies," Steve replied. "So amuse yourselves, kiddies. It's a long drive."
The miles passed quickly, with nobody paying much attention to the scenery. They were much too busy taking an occasional nip, along with a friendly squeeze or two. As the interior of the car grew darker, the squeezes became friendlier.
When they turned off the main highway, everyone was of the opinion that the lodge was not far off. But the road they were traveling diminished in size; each new turn or bend seemed to whittle it down until it became merely two tracks in the woods.
"Hey, Steve!" Bob called. "What do we do if we happen to meet another car in here?"
"That's a good question," he said, laughing at some private joke. "But the only thing you're liable to meet in here is a bear. Our lodge is the only place around here."
"I'm all for privacy, but isn't this carrying things a little too far?" Maggie asked as the maze continued.
The jolting action of the car came to a halt in front of a lodge that looked welcoming and plush. The lights were on, which indicated the presence of a caretaker.
Said caretaker, in the person of a handsome Negro boy, greeted them formally and took their things. "Everything had been arranged, sir," he said, addressing Steve with a courteous bow.
"My goodness, I hadn't realized that we were hobnobbing with the wealthy!" Bev exclaimed.
The place was fabulous, with high beamed ceilings, a massive stone fireplace, and shaggy-looped carpeting. The decor was on the rustic side, and the woodsy setting was a perfect complement to the lodge.
The servant, whose name was Atlas, had laid the fire and prepared the bar. He now busied himself with the luggage, leaving Steve to serve his guests.
"Well, name your poison, folks. If you can pronounce it, I can make it."
They all placed their orders and clustered round the fireplace to warm up. Bev removed her shoes. "When does the entertainment begin, Steve?" she asked, wriggling her toes.
He ran an eye over her curves, and chuckled. "But you are the entertainment, my dear. You-and all the rest-are going to get more than you bargained for tonight."
His laughter held sinister overtones. They all felt it. Bev shivered as though the fire had gone out.
"Come on, Steve, Let us in on the joke," Bob said, searching his face for the grin that would signify levity. But he was looking into eyes that were cold and mirthless.
Steve stood with his back to the fire and looked at each person in turn. "You see, my wife and I have grown tired of your childish games. Tonight you'll play according to our rules, and do just as you're told. Now, I'm sure you all noticed how isolated this place is, and I might remind you that the highway is twenty miles away. That is, if you don't get lost and circle right back where you started from."
He waited long enough to let his words sink in. "It goes without saying that my car keys are safely hidden away. So, if anybody wants to take his chances with the bears, be my guest. The door is open."
He looked around the room with the gimlet eye of a school-teacher searching for cheaters. "No volunteers? I thought not." He called to Allison, who had been waiting in the wings. "My lovely wife will act as my assistant. Let's get on with it, shall we?"
His captive audience stirred, hardly able to credit their hearing. Play was one thing-orders were quite another. And, having sampled Steve's jaded idea of play, not one of them imagined that they were going to entirely enjoy the forthcoming events.
"We'll start with you, Pam," Steve decided, tapping her shoulder.
She swallowed, suddenly afraid of this man whom she'd adored. But she was probably the least surprised of them all, for she'd always known that he was depraved and rotten underneath his genital exterior. Her walk was steady enough, but she was quaking inside. Steve, waiting for her with a rope in his hand, had all the allure of a hangman. She knew that whatever he had in store for her would be just as unpleasant.
"Don't look so worried, Pam. Your fondest wish is about to come true," Steve said in tones that were meant to be soothing. Then, in an abrupt change of pace, he grasped one of her wrists and tore at her clothing. The fragile silk blouse came apart easily, and the rest followed soon after. When every stitch of clothing had been forcibly removed, he looked at her in a clinical, disinterested fashion. His expression made it impossible for her to associate his present disregard with his former avid lovemaking. Now, he seemed to despise her.
He held her down while Allison tied her wrists together in a knot that a sailor would have envied. Soon, Pam lay trussed up and helpless. But she remained calm, for there was as yet no evidence that she would be harmed.
