Chapter 4

Nude and flat on his back in his bed, Ty's body felt leaden the next morning. He kept his eyes closed and slowly tried to think through the fog of blanketing hangover. He remembered that a girl, an attractive one had been in the bed with him ... should be sleeping beside him now.

He was glad he had company, and keeping his eyes closed he planned every move he'd make next, step by step. When he opened his eyes, he'd roll over and screw her sleeping body quickly. The very thought of this had already aroused his big prick to a lusting throb.

Ty liked the idea of gently parting her shapely thighs and the surprised look on the girl's face as she awakened to his first full thrust into her cunt. Then as she realized what was happening, her tits and cunt would begin to strain against him in a responsive grind. He would cup her asscheeks as she undulated beneath his prick's pile-driver. Then he would jackknife into a convulsive orgasm as he shot his load of hot scum into her cunt. And that would make her wriggling pussy "come" with him, her ass threshing happily.

That's the ticket, he thought, just what he needed to clear his mind.

He pried his eyes open, looked around, but couldn't see her. He moved enough to peer over the edge of the bed. The woman he was looking for hadn't fallen to the floor. He squinted from side to side but couldn't see her anywhere. He couldn't hear her in the bathroom. He couldn't hear her in the kitchen. Hell-she seemed to be gone-but who was she? Who was she. Sometimes it amazed him to see the cunt that was in bed with him in the morning. Once there had been a skinny girl who hadn't been fifteen, but she had known what fucking was all about. Once it had been Margie King whose ordinary charge for either a blow-job or a hump was four-bits. Once there had been a black amazon, so big she had terrified him. She had kept him busy fucking her all morning. He thought her prick-hunger would never be satisfied. What had happened to her he didn't know. He wished he did. She had been quite an unusual piece of hump!

But who was it who had been in his bed last night?

And what had happened to her during the night?

It came to him slowly who she had been. A waitress-a blonde waitress-young and slender and as fresh as spring. She had worked for Ernie Snyder and had come here with some crazy story.

No, that wasn't it at all.

She had come here with a story of murder-Murder-MURDER!

He sat up abruptly, and now that his mind had been jarred awake, he could remember the entire evening. Lorene Tucker was the girl's name. She said she had seen Ernie killed. She wasn't guilty. She hadn't admitted who was responsible, but it was rather clear that Christy Huggins had done the job. To steady her, he had given her a shot of whiskey, but the whiskey had knocked her out. It had knocked her cold. Even after he had stripped her and started fooling around with her cunt and clitoris he hadn't been able to arouse her. Eventually he had gone to sleep-but then what?

He could guess the rest. She woke up some time during the night, got up, dressed, and left the house. Where she was now would be hard to guess. This was a big city. She could have turned in almost any direction-and been lost. He had lost, too. He had been thinking of keeping her here, and of watching the development of the case. If it hit the front pages, if Christy Huggins disappeared and if she could become a mysterious figure-why then he had something to sell. He had sure messed things up-going to sleep. He hadn't been on the ball.

He got up, searched the room-and then the rest of the apartment. He found the girl's uniform and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully when he was able to detect a few faded spots which might have been blood. It hit him that this uniform might be of value. But what was it doing here? If she had left here without her uniform, what had she been wearing?

It took him an hour to realize that Lorene had stolen one of his top coats.

There was a crowd in front of Ernie's restaurant when he got to his office. There was nothing in the newspapers. At least not yet. But the story of what had happened in the restaurant was wild enough to build up a lot of excitement.

Ernie was dead-murdered!

His head had been split open by a meat cleaver, blood had been splattered all over the kitchen.

He had been robbed, the big roll of bills he always carried had been stolen.

Christy Huggins, his cook, was missing. And a blonde waitress was missing. Either might have killed him-or anyone else might have. Ernie Snyder had never been well-liked. He had too many enemies.

