Chapter 5
As she'd hoped, Peter Goldberg was in no rush to get back to his apartment and he quickly stepped in stride with her long legged pace. "Berkeley isn't the healthiest place for a woman to be walking around alone at night," he said in his Eastern mumble. "Which way you headed?"
"Back to my place." I knew it! she rejoiced, quivering fingers of excitement jolting out to every nerve-ending in her sensuous young body. He wants me.. . as bad as I want him. "It's on the other side of Telegraph . . . but don't worry about me, I've got a brown belt to my credit."
"Seems you have a lot to your credit," put in Peter, staring down at the brown nubs of her naked breasts bobbing under the lightweight faded work shirt she'd slipped into to protect her against the chill night fog fingering off the Bay waters to hide Berkeley in a bed of mist.
"Why, Peter, how flattering of you," she said, fluttering her dark eye lashes in a way that most men found sexually appealing.
It was around ten o'clock on an October Monday night and Telegraph Avenue was relatively silent, save for an occasional drunk heaving into trash cans and a few scraggly looking street people carousing, panhandling, and unrolling blankets from much traveled back packs.
"Right this way," pointed Una. "I've got some good wine and some really fine health food bread . . . and my place is cleaner, too . . . and private!"
Peter's lips twisted into a smile. So far, so good, he told himself. SALM's accepted you and Una's ah' but propositioning you. Keep cool and it'll be cool.
Then, shoving those thoughts from his conscious mind, he resumed his former blank amiability. It was not difficult for him to throw himself into the role he was playing.. . but letting his emotions leak through his traitorous mask was difficult, very difficult to keep undercover when his job required digging into the psyche of a gorgeous woman like Una!
Una's apartment was a one room studio with attached kitchenette and a small bathroom consisting of a shower stall and John.
"I've lived here for four years," the curvaceous blonde explained as she rummaged through the refrigerator for a wedge of cheese and two green apples which she sliced and arranged on a breadboard. "It's cheap and the land lord doesn't hassle me about people staying over night."
Peter nodded in agreement. Under Una's top layer of radicalism simmered a very sensual woman-judging from the intimate touches scattered about the apartment. Dainty Chinese tea cups, antique lace doilies and a satin bedspread. Sprinkled over the room in schizophrenic disarray were posters of Mao, Lenin and Communist literature still in their brown postage-marked envelopes.
"Yes, it is nice here . . . feels really safe."
"I'm glad." Una edged closer to where he sat perched rather clumsily on the end of the huge bed-really, there was no other place to sit in the tiny room. Una's musky perfume mingled with the sultry scent of incense to create a mood of intense eroticism, and her low, soft-spoken voice soothed his ears as the wine warmed his blood.
Even if the female revolutionary had been fat, acne-scarred, and buck-toothed, his job would have been to seduce her in order to gain additional information about SALM and its intentions. What an act of God that she turned out to be a young, beautiful, amorous woman . . . with brains!
Peter Goldberg had known lots of girls in his thirty-three years, and most of them had been liberated in the sense that they cohabitated with men and took 'the pill'. Most that is, except for that uptight Vassar girl who couldn't be loosened up with a ten-inch screwdriver. One of the things he'd learned over the years of his political activity and his short-lived underground career which ended in conspiracy charges, was that there was a certain type of female who turned up in radical groups of every persuasion . . . girls who got their kicks from violence and/or power. They were strong willed, often brilliant girls, often possessing a feline sexuality which made them magnetically attractive, but untrustworthy and deceptive. Una, he judged, was one such woman.
Fleetingly, he wondered what she looked like dressed in a skirt or dress, instead of those damnable overalls. As he sipped his wine, the secret agent thoughtfully appraised the sensually enticing woman beside him. Blonde hair and brown eyes didn't seem the right combination of features for a radical, he mused, thinking now that he'd never trusted a blonde . . . ever. Blondes always seemed deceptive and too giggly.
Peter shifted his legs as he accepted a second glass of wine, feeling his long thick cock stiffening in automatic response to the girl's sexual stimulation. Overalls were not what one would call a sexy outfit, but the way they hugged Una's ass, clutching at her taut moons, he wondered if she was as good in bed as the mouthwatering packaging promised. He read in her dark, oval eyes the blatant message that she was thinking exactly his thoughts.
"Feel like some apple and cheese?" Una asked softly, holding up the breadboard with a modishly manicured hand.
For a second, Peter stared at her sleek, dagger-like finger-nails, blood thudding faster than ever in his veins. "Yeah, I'm hungry all, right but not for that!" he replied, then suddenly pulled her against him and crushed his mouth against hers.
