Chapter 4
In the dusty light of his hayloft bedroom, Jack awoke with a cold shiver, his limpid blue eyes staring glassily ahead, a telltale thumping in his temples shaking the finger of guilt at his sodden soul. You drank too much, ol' boy, he berated himself, straining to sit up, one hand shading his light-seared eyes while the other's fingers shot upward for the light-cord. In mid-poise, he withdrew in a grimace. Something un-comfortably cold tickled his thighs.
A sticky puddle webbed around his withered cock brought back the sleep forgotten bliss of self-induced orgasm hours before. The old cowpoke grinned smugly, rousted himself out of bed and standing at the sink, turned the cold water faucet, dampening a corner of his bath towel. The chilly water swabbing his genitals made him suck in his breath shortly. Ahhhhh ... for that wash cloth to be the softly caressing hand of a young woman ...
The hiker... his mind snapped automatically to the little she-devil responsible for his folly. Tucking his genitals back into the cotton trap of his long legged underwear, the old man shuffled stiffly over to the window and squinted into the blustery night, his weathered forehead rippling like troubled waters. Smoke from a freshly stoked fire belched from the Comstock's chimney. Jack rubbed his scratchy chin contemplatively.
Strange people, turning night into day, going against nature's time clock. As he stood with his hoof--deformed nose pressed to the cool glass, his stale whiskey breath steaming the smudged window, he considered investigating the mysterious whereabouts of the young girl he'd found in the meadow above Jenny Lake. Scratched up and bruised she was, hungry, cold and scared. The Comstocks hadn't seemed overly gracious in taking on the responsibility of mending her health. Tomorrow he would drive the truck into Moose to pick up fifty pounds of horse feed ... maybe he could relieve the Comstock's of their house guest and take the girl along in. By now she must be wanting to call her parents.
"Ain't none o' your business, Jack," he muttered to himself and crawled into bed, thinking about the blue--eyed darling in the haystack winking up at him from the glossy pages of Playboy magazine stashed under his bed along with his dirty socks.
Cindy had about as much as she could take.
Zelda's chronic mauling of her genitals had started as a tempting tease, no more than a tickle, but after the lesbian nibbling and sucking, poking and probing, that tickle swelled into a smoldering burn. Mortified, Cindy realized how easily her traitorous body shed inhibition, but it was the anal mouth rape and the taste of Guy Greenley's cum that paddled her across the Rubicon. Her own flesh, she discovered, was dis-loyal as a polygamist husband. Now, in the latest stage of torture, having crushed her lips to her tormentor's vagina, drinking the milk of her womb, struck the match of burning rage. Cindy Weinstein had to have an orgasm; rational was quickly slipping away in a red haze of lust that ricocheted around her body like stray bullets in an echo chamber. Fear sprouted an infec-tious irritation that festered into oozing rage.
Damn them all for denying her an orgasm while they lazed about on the floor, blatantly ignoring her while she was forced to watch their depraved but wild-ly arousing performance in a torrid sex clash right there on her rug, nudging into her naked body like she was a piece of furniture, crying out their orgasms while she cried for her own.
In scalding delirium she saw her mother in her hind's eye, scorning her. "Forced, Cynthia Anne Weinstein? Nobody held a gun to your head. Go ahead and let that dirty man rape you and feel the pain. No morphine for naughty little girls ... "The vision faded and Cindy blushed with shame. Her conscience and body went to war, each claiming a territory of its own, and in the battle her soft, whimpering voice had voiced the meager request: a glass of water.
A slew of ethnic slurs ran through her brain as Zelda lifted her head and poured the vinegary bubbly down her victim's throat, letting her fingertip traced over Cindy's swan-like neck, down to the puckered strawberry of one redly swollen nipple. Cindy sput-tered and coughed as she slurped up the champagne, cowering from and grasping for more fevered touches, and petrified that her tormentors had had their fun and would pick up and leave her alone. Zelda released her support and Cindy's throbbing head fell lazily down on the animal skin rug as she listened to the casual debate whose decision hinged on Paul Comstock's reckless mood.
"Well ... are you?" Cindy picked out Sonia Greenley's chipper voice from Zelda's slow, husky one.
Now after hours of harassment, Paul Comstock had the absolute gall to hold a kangaroo court over when and if Cindy would be raped. Her fear ignited in-to an incendiary rage, stoked by the frustration of physical yearning.
"Do it to me, fuck me you bastard!" her mind raged with unabashed desperation, wriggling frantically at the thick ropes that held her fast. Oh God, I need a big hot cock inside me or I'll lose my mind. God, I wonder if anybody's died from too much stimulation. In her fevered mind's eye, she envisioned the blood draining pallishly from her arms, her legs, her neck and gushing down to her womb where it swelled like melting mountain snow, churning in tide-pools in her vagina, bloating her clitoris and engorging her cunt lips like a bee-stung human mouth. Except for the center of her womanhood, the rest of her body would turn blue, wither and die, leaving only the pounding heartbeat of her pulsating vagina to live on like some aborted monster.
