Chapter 8
"Where the hell have you been all day?" Stanley demanded.
Angel had scarcely entered the motel room. The blonde girl was dressed in one of her revealing bikinis and was stretched out on one of the beds, two pillows under her head. She didn't make a move to get up.
"For all you care, I might have been in jail," Angel said angrily. She felt soft and melty inside, the result of the extended loving session with one very nice boy named Joe Howard, and she didn't take too well to the tone of Stanley's voice.
Stanley checked herself visibly. "We looked all over for you."
"I was with a friend," Angel said, heading for the bathroom. She had not taken time to shower at Joe's place. She picked up a set of slacks and accessories and went into the bath without further conversation.
"Who was the friend?" she heard Stanley call, just as she turned on the water. She realized that her friend had walked into the bath after her.
"You don't know him," Angel answered, still miffed by Stanley's demanding question upon her entrance to the room. Stanley could have shown a little concern, she thought, rather than being brusk. After all, it was Angel who almost got trampled by the mob, and it wasn't Angel's idea to go there in the first place.
"That big guy you were with on the beach this morning?" Stanley asked, raising her voice to be heard over the roar of the shower.
"Well, if you must know, yes," Angel admitted.
"Nice looking guy. Who is he?"
She sounded, Angel thought, like the old Stanley, the friend who was always so very sympathetic. "His name is Joe Howard," she called, rinsing soap off her breasts, breasts which, only a few minutes ago, were being thoroughly kissed by Joe Howard. The thought made her experience a small glow of warmth in her pussy.
"You pick him up on the beach?" The way Stanley asked the question indicated disapproval.
"Yes," Angel called back, "just like you picked up Carl and Alan."
"Touche," Stanley said.
There was no further conversation as Angel finished the shower. She stepped out and began to dry herself, standing on the bathmat which happened to be directly in front of the open door. Stanley, back on the bed, had a good view. Angel felt the blonde girl's eyes on her. She finished drying, climbed into her tight panties, hooked on her bra and then topped them off with slacks and blouse. She looked fresh, very young and very desirable when she came out into the room, padding in bare feet.
'There's a drink for you," Stanley said.
The glass was full, packed with ice. It was very cold and very good. Angel gulped it, feeling better toward Stanley. "Thank you," she said, "I needed that."
"You don't know how badly you needed it," Stanley said. She rose from the bed. "How about we have something sent in to eat? Carl and Alan are coming over . . . "
"I'm going out," Angel said suddenly, her mind coming to the decision with a snap which surprised her. Ordinarily she would not have been so decisive. She felt as if she owed Stanley something. After all, it was Stanley who had arranged for her to make the weekend trip. Stanley furnished the ride and, shamefully, Stanley was furnishing most of the money. Angel had not been able to coax a large enough amount of money out of her father, not without making him suspicious. After all, why would she need a lot of money to spend the weekend with Stanley's family in Jacksonville? So she was obligated to Stanley and would not, ordinarily, have gone so directly against Stanley's wishes. However, in that split second the sheer pleasure of being with Joe Howard had made itself felt in her memory. Not just the sex. It was nice to be with him, to talk with him and laugh and just be there. So she decided that she was going out. To hell with everyone, she was going back to spend the evening with Joe.
"Well," Stanley said, 'let's have a bite first."
"I ate at Joe's," she said. "I'm not hungry."
"Why, Angel," Stanley said, blocking Angel's way as the smaller girl moved toward her bed, where her shoes were lying on the floor, "are you angry with me for some reason?"
"No," Angel said. "But I'm going out with Joe. If you'd like to come alone? Maybe you and Alan . . . "
"We might," Stanley said. "Why don't you wait until they get here and I'll ask him."
"What about Carl?" There was something about the thought of Carl which gave Angel the chills. She had certainly been hot for his cock the day before. She'd certainly opened herself for him on the previous night, when she was looped. But she felt that strange mixture of shame and dread when she thought of Carl Peurter. For a moment, she wondered just what had happened while she was drunk.
"Oh," Stanley said, "well dump him."
"Well, O.K., " Angel said.
"Now I'm going to send for a sandwich. Are you sure you don't want one?" Stanley was standing very close, peering intently into Angel's face. Angel wondered what she was looking for, but said nothing.