Ty hadn't been in his office ten minutes before there was a knock on the door, and a man came in. The man was a police detective, Tom Riley. He was short, stocky, and about fifty. He had steady gray eyes, a scowling face, and he was almost bald. His cheeks were ruddy and he breathed hard-as though he had been running. He hadn't. He never ran.

He stared at Ty, nodded. "Hi, there. What do you know about the trouble across the street?"

"Nothing," Ty answered. "I wasn't there."

"What did you think of Ernie Snyder?"

"How do I know? He ran a restaurant-made rotten coffee."

"Wasn't very popular, was he?"

"How should I know?"

"Live around here, don't you?"

"Sure."

"Who do you think knocked him off?"

"How should I know?"

The detective smoothed his hand over his head. "We're not getting anywhere, are we."

"Maybe there's nowhere to go," Ty answered.

"You knew the cook, didn't you? Christy Huggins?"

"Sure. I knew him."

"Think he killed Ernie?"

"He could have."

"There was a new waitress."

"Probably. Ernie had trouble getting help."

"Sure. Ernie liked women. Any kind-any shape-any color. He couldn't keep his hands off of them."

The detective grunted. "Ummm. Maybe we're getting somewhere. Maybe this new girl didn't like to be pestered."

"So she took a meat cleaver and cut Ernie's head open."

"She could have."

"Lots of women could."

"Ummm. Who was the waitress?"

"Lorene, something."

"Think you could dredge up the rest of her name?"

"I might."

"Think you could find out anything about her?"

"I might."

Tom Riley rubbed his hand over his head again. He spoke almost to himself. "We've got a couple lines on Christy Huggins. We'll probably pick him up-today, tomorrow or the next day. Most likely, he's the one who killed Ernie Snyder-but it could be we're wrong. I'd like to get my hands on that blonde waitress. We might need her to nail up the case against the cook."

"Maybe I can help," Ty said. "This is where I live. These are my people."

He was being very unctuous, and he knew it. He didn't like most of the people in the area, but he never said so. It wouldn't be wise.

"I've got to stir around-see what I can find," Ty said. "I want you to do some thinking about that blonde waitress. Before we finish this case, we might need her."

"Sure, I'll do what I can," Ty promised.

He sat at his desk after Riley left and he hated himself. He had had Lorene in his hands, last night-but he had lost her. He had gone to sleep, and she had walked out. She had been wearing his top coat, too. One that had cost sixty-five bucks. Last night had been a damned expensive evening and he didn't have anything to show for it.

He concentrated on Lorene. She must have been quite rocky when she left-and if it hadn't been too late, someone on the street might have seen her. He could ask a few questions. He might even find her. Hell, he knew a lot about the murder across the street. Somewhere in this situation, he ought to be able to pick up some money.

Lorene Tucker and the murder across the street were something extra. There ought to be some money in this situation if he could just find it.

And there ought to be something profitable from Ellie Cameron. Something more than fun. Rudy would squeeze something out of her. He could almost be sure of that. He would get his cut. But that wasn't enough. What he ought to do was take a long, careful look at her, and see what was there. He might be able to do that this afternoon.

He went outside, circulated through the crowd around Ernie's restaurant. The place was closed. A policeman stood in front of the door. Here and there were other policemen, here and there were small groups guessing about the murder. Ty noticed Babe Blaney. The man was scowling at the building in which Ernie had died.

Ty walked toward the man. He said, "Hi, Gabe. What do you think?"

"It was about time," Blaney growled.

"Didn't like him, huh?"

"Nope."

"Do you think Christy killed him?"

"It wasn't Christy. He wouldn't have hurt a fly."

"Then who could it have been?"

"The dame. The waitress. You know how Ernie was about women."

"But a meat cleaver...."

"A meat cleaver isn't heavy. A kid could have handled it. I'm bettin' on the dame-and I hope she gets away."