"No, no, N0000000!" Scalding elephant tears gushed from her eyes as Cindy thrashed her head with maddened rage, her cheeks burning and a clammy film of moisture glistening over her nakedness.
Zelda knelt beside her victim, rubbing the oily mar-ble of Cindy's clitoris with one fingertip. "All you have to do is beg, baby, and you're free. Easy, huh?"
Cindy rolled her head to face Zelda, her glassy, fevered eyes blurrily focusing on the heart-shaped aristocratic features face leering down at her own apple-cheeked innocence.
"Never!"
More than ever, the captive teen-ager feared Zelda Comstock's diabolical, black humor and the twisted blonde's savage sensual cruelty. Only a mad woman would lick a girl's sensitive vaginal flesh to the point of near madness and then laugh at the girl's searing anguish. And only a warped, utterly perverted mind would force Cindy to suck her tormentor's clasping cunt until the woman's own shuddering orgasm had erupted, spilling the thick hot syrup of her perversity into the defenseless virgin's helpless mouth.
Now Paul Comstock was doubling her harassment with his indecisiveness. Cindy's softly heaving breasts, shadowed in orange firelight and glittering eyes betraying her condemning excitement, although she succeeded in choking off the pathetic whimper in her throat. Even limp, Paul's cock shaft looked im-mensely powerful. Cindy glanced next at Sonia Greenley's leering smirk of contentment with a stab of furious envy. Again her glassy chocolate eyes fell on Paul Comstock who was gazing at her delicate pink pussy slit appraising it as he would the Dow Jones Industrial Average green sheet.
Paul's smooth lips lifted from his chilled glass and crimped into an easy hello-how-are-you smile, his seductive eyes boyishly appealing. "No, baby," he said at last, reaching over to tweak Cindy's big toe. "I'm not going to take her sweet little cherry tonight."
Guy lapped up the opportunity. "Well, if you don't want to, I sure as hell do..."
Sonia twisted her neck around to glance scornfully down at her husband's shriveled penis. "With what?" she laughed.
Guy's face turned scarlet, but he held back his biting retort. God, he was going to wreak vengeance on the bitch before they went back to Boise!
"No sense in rushing it," Paul shrugged. "I want to be in Wheaties-form when I sink my cock into her cherry. Maybe tomorrow..." he cupped a yawn.
Cindy's face dripped with disappointment and her genitals burned. Not tonight! When? Her insides felt as if one more teasing finger, one more probing tongue would send her spinning into outer space forever, im-mortalizing her aching frustration through infinity. The debacle had to be released before her belly exploded.
To add to the fettered teen-ager's gnawing frustration, Zelda whimsically caressed her trembling inner thighs as she held the glass of champagne to the girl's cum-encrusted lips.
"I hope you've learned a little about fucking tonight, Cindy," murmured the blonde temptress in a mocking tone. "If you want you can whisper your beg so the oth-ers can't hear you. Would you like me to suck your hot little pussy as a nightcap, darling?"
The helplessly aroused girl stared imploringly into Zelda's smoldering eyes, twitching in torment when the naked blonde ran her fingertip shiveringly over Cindy's ovalled pink cuntal lips in an obscene teasing motion. That inflaming contact melted the steel wall of Cindy's resistance, but when Zelda caressingly rub-bed her middle finger over the oily nub of Cindy's aching clitoris, sending violent spasms of promise through the agonized brunette's pelvis, all resistance was gone. Mama's mangled leg ... nothing short of death could hold back that damningly acquiescent word:
Y-yes!" Cindy whispered, clenching her eyes in pro-found shame. "Yes, Zelda, please! I'm ... so hot down here," she choked. "I ... I think I'm going crazy, los-ing my mind ... help me ... oh, Zelda, pleeeze"
The logs crackling in the fireplace grew to forest-fire proportions in Cindy's buzzing ears as she waited for her tormentor's response. But the second Cindy had made her humiliating surrender; she knew it was a mistake from the sight of Zelda's ripe lips twisting into a smile of sheer sadistic triumph.
"Did you hear that, everybody?" Zelda called out laughingly to her spectators. "Our sweet young virgin just begged me to finish her off and make her cum. God, she's sizzling down there! Now I've always been the democratic type," she said, sitting up cross-legged next to Cindy. "Let's take a vote. Should I make her cum or let her save it for her defloration? Let's vote."