"Not a thing," Angel said. "I need only food for the soul." She shook her head. Now why had she said such an inane thing? She was poised in the center of the room. Around her were familiar things, the beds, the two chairs, the cases which they'd carried with them on the trip, her friend, the blonde Stanley-whose hair was all made of snakes!
"Stanley," she said, holding back a giggle," you should, really, comb your hair."
Stanley was still looking closely into Angel's face. She said, "Yes." She smiled with satisfaction and plopped down onto the nearest bed. "You'd better lie down, Angel."
The snakes were coiled around Stanley's ears, making her look very funny. "The funny black one is going to chew your ear," Angel said.
The walls perspected away from her, leaving her free in a noncompressed area which was hers and hers and alone. "Do you mind if I fly?"
"You'd better lie down, jerk," Stanley said.
There was a moment of clear horror. She remembered the feeling. It was the same the night with Carl, everything seeming to go away from her. "God," she said, "what was in that drink?"
"Lie down, Goddamnit."
"You've done something to me," Angel screamed, her voice coming out not as a scream, but as a low, unbelieving croak. "What are you doing to me?"
She felt pressure at her shoulders and looked up from the bottom of a rainbow-filled cavern of ice to see Stanley's leering face. "Stanley? Stanley?"
"It's all right, Angel. Just lie down."
"Down, down, down." She was falling, falling through a storm of aurora Australis spectacular sounds of music and the continued thunder of massive sexual climax which clenched her muscles and made her moan in authentic bliss as she moved, moved, feeling the bottom of the pit coming closer, closer until, with a motion like a downy feather settling onto velvet she was prone.
"You could have given her too much," Carl Peurter said, standing over on Angel who was out of it, writhing in her own private world, eyes open but unseeing.
"How did you get it into her?" Alan Govern asked.
"In a drink."
"It hits faster and harder that way, I'm told," Carl said.
"Well, she's sure out of it," Alan said. "We won't do any good with her for a while."
'That depends on what you mean by doing good," Carl said, smirking at Angel.
"Do you always think through your balls?" Stanley asked, her voice filled with disgust.
"Knock it off," Alan said. "Look, maybe when it starts to wear off . . . "
"Well, if you want me to take the first shift watching her," Carl said.
"Jesus Christ," Stanley spat. "Is that all the hell you think about? What kind of man are you, wanting to screw a girl who is so far out of it she wouldn't even know it?"
'To each his own, baby," Carl said. "You don't want to trust me alone with our Angel, you watch her yourself, O.K.? "
"Just get out," Stanley said.
"I'm going to sack out for a while," Alan said to Stanley. "If she seems to be coming out of it any time soon .enough so that we can get some sense out of her, give me a ring."
Then they were gone, Carl looking over his shoulder with a shrug of regret as Angel lifted her hips in a copulatory movement and moaned lustily. "Damned waste," he said to Alan, who ignored him.
Under the influence of the drug, Angel was having a sexual fantasy. The dosage was so powerful that she would never remember the details of the fantasy, she would only recall the all pervading aroma of passion, the total body participation in what was but a dream. She moaned in her fantasy and Stanley Richmond, tall and straight in a chair, short hair neat, lips compressed, watched as the trim body on the bed, dressed in form fitting slacks, heaved as if in the throes of sexual pleasure.
Stanley thought about the disgusting lust of that animal, Carl Peurter. She thought of the sickening scene of the night before when both of them, like rutting animals, took the helpless Angel. If Angel weren't such a snotty little bitch, thinking she was so damned pretty and so damned smart, Stanley might have done something to stop that gang-bang, but Angel thought she knew it all, just because her father was a professor and Angel could ease her way through school on her father's reputation instead of having to study for it, like Stanley. Then, too, Angel was so damned ignorant of the real things. Angel was totally selfish. She thought only of herself when the world was going to hell. Angel thought about her little sexual pleasures, about clothing herself in finery and living in luxury when half the world was hungry.
Not that Stanley starved in sympathy. She, if anything, lived more luxuriously than Angel. She had her own car and more spending money than
Angel ever had, but at least she cared. At least she was aware of the need to do something and, so help her, she was doing it. She was striking a blow against the warmongers, the baby-killers, the napalm bombers. She, Stanley Richmond, was personally letting her voice be heard in a way which would count.
