Chapter 1

As she half-dragged her benumbed body along the heavily carpeted corridor that led to the door of Roy Ferret's apartment, Carol Francis had some small idea what it felt like to walk that famous "last mile" before the death penalty was repealed. Because in a sense this could very well mean the end of everything for her, too. Everything that she had worked so hard to attain.

As lifeless as her limbs and body might have felt, her mind was perfectly clear as she halted before the door and hesitated a long moment, before pressing the bell. Carol knew exactly what was in store for her, once she stepped inside. She would have to submit to a man that she detested more than anyone that she had ever known. That covered a lot of territory. Because in her twenty years, she had known an awful lot of despicable characters, both socially and physically. But Roy Ferret topped the list.

Not only would she have to submit to him, but she also would have to let him do every perverted thing to her that he wanted. That was the agreement. That was the price for his silence. For his promise that he wouldn't ruin her life.

Whether or not he would keep his end of the bargain, Carol had no idea. But there was nothing else that she could do but take the gamble; accept his proposition on his terms.

She took a deep breath. A very deep breath, trying to put off the moment as long as she could. Then she reached out and placed her index finger on the bell. She couldn't hear the bell resound through the thickness of the walls. But after a slight pause, the door opened.

Roy Ferret stood in front of her. He was twenty-eight, and tall. Some people might think him rather handsome with his mod-long blond hair, rangy, wide-shouldered figure and chiseled features. Strong, except the chin. But Carol didn't see him that way at all. From their very first meeting, she saw a complete lack of trust in his close-set blue eyes and she couldn't stand his patronizing manner.

Right now, as he stood in front of her, greeting her with a much-too-set smile, he had on a Kelly-green silk lounging robe, a white ascot and a pair of scuffs. In his hand was a highball glass filled with scotch, soda and cracked ice.

"You're right on time, darling," he said all too cordially. "But then, that is one of the things Q. P. says he has always admired about you-always right on the dot."

His eyes swept over her form. It was a warm day, even for Southern California, and she had worn a lightweight summer dress that was cut low in front. Unfortunately all her gowns were cut low and the bra that she was wearing obviously was too small for her more-than-ample dimensions. The result was a deep, intriguing cleft of lush cleavage that caught and held his gaze.

Carol shivered. Even his eyes made her flesh crawl, and she pulled back away from him instinctively, as he reached for her arm and said, "Come in, darling."

There was a brief flash of resentment in his eyes. Then he smiled again, stepped to one side of the door and let her enter untouched. He closed the door behind them and led the way into the living room.

It was Carol's first visit to his apartment-and she hoped that it was the last-even though she had to admit that it was quite a layout-seven rooms, all smartly and expensively furnished.

"How about a drink?" was the first thing he asked her.

As a rule Carol wasn't a drinking woman. But right now a drink might be just what she needed to steady her nerves and make it possible for her to go through with what she knew she had to do. In fact, she almost wished that she could get really blasted, then maybe it wouldn't seem nearly so bad.

"Bourbon, please, if you have it," she said.

"Well, I see the old man's got you around to his way of thinking-drinking bourbon," Roy remarked as he went around behind the bar and reached for a glass and a bottle from the shelf. "But then-that's the secret of his success. Making everybody think as he does."

As Carol stepped to the bar and watched him fill her glass, she wished that he wouldn't refer to his stepfather as the "old man." Because Quincy Palmer wasn't old. He was only forty-seven and didn't look even near that. If he were really an "old man," she never would have wanted to marry him.

"Y'know, baby," Roy said as he set the glass of bourbon on a little, round doily in front of her and then came around from behind the bar to where she was standing. "I'm awfully glad you played it smart and didn't make me out a villain, make me do something I really didn't want to do."

She picked up her glass and looked at him over the rim of it, archly, as she brought it to her mouth.

"You don't believe me?" he asked, straight faced.

"Should I?" she countered.

He assumed his most innocent expression, as he emptied the contents of his glass, set it on the bar and took a step closer to her. "Baby, I'm a man and you're a woman." He paused to focus his gaze on her luscious cleavage. "And I mean you're a hell of a lot of woman! Christ, any guy who wouldn't take advantage of an opportunity of having a crack at somebody like you ought to turn in his prick."

Carol didn't flinch at his choice of words. By now she was case-hardened to such talk. Even though he had never had the audacity to speak to her like that before.

"Even if that somebody like me might be his future stepmother?" she put to him.

He grinned and showed two rows of sparkling white teeth, proof of an awful lot of scrubbing and visits to his dentist. "All the more reason. Keeps it all in the family."

Her hand itched to slap his face. But she knew that that would be the worst mistake she could make-for a lot of reasons. She said simply, "I thought we both understood that this was to be strictly a one-time-only deal."

"That's right, but what the hell-you can't rule a guy out for hoping," he said, holding his grin. Then his eyes went to her half-empty glass. "Bottoms up, baby."

She finished her drink and he took the empty glass and placed it on the bar, without taking his eyes off the vee of her neckline for an instant. Then he reached out and took hold of her shoulders and brought her toward him.

