Chapter 3

Cheryl stepped out of the shower and reached for the oversize towel. As she dried herself briskly, she eyed the reflection of her body in the bathroom mirror. Beaded with water droplets, her skin looked soft and dewy-like cocoa-colored satin. Her nipples were dark-brown, standing up like little nuts all puckered and hard from the stimulation of the stinging shower spray. She was a slim girl, and yet there was a ripeness to her hips and thighs. She felt embarrassment at the lushness of her body. How much easier things would be if she were ugly and flat-chested. Her breasts weren't large, but they stood straight out -pert and firm. She tried to view her body through Annie's eyes. Annie would be proud of a body like that-why couldn't she feel the same way?

When she was dry, she dropped the towel and stood facing the mirror, conscious of a little tingle deep in her belly. The little black triangle of hair between her legs was thick and curly-just like the hair on her head.

"Powder yourself-make yourself smooth all over," Annie called from the bedroom.

"Oh, Annie," she called back. "What difference is it going to make? He's not going to see me, you know."

"But you'll feel different. A woman has to make use of what she has, and, baby, if you want to hobnob around town with a man like that, you'd better feel like a real woman-because he sure as hell feels like a man."

Cheryl shook her head. She didn't follow Annie's line or reasoning, but she had promised to follow the blonde girl's instructions. After all, she was new to this kind of life.

She sprinkled some baby powder on the soft slopes of her shoulders, shivering at the touch. There seemed something almost indecent about giving so much attention to her own body. Then she rubbed it into her skin with her soft fingers until her dark flesh began to look dusky. She couldn't shake the strange, guilty feeling that overcame her. Annie was telling her that to look beautiful would make her feel more secure. For her part, she would have felt more secure dressed in an old sackcloth or a suit of armor. But, she had promised.

She replaced the tin of powder on the shelf. Okay, she had done it. Enough was enough.

The bathroom door opened, and Annie walked in. She was naked except for a tiny, skin-tight pair of black bikini panties that stood out in sharp relief against the milky whiteness of her firm flesh.

"Ummm," she murmured, eyeing Cheryl's nakedness critically. "Not bad."

It was horribly embarrassing for Cheryl to stand there stark naked while Annie looked her over like a window display. She felt her skin growing warm with her embarrassment, and she was thankful that on her, at least, it wouldn't show.

"You know," Annie mused. "A lot of men are turned on by girls like you. It's the little girl bit. It brings out the father in them."

"You mean a lot of fathers are turned on by their daughters?" Cheryl asked incredulously.

Annie eyed her. "You'd better believe it," she said.

"Annie," Cheryl said, a little stiffly, "I don't want to turn him on. Can't you understand that?"

Annie looked at her as if she didn't believe her. "Come here," she said. "We have to have a little talk."

Cheryl pouted as Annie led her into the other room. Annie was treating her like a child-acting like she was her mother. Cheryl had had enough of being mothered.

"Sit down!" Annie said, gesturing to the bed.

"Look Annie," Cheryl said. "Can't you understand? I'm not like you. I don't think you're wrong to be the way you are. But I'm not like that, and I never will be. It just isn't in me."

Annie smiled with good natured skepticism. "It's in you, all right," she said, flicking her eyes meaningfully over Cheryl's luscious body.

Cheryl looked away in embarrassment and frustration.

"Look," Annie said. "If you feel that way, if you don't want to be attractive, then why are you going out with a man like that?"

Cheryl thought about it. She had been asking herself the same question. Partly, mostly in fact, it was her brother that she was worried about. If he was mixed up in something that was dangerous maybe she could get him out of it before he ruined his life. Not that he had ever listened to her yet. She was just a kid to him, and she always would be. But she had to do something, and he wasn't going to give her anything to go on, so she was going to the source.

Cheryl thought about Frank. There was no doubt that he was the source. And, she had to admit this to herself if she was going to be honest, that he did fascinate her. But not in the way that he fascinated Annie. Cheryl didn't see him as a lover-the very thought made her skin crawl.

"It's just a matter of what's right," Annie said. "When you go out with a man like that, you make yourself beautiful. Fortunately, with you, that isn't much of a problem. If he takes you some place that's full of elegant, foxy women, then you're going to feel like a fool if you're dressed like a college freshman. That's all. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. If you want to get inside this guy, then you have to talk his language -and this is his language." She walked to the closet and drew out a lush, orange velvet dress with a skimpy skirt and a very low neck.