The heady scent of her musky oil-perfume and her soft, naturally rouged lips excited the undercover agent more than ever, and he quickly slipped his tongue into the warm, smooth-walled cavern of her yielding mouth. For a moment she relaxed against him, but when he groped down to grasp the melon-round mounds of her breasts, she jerked away from him.
"What kind of girl do you take me for?" she demanded, rather ridiculously, considering her obvious seduction of the attractive newcomer to SALM. "I'm not one of those weak kneed females who play kissy face and back off. Take me like a man . . . rape me?' i
Aha! So that's her trick! realized Peter. She a ants to be raped! He'd met girls her type before they were rather common among liberated female members of terrorist gangs and other fringe elements of society. Well, if she got her kicks by being humiliated and dominated, fine with him. What the hell.. . ? a little kinkiness now and then never hurt anybody.
"If that's what you want, baby, then let me oblige!" Peter felt his features twisting into a feigned snarl as he warmed up his libido for an assault on this woman's twisted psyche.
As he lunged toward her, she began spitting and scratching at him with her long nails. Una was a strong, healthy young woman, but she was no match for the athletic agent; in minutes he'd pinned her down on the big bed by grabbing fistfuls of her silky golden hair and slapping her first on one cheek and then on the other. Then, still holding down her struggling head, he pinned her flailing arm behind her back.
"You animal!" she hissed, tears flooding into her almond-shaped eyes as Peter twisted her wrists painfully. "Stop it! You're breaking my arm, you bastard! You dirty rotten fucking sonofabitch!" she screamed.
A faint smile flickered over Peter's lips as the girl's hand clawed at him, trying to inflict pain. He felt certain that she was loving being ravished by someone whom she identified with James Bond . . . or a secret international agent. This was a new role for him! Then, as he stared at the heaving mounds of her melonous breasts, he fell into the spirit like a five year old on Christmas morning, and the fleeting grin tightened into a cruel grimace.
"You give in?" he sneered. "Or do I have to slap some more sense into that head?" Just for good measure, he applied another stinging blow to her crimson cheeks and her eyes flashed with a raw mixture of lust and anger, sparking with a neurotic masochism such as he'd never seen.
"You fucking bastard. You loose-assed idiot! Okay! I'll do what you want."
"All right, bitch!" Peter released his hold on her slender wrists. "Whatever I say, right? First, get out of those goddamned overalls and prove you're a woman!"
The girl's big dark eyes stared at him through a film of tears and masochistic passion, but she didn't move.
"I said get naked!" Peter snapped. "And I mean it, you cheap slut!"
Grabbing her shoulder length hair again, he yanked her off the bed onto her feet. Then, quick as lightning, he pulled his hand crafted leather belt out of its hoops and flicked it in front of Una's face.
"You hear what I said?" he threatened, falling into the role with flamed bravado.
The glimmer of fear in the female radical's expressive brown eyes sparked Peter's latent streak of sadism into full flame. Finally he was making up for snippy nosed little rich Vassar brats like that
Carrie what-was-her-name who let you play around . . . to a point and then cut you off like a whap of a meat cleaver. While Una slowly unhooked the suspenders of her overalls, pulling the loosened bib down over her naked breasts, he swished the belt menacingly in front of her face. With his free hand, he tore open his fly and pulled out his erect hardness so that he could massage its painfully throbbing head as he feasted his eyes on the lush splendor of Una's voluptuous figure.
Consciously, Peter couldn't admit it, but this experience was worth the crumby conspiracy charge that landed him on the wrong side of Marx, Engels, and Una!
Since the girl wore no panties, her sparsely curling blond-pubic hairs came into view the instant her lithe legs stepped out of the crisp denim of her overalls. Peter caught his breath as she bent submissively to pick up her discarded garment like as if she were a little girl being chided by her mother to clean up her room . . . never had he seen such perfect legs! Her tight, round ass-cheeks eased down into slender, but softly curving thighs, and her calves tapered into the slimmest of ankles. He could tell she didn't shave her legs, and just the finest of baby-fine peach fuzz covered her naked legs, bringing an appreciative throb to his purple veined manhood that swelled in his pumping hand.
He almost wished she was wearing more clothes so he could appreciate in slow, painful movements the beauty of her lush, milky white body as piece by piece she stripped for him.
"You bitch!" he yelled, rubbing his aching penis' thick foreskin back so that his bulbous, angry red I pointed at the girl's dark fleeced pubic mound. Again, he swung his belt in the air whip-like.