A door opened somewhere, and Mr. Yoles entered the room. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time, only nothing stood in the way of his enjoyment now. His dwarfish figure advanced slowly toward his victim, and his stub of a finger twitched spasmodically betraying his nervous tension.
Slobbering as he went, he reached his objective. Such a tender morsel she was, spread out before him. His mouth went slack, and more saliva escaped from his lips.
When she saw him entering the room, Pam thought she was having a nightmare. Surely, this awful thing couldn't be happening to her! It was inconceivable that she could be raped in full view of seven people-including her own husband! Her utter helplessness made her cry out as she watched her Nemesis coming toward her.
But nobdy dared interfere as Mr. Yoles loosened his belt buckle and dropped his old-fashioned britches.
Pam tensed up, every muscle rebelling against his intentions. She tried to clamp her legs together and refuse him entry, but he pried them apart, using the stub as a wedge. She shuddered as he lowered himself and probed her pussy with his stiff pecker. She tried to buck him off; it was no use. Then she felt a sharp pain as he penetrated fully. The dry entry had found her unprepared, and her flesh crawledd at the feel of him.
She turned her head in an attempt to evade the spittle that coursed down his lips, and hoped it would be over soon. But he humped away with agonizing slowness, his very age requiring prolonged action.
Pam closed her eyes and resigned herself to a long wait. She could only hope that the old fool wasn't impotent. Otherwise, he could go on like this all night.
As the steady, rhythmical strokes continued, a curious thing began to happen. Pam was horrified to find herself responding to him. His very appearance repelled her; yet, she was beginning to enjoy the rape. Could such a thing be possible?
With her eyes closed tightly, she began to move in spite of herself. Slowly at first, then gradually quickening the pace, she responded automatically. The old man was delighted to have her become such a lively partner, soon spurted copious amount of semen into her writhing body. To her great shame, the satisfaction was mutual.
When it was over, Mr. Yoles released her, and she went back to her seat, feeling grossly humiliated. She despised herself, for the incident had made her face something she had always kept hidden, even from herself.
The group of onlookers had watched the degrading scene, unable to criticize Pam for her behavior. Steve's plan was clear now, and not one of them was safe from his diabolical mind. Each had only one hope left-that Steve might have overlooked his or her particular hang-up.
Jerry was next on the agenda, and nobody had to wonder what his hang-up might be. Unfortunately for him, he was still under the delusion that his secret was safe-but not for long.
Steve and Allison, well aware of his need to be dominated, had cooked up a special treat for him. Allison had retired from the sidelines shortly after Pam's smashing climax. She appeared before them now in a black mesh costume, wearing net stockings and spike-heeled shoes. Her statuesque beauty was marred by the sneer on her lips and the long, snake-like whip in her hand.
Her domineering attitude presented a new side to the group, who thought her incapable of showing any emotion whatsoever. "Strip!" she commanded, cracking the whip for emphasis.
Jerry obeyed, shivering visibly as his fingers fumbled at his clothing. At this moment, even he wasn't sure if it was fear or the thrill of anticipation that made him shake in his boots.
Allison waited impatiently for him to finish the job. The whip dangled from her delicate hand, a grim omen of what was to come. Jerry was hesitant about removing his shorts, obviously under the impression that they would afford him protection of some sort. She gestured angrily and allowed him just enough time to kick them aside.
Then she planted both feet firmly on the floor and raised the whip. like an avenging angel, she flogged him time and again, cursing him with each stroke of the whip. "Weakling!" she snarled. "You're not even a man! I should cut that thing off-you don't know what to do with it, anyway."
Jerry tried to cover his penis with his hands, but the cruel lash connected. He screamed in agony and rolled onto his belly. He groveled on the floor, whimpering as Allison crisscrossed his buttocks with red lines.
As the abuse continued, his whole body became numb. It was as if he'd been shot full of novocaine which insulated him against the pain. He felt a warm tingle between his legs, and he looked down, astonished.
He expected to see a puddle of urine, but surprisingly enough, his penis was fully grown. Looking up at his tormentor, he saw that there was no crotch in the sexy-looking garment. Suddenly, all of his desires, past and present, were focused on the pussy that belonged to his tormentor.