On the bed, writhing, still caught up in the drug-induced sex fantasy, Angel moaned sensuously. It made shivers go up and down Stanley's back. She rose from her chair, walked the floor as Angel moaned and heaved. It was, Stanley thought, almost indecent.
Then Angel, with fumbling, uncoordinated fingers, began to undress. She ripped buttons as she removed the blouse and had to fumble for a long time with the bra, all the time gazing at an inner world with glazed eyes, lips moving, body trembling and writing. Stanley stood, rooted to the spot by the sheer voluptuousness of it as Angle pushed away her panties and slacks and kicked them away and was nude on the bed. Stanley licked her dry lips.
"Ah, God!" Angel cried, her hand going down to clasp herself. She moaned softly as her hand rubbed her clitoris.
"Bitch," Stanley yelled, disturbed, angered, sickened by Angel's behavior and by her own response. "You lascivious bitch!"
Angel's fantasy continued, lengthened by the drug, she far out of the real world, not even hearing Stanley's tortured words.
Angel began to speak. Her words were slurred, unclear, but Stanley could get the gist of it. She was begging. She was begging someone-Joe-to make love to her, only she was using basic language. She spoke the intimate words of the language of sex, words which, in the gutter, have a different value than when used as Angel was using them, in a moment of love. That Angel's moment of love was totally within her drug warped mind was unimportant. She believed the words she was saying and that made them sound hot, wanton, erotic.
Stanley moved quickly to a basket of fruit which was hardly touched. She was unreasonably angry. "Bitch," she screamed at Angel, moving to the bed with a large banana in her hand. "You want it, you get it, bitch!"
Into the spread-legged stance, the drug-induced sexual fantasy of Angel Tomsk, her friend, Stanley Richmond, inserted a large, curving, unpeeled banana. She inserted it with considerable force and only Angel's functioning love-glands, having lubricated the area of her passion, saved her from possible irritation or injury.
"Bitch," Stanley breathed, wide-eyed, watching as Angel's body accepted the phallic shape almost to the point of disappearance. She watched, with her emotions churning, as Angel bucked up to take the banana deep into lubricated tissue with a moan of sheer extravagance. "There," Stanley said, shoving, shoving. "Take it, bitch. Take it."
Angel writhed, her hungry pussy filled. In her fantasy, it was a man, not the curved, large fruit. In her fantasy it was a man and wonderful and her sounds, her actions were as real as her fantasy was unreal.
Stanley, torn by her mixed emotions, thought about the disgusting things Carl and Alan had done to Angel the night before, during her first trip. And suddenly, the idea of doing as one wanted with a helpless sexual partner, the idea of complete mastery over someone, sent a shiver of something through Stanley. She let the idea develop. There was an appeal to it. Men, she had long thought, were disgusting, but those two men, Carl and Alan, had enjoyed all of Angel, doing whatever they wanted, no matter how forbidden, how disgusting.
It was something to think about.
She was no longer angry. Angel was a bitch, true. She was a promiscuous bitch who acted like a bitch in heat, falling into bed with anyone, anytime. In just over twenty-four hours, Stanley knew, Angel's vagina had been filled by the pricks of at least three separate men, Carl, Alan and that Joe jerk. Little bitch. Stanley was more selective in her loving. She chose only partners who were virgin. This was fairly difficult, but not nearly as difficult as it would have been had Stanley been searching for male partners. Stanley Richmond loved virgin girls. It wasn't hard to find them, in spite of the new morality. There were still girls who wanted to save themselves for marriage, or girls who just had never been turned on by boys. Stanley liked the later kind best. She was an avowed Lesbian, herself, and she liked to make swooning love to and with another girl who had at least some over Lesbian feelings and wasn't just going along with Stanley for a thrill. The kind who were saving themselves for marriage tended to look on Stanley's love as a substitute, a harmless kind of masturbation which left their maidenheads intact.
But Stanley hated girls like Angel who gave themselves to men. She hated Angel. She-rammed the banana deep into Angel's lubricous depths and hated her while desiring her at the same time.
But, God, she could do anything she wanted with Angel and no one would ever know! Not even Angel! Only she, Stanley, would know what she did with the drug-crazed girl who writhed and heaved at the stimulus of the phallic object which was shoved into her.
It was too much to resist. Stanley released the banana. Freed, it was sliding out almost immediately, to lie glossy and wet on the spread between Angel's legs as Angel continued to heave in sexual torment. Stanley undressed with feverish haste. She was feeling it now. She understood how Carl and Alan had felt now, as she neared the bed.
