Chapter 6

Bob sat in the coffee shop across the road from the lodge, drinking coffee and enjoying his first cigarette of the day. Seldom did a smoke ever taste as good as that first one in the morning, and he took long drags, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, and exhaling slowly, tasting the tastes of the tobacco as it glided out across his tongue.

He had just finished three eggs, hash browns, four links of sausage and toast, along with a large Bloody Mary and he felt stuffed and satisfied. The large breakfast was in addition to the filet he had wolfed down the night before, after leaving a drugged and slumbering Lorraine sprawled and spent in the bed in the rented cabin.

He laced his fingers together over his belly, and let the smoke drift into his nostrils. He closed his eyes to relish the aroma. When he opened them, he saw Lorraine, dressed, walking across the snakelike highway toward the coffee shop. She had already spotted him through the plate glass window beside which he sat, and Bob only smiled when he saw the murderous look plastered to her face.

She was angry, filled with hatred and humiliation and a variety of confused, jumbled feminine thoughts. Her uncontrolled lust for Bob did not mesh with her fervent love for Gary. Once she had awakened, and knew what she had done, she forgot entirely about her episode with Grace. Bob consumed her, and each time she drew his image to her mind, her hatred and disgust amplified.

She sobbed as she showered, as more thoughts raced through her muddled mind than she could possibly deal with. She wept as she dried herself, and calmed as she dressed. She would have to deal with it, as simple as that. Crying won't make it go away. All she could do was cope with it.

So she replaced her emotional state of despair with one of unbridled hatred. She decided the first thing she had to do was confront Bob Shuster, do to him mentally what he had done to her physically. Then, when Gary returned, she would have to tell him. How could he blame her? She was certain she had been drugged.

Perhaps it would result in Bob's being fired.

She asked at the front desk where Bob had gone, and was disturbed that there existed still a quiver, a trembling in her voice that displayed her emotional state. But she firmed up her resolve when she was told her enemy awaited her directly across the street, and she stormed to the coffee shop.

She saw Bob in the window, and a chill ran through her when she saw, behind his wicked mirrored sunglasses, he smiled.

But her intentions did not change. She shoved the front door of the restaurant open, and flew in like the first storm of winter. She sat down across from him, her fists clenched together through intertwined fingers, and she stared daggers at him. Her lips were thin from tension, and her entire body was shaken with tremors as her nerves sent ripples through her muscles.

She simply let the words flow from her mouth. "You bastard, you conniving, sex-hungry, depraved son of a bitch. You may have had me last night, but now I have you, you scum. I want you to pack your things and be out of camp before Gary gets back, or I'll ruin you, so help me God."

Bob sipped his coffee nonchalantly. "Mind if I ask how you plan on doing that?"

She smiled at him, willing to plot his downfall; more than willing. "All I have to do is tell him, that's all. My husband loves me and trusts me, and he'll believe me. You'd at least get kicked out of camp, and at most, I could have you arrested for rape."

Bob laughed, and the chill returned to her.

"I don't think you could do any of that, frankly," Bob said. "You might find, in fact, that there are a few more favors you have to do for me before you're no longer in any danger."

Something caught in her throat. "What do you mean, danger?"

Bob settled back in his chair and said nothing; just played with the smile on his lips, adjusting it, letting Lorraine sweat out his answer. When he had decided she'd had enough, he leaned forward, but still did not speak until he lit a fresh cigarette.

Finally ready, he told her, "You go ahead and tell Gary what happened, if that's all your marriage means to you. In fact, if you don't tell him, I think I will."

Lorraine shuddered. "What in the world are you talking about?" Her voice was just a raspy whisper as fear gripped her.

"You haven't even been married two months. Hell, you haven't even known Gary much longer. He goes away and leaves you alone the first time, and you run right out and fuck one of the people he really despises. Me." Bob grinned at that. "And you think he'll be understanding? I think he'll kick your ass all the way down the road to the city, and find out how he can go about annulling the marriage. That's what I think."

Lorraine tried to think of something to say. All she came up with was, "What I tell him will be the truth.

He'll see that."

Bob laughed. "Sure, he might. But not if somebody backs up my story. That we came down here together, agreeing that it would be best to get away from camp in order to do what we wanted to do."

Lorraine's spirits lifted. Triumphantly, she said: "It won't work! Barry Jameson drove me down here alone, for the party."

Bob shrugged. "Okay, so we came separately, to avoid suspicion. And by the way, there never was any party."