"Oh, Annie, no . . . I couldn't wear that."

"Sure you could-and you will. After all, you promised to follow my advice-this time, at least. Remember, he's a friend of your brother's. Relax, you don't have anything to worry about. He's a gentleman."

The evening started out very much in accord with Annie's expectations. Frank took her to an exclusive restaurant perched on top of a high-rise hotel. The Pacific twilight was long and wondrous, and the view was breathtaking. The place smelled of money and power, and Cheryl did feel out of place, but she disguised her doubts behind a facade of self-assurance.

Frank was perfect, of course. He didn't challenge her act-he made everything seem perfectly natural-even to the point of ordering for both of them from the menu-which was entirely in French. Still, there was something faintly amused in his eyes, as if he sensed and understood perfectly how alien all this was to a girl like Cheryl.

The dinner was succulent, and the wine made Cheryl feel a little dizzy. She wasn't used to drinking. She didn't think of it as wrong-exactly-but she had been brought up to think that it wasn't very lady-like. There was little choice about it here, however. Her glass was refilled again and again. Despite her reservations, she found herself sipping away at the wine-as much out of nervousness as anything-and by the end of the meal she began to worry that she had drunk too much. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. She felt more relaxed. But there was some sense in her that warned her that it wasn't the time to relax. Oh, Frank was being charming enough-he had more than enough of that. But there was still something dangerous about him. There was something dangerous about any man that seemed to feel as completely self confident as he did.

She looked him in the eyes, feeling bolder now, under the influence of the wine. He smiled and met her gaze. There was something cold in his eyes-something that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but it chilled her. She thought of her brother. Somehow, it seemed, that anything Bobby was mixed up in with this man must be bad. There was something underneath his handsome, debonair exterior-something sinister and snakelike. She was quickly deciding that she didn't like him-for all his charm and witty worldliness.

"Frank," she said, "you certainly seem to be successful at something. Do you mind my asking what it is?" It was time to start doing what she had gone there to do-trying to find out something about this man.

His smile didn't waver.

"I'm an international spy," he said.

"Really. What business are you in? My brother said you were a businessman."

"Did he now? Why didn't you ask him what business?"

"I did," she said. "But he wouldn't tell me."

"Hummm," he mused, "that's strange. Why do you think he wouldn't tell you?"

"I don't know," she said. "I really don't know."

"Did it ever occur to you that it might not be any of your business?" He said it without changing the tone of his voice a bit; he said it without changing his smile.

She stared at him as if she had been slapped.

"I think," she said, ". . . that I would like to go home."

"Certainly," he said, raising his hand for the waiter.

There was a stiff silence between them all the way down the elevator and to the garage where the silver Mercedes was parked.

Then she was sitting stiffly beside him. He didn't seem at all ruffled or upset. He steered the car into the street with the same nonchalance that he had displayed all evening.

But, when he started to drive, she realized with a chill, that he wasn't heading for the campus.

"Where are you going?" she asked, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. She didn't feel the light-headedness of the wine anymore. This wasn't like the restaurant. Here she was alone with him and she suddenly felt very vulnerable.

"It's too early to end the evening," he said. "I wanted to show you a few things."

"I'm really not feeling very well," she said. "I think I should get back."

Why had she gotten herself into this? Despite her extravagant dress-that made her look like a street-corner hooker, despite her sophisticated act, she really was a college freshman, and a shy one at that. She was out of her depth, and she knew it.

"Relax," he said. "I'll take you back when I'm ready."

There was just a shade of emphasis on the I'm. It was subtle, but, in its own way, absolute. He was going to call the shots-things were going to happen when he wanted them to, and how he wanted them to, so she might as well accept it.

She stared woodenly out at the street. She was being kidnapped. It was being done with great civility, but that's what it amounted to, nevertheless.

"Frank," she said, trying to keep her voice level and calm. "I don't know what you have in mind, but I don't like it. If you don't want to drive me back, then just let me off here, and I'll call a cab."

He laughed. Suddenly his hand shot out, and he yanked her miniskirt up around her waist, leaving her long, rounded legs naked. She gasped and pulled the skirt down quickly. She was shaking very badly. She began to fumble with the door handle. It was locked in some way that she couldn't release it.

Frank was still laughing.

"When I tell my brother about this," she hissed. "He'll kill you."

Frank laughed even harder. "That's a good one," he said.

