Chapter 9
The shed was cloaked in complete darkness, and when Lorraine opened the huge barn-like door, the light from outside-the intense brightness of the stars and the floodlights from the kitchen and commissary-cut a swath on the wood-planked floor.
She could see the floor, but not Bob. She heard no sounds other than the usual settling sounds of old buildings.
She stood, her heart hammering, waiting for whatever would happen. A voice suddenly pierced the dark stillness. "Close the door," it commanded. Her eyes darted around the shadows of the grand ballroom-sized shed, but she saw nothing, nor could she locate the direction from which the voice had come.
She obeyed, though, heaving her shoulder against the door until it swung shut, rocked for a second from its own weight and mass, then was still.
For an instant, she was bathed in a darkness so thick she seemed to be floating in a sea of nothingness. She heard nothing so clearly as the echoes of her smashing heart inside her head.
Then the lights came on, and the shed was illuminated as though in daylight. Lorraine had not been inside the shed since her first day at camp, when she had followed Gary and his wasted dune buggy inside.
The place had not changed; and, she noted with some satisfaction, Bob Shuster isn't much of a housekeeper. He sat on an army cot shoved unceremoniously against the back wall. A few girlie pinups were tacked to the wall above the cot; about four feet away from the cot was a steamer trunk, with a pile of clothes heaped over it. More clothes were scattered on the floor and on the cot.
That was all of Bob's in the shed, except for a small old bookshelf with some old magazines and a radio stacked in it. The rest of the cavernous building was given over to the tools needed to keep a place like Camp Bernhardt in repair. There were ropes, hoses, pipes and other plumbing materials, lumber, hammers, saws, electrical equipment, cement, wheelbarrows, shovels and enough other equipment to keep a hardware store in business for ten years.
A huge dump truck was parked in the garage-door entrance to the shed, and one of the camp's pickup trucks, broken down for two summers, was also kept inside. And there, beside the far wall, not far from Bob and his quarters, was the demolished dune buggy belonging to her husband.
It had been worked on now and again by Gary and Barry, and it looked better than it had when she had first seen it. The engine had been removed, and dangled as though it weighed no more than an ounce from the engine winch. The hood had been pounded nearly flat and smooth, and fell in its familiar slope from the windshield.
Lorraine stood viewing this sight, still waiting. She had learned nothing of what fate awaited her; only that Bob was here and so was she. No clues. Nothing.
"You're late," Bob said.
"I'm here," she responded. Bob didn't seem to have any argument with that logic, and he nodded. Satisfied.
"Come over here," he said.
She hesitated, but only for a minute. Her legs moved like cement pylons as she crossed the floor. Her mind tortured her with images of a smiling Gary, in his innocence and boyish charm. She was doing this to him, she seemed to be telling herself. But she was doing it. She was committed now, no backing out.
She stood in front of him, looking down at him with his legs crossed on the filthy cot. The usual cigarette dangled carelessly from the corner of his mouth, but he wore no sunglasses. His red eyes stared up at her, at the pear-shaped breasts that loomed above him, within grasp of both hands. He knew them, he knew what they felt like and how tightly the nipples were capable of swelling. He hungered for them. But he did not reach out to her. He just inhaled on his cigarette and watched her. "Well?" she said.
"You're an impatient cunt, aren't you?" he told her.
"I just want to hurry up and get this over with."
"Oh, we won't be hurrying," Bob said. "This is going to be long and sweet. You're going to have a wonderful time." There was no problem detecting the heavy sarcasm in his voice.
"All right," she said, her voice reduced to a monotone. She sat beside him and reached into his shirt pocket, pulling his cigarettes out. She fished for one and settled it between her lips, and lit it with Bob's, which she pulled from his mouth. When she was done, she put it back.
"I didn't know you smoked," Bob said.
"I'm just starting," she said.