"Y'know something, baby," he said looking down at her delightfully shaped, moist red lips. "I've had a hard on for you ever since you first came to work in the office and I haven't kissed you yet. Not even when the old man announced he was going to marry you."

"No one else in the office has kissed me, either," Carol pointed out to him. "No one except your stepfather."

"Sure, the old bastard, that's his rule," Roy spit out bitterly, one of the first indications that he had ever given as to how much he really disliked his stepfather. "No fraternizing with the employees. And that applies to everybody. Everybody but him-the hypocritical son-of-a-bitch."

"I wish you wouldn't talk about Quincy that way," Carol said reprovingly.

"Suits me. I'd rather we forget all about the bastard," Roy agreed and pulled her still closer to him.

Carol trembled, seeing his face drawing closer and closer. She closed her eyes to blot out the image of him as he kissed her, a hard kiss, a dirty kiss that pried apart her lips and made her accept his exploring tongue. She tried to push away from him after a moment but her efforts were feeble. She could feel the kiss sending a most unwelcome warmth into her limbs. That wasn't all. Through the thinness of his silk robe and her flimsy summery dress, she could feel the heat and the rigidity of his penis against her belly, as he held her close to him. He pressed it harder against her belly.

"Like that, baby?" he whispered against her mouth. "That's for you. All nine inches. I'm going to shove it right up into that juicy cunt of yours and I'm going to fuck you 'til you scream. I'm going to fill your belly so full, your cunt's going to drip cum for the next month. Now let's start getting some of these goddamn clothes off."

As he spoke he brushed the straps of her summer dress from her shoulders and worked the dress down to her waist. Her two huge milk jugs swelled appetizingly over the top of the ready-to-burst fabric of her white bra, causing his eyes to pop.

Obviously, he was a man who liked to tease-himself as well as her. Because instead of stripping the bra off her, he was content, for the moment, to trace the border of the tit hammock with a finger, following the rise of each mound and then dip into her cleavage. In spite of her aversion for him, her breasts began to feel abnormally big and constricted in her bra and the itchy ache of her nipples became almost unbearable. Damn! If only she wasn't so passionate, her breasts so damned sensitive. There were times when she had experienced a complete orgasm by just having them kissed. Many times she had been glad to be so aroused. But not now. She didn't want to be aroused. Not by him. She didn't want to enjoy even one-split second that she was with him. She hated him that much.

"But unfortunately, her determination and her body weren't hooked up properly, because she shivered strongly and had to fight to control her breathing as he hugged her closely and put his wet mouth to the soft, satiny, white flesh of her right breast. Carol chewed hard on her lower lip to keep from enjoying his lips and tongue, as she felt his fingers struggle for a moment with the hooks at the back of her bra. Anyone else, she might have helped. But not him.

He needed no help. He finally got the hooks undone and the taut brassiere popped off and her naked tits jumped out like two huge balloons breaking loose from their moorings. His lips were there, ready and waiting, to capture her right nipple and pull it into his mouth, whipping it to further stiffness with his tongue. It was all she could do to stifle the cry of pleasure that his mouth and tongue brought her.

She was panting, her breasts rising and falling spasmodically as he took away his mouth and held her just far enough away from him so that he could stare down at her exquisite breasts-that had reached their full development when she was only sixteen and now were as big and as perfectly formed as mammaries can be. Their milky whiteness was made to look even more white by the overly developed bright pink areolas and huge, suckable darker-hued nipples.

"Jeez, I always knew you had the knockers!" he exclaimed coarsely. "But I never dreamed you had a pair like this. Christ, I don't wonder why the old man wants 'em all to himself."

His head dipped and his mouth was back at her breasts, doing incredible things to her senses, causing all reality to slip away, as his hands were busy at her skirt and her panties, working them down as one unit over her hips and legs, until they slid to the floor on their own.

Again he held her at arm's length and sucked in his breath in due homage-and for good reason. As were her breasts, Carol was as close to perfection as nature could make a woman. Standing in front of him, naked, except for her whisper-weight black hose and flimsy, black nylon garterbelt, she closed her eyes tightly, as his eyes roved her long, smooth, shapely legs that flowed into her flawless pale, pink-white body as exquisitely carved as the statue of a Grecian goddess. With her long, black hair hanging down almost to her slim waist, together with the jet black pelt, rich and luxuriant, that covered her mons, Carol was a breath-taking symphony in black and white.

After he had his fill of looking at her, he was back at her quivering breasts, sucking each nipple in turn until they glowed bright crimson, sparkling wet with his saliva, causing Carol to shiver and pant, her body contradicting the hatred that she felt for him. When he had finished, he pushed her backwards into one of the big, overstuffed easy chairs that adorned the living room.

"Now lean back and spread your legs," he instructed her. "Wider. I want to see your cunt."

Miserably and contemptuously, Carol did what he told her. She spread her thighs as far as they would go, exposing her entire vulva to his view. Like the rest of her anatomy, her vagina was of unquestionable perfection. A precious pink treasure nestled in her luxurious black foliage that was finer than mink or sable.