Ty frowned. He couldn't agree with Blaney, that Lorene was guilty, but she could have been guilty. At least, that was a possibility in spite of what she had told him last night. His eyes narrowed, and he asked himself, Where would she have gone? It must have been after midnight before she left the apartment. The subways was blocks away. Bus service late at night was poor. She hadn't had the money to use a taxi. There were several nearby hotels, flea-bags, but she might have tried one. It was worth while checking them.

He spent almost two hours, walking from one hotel to another, from one rooming house to another, asking about Lorene-about any late guests. But he accomplished nothing. Twice he stopped for coffee. Then, back near his apartment he stopped and talked to half a dozen people who might have been sitting out on their steps the night before. He learned nothing from them.

Margie King was on the corner a block from his apartment. Tall, thin, scrawny. The full light of the day wasn't kind to her. Cosmetics didn't help a great deal. He spoke to her. "Hello, Margie. Were you working the streets last night?"

She shook her head. "We don't say it that way. Now and then, in the evening, I take a walk. It's good for the health."

"Then, did you take a walk last night, late?"

"I might have."

"I'm looking for a girl who might have left my apartment building late last night. She was...."

"I would have stayed," Margie said.

"I know you would-but this is a business matter. This girl was young, slim, blonde. She was wearing a man's topcoat-light tan in color. It would have been too long for her."

"Competition?"

"Quit worrying about yourself. Did you see her?"

"Is it worth something if I did?"

"Ten bucks. If you can tell me where she went it's worth twenty bucks."

The woman frowned. "I don't know where she went."

"But you saw her!"

"I saw someone coming this way. Might have come from your place. I was across the street-waiting for a friend."

"What time?"

"Twelve-thirty-quarter to one. I thought she was drunk."

"A girl wearing a man's topcoat."

"I didn't think about it being a man's coat. It was too big for her. She had blonde hair."

"Where did she go?"

"On down the street-in that direction, along Fifth. I didn't keep watching her. My friend came along and I left." She meant a customer came along, a drunk who wouldn't mind her. Margie didn't have any friends any more. And she wasn't reliable in any way. She could lie as easily as she could tell the truth. Maybe she had seen Lorene on the street-maybe she hadn't.

"How far did you watch her?"

"Not far."

"Many people on the street?"

"A few. You know Hank Siodak? He was on the steps in front of his place. She must have passed him. Why don't you ask Hank about her?"

"Did you notice anyone else?"

"There were two cops on the next corner-if they stayed there. Lefty Horst was on the street, too."

"Anyone else?"

"Can't remember any more."

Ty nodded. He could see Hank Siodak tonight, and maybe he could find Lefty Horst some where on the street. He could locate the two cops-but he wanted to stay away from them.

"You said something about ten dollars," Margie said.

"Yes, I did." He reached into his pocket for his wallet, took out ten dollars, handed it to her, and added, "Keep your eyes open tonight, Margie. If you see the girl again, let me know."

"For another ten dollars?"

"Sure. Another ten."

"Consider that I'm working for you tonight."

He grinned sourly but shook his head. "Don't count on that, Margie. Keep your eyes open that's all."

He had his lunch, bought the latest papers, scanned the headlines, and he almost had indigestion. The murder of Ernie Snyder was on the front page of every sheet in town. The tabloids were playing it up. One of the headlines read: "MEAT CLEAVER MURDER." And under that he read: "POLICE SEEK BLONDE WAITRESS." He muttered angrily under his breath. This was building up, just as he had anticipated. Of course, Christy Huggins might be arrested before evening-and the murder might be solved. But if Huggins wasn't found and if Lorene Tucker kept out of sight, some of the newspapers would go hog wild in their punicity. A blood-spattered kitchen the murder instrument a meat cleaver-a mysterious blonde waitress-a missing cook. Here were all the ingredients of a sensational story. There was real money in it if he could find Lorene.

Damn it-he had to find her.

She couldn't have gone far-but where was she?