She could do anything she wanted!
She straddled Angel's face. "Hold still, damn you," she said, as Angel tossed her head. She held Angel's head and lowered herself until the contact was made. She reached down, pulled labia apart, put the moist inner softness around and on Angel's mouth, heaving her hips to rub her sensitivity on the hardness of Angel's teeth. Angel gasped, her nose covered, having difficulty in breathing. Stanley, being practical, not considerate, allowed her nose to be freed, but continued her cruel grinding against Angel's lax lips and mouth.
"Do something, damn you," Stanley said, feeling that big need grow in her. "Hey, look, Angel. It's Joe! Joe is kissing you! Hear me? It's Joe! He's kissing you."
Through the wildness of the drug, the suggesting voice came, telling her-Joe, Joe, Joe!
His lips were hot on hers, smothering her, devouring her. She kissed him.
Stanley Richmond felt the tongue, penetrate, felt the life come into Angel's lips. She laughed. She moved in smooth circles as Angel's lips and tongue worked and then it was huge in her and she didn't want to end it-not just then. She had hardly begun.
She removed herself from Angel's face, looked at the sweet body of the dark, small girl, moaned in need and fell toward the mounds of woman-breast which called to her. She let her mouth and hands appreciate the warm softness and then, her passions fully aroused, she did what she had promised herself she would not do. She kissed Angel. She kissed a mouth which had, undoubtedly, contained vile man-things. But she was burning with desire. She let her saliva collect, let it ooze into Angel's responding mouth, sucked it out again. She devoured the mouth which had, for a few sensuous moments, kissed the most intimate parts of her body and, thinking that wondrous thought went back to the straddle-face position to let Angel, still dreaming her fantasy, kiss the thing she thought was Joe's mouth. And she was so close, so thunderously close.
She had to have more. She hated herself for it, but she had to have it all. She turned, her face facing Angel's feet. She bent and tugged. She kept her pussy pressed against Angel's working lips and tongue, but she found a heated, oiled place of her own and kissed it as it heaved under her, as if it were virgin, clean and pure. She kissed it and devoured it and felt her climax come roaring up into her body with a force which surprised her.
Twice more she ravished the helpless girl. Angel, having experience and actual climax, fantasy and factually produced while Stanley was experiencing her own joy, was witlidrawn during the two remaining times. Feeling completely debauched, totally unconstrained because no one would ever know, Stanley let herself go and did vile, horrible things, things she had never even dreamed. Having total freedom to do as she wanted with Angel, she did it.
Totally exhausted, she slept. When she awoke, Angel was sitting, nude, on the floor in the corner of the room. Her eyes were wide. A look of horror was on her face. She was talking, but her vocal cords made no sound. Only her lips moved.
Stanley, drained of all emotion by the excesses she'd committed with Angel, got out of bed. "Bad trip, baby?" she asked.
Angel shrank away as Stanley touched her. Then a moment of clarity came to her. "What's happening to me, Stanley?" she asked.
She almost felt pity. But hell, it wasn't that bad. She'd taken the trips herself. True, she'd given Angel a bit more than she'd ever taken to start a trip, but that was necessary. Carl had a lot of experience with the stuff. He said it would take that much to break Angel down. Well, she was coming along all right, Stanley thought, as she led Angel unprotestingly, to the bed.
"I feel so funny," Angel said.
Stanley went to the telephone. It was almost four a.m. She called the boy's room and had to wait for a long time before Alan answered in a sleepy voice. Then, a few minutes later, they were in the room.
"What happened to the chick's clothes?" Carl asked, grinning at Stanley. "You decide you wanted a little bit of that yourself?"
"Don't be disgusting," Stanley said. She didn't allow herself to blush, but she looked at Angel's body to see if she had left any traces of the actions she'd performed. Angel looked fresh and lovely. Funny, Stanley thought, the things you can do to a human body and not change it at all. But she was changed. She'd let herself go all out in sex and she'd discovered some things about herself. She'd found out that she had, when completely uninhibited, some weird desires.
"Think she can read now?"
"I don't know," Stanley said. "She was making sense a minute ago, just before I called you."
"Angel," Alan said, lifting her, forcing her to sit against the headboard of the bed. "Listen."