In spite of Cindy's white hot anger at entrusting the cruel blonde in a moment of desperate trust, the bru-nette held her breath, praying that one of these lust--crazed people would defy Zelda. Paul ... no, his self--confidence didn't stretch that far. That left Sonia. Holding her breath, Cindy turned her moistly pleading brown eyes toward her nakedly lounging audience, imploring them silently, concentrating espe-cially on Sonia's lithe-bodied vulnerability.
With a fling of her head, Sonia glanced over at Cindy, raking her eyes over Zelda's smug nakedness to Paul. The seductive look in his eyes wheedled away any sympathy she might have felt for the roped down virgin. After her shattering climax, it would have sickened her with envy to see her bullish stud ravage a sweet young cherry.
"Make her wait," sneered Sonia at last. "She's al-ready waited nineteen years; one more day won't kill her."
"Good idea," smiled Paul, slapping Sonia on the thigh. "I'll take care of it first thing in the morning. The hotter she is, the better we'll both like it. Ain't that right, honey?" he winked at Cindy who hadn't enough moisture in her fear-constricted throat to swallow anything except her pride.
To Cindy's awe, it was Guy Greenley who sided against the others, though his reasons were not of the altruistic ilk. "Give the girl a break," he said flatly, motivated by an urge to argue with his own con-temptuous wife. "Let her cum now."
Zelda grinned down at Cindy with mock regret. "You lose, honey," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "One more day with that swollen cherry won't kill you, baby. But you have been a marvelous sport and for that you get the consolation prize. Everybody's going to give her a goodnight kiss on her you-know-what. Sonia, you go first."
The willowy brunette shivered her naked shoulders seductively, grinned kittenishly at Paul and padded over on her hands and knees, her white-mooned but-tocks wriggling salaciously with each breast bouncing step. "Mmmm ... mmmm," she said with jocularity, though Cindy found nothing humorous about it. Stationing herself between the sobbing virgin's roped apart legs, she opened her succulent mouth, sticking the tip of her tongue between her lips and winking at Cindy. While Cindy braced her trembling body, gasp-ing and quivering from Sonia's lips clasping parasitically onto her sensitively primed clitoris Sonia socked gluttonously.
Exactly a minute later Zelda snapped her fingers, a subtle test of her dominance over the sleek-bodied Greenley woman. To her delight, Sonia raised her head dutifully. "Time's up," she chuckled at Sonia, cruelly tweaking one of Cindy's hotly swollen nipple buds in her fingers. "Just one minute apiece, gang. Our cherry might up and cum on us."
Next in line, Zelda's eyes fell on Guy who sat sipping his tepid champagne, saying nothing, his eyes squinting dolorously from one sex-crazed face to the next, his conscience tapping him on the shoulder. The sickening perversion of tonight's 'party' settled in his ulcerated stomach, burning an inflamed hole in his gut. His square jaws worked against themselves and there was no merriment in his brooding eyes when with one last hate-filled gaze at his groveling wife who sat ostentatiously licking her lips, cooing and snickering simperingly, he fell to his knees and knelt down between the brunette's sweat-glazed thighs and flicked his tongue deep and greedily. He winced as Cindy's body jolted from the hot contact, and sensing her agony, he made a quick retreat. Still her hips con-vulsively spasmed as another stinging thrill tore through her rankling loins.
"Go ahead, Guy, you've got forty-three seconds left," goaded Zelda, her eyes festering with irritation. He should have begged for more time, not declined her invitation.
Guy shook his head, raising to his feet and staring hurtfully down at the roped down virgin. "She doesn't need it."
"Guy doesn't think our virgin needs another tongue fucking, darling," smirked the blonde heckler. "Paul, come here and show our friend what one more lap at Cindy's hot cunt can do."
Following the bizarre ritual, Paul's burning tongue softly traced the succulent outline of Cindy's sizzling pink cuntal lips, bringing scalding tears of frustration to the virgin's pleading eyes. Sixty seconds later he lifted his dripping lips, kissed Cindy on the forehead, whispering:
"I'll make it up to you tomorrow ... promise."
But it was Zelda's fiendish lips and tongue that un-leashed the debacle of lust in Cindy's throat. The lush breasted blonde purposely built up a nerve rasping suspense as she blew gentle gusts of cooling air into Cindy's aching pussy, then flicked her tongue deep in-to the brunette's festering vagina and circled the lips with a slow, taunting circle. Exactly a minute later, she, too, lifted her head.
"Sorry, princess, but its midnight and your cherry will turn into a pumpkin if we don't call it quits." Grabbing the afghan from the sofa, she tossed it over Cindy's writhing, sweat glistening body. "Good night, precious."
"Oh, please ... no ... don't ... leave. . ." Cindy's pleas fell on distant ears. The dull thud of slamming doors was her final answer.
For the nineteen-year-old, June fifth was the longest, most harrowing night of her life.