"You creep! Is this the only way you can get a hard-on-by raping women?" hissed Una, reaching up to massage one of her own hardened nipples standing out like budding roses from the milky white mounds of her satin breasts. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she let her knees bend under the delicious sensation of her masturbating fingers that now pulled harder on her nipples. Looking down, Peter could make out the third rosebud of her sensuality, the swollen nub of her clitoris hidden in the forest of blonde pubic curls.
A cruel, mirthless laugh spat from between his tightly compressed lips at the blonde's deliberate provocation. I'll give her what she wants, the little bitch! he vowed, swishing his belt through the air and letting it land with a sickening smack upon the girl's naked backside, leaving a red welt. Grinning, he made a cross-hatch with the belt on her blushing cheeks, biting her a second time and delighting in the shriek of her pain.
"Don't call me a rapist!" he snarled, raising the whip again while his fantasies flickered in his head with sadistic mirth.
"You Adolph Hitler, you Machiavellian monster!"
Again the belt sang through the air, this time striking Una's soft fleshed upper thighs. She let out an anguished yelp and collapsed to the floor on her knees, her fingers pulling painfully at her breasts.
"Owwww! You filthy pig!" she wailed. "Stop it! Don't rape me, don't rape me!"
Another sadistic laugh rasped from Peter's lust-constricted throat as he gave the belt one last whip across her thighs. Quickly, stepping out of his levis, he stepped up behind where Una crouched against the edge of her bed, in the position of a little girl saying her prayers.
"Get your ass down on the floor, bitch. I wanna take you dog style!"
Without waiting for her to obey or protest, the lust-maddened sadist kicked his jeans from his ankles and lunged toward the naked research assistant. Still clad in his work shirt and Adidas, he pushed her face down on the old-fashioned, rather threadbare floral print carpet. Then, as his iron-hard fingers dug into the silken pliancy of Una's up-thrusting white buttocks, he forgot everything except the urgent throbbing of his cum-heavy penis and the waves of sadistic pleasure that flooded through his muscular body.
Una was panting and gasping helplessly beneath him as he dug his nails into the tender flesh of her succulent ass-cheeks, digging her own fingers into a particularly garish Art-Deco rose on the carpet so hard that her knuckles had turned white. From the way the tendons stuck out on her swanlike neck beneath her tangle of blonde hair, he surmised that she was trying to keep from screaming aloud.
Indeed, Una was controlling herself with what she considered the utmost in dignity. The shrieks that rose in her throat were cries of violent lust rather than fear or pain. An analyst had told her it wasn't quite normal, but she loved to be taken by a masterful, viciously powerful male like this Peter Goldberg. Her favorite fantasies flashed through her mind, condensed yet vivid as a drowning swimmer's instant recollection of his entire life. These daydreams of being ravished at gunpoint or knifepoint, as in her favorite violent adventure movies, had entertained her on many a lonely night when she had only her own fingers and a worn out dildo to satisfy herself.
This hard muscled man was a much more self-assured, genuinely sadistic lover than was Jackson who couldn't hold off cumming more than five minutes . . . though he did love to take her anally, something she would later suggest to this hard-pricked Peter Goldberg!
A moan of ecstasy rippled from her throat as Peter's strong hands dug into her sensitive upper thighs, and she could smell the intoxicating aroma of his man sweat mingled with the musky odor of his heated genitals. Though she wanted only to feel his hotly pulsing cock filling her burning vagina until it rammed up her belly, she continued to resist him, taking perverted pleasure in the pain as his gripping fingers tore at her flesh. Hot flashes of masochistic madness cascaded over every inch of her nakedly squirming body as his fingernails cut through the flesh of her upper legs.
Nl be covered with scars and bruises! she thought, writhing in expectation as the traitorous radical's iron-hard male thickness pressured at the swollen, damp lips of her pussy. Jackson s going to be mad at me, but I don't give a damn! God, all I want is for this big, beautiful man to stick his hot prick inside me and fuck me to death! Fleetingly, her fantasies focused on her dead, mangled body splattered with sperm in every orifice . . . dripping from her vagina, her anus and her mouth to mingle in a sticky pink pool of blood and lust. She gave a little shriek of maddened lust.
The record player's needle had stuck. Over and over again Helen Reddy wailed out her feminist plaint:
'Cause I'm a woman, W-O-M-A-N I'll say it again . . . Neither Una nor Peter even heard the repeated phrase. The aroused blonde was actually gasping for breath as she felt the mushroom knob of the male she'd met just that evening shoving against the tingling lips of her maddeningly swollen cunt. He felt so hard . . . so damned, wonderfully hard!
