Chapter 11
Across Berkeley, in a more posh section of town, Dr. Tarrington drained his third scotch and poured himself another as the unconsoling figure of a uniformed Berkeley police officer flanked by two detectives jotted down information. In the living room the televisions' evening news mumbled on:
"News from Berkeley tonight . . . Senator Kelly's daughter, recently married to Dr. Edward Tarrington was abducted from the riot-worn Berkeley campus today. KOED radio station received a communique stating the kidnap was effected by a new radical group calling themselves SALM-South African Liberation Movement. F'olice have no clues as to her whereabouts . . . "
The news throbbed against Edward's temples and he glared at the television set as if that box of glass and tubes was responsible for his misery. "Turn that damned thing off!" he barked.
In the low-rent flat lands north of Oakland, Carl and James sat cross-legged on the threadbare rug of Jackson's apartment watching intently the television broadcast and christening SALM'S kidnapping with a marijuana cigarette and a bottle of Jack Daniels.
". . . the communique demands a ransom of one million dollars for the safe return of Catherine Ann Kelly Tarrington . . . "
Christ, it s a fairytale! Carl slapped his dirty knee joyfully, but his lopsided stoned grin faded quickly-Next to him James took a sidelong glance at Carl and a flint of shared suspicion sparked between them. James said it first: "I don't trust that asshole Jackson to make the pick-up. How do we know he ain't gonna squeeze out of the country and leave us with the kidnapping rap? He'll be layin' on a beach soaking in the rays while we're staring at the walls of San Quentin-from the inside!"
In his north-side studio apartment Peter Goldberg sat chewing his fingernails to the quick, waiting for telephoned directives from FBI headquarters. I've got to get Carrie out of Jackson's grasp before he rapes her. Peter gnashed his teeth in anguish thinking of Carrie's pure Irish legs spread out-probably tied down-on some grungy mattress while Jackson stripped her shivering body naked and pounded his black cock into her pure, pink pussy.. . biting on her sweet little nipples and swirling his tongue over her creamy white breasts. Peter's penis gave a jealous lurch and he hated Jackson for getting all that pleasure when he, Peter, had treated Carrie like a lady back then . . . Why the hell didn't headquarters call so they could make the bust? That's the establishment for you . . . inefficient bastards, thought Peter, holding his head in his hands, pulling at his hair, hindsight fighting guilt and anguish wrestling with envy.
One block off on Telegraph Avenue Una Hart sat like a smug Odalisque sipping a glass of wine on her bed, watching the evening news with unadulterated relish. Her feet ached from scouring the campus with Dr. Tarrington searching in vain for his wife and she never did get a lunch break, but her spirits soared high as the flight of a lonely seagull. Deftly, her slim fingers lifted up the telephone receiver and dialed Jackson's number.
A foggy voice mumbled a hello. It was Carl, stoned, drunk and incoherent as a deaf-mute on a three day drunk.
"Where's Jackson?" she blasted. "Why aren't you two idiots with him? You were supposed to make arrangements for the pick up . . . I don't care if he told you to go home!"
Sixth sense, ESP, whatever it was, something chilling and bitingly vivid flashed in Una's mind and she sat smoldering, taking long drags off her cigarette, her mind cogitating, piecing together the fragments of the moment.
Jackson, a white-hating sadist alone with the prissy, pure minded hostage . . . no doubt screwing her to the teeth. Una's pride was hurt; after three years of risking her neck digging in files, opening confidential mail, spying and literally supporting SALM, Jackson was getting all the pleasure! And maybe the money, too. He was dirt. He had no loyalties, no feelings.. . probably didn't care about the cause, either . . . just himself, the selfish bastard. Time would tell. If he didn't contact her in the appointed time, she would have to find out for herself what the problem was.
A sliver of orange neon light pierced its way through the smudged window to awaken Carrie from a deep but fitful sleep. Her first groggy thought was of her empty, rumbling stomach that hadn't seen food since breakfast, but an instant later the rank odor of dried sperm, perspiration, and the stale air jolted her back into the present.
My God! she thought, her head sinking down into the dirty mattress in abject defeat as she recalled the unforgivable response to her captor's brutal assault. How could I have done that? I must have been drugged . . . black men use a lot of drugs.
Carrie grasped onto this rationalization, needing something to protect her mind from the shocking reality of her shamefully sinful performance an hour ago. She reassured herself that she was innocent, that she had been violated, but somehow her excuses seemed flimsy. Tears pricked her eyes and she moved her head to see the black shadow of Jackson reach an ebony arm out to turn the knob of his transistor radio.
". . . the wife of noted professor, Dr. Edward Tarrington . . . " the newscaster droned. Carrie couldn't catch all the words, but she comprehended enough to cause a shudder to rattle her teeth.
