Chapter 3
Was it the moon, that time of the month or what, wondered Amy, leaning over the sink, her naked stomach goose bumping from the touch of cold porcelain tickling her still wet skin. She stood in her pink bikini panties, naked on top, the juicy mounds of her luscious breasts reflecting in the bathroom mirror streaked with shower steam. Whatever the cause, that old gnawing hunger that had kept her company for seven hundred and thirty days of frustration was rearing its ugly head and sending red devils dancing down there between her slender thighs.
She drew a heavy comb through sopping hair, its red pinkish highlights brighter now in the keen bathroom light. It wasn't quite red and it wasn't quite gold. The wet strands, already hinting at curls, draped over her creamy naked shoulders. Amy wished she could wear her hair long and loose and free, but nursing regulations forbid it ... besides, she had enough trouble with those nasty minded men without flaunting her sensuality. Joe had loved her hair long and wavy, blowing freely in the wind as they rode his Harley 750 down Highway One on a Sunday morn ...
The steam had dried on the mirror and she studied herself, staring into her cool gray eyes lidded with long brown eyelashes that needed no curling. She examined her body, staring down at her melonous breasts, cupping them in her hands and weighing them. Yes, Joe had loved them, too. And they hadn't changed since Joe ... the pussy, pink nipples still their vibrant blossoms, not turning dark with age as some women's do. But then she was hardly over the hill at twenty-six.
Helen Reddy's plaintive love song ended and the click of the stereo arm retracting sent her running to flip the album over, her breasts jouncing with her sprint.
"Oh, dear!" she glanced at the clock. Seven already and there was still her uniform to press and her hair to dry! She let out a weary sigh; why couldn't it be for a date with a man whose company she enjoyed, a man who would treat her as a woman instead of a threatening mother figure or whatever those sick creatures considered her to be.
Ginger, a lazy Siamese lifted his head wearily, staring at his mistress as she rushed about her one bedroom apartment, yanked out the ironing board from behind the refrigerator and filled the steam iron with water. Still, the fullness in her heated loins didn't lighten, and her delicate fingers seemed to have swollen to thumbs; she poked the iron's hot tip over the uniform's bodice, jabbing at seams mercilessly. "Ohhhh ... " she groaned and glowered over an amber scorch stain.
Amy slammed down the iron and buried her face in her hands, heart pounding, shoulders trembling. Why wouldn't memories die? If the body dies and not the spirit, for God sake why then did she still respond to Joe's dead body as if it were still alive and throbbing beside her?
What would fill this empty, empty hole in her spirit?
Her rosebud mouth drew up in a smirk. No metaphysical query, this; the answer was fluttering about in her voracious vagina this very second!
Standing at the ironing board, her body stiff as its steel frame, she gave way to memories, while the minutes ticked on ...
Damn you for leaving me Joe! God, I begged you not to go that day! You wouldn't listen ... damn you!
"Joe, please ... it's ugly outside ... all drizzling and icky. Let's stay around the house and read the Sunday paper. Promise I won't hog the Sport section's crossword puzzle." Joe, sports enthusiast with an insatiable appetite for danger, she'd met him in L.A. (they'd been living in California then) where he had been contracted for stunt work on films.
Muscular sinewy arms stretched above a head of black curls and Joe's bristly chest expanded verily in a storming yawn. Impossibly blue eyes caressed Amy's body in their special way.
She was so damned precious, that woman ... all pink and white, peaches and cream, from the lustrous hair falling in waves over her shoulders to her polished toe nails. He scooped her up, cuddling close, burying his face in her perfumed hair, his strong palm pressuring her in closer to his pounding chest until her puffy nipples mashed against his steely chest.
Morning his favorite time for lovemaking ... before the telephone rang and Amy left for work ... an extension of the night. One strong arm pulled her lower in the bed, his hand reaching up to stroke at the baby softness of her silken hair. That incredible hair ... not quite red and not quite gold ... some aphrodisiac color the devil whipped up to tempt him. Joe stared trance-like down at his wife's delicate features, feeling that same heady school boy excitement she'd incited in him the first time they set eyes on each other.
Reverently, Joe lowered his head, his soft lips parting laxly to closer over her trembling ones still tasting of sleep. "Mmmmmmm ... baby ... I could eat you up!" he growled playfully, slipping further down in the bed until his chin brushed against the warm cleavage of her milky breasts. Deftly, one finger pulled down the night gown strap, down over the pouting nipple of her right breast. Amy giggled girlishly, her eyes closing as his warm mouth entrapped that quivering bud and sucked, vacuuming the breast into his hungry mouth. He reached under silky gown to push it up and out of the way while his left hand travelled up the smooth plane of her legs ... up to the gently curving thigh, probing toward the center where his fingers entangled in her pubic curls.