He stomped around his office, thinking, thinking, thinking. What had happened to Lorene? Where had that stupid little cunt gone? If he didn't move fast the police might pick her up. If that happened, of course, he could forget about her. But as long as Lorene was in hiding, she was fair game.

He had a date that afternoon with Ellie Cameron. She had asked him to be at her apartment by two o'clock. He was there promptly. By this time he had pushed his thoughts of Lorene into the back of his mind. Finding her was a problem, but he would work on that tonight. In the meantime, he would think of Ellie Cameron. There were two sides to her. She was a woman, pleasant, attractive, daring, and thoroughly fuckable. They would have a hell of a time screwing each other. But there was another consideration to be weighed. She had a value-a value in money. He had to keep that in mind. His approach to her had been on a blackmail basis-that she could work up something for Tony Zappa, who had run into her car. Then he had backed away from that, and instead, he had tried her as a lay....

She was a very nice piece of ass-but he wanted more than that.

He always wanted more.

A second meeting is always interesting. A second meeting is always different from the first. The second time, you've got something to build on. A foundation, a solid point of departure, and indicated course to be followed. He could guess the way Ellie would act when he appeared at the door. She would be vaguely hesitant. It would take her a moment to bridge the distance between yesterday and today. She would look into his eyes for assurance, she would listen for the eager sound of his voice. He would do the same.

He laughed at his own eagerness as he stood at her door. He reminded himself that this was just another hump-party, an afternoon session. This was nothing significant in his life but in a way it was. Here was where he found the spice of living. Fucking around like this was what made his existence, gave him his real sex kicks. He grinned and reached out and pushed the buzzer.

Ellie opened the door. A tall, slender woman, but no one would ever have said she was skinny. She had wide shoulders, big, luscious tits, a narrowing waist. Her eyes were brown, steady, and they were searching his face. Ty noticed that-and he stood waiting.

"Well, are you coming in?" she asked.

"Do you know what'll happen-if I do?"

Her lips twitched. "I think I can guess."

"You don't mind?"

"I can hardly wait."

He laughed softly. "Then what are we waiting for?"

He stepped forward, closed the door, and pulled the woman into his arms. He would be tender and more gentle, later on. Right now, he had to show his hump eagerness. He had to be rough, almost violent. His mouth came down on hers and his lips were hard. His arms, tight around her, lifted her to her toes, squeezed out the breath in her lungs. He held her that way for half a minute then he shifted his position enough to feel one of her tits. His hand was like a clamp.

Ellie pulled her head away. Her eyes were bright, excited. She had something to say, and she didn't sound at all disappointed. "You don't have to tear me apart."

"Why not? I might like to."

"What would you do tomorrow?"

"Hunt for your twin. Do you have a twin?"

"No twin."

"Then maybe I'd better save part of you today."

She leaned toward him. "No, don't. Let's spend everything we've got today. Let's shoot the works!"

He held her tightly again and thought at least she had all the right answers. Much more so than an ordinary woman. About his own age. Well educated-she had probably been at college or some finishing school. Neat, dean, and somewhere along the way she had lost her prejudices against fucking. Or maybe she never had any.

She whispered against his chest. "We don't have to stand here forever."

He laughed. "Any ideas?"

"One."

"Do I know the way?"

"I think you do."

He picked her up in his arms, headed for the bedroom, dumped her on the bed. "Is this what you expected?"

"I expected you to start this way."

"What about the clothes?"

"I'm not wearing many. Can't you do something about them?"

He stooped over. "You bet I can. Watch what happens."

She had been right in what she had said. Under the hostess gown she was wearing, he found nothing but a pair of panties. No slip. No brassiere.

He grinned at her. "Hussy! You were all for some stiff prick!"

"What else did you expect?"

"Next time I'll arrive in my bathrobe.

"What about the doormen?"

"Who cares about doormen?"