". . . possible link-up with new radical Berkeley group . . . South African repression . . . ransom of one million dollars for the safe return . . . "
Carrie struggled to choke back her sobs, not wanting to remind her brutal captor of her presence in the room. Oh God! she wailed silently, burying her burning cheeks in the filthy mattress. Poor Edward! Poor Daddy! They must be worried sick! They don't know where I am!
Yet even as she bemoaned her fate, a far corner of her no-longer-virginal wife's mind was vehemently disputing her conscious mind.
How could you bear to face your husband again, anyway? this cruel, but truthful voice demanded.
You 're not fit to touch the ground he walks on-you cheap slut!
Beside Carrie, Jackson lay with one arm draped over his forehead, staring up at the plaster-chipped ceiling, the wheels of his mind meshing.
Like the scales of a heroine dealer, his mind weighed the possibilities down to the tiniest fleck. It would be dangerous, of course, but if he played his cards right, he could make the pick-up himself and skip the country before the FBI caught a whiff of his trail.
A million bucks could last me a lifetime in Morocco. J could get me a black servant and live like a king, he thought. Hell. . . I could bring this white bitch along and let her keep house for me. First I gotta get her outta here so nobody can find her.. . nobody's gonna get a nickel from Tarrington unless they got his wife, too.
Feeling the mattress sag slightly under his shifting weight, Carrie hurriedly clenched her eyes shut and feigned sleep. Please don't let him touch me again! I can't stand it!
"All right, you bitch! Stop playing like you're sleeping." The familiar snarl rang in Carrie's ears, the dank smell of his beer and barbeque breath stinging her nostrils. "You and me are gonna have a little party here before we move. Open those green eyes and take a look at what you're having to drink."
Shivering in dread, the naked bride did as she was told, then gasped in wide-eyed horror. In his black hand Jackson brandished his long ebony penis, fully erect and glistening at its bulbous tip from pearl-like beads of liquid excitement.
"Noooooo . . . please, noooo . . . " Carrie protested in a weak whimper.
He wants me to take that awful thing in my mouth.' she thought, her eyes widening in revulsion and nausea. I can't do that! How could I face Edward if he knew I'd taken a black thing into my mouth!
Yet even as her frantic protestations echoed through her shock-disoriented brain, the victimized professor's wife knew she would not resist. All her energy had been drained already, and fighting off the cruel rapist was futile. Besides, disgusting as the admission was, she felt her pulse quickening and her vagina tingling at the sight of the huge cockshaft which inched closer and closer to her flushed face.
Oh, God, no! she moaned to her traitorous body. If you get out of control again, you're sicker than you thought.
"Looks good, huh?" sneered the lust-crazed terrorist. "Stick out your tongue and have a lick!"
Without even giving the cringing girl a chance to obey, he grabbed two handfuls of her snarled chestnut curls and jerked her tightly compressed lips up against his blood-swollen cockhead. Carrie squirmed in disgust, almost gagging from the taste of his male juices. But she kept her mouth clenched shut.
"Open up, slut!" commanded Jackson.
The humiliated bride started to shake her head in firm refusal, but in the next instant vise-like fingers were pinching her nostrils together. For a short while she kept her mouth shut as the heated pressure of his iron-hard black flesh bore down on her soft lips, but it was a wasted effort. Inevitably, she had to gasp for oxygen, and the massive penis sprang into her mouth, bloating her cheeks.
The acrid, unwashed taste and odor of the man's genitals overpowered the inexperienced girl, making her stomach bubble with nausea. She tried to hold her tongue free of the throbbing penis, but the heated male flesh was pushing all the way down her throat and filling every centimeter of her mouth with black male flesh. The thick vein on the underside was pulsing against her tongue, wriggling like a worm in her mouth and she could feel the blood pulse to the bloated tip, making it grow inch by cruel inch until the blunt tip prodded against her larynx.
"Aaaaahhhh!" the degraded wife moaned. "Nnnnaaaahhhh!"
Her own moans sounded like grunts from an animal in her ears, for her whole face was mashed against his hairy balls and her lips were straining to encompass the giant hunk of flesh. It wasn't just her inhuman cries that told her that she was nothing but a cheap little whore; the tiny electric fires flickering along her traitorous body were the real proof of her degeneracy.
"Suck it baby! Eat it like a nice licorice stick!" leered the sadistic rapist. "If you do a good job, I'll fuck your hot little cunt again . . . remember how much you liked that?"
OH GOD, HE'S RIGHT! Carrie's tortured mind screamed. My vagina is tingling again and I can't stop these sinful feelings!
The ravished bride gave in. Without further urging, she began hungrily lapping at the pulsating penis, tasting and nibbling and swirling her tongue around the sensitive glans as though she'd been born doing this. Strange masochistic fires of lust exploded inside her as she acknowledged her own sick perversity, and she gave in to her libido, bowing to its lustful demands.
I wonder if my father made my mother do this to him! Maybe she loved it, too! her disoriented brain whirled as she clasped her cheeks around the burgeoning flesh cudgel with sinful delight. She hail to love it! It's wonderful!