Cheryl fought down the panic that she felt. She tried to think clearly, rationally. She could scream for help. But what good would that do? Who would hear her? No, she would have to deal with Frank somehow.

Suddenly he pulled over to the curb.

Instantly there were two men beside the car. He flicked a switch and something clicked. One of the men opened the door.

"Take her upstairs," Frank said. "I'll be up in a minute."

They went about their job with precision. The man snaked his hand out and caught her by the wrist. She opened her mouth to scream, as he pulled her out onto the sidewalk, but he clapped his free hand over her mouth, jerking her toward the doorway.

"Make it easy on yourself," he said. "You could get hurt otherwise."

She felt like a feather-incapable of resisting. When they were inside the house, there was the click of a lock behind them. The man took his hand away from Cheryl's mouth, but kept her wrist twisted behind her.

In a moment, the door was unlocked again, and Frank came into the room, grinning triumphantly.

"You can let her go. I can take care of things," he said to the goon who was holding her. "You can go . . . Take the night off."

The two men looked doubtful.

"Go on," he said.

They left.

Cheryl watched him fearfully, rubbing her wrist where the man had twisted it.

"Now," Frank said. "Now we get to know each other better. That's why you came along tonight, isn't it? You wanted to get to know me, to know what kind of people your brother is getting mixed up with these days."

He took a step toward her. She backed away. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked, her voice cracking with her fear.

He smiled, obviously enjoying her anguish.

"Can't you guess?" he smirked. "I'm going to fuck you."

She shook her head, wordless with shock. "You can't . . . You can't . . . " she sobbed, when she had recovered her voice.

"Why not?" he said. He was advancing steadily. She was crying openly now. He watched her closely. Suddenly he made his move. She uttered a frantic little shriek, and tried to jump out of the way, but she stumbled. He grabbed her and pulled her body up hard against his. She raised her hands to claw his face, but he caught them, laughing, and pinned them behind her back. She could feel the overwhelming power in his lean, hard body. She tried to twist away, but he held her fast against him, insinuating his crotch against the firm, warm plane of her belly. She could feel his huge erection through his pants and she thought that she was going to faint from the sickness that she felt. It was all like a weird nightmare-a nightmare from which there was no way to wake up.

"Please," she moaned. "You're hurting me."

He trapped both her wrists in one hand, then slipped her skirt up in back and began to slide his hand around on the sleek, quivering globes of her buttocks, which were covered only by the tight, gauzy nylon of her tiny bikini panties.

"You don't like to get hurt, do you?" he muttered thickly, pushing his mouth close to her ear.

"No," she whimpered. "Please don't hurt me."

"Are you going to be a good girl? Are you going to try to claw me again?"

She shook her head, her body racked by deep sobs. He let her wrists go, but continued to push his body against hers. Her skirt was just a tangle of cloth around her slender waist. Her long legs were naked, and his hands were moving all over her firm, tight ass. She stood rigid, trying to block out the overpowering sensations of shame and guilt that flooded her body. Then he slipped his fingers underneath her panties and felt her bare bottom.

"Oh, God," she pleaded. "Please don't do that . . . Don't touch me there."

He laughed thickly and skinned her panties down until they were furled around her knees. Her knees were shaking badly. If it had not been for the strong force of his arm around her waist, she would have collapsed.

"I'm going to touch you everywhere tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, you're my plaything."

"No, no," she wept. "Please don't make me . . . "

His fingers unhooked her dress deftly. Then he stepped back and pushed the lush orange velvet down over the warm slopes of her shoulders. Her breasts were like whipped cream, where they were exposed above the thin, cutting edge of her white bra. She clasped her hands in front of her protectively. He pushed her hands away, then reached around behind her again to unfasten the bra. She whined like a baby as her firm brown breasts spilled free.

No man had ever seen her naked. She felt like she was going to pass out from embarrassment.

He forced the dress down over the full curve of her hips.

Now she was naked except for her tiny panties. . He stepped back. Her panties were transparent. Instinctively, she reached one hand down to cover herself.

"Beautiful," he laughed. "Maidenly modestly. I love it."

Her face was slick with tears. She kept shaking her head. She felt close to the edge of hysteria.

"Why don't you take off your panties?" he said softly. "I want to see all of you. I want to see what I'm getting."

She just continued to stare blindly in front of her, shaking her head.

He shrugged and reached into his pocket. "All right," he said. "I'll take them off myself." His hand came out with something in it. There was a click and a flash. He had a knife.