He pulled off his clothes and he was careless about them. It was important to seem to hurry. To be anxious to start to fuck her. He wanted her to notice that. She might not think he was in love with her. Love was a screwy word, anyhow, its meaning had been lost in too many uses. What was important, however, was to seem eager-to seem a slave to her cunt-needs. To be hungry for her pussy-impatient.

He sprawled onto the bed, took her in his arms. His lips found her mouth, but he didn't neglect her titties either. Nor for a moment. One hand was there right away, squeezing first one of her good-sized knockers, then the other. His fingers ruffed over the nipples which had hardened instantly. His head worked there, stayed there for a time, nuzzled between the two warm mounds of flesh. He tried one of the nipples, pulled at it with his lips. He did the same with the other.

The woman made sounds in her throat, appreciative sounds. She rolled to one side, rolled back, rolled the other way.

Ty edged over to her. Actually, he didn't have to be careful at all. Ellie was looking after him, showing him the way. He wasn't alone in what was happening. She was getting excited, too. Building up a storm. Storing up her emotions. Piling them higher and higher and higher. He caught the rhythm, and he held back, waiting. She was playing with his big prick, which was already stiff and fully erect.

Wait for another moment-and another-and another Let that surging flood of emotions pile up-higher-and higher-his hand was between her cuntlips, caressing her stiff clitoris, as her cunt writhed with the intense sensation.

Then, when he could no longer hold back, he thrust his prick into her cunt and began fucking her with brutal thrusts. She rode her cunt up and down his thick prick in time to his screwing. Then she screamed as she felt his hot spurts of jetting scum high up in her vagina.

"Oh fuck me, fuck me good, Ty. I'm coming, I'm coming...."

And they went in tempestuous orgasm-over the moon-all the way the moon-and slide back on a roller coaster to the bed. That was the way. Boom and slide back-slowly and gently. Kick up high, then grab a parachute to get back to earth. This kind of an earth-the softness of a bed.

He kissed her forehead, gathered her into his arms, nestled her there, held her close, his sperm-dribbling cock still in her twitching cunt. You might call this an after-love, but to most women this was very important. It was like a seal of approval, an accolade. He didn't speak, either. He would wait for her to speak.

She did, finally. "Ummmm, that was a very good hump!"

He made a foolish boast. "I get better and better. "What do you think I do?"

"If you do much better we'll fuck ourselves to death."

"A nice way to die."

"That might take a week."

"Two weeks."

He still held her close. They were just talking now, saying nothing important. But it was still necessary to talk like this. Ty knew very well the role he had to follow. He was supposed to make love to Ellie Cameron. He had fallen for her. He wanted her. He could think of nothing else. He might speak of other things-and he would-but those things should seem incidental. His interest in her stood above everything else.

This was the way he should feel.

In her presence-this was the way he would act.

He wanted something from her. Money.

The woman shifted slightly in his arms. "You can't stay very long this afternoon. I'm sorry."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Hugh will be coming home early."

He growled his answer. "All husbands ought to be hung."

"All but Hugh."

"I thought you didn't like him."

"He doesn't bother me often-and he brings something home which is very important. Money."

She moved again. "Ty-we don't have much time."

"Another hour?"

"Maybe. Yes, we have an hour."

"You said Hugh was going to the coast."

"He is-next week."

"What about Saturday night?"

"He'll be here."

"Could you get out?"

"I might."

"There's going to be a party in the Village," Ty said slowly. "I shouldn't tell you about it, because you might want to go, and if I took you with me, I might lose you."

Her voice quickened. "What do you mean?"

"To go, I have to take a woman. Then, I have to throw her onto the pot-and I might not get her back. Someone else might get her."

"Hmmm. Interesting. Who might get me?"

"That's hard to tell. It's a mixed up crowd-artists, writers, musicians, people from the theatrical world.

"That sounds like a crowd."

"Twenty people, more or less. Not too big a crowd."

"Whiskey or pot?"

"Take your choice. There'll be some pot-if you like that. It slows you down."