She'd never forgive him if he didn't tear her down there . . . just a little.
Peter's breath was coming in frenzied gasps as he inhaled the intoxicating scent of her provocative musk oil mingled with the pungent smell of her cuntal juices. Christ! he thought dizzily, wondering if he was in an X-rated movie in which he'd suddenly become the star. She's already so wet and ready I'm going to slide in like butter.
As the thought flickered through his passion-confused mind, Peter jerked his powerful hips forward and rammed his rock hard thickness several inches inside the girl's flowered open, ripely seeping pussy. He'd attacked her so unexpectedly and his heated flesh was so much bigger than Jackson's, that Una gave an involuntary yelp of pain despite the moistness of her cuntal channel.
"Aaaaahhhhh!" she wailed as his huge ballooning penis tore into the farthest depths of her painfully stretched pussy with vicious, passion-powered jabs, slamming into her tender cervix.
For a moment Una, experienced though she was in passionate exploits, thought she was about to faint. Never had anyone hammered into her with such punishing strokes!
After a short while, however, as Peter's jouncing, blood-heavy testicles began beating a lewd tattoo against her oily nubbed clitoris, the cloud of unendurable pain cleared from her almond-shaped brown eyes and was replaced by burning glints of implacable lust. Her mouth gaped open and drops of saliva dripped from her lips as she panted like a dog in heat, and her nakedly uplifted buttocks wriggled up to meet each vicious thrust of Peter's turgid cock.
Peter yanked her by the hair and craned her head around so that he could see his willing victim's lust-crazed clasping cuntal depths that trapped his penis like a mouse trap. Her pretty features were smeared into a mask of pure lust. Her eyes had rolled back in her head, showing only the whites and a tear of joy rolled down her flushed cheeks, telling him that she was nearing the point of orgasm as was he. This would be one mind-fucking orgasm, he told himself, but better to prolong it and listen to her beg. Calculatingly, he thrust deep inside of her, ramming hard into her cervix, then withdrew his prick so that his massively swollen tip was teasing at the lips of her cunt mouth.
"No! No!" Una's shrill pleas reverberated off the walls of her one-bedroom apartment. "Don't stop! Fuck me, you bastard! Pleeeezzzz!" Whipping her head around in agony, her blonde hair flew back to slap Peter in the face in silken blows.
"Beg you slut!" gasped Peter, holding himself back with masochistic will power. "Tell me how bad you want it-talk dirty!"
"You dirty shit . . . you loose-assed bastard . . . fuck me.. . you impotent eunuch!" She insulted his manhood through hissing lips.
"Come on . . . you can do better than that!" sneered Peter, truly anxious to hear what further obscenities this foul-mouthed woman could conjure up in her sick, twisted, gnarled mind.
Una flinched at the insult, then jerked her trembling hips back in an effort to imbed the withdrawn penis into her burning cunt. Her entire body glistened with fevered sweat and her body quivered like the beginnings of an earthquake. "FUCK ME!" she spit out. "Fuck me. Make your cum drip all over me.. . make me dirty.. . hurt me. . . . HURRRRT MEEEE!"
The sadistic man waited a fraction, then rammed his knobbish cockhead against her cervix so hard it doubled over at the end. Bestial grunts of pleasure spewed from her gaping mouth, and she bucked madly back at him, her head banging against the bed as she slammed hard into his groin. When Peter reached round her writhing sweat slippery body to massage her heaving breasts and pinch and torture her nipples, she couldn't contain another scream of passion.
"Ohhhhhh! Harder, harder, HARDER! I'm cummming!"
Grasping the ecstatically writhing girl's swollen breasts as though they were handles of a powerful motorcycle, Peter plunged into her cunt until his fuzzy testicles were about to explode with heated cum! She wailed out her orgasm and spasmed and convulsed beneath him, his own climax erupting.
Their uninhibited groans mingled with the sounds of flesh slapping against naked flesh to form a lewd chant of animal lust as his pent-up semen sped down his throbbing cockshaft and splashed in hot gushes into the girl's clutching cuntal depths.
"Ohhhhh . . . I'm cummming!" he wheezed.
For a few long minutes they both lay shuddering on the floor in the throes of exquisitely powerful orgasmic release, their bodies welded together with drying sweat and sperm. Finally, Peter's hard muscled male loins went limp and his body dropped heavily onto the floor beside Una's, his spent virility rapidly deflating to a limp and useless appendage.