He reached down between her legs and with a thick, ruthless finger invaded her slit, digging it into her vagina. Carol's thighs jumped and she emitted a little sound of sudden shock. In spite of the excitement that he had aroused in her nipples, she was dry between her legs.

He drew back his hand, tore the white ascot from around his throat and threw open his robe. Against the kelly-green satin his flesh looked pale, his hairless body and limbs even skinnier than she had imagine. But there was nothing pale or skinny about his cock. He hadn't exaggerated when he said that it measured nine inches, proportionately thick around.

Carol had seen more than one prick in her life-a great many more-making her something of a connoisseur and, even though it rankled her, she had to begrudgingly admit, his was a phallus to be admired. Not only because of its size, but also because of the strength that it exuded curving up from his belly with masculine arrogance, its wet circumcised, purple-red head looking ready to burst.

Roy let her have a good look at his lustily-formed manhood, then with a slight smile twisting his lips, he kept staring down at her pussy and said, "Like I said, you're going to get it, baby. But you're going to have to make yourself wet first. I'm not about to take the skin off it, digging it into any dry hole like that. So start getting your cunt wet."

She looked up at him confusedly.

"Don't give me that innocent look," he rumbled. "You know goddamn well what I mean. Make yourself wet. Masturbate."

Carol was horrified. Of all the many things that she had done in her life, she had never even dreamed of masturbating in front of anyone. "Please no, Roy ... I ... I just couldn't."

His eyes narrowed. "Look, I'm not asking you, bitch. I'm telling you." He leaned into her, grabbed her left breast with ungentle fingers and squeezed it cruelly. "Now you start masturbating, or I'll twist this tit right off. You hear me?"

"Yes ... yes...." Carol felt tears of pain leap into her eyes. Slowly, miserably and with utter humiliation, she moved her hand downward over her tightening belly and through the silky mat that covered her cuntal lips. He was even more of a degenerate than she had imagined. To get any thrill or enjoyment out of watching a girl perform such a degrading act on herself was beyond her imagination. But that obviously was his idea. He wasn't going to be satisfied with merely making her submit to him. She could see now that his purpose was to mortify and degrade her to the lowest possible ebb. Why he would want to do such a terrible thing to her wasn't entirely clear in her mind. True, when she married Quincy Palmer, it would cut his inheritance, maybe even deny him succession to the ownership of the advertising firm. But that would happen no matter whom his stepfather married. The only answer Carol could give herself was that this was the way that he might treat any girl. That it brought pleasure and satisfaction to his perverted, male chauvinistic mind.

Eyes closed tightly, her hand was now down between her obscenely wide-splayed legs, coursing over the warm, satiny inner flesh of her trembling thighs, moving closer toward her broiling slit. She couldn't control the gasp that the first electrical shock of her fingers brushing over her cuntal lips caused her.

She reconciled herself to the fact that, as long as she had to do such an ugly, abnormal, embarrassing thing, she may as well get it over with as quickly as possible. Her trembling fingers slid easily into the moist foyer of her vaginal slit and found the swollen pearl of her turgid clitoris. A shuddering spasm of pleasure raked her near-naked body and she began massaging the ultrasensitive, denuded clit feverously, oblivious to the fact that he was still standing there in front of her, watching her with an excitement that made his cock throb more violently, a long, tacky thread of pre-cum drool extending from the vermilion tip almost to the deep knap carpet.

Carol could feel the harbinger of her approaching orgasm. It started in her undulating belly and seconds later a chain reaction set in that traveled down into her fired loins, as her fingers made an obscene sloshing noises going in and out of her now-flooding vagina. Carol may have thought that she was sitting still, but she was squirming around on the chair cushion as if an angry hornet had gotten up into her asshole.

But that wasn't the only sensation that she experienced. Roy had gotten into the act by leaning forward and fastening his lips to her right breast and pulling on the nipple strongly, adding to the intensity of her onrushing orgasm.

Oh, God, if only he would kiss her cunt at this moment. She might even have forgotten the way that she detested him, if only he would fasten his mouth to her pussy and suck, the way he was sucking on her nipple. But obviously, eating cunt wasn't his bag.

Both her hands were busy at her cunt now. The fingers of her left, clutching and peeling aside the lust-bloated, pink lips while with the middle finger of her right hand, she slashed away at the inflamed pea-like tip.

"Oooohhh ... Aaaahhh," she moaned loudly, almost deliriously, as the full force of her climax was unleashed, sending maddening, spine-bending sensations surging through her spasming body like a tidal wave in the wake of an underwater volcano. At such a moment in the past, she might have allowed herself to drift off into fantasy. But now with her tortured mind well aware that it was only the prelude to the indignities and horrors that she would have to go through at the hands of this devilish pervert, she could only find strength enough to look back over her shoulder ... to where it had all begun ... to the startling chain of events that had led up to this most horrible moment of her life ... or was it really ... Were some of the things that had happened to her in the past equally as bad? Perhaps even worse?"