"Not all the way."

"Maybe not."

"Hmmm. Saturday night. I suppose it'll run all night."

"Easily."

"I could go to my sister's in Connecticut-arrange an emergency."

'Will your sister cover you?"

"Sure."

"Instead, you'll come to my place Saturday-when?"

"Late afternoon. Can I take a nap?"

"If I let you."

"You mean my pussy will be all worn out for the party."

"Okay."

"No. Conditioned."

"Hmmm. Show me what you mean."

He laughed and rolled toward her, stopped her talking with his mouth, and it was awfully easy to get a fresh harden next to her. She could meet his kiss with excitement, her arms tight around him. Then, for a time as he played around with her tits, she just lay there seemingly herself. But that didn't last long. Her hands got busy caressing his stiffening cock and balls.

She did more moving, got herself settled where she wanted to be, then grabbed his stiff dick and inserted his dick-head between her cuntlips. He thrust his pecker completely up her vagina, until his balls slapped against her cunt as he fucked. She didn't wait long this time before she hit a peak, he could tell. Then she came again and again, and he started fucking harder and harder, but she didn't mind that a bit.

She was there again-right with him. She was clutching him tightly, as though she meant never to leave.

She wouldn't leave for awhile this was too much fun, especially when he shot another load of hot sperm into her orgasming twat, and kept on spurting his semen until it gradually became only a dribble. Her twat was very hot and wet, flooded with her own cunt-juices as well as his sperm. This was one of the best humps yet-lasting and lasting.

Hell with the time-this fuck-session was something real.

They lay close together. This had been good. You didn't move away from frigging like this until you had to. But he was going to have to take his cock out of its pleasant haven since Elbe's husband was coming home early.

He heard her whisper, "Ty?"

"I'm here. Very much here."

"You've got to go."

"But I like it where I am."

"I like this too, but if Hugh walked in...."

"Hell with him."

"That doesn't help. If he finds you fucking with me...."

"What would he do?"

"I don't know. I don't want to find out. Please, Ty ... "

He laughed ruefully, moved away, and sat up. Then he looked over at the woman. Her cunt was satiated-or at least should have been. A light perspiration was on her body, the muscles of her face were lax, her makeup was gone or most of it was. She looked little older then he had guessed-maybe she was well up in the thirties-but she was damned good at fucking. And she still wasn't bad looking.

"You better get dressed too," he told her.

"I know." She got up slowly, made a face at him. "Wasn't that worth it-even for an hour and a half?"

"Sure that was worth it-even if I have to go out through the window-ten floors to the sidewalk."

"I wouldn't want my favorite prick-pusher to do that."

They got dressed, talking casually as they did. They made the bed, then walked to the parlor.

"So Saturday's all right?" he asked again. "The party in the Village?"

"I can make that," Ellie said.

He scowled at the floor. "I shouldn't take you. I might lose-and I don't want to lose you."

"But just for one night-and what's a single night? We'll be fucking each other so many other nights!"

"I know, only...."

He didn't have a chance to finish it. He heard a sound at the door, the sound of a key in the lock, and he knew what that meant. Hugh Cameron was home-in another instant he would be inside-and a few explanations would be due. The next few moments might be difficult, but they shouldn't be as difficult as they would have been fifteen minutes ago when he and Ellie had been still screwing in bed together. There was considerable difference between a parlor and a bedroom.

Ty looked around toward the door, then back at Ellie. He spoke quickly, and under his breath...."Let me handle this-play along."

She took a quick breath, stiffened. Ty wanted to tell her not to look so guilty, but there wasn't time. He turned toward the hall door as it opened, and as a man came in.

Hugh Cameron was a big man. He was tall, wide shouldered, heavy, starting to get fat. He was probably soft, he looked it. His face was chubby, pink cheeked, and his eyes were deeply buried in his skull. He was scowling as he came in and his scowl grew worse as he looked at Ty and his wife.