"Feel funny," Angel said, her voice going through a range of tone, up and down, like a fire siren.
"Listen, baby," Alan coaxed. "We want to do something, hear? We want you to help us. You want to help, don't you?"
"Want to help," Angel repeated.
"Can you read this for us?" Alan asked, holding a piece of paper in front of Angel's face.
"Read this," Angel said.
"Carl, you got that damned tape machine ready?" Alan asked, looking over his shoulder. The other man was setting up the machine.
"Almost"
"Read it, Angel."
"There comes a time," Angel began, "when one must speak out. I am Angel Tomsk . . . "
"Hey, fine, baby," Alan said. "That's great. Now, can you do it all the way through for me?" He held the microphone in front of Angel. "Now, baby."
"There comes a time when one must speak out. I am Angel Tomsk. My Father is Igor Tomsk. That's my pop."
"Aw, come on, Angel," Alan coaxed. "No ad-libbing, huh? Just read it as it is."
"There comes a time when one must speak out. I am Angel Tomsk. My father is Igor Tomsk. He has given me permission to speak for him against a war which we all know is horribly wrong . . . " She giggled.
"Come on, baby," Alan said. "Start over."
"Feel funny," Angel said.
"Read, dammit," Stanley said.
Angel started again and half-way through the first sentence a thing took the paper and her hand and went off with them to a vast distance. She squinted her eyes, but she could not see the print and it was all so silly. She giggled.
"You're not going to do any good that way," Carl said, shutting off the tape machine. "Look, why don't we just go right straight to the old boy, show him a sample of the flics we took last night, and have him make his own statement?"
"Igor Tomsk witlistood the Russian secret police," Stanley said. "Do you think a couple of amateurs are going to make him say or do anything he doesn't want to do?"
"Well," Carl said, "it seems sort of kooky to me, working this chick over just to get her to read a prepared statement saying that her father in all his wisdom is against the war."
"Because," Alan said, "we feel that Tomsk will compromise a little. We get Angel's statement on tape. We show Igor Tomsk a few frames of the film, showing his daughter screwing like a mink and doing other nice things. Then we say, all you gotta do to keep us from making this film public is just keep quiet. See? We're not asking him to say or do anything positive. We're asking for a negative response. A man doesn't survive a commie purge and Siberia without making some small compromises in honor. So we're betting that he'll keep quiet."
"In the meantime, back at the motel," Stanley said. Angel was going sensual again. Her lips were moist, parted slightly. She leaned forward on her hands, giving a saucy exposure of breast as her arms were tight against her sides, compressing the two large mounds in on themselves, closing the natural cleavage between them. She was squirming, oblivious to the presence of the three people in the room.
"Maybe I'll stand guard a while," Carl said, grinning.
"Oh, hell," Stanley said, not "again." For there was a small stir of interest in her as she watched Angel go off into that world of abandonment. "Get out, both of you. We'll try again tomorrow, this morning-since it's almost dawn. Let's get a few more hours sleep and then maybe she'll be far enough out of it to be controllable."
As soon as they were gone, she quickly stripped out of her pajamas. The stimulus of being completely sexually free was a powerful one. She thought of the things she'd done to Angel during the early hours of the night and they no longer seemed disgusting, perverted. They seemed wantonly sensuous and she could wait no longer to get started on them again.
"Angel, baby," she cooed, having denuded herself, climbing onto the bed with an oblivious Angel who met her embrace with indifference.
"It's me, Joe," Stanley whispered, over and over, kissing the lax mouth until the suggestion drove through, made contact with Angel's drug-exposed sexual desires and sent her into delicious desire as Stanley went down to put her face into the sweet lap which was just beginning to feel the lubricity of sexual excitement.
Who could sleep? Stanley thought wryly. Who could sleep with the stimulus of Angel's body, a body which was pliable, which was not even peopled by a mind at the moment. Stanley had seen ads in magazines for a doll, a life-size, soft ordered that doll and used it as a sexual object. Now, it seemed, she had her own doll, but a doll of flesh and blood, a mindless doll who was suggestable, who would do anything she was told to do, who offered no objection to the things Stanley wanted to do.
And Stanley had discovered some bizarre tastes. One of them involved kneeling over Angel's face while Angel, in her fantasy, kissed Joe Howard's mouth. Then Stanley would combine the sexual feeling with one of bladder release and . . .