Her triumph dissipated. Only this time she was left with more than fear. This time she felt betrayal. "Grace told me there was a party," she whimpered.

"Ann, Gracie," Bob said. "She certainly does have a pair of huge knockers, huh? Gracie does what I tell her to do. For instance, I told her to tell you there was a party."

Lorraine could hold it back no longer. She burst into fresh tears that coursed down her cheeks and fell from her face to the polished table. How could she? After they had made love, impulsive, honest, serious love, she lied to Lorraine.

But through her veil of tears she looked at Bob, and knew she could not blame Grace. Bob had something on her, just like he now had something on Lorraine, and Grace had most certainly been put in a position of having no choice.

Just as Lorraine was now. "What do you want?" she asked, defeated.

"You," Bob said simply. "Whenever I want. There'll be no complaining about the situations I set up, since there may be some scenes you've never been into before. One word of complaint, one slip to your husband, anything I don't like, and I spill it. And Gracie backs me up. And there goes your marriage. Dig?"

She nodded, hating him but not even capable any longer of showing her hatred. Only her defeat. And her fear.

"That's fine," Bob said. Now that he had her, most of the thrill had gone out of the hunt. She had been his ultimate challenge, and now that she was caged, the challenge was gone. But he could still use her well, and his limp cock jumped slightly at the thought. She had been like a lynx in bed. He could have that again. And more.

He looked at his watch. "I guess we should be heading back to camp," he said.

Lorraine said nothing. She had nothing to say.

Bob rose, and tossed a quarter to the table. It rolled around, then fell flat with a clink that made Lorraine's head hurt. She looked up, and saw Bob walking out of the coffee shop. If she didn't want to be stranded there, she would have to follow him.

She rose just as the waitress appeared to ask if she wanted anything, pushed past the waitress and followed Bob outside. He did not look back at her, but clambered into his old, green pickup, actually a piece of camp equipment. He started it, and the old motor groaned and died. Bob started it again, and Lorraine hauled the passenger door open and jumped in. The motor kicked over and roared and Bob pressed the accelerator to the floor. Lorraine pulled her door closed, and the instant it was shut, Bob pumped the old truck into gear and in a cloud of dust it rumbled out into the highway.

Bob whipped the wheel around and the tires screeched as the truck turned the right way on the road. He jimmied the stick into first and floored it again, letting the clutch pop out, and with a jerk that nearly slammed Lorraine's head back into the window of the truck, he took off toward camp.

His face remained impassive during the entire operation. Neither of them said anything, or looked at each other, during most of the ride. In her mind, Lorraine tried to work out some things. Like where she had been during the night, why she hadn't met Barry when she was supposed to, why she had returned with Bob Shuster. She wished she had sunglasses like Bob's, to hide the guilt in her eyes.

As they turned into the dirt road that led into Camp Bernhardt, Bob looked over to her and said one word.

"Tonight."

Her heart leapt into her throat. "I can't.. . I can't tonight. Oh God, please don't make me."

"Tonight," he repeated.

"Gary's coming back today," she said, nearly shrieking from hysteria. "I have to be with him tonight. I have to."

"Make an excuse," Bob said, threats ringing in the tone of his voice. "Lie to him. I don't give a shit. Just be down at the maintenance shed at ten." He swiveled his head to look directly at her, his eyes behind the mirrored glasses boring into her with fire. "And don't be late," he said.

The truck braked to a stop, and he reached over her and pushed her door open. "Ride's over," Bob said.

She sat, riveted to the seat, unable to move. "Please don't make me," she cried, but it did not come out in words that could be understood.

'Ten," he said, and gave her a hard shove against the shoulder. Lorraine tumbled out of the truck, and had to swing her arms hard in order to keep from falling. By the time she had regained her balance, the truck was already far down the road, leaving her in its cloud of brown dust.

She stood alone in the road, still not moving. When somebody tapped her on the shoulder from behind, she jumped up so far she nearly launched herself into orbit.

She whirled, ready to lash out at whoever was behind her, but she saw it was Barry and she held back her anger. He wore his full uniform, and also wore a concerned expression. "I was there at eleven," he said.

"I know," Lorraine said, spinning around so she didn't have to face the boy.

"Was the party still going on?" he asked.

It was an innocent question, but Lorraine couldn't see it that way through the heat of her emotions. "You know damn well there was no party last night," she yelled.

"Hey! What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she hissed. "Why don't you just.. . just go do your little scout things."