Her eyes widened in horror. "Oh, God, no," she cried. "Please don't."

He pulled her roughly up against his body. Then she felt the could steel of the knife blade against the firm backs of her legs. She was stiff with terror-afraid to move a muscle. He ran the point of the knife up under her panties and with one smooth motion, he sliced them away from her body. Now she was completely naked.

He stepped back again. His eyes were funny--he was excited now, as much-she sensed-by her fear as by her nudity. Her eyes fixed on the knife.

"Why don't you get down on your knees?" he said, in a funny thick voice.

She stood still, frozen with fear, watching the knife. He moved the knife in a quick jabbing motion. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Now," he said.

She dropped to her knees. Frank stepped up close to her. Then he reached over with his free hand and stroked the nape of her neck-gently, almost lovingly.

"You're beautiful," he said softly. "You've just led a sheltered life. Tonight you're going to learn the facts of life."

He took his hand away, and began to fumble with his belt. She watched in horror while he unfastened his pants. Then she gasped wordlessly as his pants fell to the floor, and his huge, meaty organ sprang out of its confinement.

It was bigger than she had imagined a man could be. He was much bigger than the boy in the park that day. His penis was long and curved a little, like a sword.

"Play with it," he muttered, stepping up so that it almost brushed against her face. "Use your hands on it."

She reached up with trembling fingers. She brushed her fingers lightly over the drum-tight skin of his cock. It burned her fingers, felt like dry ice against her skin. She held it lightly, not knowing what to do, what he wanted.

"Squeeze it a little," he said, putting his hand back on her neck. "Rub it all over."

She took the thing in both hands and did as he directed. It was impossibly hard-like a young oak tree growing from between his legs. The head of it was like a big plum, that looked ripe and about to burst. There was a little vein fluttering wildly just behind the knob. She fingered his tool, fighting back feelings of disgust. It was obscene, like a big fat worm.

"Now," he whispered. "Kiss it."

She shook her head. "I can't." she groaned.

He laid the knife blade against her cheek. It was very cold.

"No?" His voice was ominously quiet.

She bent forward, closed her eyes and pushed her mouth against the end of his blunt, hard cudgel. He jabbed his hips forward, pushing the smooth knob of his turgid dick between her pale soft lips and into the hot cavern of her warm mouth.

She gagged and tried to back away, but his fingers were forceful against the tender skin at the back of her neck-holding her firmly in place.

"That's it," he groaned. "You know how to do it. . . you Black chicks are born knowing how to do it . . . just try to remember . . . use your tongue. Lick it all over . . . pretend it's a stick of candy."

Her lips were stretched painfully and lasciviously by the thickness of his meaty cock. She could hardly breathe. She licked it and sucked it, hollowing her cheeks. She felt faint and sick. It was just like the dream. The dream was coming to life.

He moved his hips back and forth, pushing his hot erection in and out of her mouth slowly. When it emerged, it was red and glistening from her saliva. Tears were spilling hotly down her cheeks, and she was fighting for air. His fingers tangled in her hair and he pushed her head back and forth rhythmically, forcing the passion-inflated length of his cock in and out of the soft oval of her warmly soft lips.

"That's it," he grunted. "Suck it, baby . . . suck it hard."

She strained the muscles of her mouth, hollowing her cheeks with the effort. She had to do as he said-she was naked and helpless and the knife was like a deadly snake in his hand. If it could just be over.

If she could finish it quickly, maybe he would let her go. Maybe he wouldn't want to do . . . the other thing. She made her tongue flutter over the hot knob of his pistoning cock as if it were a moth against a burning light bulb.

The thing was so hot and smooth against her tongue. He moved it in and out of her mouth smoothly-without friction-with a measured, regular rhythm. His fingers were tangled in her curly black hair, guiding her. He was looking down on her with glazed eyes, and his breath was beginning to quicken. She doubled her efforts, sucking and tonguing his juicy prong with all the energy and expertise she could manage. Somehow she sensed just what movements of her mouth would excite him. It was like some deep instinctual knowledge.

"Use your hands," he muttered. "Feel my ass--hold me."

Groaning helplessly, with her mouth stuffed full of his scalding cock, she lifted her hands and cupped the meaty globes of his ass. She was aware of the weight, the male solidity of his body, and she felt even more frail and helpless because of it. She was powerless-he could make her do anything he wanted her to do, and the realization made her sick to her stomach.