She inhaled, and forced herself not to cough. But Bob slapped the cigarette out of her mouth, and left a red mark on her cheek from the force of the slap. She recoiled, then lashed her open hand at him, but he caught her wrist in his massive fist, and pulled her to her feet by it.
"You're a bitch, and you need to be taught some manners," Bob smiled. "Fuck you," she hissed.
Bob smiled wider, and she knew she had said the wrong thing. Not that it mattered that she said it, but that was precisely what he intended to do. He flung her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, and hauled her across the shed. Hanging upside down, she could not get oriented and had no idea in which direction she was being carried. But she knew soon enough. Bob dropped her, and her back slammed into something smooth. One glance and she knew she was laying against the sloping hood of Gary's dune buggy.
She lay there, panting, and felt Bob pull her wrist. Something rough was around it, more rough than his calloused palm, and she turned her head. A bolt of pure fear shot through her. He was tying a quarter-inch hawser rope to her wrist. She tried to pull it away, but he pushed her down and secured the rope to the vehicle's rear view mirror, mounted just inside the topless car.
She thrashed, and reached over to try to untie it, but Bob pushed her hand down again, and tied it to the left-side view mirror. She could not free herself; she was splayed across the hood of the car, able only to kick a little, not enough to do anybody any harm.
Bob undid her pants without delicateness, yanking at the button until it snapped, then forcing the zipper down. He yanked them off by the legs, then literally tore her panties from her waist. Her recently-used pussy quivered and jumped, the downy curls of pubic hair flattened from moisture. She reeked of sex, and Bob unconsciously licked his lips.
"Well, go ahead," she said to him. "You've got me where you want me; I can't do a damned thing to stop you. Here, does this help?" She spread her legs wide, lifting her feet off the floor and holding herself up by the ties that bound her to the car. She slit of her pussy opened, revealing the interior membrane flesh, pink and oozing with syrupy fluid.
"What's the matter?" she said. Her eyes were closed. Her legs were hoisted, her pussy vulnerably open. "Am I too much for you?" she said. "Or can't you get it up?"
"I can get it up fine," Bob said. "Fact is, it's already up. But I think I'll put it on hold for a while and see what you think of Stew's."
Her eyes whipped open like window shades. "What?"
"Stew. Stewart Roberts. He's been invited to the party."
Her mind tried to comprehend what her ears had heard. "You can't be serious." She relaxed her legs, and let her feet support her from the floor once again.
"Might as well spread your sexy thighs again," Bob said. "You can come out, Stewart," he called.
Something moved above her. She tilted her head back, her chin pointed toward the ceiling. Stewart Roberts' face hovered above her, the lips spread back over his teeth in an obscene grin, his eyes bright and clear.
She thought she would scream, but she didn't. It was the shock he caused that gave Bob much of his thrills, and she would not give him that satisfaction. But her eyes nearly popped out of her head, and a blue vein in her neck throbbed visibly.
"Hi, Mrs. Kemper," Stewart said easily, as though greeting her on the trail to the lake. "How you doin?" He clambered out of the dune buggy and stood before her. She tried to control the gyrations her aroused pussy was going through, but could not. "Well now, would you look at that?" Stewart said, his hands on his hips.
He was wearing canvas deck shoes, the type they wore on the dock at the lake, and a terry cloth robe, the type they put on after climbing out of the water when a chill was in the air.
He kicked the shoes off, and shrugged out of the robe. Beneath it, he was clad only in speedos, and his crotch bulged from the strain of his cock. Yet, he had no erection! She gaped at his crotch, so fascinated with it that she ignored entirely his muscular chest, rippling as his muscles worked. His legs were lined with taut stretches of muscles, and he bore a perfect bronze tan. Yet she could only watch with a kind of fascinated horror the movements being made under the flimsy material of his swimming briefs.