Barry shrugged, but inside he was confused and upset. He liked Lorraine-he'd liked her the minute he saw her. She appeared to be the perfect type for his friend Gary, and Gary had seemed very happy with her.

And when things had progressed, Barry had found Lorraine easy to talk to, easy to be friendly with. He even suspected she had helped ease the difficulty he had explaining the rolled dune buggy. Alone, at night, he imagined she told him, "It's not his fault, darling Be easy on him."

But now she was like a different person, an un leashed animal in a frenzy. "Okay," he said, and did not see her squeeze her eyes shut from the pain she felt. "How come you came back with Bob Shuster just now?" He hadn't meant to ask, but her manners forced it from him.

"It's none of your damned business," she said quietly.

"Fine," Barry said sharply, his own temperature rising. "Just fine." And he stormed off.

Lorraine still did not move yet, trying to use the solitude of her aloneness to regain her composure. It wasn't easy. Barry had upset her; she had not intended to read him out, or anything bad. She liked the boy, and it hurt her that she had been unable to control her raging torrent of emotion.

There was Bob in her mind, Gary, Barry, Grace . . . and from there her thoughts took strange and dangerous directions. She thought about things she had not thought about in years, like trouble she had been in with her parents and at school. Not serious trouble; they were incidents most people would never remember, except the turmoil in her brain dredged it up and paraded it in front of her eyes.

She thought she would scream.

The thought of suicide played fleetingly before her, but she dropped it and did not resurrect it. She believed in life. She believed that no matter how bad things looked now, in 10 years none of this would matter at all.

It saved her from doing anything crazy. But it did not ease the pain and guilt in her.

She wondered how long she had been standing there, and decided however long it had been, it had been long enough. She walked on jelly legs to her cabin.

From the porch, she looked across to the kitchen, and wondered if she should talk to Grace. It occurred to her she might have as little luck controlling her temper with Grace as she did with Barry. But perhaps the two of them together might be able to do something.

It was true, she thought. There is strength in numbers; they don't come up with silly, catchy phrases like that without a reason. If Bob had been honest with her-something she could in no way be sure about-and he did have Grace over the same kind of barrel she had Lorraine, then perhaps together they could take him on. Both their words would be much more powerful than just hers, or just Grace's.

But she would talk to her later. Right now, she needed to sleep. At least rest. She went into her cabin, which had been vacant all night, and lay on the neatly made bed.

The day outside was bright and cloudless, but the cabin bedroom was dark and she shivered from the remnants of the night's unbattled chill. But she made no move to cover or warm herself. The cold felt strangely comforting and good.

Shivering, she fell asleep.

In her sleep, she had nightmares. One after the other, all of different sorts, all with Bob Shuster as the heavy. One after another they came, first a hideous monster with Shuster's face, then a slasher lashing out at her with a strap-razor, next she was falling and looking up at Bob who had pushed her from the top of a skyscraper, then she was being run over with Bob at the wheel of the offending car.

None of the horrible dreams awakened her, though. She tossed and turned, bunched up the sheets and blankets, screamed and sweated, but did not awaken. It was her lot, she seemed to tell herself. You deserve it. You must accept it.

Only reality could snap her out of it. Reality came in the form of her husband, opening the door to the bedroom and flipping on the light. "Why's it so dark in here?" he asked happily. "You okay?"

She sat bolt upright in bed, pulling the sweat-drenched sheet up over her exposed bosom. "Of course," she said, her voice still shaking. "What could be wrong?"

"It looks like something's wrong," Gary said, furrowing his brow.

"Oh," she said, trying to be light as she brushed away the hair that had fallen in front of her face. "I'm tired and I . . . had a nightmare."

Gary sat beside her on the bed, and draped his arm over her shoulders. "I'm sorry to hear that, babe," he said comfortingly, pulling her close. She was like putty, easily manipulated, offering no resistance, but likewise offering no assistance. Her arms dangled at her sides, and her head rolled uselessly on her shoulders.

Still, she closed her eyes and felt his warmth, his strength, his comfort. He would not hurt her. Only Bob could do that. "Feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes," she lied, and smiled for him. But in truth she was terrified. She loved this man she had known for so brief a time, she loved him with every fiber of her being. And she knew she had most likely lost him. She had grown up believing that everybody pays for their deeds, that nobody escapes from their actions unscathed.

She was frightened, and she shook while he held her. Gary figured it was only a bad dream, and it would fade; he took pleasure in knowing he had a calming, soothing influence on his beautiful, innocent wife.