"Yes," she said, aware of the thoughts that were going through his mind. "You can have your reward now."
He struggled to his knees and forced his bruised body to crawl over to her. Putting his arms around her legs, he pulled her down to him and gave way to the tortured craving he carried with him always. His mother had punished him severely for being a bad boy; now she was letting him partake of her forgiveness, letting him screw her.
When he stood up again, his tool was flaccid and dripping. Although still in a dare, his fantasies had been made clear to him, perhaps for the first time. He admitted to himself what his mind had rejected for so long. He had been obsessed by the idea of making love to his own mother!
Steve and Allison were enjoying the revelations being forced out here tonight. Best of all was the fact that everything was going on film, to be seen again and again. Nothing gave them greater pleasure than to ferret out the secret vices that people harbored. And it was so much more exciting when the victims weren't aware of the camera!
Steve walked over to Bert and tapped his shoulder. "Your turn, pal," he explained.
Bert tried to pay it for laughs. Seeing no special equipment, he quipped, "What's the matter? Haven't you got my number yet?"
Steve lisped out an answer designed to wipe the smile off his face. "Oh, you were ee-thy to figure out, thweetie."
Bert's false bravado failed him as he comprehended what Steve was hinting at. As in the previous scenes, the bare floor was used for a stage. No doubt Steve and Allison had decided that it would add to their guests' degradation. "There. Lie down."
Bert complied with the request, having no real choice. Steve's hand reached over to fondle his cock, and he blustered an outraged protest. "What in the hell are you doing?" he asked, trying to sit up. "I'm no queer!"
"Oh, yes, you are, buddy. You're not fooling anybody. Here-this is what you want." He unzipped his pants and placed Bert's hand around his penis.
Bert's mouth trembled like that of a small child who's trying hard not to cry. He remained motionless for the space of a few moments, but he didn't remove his hand. To spur him on, Steve drew in his breath and pushed up against his palm. Bert's eyes glazed over, and he was unable to refuse the invitation. His hand began to squeeze and fondle Steve's cock, and he slowly moved it up and down. He hesitated, on the brink of a desire that he'd tried to forget.
"Go ahead." Steve's whisper was soft, insinuating-like that of Satan himself. "Suck it. You've been wanting to all along, haven't you?"
Bert nodded, hypnotized by the temptation. Then he lowered his head and gave in to the desire he had suppressed for so long. He worked hard and furious, egged on by Steve's words of encouragement. "Eat it up, baby. That's it ... I'm almost there!"
His industrious efforts paid off as Steve signaled a halt. But he hung on tenaciously, sucking and swallowing as a shudder went through Steve's body and the big man shot off in his mouth.
Bert came then, his untouched spigot spurting with an intensity that frightened him. Never had he known such an earth-shaking climax-no woman could have produced such a result.
He went back to the group, lacking the courage to glance at Maggie. But he knew that her taunts would follow him to the grave, and that he'd never be able to touch her again. From now on, he would be condemned to that strange twilight world where men such as he were looked upon with disdain.
So far, everyone had been granted his or her secret wish-with a vengeance. Nothing, it seemed, had escaped the perceptions of Steve and Allison. Not even Maggie's sadistic tendencies. They knew that she could dish it out. The question was, could she take it as well?
For the purpose of finding out, they decided to incorporate the services of Atlas. He had a grudge against all women, especially white women. Working together, they stripped Maggie and bound her to a chair. A prearranged signal brought Atlas into the room, wearing only a loincloth, his nostrils flaring at the scent of the hated female.
Maggie looked pleased at the sight of him. This handsome, muscular black man seemed made to order for screwing. But it didn't take her long to discover that screwing was the last thing he had in mind.
His big hand slapped her face sharply; first one side, then the other. She gasped, and tears stung her eyes. He kept it up, working methodically, his face empty of any emotion. When he stopped, her face was covered with red marks, and her ears were ringing from the force of the blows.