"Are you Hugh Cameron?" Ty asked bluntly. "That's right. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm an attorney. Name's Grinnell."

"Yeah? So what?"

"There was an accident in the Village the other day," Ty said, and he was making up this story as he went along. "A truck ran into a kid. He was badly hurt. Your wife was one of the witnesses. I came here to ask her if she would appear in court-to help the kid."

Hugh Cameron stared at his wife. "Did you see the accident?"

Ellie bit her lips. "I ... I'm not sure. There was a big crowd. Maybe I saw what happened but it wasn't clear. That is...."

"Then you can't testify," Hugh said. "What's this man been telling you?"

"He thought I ought to help. If I could...."

"But you can't," Hugh said, and he turned toward Ty. "All right, get out. Beat it."

"I can get a court order...." Ty started.

"Then get it."

"All right," Ty said. "I'll get it." He marched to the door, opened it, stepped into the hall. And just for the hell of it, he slammed the door. He was grinning as he headed for the elevator. Elbe wasn't grinning.

He had been suspicious about her and Stan.

He watched her, studied her-he did the same to Stan, but in a different way. He seemed friendly. He even took Stan on a yacht trip-a trip from which Stan didn't return. The police said that from all indications, Stan drank too much and fell overside accidentally.

That wasn't true.

Stan never drank too much.

He wouldn't have fallen overside, accidentally.

But he had died very suddenly, he was out of her life. Now and then Hugh reminded her of Stan-and laughed, as though what had happened was funny. It hadn't been funny to her. It couldn't have been amusing to Stan. She had cost him his life.

Hugh poured a drink, gulped it. He took another, then squinted at Ellie. "Who was this man? This attorney? What was his name?

"I think it was Grinnell?"

"How long have you known him?"

"I don't know him at all."

"Where was this accident?"

"In the Village."

"What street-what day?"

"I ... I think it was on twelfth."

"You think-hell! You know what street, don't you?"

Ellie shook her head. "No, I don't. I'm not even sure there was an accident. There was a crowd, there was some shouting but I couldn't see what it was all about."

"Then this Grinnell is a shyster-and to hell with him. I'll slap a suit against him that'll run him out of town. Damned if I won't."

He marched to the telephone, dialed a number, started talking to the man who answered. He was asking for information about an attorney named Grinnell, snapping orders. Ellie was afraid Ty was in for trouble. Of course Hugh might let this slide. He was going to Hollywood-might be there for some time. He might forget about Ty. This was a possibility, at least.

She fixed a drink-a stiff one. Then she sat down and waited.

Hugh slammed down the telephone. "All right, we'll see about this guy. What the hell were you doing down in the Village?"

Ellie shrugged. "I was just wandering."

"That's a crummy part of town."

"I like it."

"You said wandering-you mean adventuring?"

"I said wandering and window shopping...." Hugh stared at her, and his eyes had narrowed. "Wandering, huh. Maybe you're getting eager for a stiff cock.

"You don't have to be vulgar!"

"Who's vulgar? I know what you're like when you get eager. Get in there an' get your clothes off."

"What!" She was startled. It was seldom that Hugh ever bothered her for fucking. When he got drunk, sometimes, he wanted to get in bed and screw her. But he never managed to do much. At such times he couldn't even get it up! There were other occasions when he was too virile, and when he had hurt her. He never waited for her. She was just a cunt-to be fucked.

"Damn it," he was saying. "You heard me. Go in there an' get your clothes off."

She stood up, and she had stiffened again. She was suddenly angry. "Hugh-this is no way to act."

He walked to the bar, poured another drink. "Why not?"

"You're treating me like-like a whore!"

"What do you want-four-bits? Go in there and get your clothes off."

She took a deep breath, spoke through her teeth. "I'll be damned if I will."

Hugh gulped his drink, threw his glass toward the fireplace and walked toward her. He raised his hand, slapped her, and half-shouted an order. "Damn it, do what I said. Get in the bedroom and spread your legs. I feel like fucking you!"