"There, now," he whispered into her ear, bathing it with hot, liquid breath, "everything's going to be all right."

She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, not wanting to ever let go.

She finally did, though, realizing she had to begin acting normal if she was to have any hope of salvaging her marriage. "How was your trip?" she asked.

"Horrible," Gary said. "It was almost as though somebody made an excuse to send me to the city. It was all busy work, nothing pressing or urgent. I don't understand bureaucracy, and I guess I never will. It really pisses me off sometimes, though. I could have been doing a lot of good here, but instead I have to waste two days taking care of bullshit work."

"Why don't you quit?" she asked, hopeful that he was angry enough to take her suggestion seriously.

He didn't. He only chuckled, a little disbelieving. "Quit? You're not serious."

"I am," she said, doing her best to control her emotions so he would not see that her crying a minute ago had anything to do with her desire to leave. "Why should a smart man like you have to put up with that kind of treatment? You deserve better."

He hugged her. "That's true," he said, half-kiddingly. "I do deserve better. That's why I have you.

But you don't really want to leave this. I mean, the city is fine, but spending every day there, year after year, in the smog and the heat, looking at pavement and tall buildings.. . the only trees in the city are in parks and some that stick out of holes they've made in the pavement. I love it here," he said.

"I know you do," she told him sincerely. "I just want what's best for you."

"Besides," he added, "a teacher only gets paid when school's in session, and all those tax-cutting initiatives that have passed mean there's no summer school. That means there's no paycheck for me during the summer. We need Camp Bernhardt's money."

"It's okay," she said, putting her finger to his lips. "I was only suggesting. I would never force you to leave. Just.. . . "

She paused as she nearly choked on her words. He looked at her, tilting his head like a dog in a state of confusion. "What?" he asked. "What is it?"

"Just hold me and tell me you love me," she said, fighting back the sobs.

He did. His arms closed around her and her head nestled against his strong, broad chest. His muscular arms tightened around her and squeezed her, and she felt at least temporarily safe.

His big hands caressed her back and stroked her hair. She closed her eyes and tried to block out all thoughts, simply taking refuge in her husband's embrace.

But he wanted more than to hold her. He began caressing her with a fervent desire, and she heard his breath accelerate. Oh, God, no, she thought. I can't. I can't take a man right now, not any man, not even my husband.

Especially not my husband, she thought with shame.

Yet there was nothing she could do. It had been she who had complained about their last two nights of lovemaking before he had left-the lack of it on one of those nights-and now he wanted her. He did, after all, have every right in the world to want her.

She would have to give in to him, make love to him, and let him know she enjoyed it whether that was the truth or not.

His hand slipped under her chin and lifted it so she was looking up at him through tears she tried to blink away. Gary thought they were an expression of her feelings. "I love you," he whispered.

"I know," she said back, hoarsely. Then his lips covered hers, and his tongue instantly dove into her mouth, probing with intensity, seeking her own soft, wet mouth muscle. Her tongue was retracted toward the back of her mouth, and she thrust it forward, summoning courage to make this good for Gary.

Their tongues met and fenced violently, and Gary finally caught his young wife's serpent in the curl of his own tongue, and began pushing his tongue deep into her mouth, then retreated back toward his own.

Lorraine closed her eyes and locked her hands around his neck, and hung there for support as his tongue fucked her mouth with a steady, even rhythm.

She still sat across his lap, and felt his cock harden beneath her, pressing against the crack of her round, supple buttocks. She moaned, surprising herself that the sensation of his stiffening member would arouse her at all.

But I do love him, she thought. He is my husband. She squirmed in his lap and pulled his head closer, tighter against hers, and aided in his tongue-fucking by pulling her own tongue away every time he did, and thrusting it into the depths of his mouth when he pushed his into hers.

Her fingers roamed anxiously through his hair, and when he broke off the long, wet kiss, she began dragging her lips over his face, her tongue-tip flicking occasionally out of her mouth to leave a warm wetness on his skin. She kissed him furiously, occasionally dipping back to his mouth to gently kiss his lips, and taste his tongue briefly before moving back to his face, his eyes, his forehead, his neck.

She didn't stop planting hot kisses on his face when she slid off his hardening lap, but once she was off she undid his pants with trembling hands, peeling the unzipped pants back and extracting the thick meatiness that had been kept hidden beneath.

His blood-gorged genitals jumped and quivered in her hand, and she squeezed it, until the spongy cock-head turned a rich purple, and then she released her grip.