"Why don't you take this off?" he murmured, giving her room to work. Off came the nightie, fluttering to the floor. Bracing one hand on the bed, he levered himself over her, smiling his approval at the inches of naked flawless skin tempting his eyes. His velvety tongue shot out to run a tingling path from one nipple to its twin, down the midline of her goose bumped torso until the hot tip probed at the jewel of her navel ... down further over the softly mounded plane of her tummy to her forested nest of pubic curls. Hovering over her, his breath goose bumping her body, he moaned contentedly and jabbed his tongue to part the curls of her pubic tendrils, laving them open to the red marble of her clitoris.
Eyes closed to everything but this sanctimonious moment, Amy tangled her fingers in his jet black curls, gently urging his face down into her cunt Gently ... love between them a ceremonious sacrament. The white skin of her thighs quivered and her legs parted, offering up all of her ...
To have that now! ... when anything less than Joe's special masculinity proved more disappointing than her own ten digits!
Dinner in Ward B had long since past and the patients groaned about the lounge, feeling the lazy effects of eight o'clock medications. Some watched television, some played solitaire and others sat glassy eyed staring off into space.
In their reserved corner Josh and Ben and Butch sat tirelessly dealing cards, much of their gusto gone now as sleeping pills began numbing their brains and quieting their libidos.
Butch rubbed his chin, his eyes sparkling in some unspoken plot. "What time does Nurse Hanson come in?"
Josh turned his head lazily, the pills droning his speech to a lazy slur. "Nine ... "
Ben raked his eyes off his cards and stared dumbly over at Butch. "You aren't thinkin' of doing anything funny, now are ya?" Ben was the hesitant one, having learned a hard lesson from that one sour mistake of recklessness. "Shit, this place ain't the Ritz, but we got a good TV and the food ain't all that bad."
Butch answered with a smug glance up at the clock. "Just thinking, Ben, just thinkin'."
Two hours later Amy Hanson sauntered into the nurses' station, a stack of women's magazines in her hands. Ruefully, she eyed the note atop the desk: "Milly called in ill ... sorry but we couldn't get a replacement."
After a cup of coffee, she slumped in the chair, reading through the daily records to check for special medications to be administered. One notation: "Butch Hotchkins. Symptoms-sinus headache. Dosage-one antihistamine every four hours. Simple enough ...
The ward was suspiciously quiet as her white rubber soled shoes slapped against the linoleum. The employees' lounge was golden with light and whistling with snores. Satchmo lay slumped back flat on the couch, his mouth gaping open, his pocket dragging with the weight of a half empty bottle. Amy sucked in her breath disapprovingly. It would be cruel to fire the poor old man for he held a magic over this floor, drunk or sober; nobody stepped on his toes. The water glass clinked against the plastic tray supporting it as Amy walked down the hall toward the wards where the stuffy smell of man sweat stung her nostrils.
Something about standing undefended amidst this dozen sleeping men disquieted her. Their dreams ... sexual, no debut. Making love to their mothers, raping nuns ... what ran through those pathetically warped brains?
Fortunately Butch's bed was near the door. Amy peered within and tiptoed up to him, the snores of sleeping men rattling in her ears. Tentatively she reached out and touched him on the shoulder.
He bolted and sat upright, his broad black-haired chest glistening in the dim hall light peeking through the cracked door. Amy sucked in her breath, her D-cup breasts swelling a full two inches with her gasp ... his rippling chest muscles too suggestively sensual for a woman in her weakened mental state.
"Y-your medication ... " Her face never lost its stoic freeze, even as she held the tray out to him, her silver-blue eyes locked on his bulging biceps. Funny ... they hadn't appeared that awesome hidden under his T-shirt. He didn't take the tray.
"Ohhh ... " he wrinkled up his forehead and rubbed his burly black haired head with strong fingers. "I ... I'm not feeling too good." He cupped a hand to his mouth, belched and rubbed his strongly muscled stomach as if to quell it. "I ... I think I'd better get to ... " He threw back the covers and jogged down the hall, making for the men's room.
The nurse looked at him flying down the hall in his draw-string pajama bottoms and then down at the tray. Amy shrugged and waited. Two minutes passed, four ... finally after ten minutes she grew impatient.
What to do? She couldn't forge her way into the men's room to check him and dispense with this pill. Impatience piqued. This is what they hired a night guard for, darn it, and trying to rouse Satchmo was an even match with risking the sealed off men's room. She shivered, thinking of being alone in the same room as Butch.
Another ten minutes lapsed ...
Disgruntled, she headed briskly for the men's room, her rubber soled shoes slapping gently against the floor. Tentatively she pushed open the heavy door and peered inside. The glaring light stung her eyes; she squinted. Her stoicism cracked for a second. Butch had passed out on the floor, his mouth gaping open, looking pale and consumed!
"Are ... are you all right?" Coquettishly careful to keep her legs together, she knelt down at his side and touched her soft hand to his forehead. It felt clammy, but not fevered. Damn it, why did she have to handle this situation alone?
Cautiously, Butch opened one dark eye level with Nurse Hanson's slender stockinged ankles. His eyes roved up the silkiness to her knees, then up to the tight bodice where her soft breasts pressed tight against her knees as she hunched over.