"But Hugh...."

He raised his hand again, slapped her again, and it wasn't an easy blow. It knocked her sideways.

He struck her again. This time she lost her balance, fell to the floor. She was startled, frightened. Her cheeks seemed on fire from his blows. She was a little dizzy. She thought, God! What is happening? Hugh isn't like this. He's never forced me to fuck.

She started to get up but his foot pushed her down and she heard him shouting. "Damn it, this will do. We don't need any damned bed. I'll fuck you right here."

He stooped over, grabbed the front of her dress and jerked. With his second jerk the material of the dress ripped apart. He gave another jerk, this one at her slip and her brassiere. He was down on his knees, now, tearing her clothes off, and he was acting like an animal, like a beast. She could hear his heavy panting.

The straps over her shoulders cut into her flesh, the back hooks of the brassiere popped apart. He jerked her clothes down over her hips-most of them-but not her garter-belt. He yanked at it, and yanked at it, but it held.

Ellie looked at his face-it was like the face of a crazy man. He was sweating, his eyes had a glazed expression. His hands were hard, cruel. He slapped at one of her tits and laughed. He slapped at her breasts again, and again.

Unaware of it she started screaming, but he slapped her across the mouth and she heard his grating order, to shut up. His fingers closed around her throat, but then let up.

She didn't scream again. She was afraid if she did, she might die.

She just lay there now. She felt his body pressing against her. He was hurting her, but not as much as he might have. Ty, had readied her. If it hadn't been for that she would be screaming. Of course this was a joke. Hugh didn't know that but Ty had made his conquest easy. Yes, this was quite a joke, but she didn't feel like laughing.

He continued to screw her until he shot his load into her pussy and he rested.

He got up, finally, walked to the bar and fixed a drink, then looked back at her and said, "All right, you can get up and fix yourself. You look like hell."

"Who made me look like hell."

"I did," Hugh said, and he threw back his head and roared. He seemed to think this was funny-terribly funny.

Ellie sat up. She was wearing hose and a garter belt-nothing else. Her clothes were piled here and there on the floor. Her body was blotched, her hair was mussed. She knew she didn't look at all glamorous but that didn't bother her.

"You'll never put your cock in me again," she said flatly.

"I'll fuck you any damned time I please," Hugh answered.

"What about your secretary?"

He pointed a finger at her. "Don't start in on me about my secretary. If I want to fuck her too, I will-and to hell with you."

"I suppose you're taking her with you to Hollywood."

"What if I am? I need her."

"And what about your starlets?"

"I'll take them too, if I want to-and shut up."

She got up, gathered her clothes, then looked at Hugh. "I might not be here when you come back?"

He snapped his answer. "Then beat it. Who cares."

Carrying her clothes she headed for the bedroom.

A moment after Ellie was in the bedroom, Hugh Cameron entered, slamming the door behind him.

"Don't think you can get away with high-hatting me!", he snarled. "I can fuck you anytime, any place, any way I feel like...."

Ellie dropped the clothes in her hands as he pushed her backwards on the bed. The room seemed to reel around her as she lay flat on her back, still clad only in her hose and the garter belt.

His strong hands slid along the fullness of her buttocks, cupping her asscheeks. He slowly spread her thighs apart and his eyes took in her completely exposed cunt. Ellie gasped and shook her head from side to side as she realized his intentions, but he boldly mouthed her cuntlips and clitoris. Hugh's head bobbed in a rough rhythm and in spite of herself, Elite's cunt wriggled in response to the intense sensation his licking tongue was giving her clitoris.

Hugh raised his head and laughed at the spasms that swept over her writhing twat.

"I told you-any time, any way I want! And don't forget your luxurious tastes, if you're really thinking of leaving," he growled.

He strode from the room, a smug, satisfied grin on his face because he had cunt-lapped her into "coming"....