Slowly, relishing the look in Lorraine's eyes, Stewart pushed his speedos down. Bob stood leaning against the wall, the biggest smile on his face he ever remembered having. Stewart's huge cock sprang out as the tight waist of the trunks slid over it, and Lorraine mewed involuntarily. In her fear, it seemed as thick as an arm to her, and as long. Stewart stepped out of the briefs, and stood again before her.
As she watched, his penis grew. First its thickness began to expand, and as she watched it suddenly stood erect, and like a telescope, it began to lengthen. When it was fully extended, it reached out to her like a grasping hand, meaty and crisscrossed with blue veins, each of which seemed to pulsate from a heart of its own.
She still refused to say anything, but oh, my God was on the tip of her tongue, aching to come out. Speaking casually again, Stewart said, "You ready, Mrs. Kemper?"
She started to say something, not knowing what to say, but no sound would come out. Not even a gasp, or a choking gagging noise. He walked to her, and her muscles rippled as she watched his masculine, assured step.
His rock-hard cockhead touched her, rubbed her like sandpaper before he reached her. She sucked in air, hard, but could not deny that rush of heat that swept through her at the touch of his cock. He backed away a little, and then she saw the drop of love juice that was perched over the opening of his thick penis. He leaned forward and encircled her thighs with his long, sculptured fingers. When they were wrapped completely around, he lifted and parted them, until they were spread as far as they would go.
Lorraine did not want to watch, and she squeezed her eyes shut, but they would not remain closed. An instant later, and they were open again, staring at the cock that was approaching her.
A wave of prickly heat spread through her as his spongy cock head caressed her vulva, drawing even more sticky female lubricant from her depths. Her head jerked back again, and her eyes closed involuntarily this time. Now she wanted to watch, but her mind would not exert its will over her body. It was passive, all thoughts and emotions were passive, only her body was alive.
The cock head forced apart the outer walls of her cunt, pushing them farther than Gary had ever done even with his fingers. She felt the skin stretching, and thought certainly it would tear. It didn't, though, and Stewart continued walking toward her, walking his throbbing erection into her.
It separated her cuntal walls, pushing them to limits she would have thought she could never endure. Gurgling sounds came from her throat, and Stewart released his grip on her creamy, milky thighs-he no longer needed to hold them up. She was doing that on her own now, and her feet rested on the curve of his ass cheeks. When he had five inches in her, she began pulling him with her feet, urging him into her. Never before had she been so filled, even though not half of his erection had entered her.
Still it continued to come. Her anus tightened and she gasped when he kept entering her well after she was sure there was no more room inside her small cunt.
Stewart was entirely inside her now, straining her tight little hole but also causing ripples of ecstasy to run through her.
Stewart reared back and thrust his weapon-like member into her, and her round ass cheeks lifted off the hood of the car as a million feelings rolled through her. She moved to put her arms around his massive shoulders, to run her sharp nails over his back, to squeeze his hair and pull it, to dig her nails deeply into the fleshy cheeks of his humping ass. But they were tied securely; there was no escape.
Stewart fucked her hard, mercilessly slamming his incredible thickness up her battered pussy.
Bob could not watch any longer. His own virile penis was stretched into a full erection, and he needed to be satisfied. He pushed his pants down, and released his cock into the open, and began to stroke it tenderly. But he would not masturbate, not while Stewart was ramming his blue-veined stiffness into a woman who looked like Lorraine Kemper, impaling her. Stewart would shoot a load of hot cum into her anxious cunt, and Bob would simply not spill his own creamy load onto the cold, wooden floor of the shed.
He jogged to the back of the dune buggy and clambered inside, then hung his head over the windshield and watched Stewart coupling with Lorraine from that new vantage point. Her legs were wrapped around his ass, urging him deeper inside of her with each stroke he took against her flaming cuntal walls.
But he could only watch for so long; it all conspired to make him want her. Her firm, lovely breasts were mashed against his chest, her legs were splayed obscenely wide, the soft, pliable flesh of her thighs jiggled with each of his jarring re-entries into her pussy.