Casually, he lit a cigarette, as though he was taking a five-minute break. He puffed at it long enough to give it life, then deliberately reached down to burn each tip of her tender breasts.
She screamed, shrinking back from the pain. The ember was left to burn itself out on one of her nipples, and it was a long time cooling. She was terrified now, for his cool, calculating methods presented a threat that was very real. With the precision of a practiced sadist who knows just when to let up, he turned her midriff into a punching bag, using quick rabbit punches that caused excruciating pain but inflicted no permanent damage.
Maggie fought back as best she could, but her efforts were in vain. She was like a caged wildcat, snarling at its captors but powerless to retaliate. "You bastard!" she shouted. "If I ever get a chance at you, I'll cut your balls off!"
Atlas wasn't having any more threats. His next blow knocked the wind out of her, silencing her effectively. His face was impassive as he looked down, waiting for her to recover.
The sound of a match scraping across a sandpapery surface broke into the silence of the room. Maggie sat up straighter in the chair, hypnotized by the flame that was drawing nearer. His hand dipped low toward her mossy V, and she pressed back into the chair, as though she could escape him that way.
The smell of singed hair filled the air, and Maggie's screaming reverberated through the rafters. This final deed took all the fight out of her, and it was plain to see that she'd had all she could stand. She slumped down in the chair, only half conscious. Steve loosened her bonds, and she was led to a secluded corner by Bert.
Atlas exited without so much as a backward glance at his victim. He had served his master well, for Maggie had been reduced to a sobbing, frightened wretch.
Bob and Bev exchanged glances. Their best friends had deteriorated in front of their eyes, and it had been painful to watch. Pride and self-respect had been stripped away, leaving them no illusions to cling to. Now, it was their turn to pay the piper.
"Ladies first," Steve said, with an evil grin on his face.
Bob squeezed Bev's hand, trying to impart enough courage to see her through this ordeal. Her walk was disjointed and jerky; like a puppet's on a string. She was mystified as to what was in store for her, for she felt she had no particular quirk that could boomerang on her-unless her simple penchant for screwing fit into that category.
The strange pair who had arranged this cozy gathering, with all its surprises, had thought long and hard about Bev arid Bob. They were such a normal couple-almost square, really-that it presented quite a challenge. But the Rowans were equal to it.
The script for Bev was much the same as Pam's, up until the opening of an unseen door. The place seemed to be full of hidden threats, and Bev's ears were attuned to the soft, slithering entrance of somebody ... or, some thing. In this madhouse, anything could happen. She waited in an agony of suspense.
It was Atlas. Naked from head to toe, he padded in, his black body glistening with sweat. For the first time, the spectators saw his tremendous penis, which rose a stately twelve inches from his thighs with all the majesty of a jungle king's scepter. His eyes were coal black, and burned with an intensity of purpose that was not to be thwarted. He did not relish this particular task, but evidently he was a jack of all trades around here.
Steve talked to the audience as though they were viewing a travelogue and he wished to point out certain pertinent facts. "Have you ever seen anything like that? Now, mind, he has no use for white women; hates them, really. Believe me, it took a lot of work to get him in this condition. Eh, Allison?"
He tweaked her nipple and declared proudly, "I tell you, there's no end to her talents!"
But her talents received no acclaim-least of all, from Bev. Nor did Atlas' magnanimous proportions. She was usually the first one to appreciate a man-any man. This was a stallion, though-no woman was prepared for that!
Atlas walked on the balls of his feet, moving quickly now, anxious to have done with it. Without fanfare, he fell upon the hapless Bev and prepared to vent his hatred on her.
She was half-crazed with fear and begging for mercy as he rammed it in, hurting her unmercifully with the only weapon that was left him. All of his frustrations were behind his intial thrust. The inequality of races, his hatred of white women (which dated back to a rape charge against him), and Allison's unorthodox methods of arousing him.
Bev screamed in anguish as he pushed his enormous tool in, deeper and deeper. She tried not to tense up against him, knowing that it would go harder for her if she did, but it was no use. His ruthless plunge was too much for her, and she fainted.