She felt the knotting, grinding motion of his hard buttocks under her hands. She squeezed him hard and scraped her little teeth along the length of his big bone. He groaned and shuddered. She sensed that he was close to having an orgasm.

But then he pushed her roughly away from him. She fell back, gasping on the floor, wild eyed and hysterical.

"Now," he said tightly. "Now for the main event . . . "

He kicked his pants away calmly and began to unbutton his shirt.

Her eyes never left his rigid truncheon-which was jutting up like a telephone pole from between his legs. He was going to put that thing inside her body. She was cold and stiff with fear.

It was too big-much too big. He would split her in two with that big battering ram.

She began to edge away from him, crawling like a naked, frightened animal. He watched her, savoring her fear, while he peeled his shirt away from his lean, muscular body and tossed it casually to the floor.

He stood for a moment, exposing the naked length of his body to her. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Then he eased himself down to the floor, pushing her roughly over onto her back-moving his hot hands all over the silky smooth skin of her ripe young body.

He pinched her little nut-brown nipples, making her groan and shudder with the pain of the feeling. Then he squeezed her nipples hard, and she screamed from the pain.

"I like to hurt you,' he said hotly. "You're so easy to hurt."

She was sobbing, trying to push him away, but he was too strong and too willful to resist. "Don't," she wailed, as she felt his strong hands prying her rounded thighs apart. Then he was cupping the little tuft of black wiry hair between her legs. She scissored her thighs together, but she only succeeded in locking his hand in place.

He gouged a finger up into the soft, vulnerable lips of her cunt, and she groaned deeply at the invasion. Then he pushed another finger up inside her and wiggled it around. She felt stuffed. His fingers were like a relentless, burrowing animal between her legs. The feeling was unbearable-she wanted to scream.

Then his weight was on top of her-crushing her to the floor.

She felt the nose of his blunt, hard tool pushing against the soft, virginal lips of her cunt. To her horror, she felt herself growing moist and sticky. It was as if her body was betraying her--refusing to resist the brutal, carnal invasion of her flesh.

Then he pushed his dick up inside her, and she groaned deeply, as if she had been wounded. He was so strong and heavy. She felt his hot breath against her neck. He was strong and furious-like a stallion. She was whimpering mindlessly-her voice sounded strange and far away to her own ears.

His hips were slamming into the yielding softness of her hips like a jackhammer. Her breath was coming in short little, high-pitched gusts. He was spearing her with relentless brutality, pinning her body to the floor with each thrust, grunting like a beast in her ear while he speared her with his meaty bludgeon again and again.

She was moist now-the terrible pain had eased a little as she had stretched to accommodate him. Now there was a frantic heat rising from the base of her belly like an obscene balloon. Her hips took on a life of their own, and she began to push back at him, even while she was groaning "No, no, no," over and over in time with his brutal humping.

Then she felt his cock swelling, twitching crazily. "Ooooh God . . . " She groaned as she felt his hot cream spurting up into her tortured womb. She raked her nails down his heaving flanks--rolling her eyes back into her head and wailing like a dying animal.

Cheryl lay on the floor for a long time without moving, without making a sound.

She was aware of Frank's weight for a while on top of her-then he was gone. After awhile, she started to cry.

"Shut up!" he snapped. "You've got nothing to cry about. I could have cut your damned throat."

She sensed that the edge was gone from him now-that the moment of high danger had passed. He wasn't flashing his knife any more, at least.

"Get your clothes on, bitch," he spat. "I'm through with you-for now."

She scrambled to her feet, still sobbing.

When she was dressed, she looked around, but Frank had disappeared. In a few minutes, he reappeared. There was a young Black man with him.

"Curt will take you home," he said. "Don't tell anybody about this," Then he flashed that cool, sinister grin. "That wouldn't be very smart at all."

She looked at him, feeling wooden and dead. Her sobbing stopped, and now she felt nothing but cold hate for him.

"I'll get you back,' she said fiercely. "I'll get you back for this. I don't know how, but I will."

He smiled and winked at the Black man. "Did you hear that Curt? You're a witness. She threatened me. If anything happens to me, you know where to look.

The Black man smiled.

"I know," he said.

Cheryl sat motionless in the seat. The Black man who drove her seemed to have no interest in her.

As he steered the car through the campus gates, Cheryl felt a wave of profound sadness.

She was coming back to her life-but after this nightmare, she knew that nothing was ever going to be the same. Her days of being an innocent, shy eighteen-year-old girl were finished.