Bob hoisted himself over the windshield and swung his legs over either side of her head, settling down so his cock dangled erect before her parted lips. Her eyes were closed but moved with anguish beneath the eyelids; her nostrils flared and she uttered whimpers and groans without interruption.
"Oh, Christ!" she suddenly shouted, arching her back and straining every muscle in her body. Bob took advantage of her wide-open mouth to shove his cock in again. She gagged and nearly vomited, but as soon as she was aware of what was inside her mouth, she took to nibbling and sucking at it. Again she wished her hands were free, so she could grab his taut, dangling testicles, and feel the hot blood curdling through them.
Bob hung on to the rim of the dune buggy and shoved his cock in, then slid it out. Lorraine did not know why or how they managed, but they were fucking her in time-Bob in her mouth, Stewart in her cunt. She had never felt such feelings as those running through her. She was filled with wanton arousal, desire made her blood boil, and she kicked and gyrated and twisted around as much as she could, considering her restraints.
Suddenly, all motion ceased. She tried to suck on Bob's cock, but he had withdrawn it. And through her eyelids, she could tell there was new light in the room.
She opened her eyes and turned her head. Her life ended.
Gary was standing in the doorframe of the huge shed, his eyes ablaze, the air he breathed too thin because he nearly hyperventilated. Barry Jameson stood behind him.
"I told you," Barry said.
"Get out of here," Lorraine's husband told him. But Barry was frozen as he surveyed the scene. "I said get out!" Gary shouted, and this time Barry fled, from fear and adolescent confusion.
Gary stepped inside, his nostrils flared like an attacking bull. He looked ridiculous in his scout uniform, but nobody laughed. Lorraine was petrified.
She did not expect Bob to do anything other than try to weasel his way out of it. Stewart's cock was stilled, but still stiff and rigid inside her, and she burned to have it reactivated.
"Gary . . . " she said, and it came out as a croak. She did not have the chance to say more; Bob had used both hands, clamped to the side of her head, and shoved his cock back in. She gagged seriously this time, but in a minute she had grown accustomed again to his rhythm. She was tied to the hood of the car, pinned to it by Stewart's weight, so there was nothing else she could do.
Tears flooded from her eyes, and she wondered what Gary was doing. She knew her marriage was over.
She was not ready for what Gary did do, though. He came up to the threesome, hoisted Lorraine's ass far above the car hood, and slid beneath her, facing her ass. Her weight nearly suffocated him, but he managed to get his pants down, then his underwear. His cock free, he grasped it by the base with his fist, and angrily shoved it into her rubbery gripped rectum.
She gasped, but almost choked on the cock in her mouth. She knew Gary was fucking her anus out of anger, out of hate, but.. . but.. . .
But it felt so goddam good, all of it!
She came, an orgasm that made her believe she must have never truly experienced orgasm before. She jerked and quivered, sunk her teeth into the meat in her mouth, squeezed her cuntal walls against that in her pussy, contracted her anal walls against the one up her asshole.
They all shot their wads of creamy, hot male sperm at once, filling each of her orifices with the vicious stuff. Then, one at a time, they fell away.
Gary was the last to slip out, and he collapsed in a heap to the floor, racked with sobs.
Bob cut her loose with a long knife, and she rubbed her wrists. She was still trying to catch her breath, and she was horrified at the welts on her wrists.
She could not stay. Not for an instant. She grabbed Roberts' robe and flung it on, and darted from the shed.
She didn't know how long she ran. She heard, at first, the sounds of the men running after her, but they faded after a while.
She ran out of camp, and along the highway until she could run no longer. She lay there then, collapsed by the road.
After a few minutes her breath returned to her, and she looked around. She was near a river campsite, and a fire was going. She heard voices, young men and women, laughing.
She gathered herself up and headed toward them. Perhaps they would give her food, water, shelter. She did not know who they were or what they had to offer.
But she was out of choices.
And she could not go back.