Atlas took his revenge, not even remotely concerned that the object of his hatred was no longer conscious. Bob rushed up and tried to pry him away, but Atlas merely swatted him lazily, as he would a pesky fly.
To Atlas, Bev represented all the trashy white folk who thought themselves better than he. His servile position in the household was but a pose, and happenings such as these gave him a first-class opportunity to work out his hostility.
Snorting with rage, he hammered away at her inert form, his powerful muscles rippling along his splendid body. The whites of his eyes showed all around, and the sweat seemed to course down his back in streams. Bob felt tears come to his eyes as the punishment continued, and he was thankful that Bev was beyond feeling any pain.
When the explosion finally came, it was complete. The mask of indifference settled over the Negro's face once more, and he got to his feet with an agile, fluid motion. He spat at Bev contemptuously and looked at Steve for permission to leave.
Steve clapped him on the shoulder, making a point of looking at his shrinking tool. "By God, you're a better man than I, even when you're all through!" he said in an awed tone. Giving him a friendly push, he added, "Sure. Go ahead. And send in Desiree while you're at it."
Bob, hearing this, knew that Desiree was slated for him. He was curious to meet this woman, but he couldn't help wondering how she fit in. Maybe she had two heads or something. He helped Bev to her feet, wishing that he'd studied judo more thoroughly.
He was hopping mad, and frustrated besides. Just when he'd have liked to have a go at Steve and Atlas both, he was stuck with a female opponent. No matter how whorish a woman might be, he always had a certain amount of respect for the female species. He had no taste for sadism, and had always been positive that no power on earth could persuade him to hit a woman.
Then Desiree came on the scene. She wore a man's flannel suit, and sported a short, straight haircut that branded her a Lesbian of the worst type. A butch!
She looked him up and down with fire in her eyes and a sneer on her face. Bob came to the conclusion that she was no woman. A mutual loathing hung in the air between them, and they faced one another like antagonists of old standing.
Desiree removed her coat, and the battle was on. Bob advanced warily, trying to find a flaw in her defense. He tested her with a few tentative jabs, but she stood her ground admirably, refusing to fall for such an obvious feint.
She got in the first blow, hitting him below the belt. Any remaining qualms Bob might have had disappeared as he folded up, cursing and holding himself. When he straightened up, he was full of hate, and determined to teach this bitch a lesson. Desiree, indeed! What perverse stroke of hate had given her such a preposterous name?
He circled her carefully, trying to map out a strategic plan of action. She was like a bear, the way she stood rooted to one spot. But presumably she came equipped with the usual female anatomy. If so, she would have a few vulnerable places of her own.
Having established this much, he deliberately stepped inside the circle of her arms and allowed her to crush him in her vise-like grip. Her legs were planted far apart for leverage, so he brought his knee up and hit her hard in the crotch. Not quite as effective as a knee in a man's groin, perhaps, but it still hurt plenty.
While he had her off guard, he punched her hard in the stomach and finished the job by pummeling her pendulous breasts. He remembered enough of his judo training to hook his foot behind hers and throw her to the floor. He sat astride her then, like a child who is pretending to ride the horsy.
Although he had no use for her type, he decided to ram it to her anyway. It would teach her that man was supreme, and no mannish-looking board could take his place.
When she saw what he was about, she got her second wind. Using tooth and nail, she managed to dethrone him, but he was back for more before she could rise. He knelt on her belly to hold his prize, and worked the trousers down her rebellious body.
There was genuine fear in her eyes now. She would gladly have endured another beating before letting his male creature have access to her hated female opening.
It must have cost her dearly to suffer through the whole thing in silence, but she did just that. Once the dastardly shaft was forced into her, she took it without a whimper. For her, it was the ultimate in torture, but she refused to give way to foolish feminine tears.
Bob carried on to the finish alone. He found no pleasure in it, especially since he'd quit hating her. Victory tasted sour indeed, and he felt only pity for this unfortunate woman. He was glad when it was over.
Desiree collected her things and dressed without haste. Their union had proven nothing, except that she knew how to accept defeat. In her heart, she still felt that she was as good as any man.