Gary had reached across her and managed to get his hand between her thighs, which she kept pressed together. Urgently he pushed them apart, inching toward her well-used pussy. As soon as he touched her hot, aroused cunt, he pushed her back on the bed and fell on her with a plop. His cock dangled between her legs as he used his elbows to prop himself above her so as not to crush her. As he settled his waist atop her, his two-pronged cock nestled in the silky pubic hair that was damp between the cracks of her sizzling fleshy lips.

Lorraine did not think well of herself. Her hands moved in rapid, excited circles on Gary's back, and her hips gyrated, grinding into his as she lifted her ass off the bed in response to the touch of his cock so close to the forbidden entrance to her tight, burning little hole.

No, she thought, it is not different. What you feel now for your loving husband is close, so very close to the same wanton arousal you felt last night for Bob Shuster.

She shivered at the thought of Bob, and Gary took it for intensified excitement, and he lifted his cock from the comfortable rest of her vaginal slit, and nestled the crown of his thick, blue-veined stiffness in the wet, oozy entrance to her cunt.

That's the way it is, is it, she thought. You're just a lust-filled horny lady who wants to fuck anything that's willing to lay between your legs. She could hold back the tears no longer, but it did not matter because Gary now rested his chin on her shoulder as he prepared to plunge into her.

She listened as the cock-head of her husband made slurpy sounds against the juice-filled cuntal aperture, and she spread her legs wide, until they were almost a straight line perpendicular to the rest of her body. Lewd, she thought, her tongue licking and moistening the lips with which she had been kissing him moments before. You're lewd and horny and cock-hungry. There's a cock, a big, thick, expert one poised like a dive-bomber just over the target of your pussy, so why don't you get him to shove it in?

She was depraved with the intensity of her self-loathing. Into his ear with her hot breath she stammered, "F-fuck me, Gary. Fuck me hard!"

She pressed her hands against his buttocks to add power to his initial thrust, and when he smashed into her, tearing apart the membrane flesh of her vaginal cavern, she groaned, and pushed her long nails into his buttock flesh.

"Ball me harder," she whispered, feeling her clitoris growing larger under the pressure of his sliding erection. "Ah . . . ahhh, Christ, harder, damn you." She pounded on his back and he intensified his efforts, pushing his stiff member deeper and faster into her aching cunt.

"Yess," she hissed, raking his back now with her nails. She rested one hand on his humping ass, and felt it rise and fall in rapid rhythm. "That's right, yes, that's the way," she said. She used muscles she did not know she had to expand and contract the walls of her cunt, increasing and reducing the pressure of her wet, pliable pussy flesh against his stiff penis.

"Oh, my God," she said as she sucked in breath, gyrating her hips and grinding her pelvis into her husband's. "I'm cumming, Christ Jesus, I'm cumming hard!"

Gary slammed into her with powerful thrusts, and her body began to tremble, the entire length of it, shaking and quivering from the intensity of the building orgasm inside of her.

She came suddenly, unexpectedly, exploding and rocking and nearly throwing Gary from her body.

But the length of his skewering thickness remained connected with the pasty inside of her cunt, and he unloaded a wad of creamy, thick sperm into her, the warmth of which prolonged her climax. "I'm cumming," she whimpered, her voice subdued because despite the fact that she was in the throes of intense orgasm, the face she saw above her in her mind's eye was not her beloved husband's face.

It was Bob Shuster, leering at her as he fucked her, his eyes red and his mouth open and dripping saliva. His chest heaved as he pummeled her, his incredible cock butting up against her delicate cervix and it filled her, pushing the walls of her desire-filled pussy beyond the limits they were meant to be spread.

"I'm cum. i. cumming," she whimpered again, then suddenly shouted, "Aaaaghghh!" as the tail of her climax flooded her, the nerves in her now-experienced pussy singing and jumping, the flesh inside of her crawling and her spine zinging with electricity.

Then it was over.

Little of the sensations she had felt seconds earlier remained. Gary's still-hard penis was yet inside of her, but it felt more like an unwelcome intruding rock than a delicious male member. His weight as he lay on top of her made it hard for her to breathe. The sweat that coated her was itchy, and the semen inside her cunt was uncomfortable.

All that remained was the fading image of Bob Shuster's leering face.

She closed her eyes and sighed dejectedly. There was still tonight at ten o'clock. And whatever else came after that.

Oh, God, she thought. Oh, God.