"Unnnggghhhhhh ... " Butch struggled to sit up, feigning a sick stomach. Wobbling to his feet, he slumped toward a stall, banging the door ajar behind him. Amy watched in wide eyed horror as he slunk to his knees, retching. The symptoms weren't serious enough to alert the doctor on duty, but criminal or not, the man's condition required attention. She walked toward the stall door and pausing, questioned her impetuosity. The sound of flesh hitting the floor rousted her out of indecision and she yanked open the stall door and stepped in. Butch rose wearily to his feet and swung around facing her. Surreptitiously, he sidestepped her, placing himself between her and the door. He was about to win his bet!
Amy's eyes widened like a cornered Siamese cat, "No ... no ... " She read the lust in his glinting eyes, heard his quickened breathing, felt his thumping heart as he pressed close to her, the essence of man filling her nose, charging her with electric thrills that spelled out dread and want confusedly.
Butch's upper lip curled amusedly and he snickered down at her, his strong fingers spreading to grip her trembling chin, locking her head in place. His eyes laughed sadistically as he pinned her to the door, savoring her terrified expression, then ground his mouth against her succulent lips, his tongue shooting deeply inside her mouth with a fast, hungry probe. His hot tongue ran over her teeth, slithering down her throat to tease her tonsils, sucking on her tongue trying to pull it into his hot cavern.
Amy struggled like a cornered cat, straining every sinew to get loose, hysteria rising like mercury in her heated veins. But Butch's fuzzed arms were strong, impossibly strong and he pinned her in place, grinding his sweaty body against her soft curves. Her screams were stifled in her throat by the persistent tongue that invaded her mouth as if trying to eat her alive.
This was a trap! Her gray eyes bulged with terror as the kiss sucked on. With alarm, she felt his thick hard erection pressing against her belly. Good God! He was ... huge! Amy thought of that poor young girl whose father had sent this man to prison for raping his daughter. Amy cringed.
He broke the kiss for a moment, testing her resistance and looked down at her for a long time, a deep warmth smoldering in his eyes. Suddenly, he gathered her into his arms, her warm flesh pressing against his, and kissed her with fury, flattening and spreading her lips open until his tongue jabbed deep into her mouth.
A frightened hollowness came alive in the pit of Amy's stomach, and for a reckless moment she closed her eyes, all fight gone. She parted her soft, moist lips to accept his kiss, feeling his naked arms slinking around her body, drawing her close to him. His kiss was insistent, rapacious, meaningful ... not the kind of mashing kiss one would expect of a rapist. A little whimper escaped her lips, matching the low hum of lust gurgling from Butch's throat.
Suddenly she was shaken from the reverie of a daydream by teasing pressure of his anxious fingertips along the delicate line of her slender, perfumed throat. Amy froze, her lips drawing tight in fear, unresponding to his probing kiss. The rising passion drained from her body as his expert fingers dropped even lower and his hand moved toward the cleft of her valleyed cleavage. The closeness of his touch sent sharp electric thrills running through her breasts, centering magically at the distended nipples. Instinctively, though unconsciously, she pressed forward to thrust the tender swelling mounds further into his kneading palms.
"Dear God," she moaned, breaking the kiss and wrenching her chin free of his grip. "Let me out of here!"
"Don't give me that lady. You're diggin' me grinding my hard cock into your belly." Smirking, he thrust his pelvis painfully into her stomach, smashing her against the wood door, bending his legs a little until his long starved penis jabbed right up into her crotch, probing, jabbing, a smear of lubrication wetting his pajama bottoms.
Amy closed her eyes, holding her breath, trying to will away the starving desire throbbing down in the playground between her slender thighs. She stiffened, every nerve ending in her body fighting the mutinous battle against temptation. It would be so easy to let him touch her, thrust his hot and heavy manhood into her cunt ... banging against her cervix, squirting her full of his cum.
Butch grinned triumphantly down at her, keeping up the rubbing rhythm that was slowly eating away at her resistance. "Come on, baby ... you been wantin' a nice hard cock to fuck into that pink pussy ... I can see it in your eyes, girl." His voice was soft, almost mellifluous and hellishly tempting
Amy swallowed dryly, her cheeks burning, her face turned away from his accusing glare. "No ... I don't want it," she managed to gasp out in between dry sobs. He had her pinned to the door now, holding her hands in his steely grip, rubbing, grinding against her lush, awakened body. His head shot down and he bit at her hardened nipples through the thin nylon of her uniform, until they throbbed in voracious pleasure. The button of her bodice popped open with the strain of her upheld arms, the lace of her brassiere peeking through.
Smugly, Butch let her hands fall to her sides and still imprisoning her, he reached inside her bodice, fingers digging into the fragile cups, ripping her bra. A low sob rumbled in Amy's throat as his cool hands touched her warm pulsing breasts, pulling them free of her brassiere.
Oh dear God, make him stop ... make him stop! Her vagina was burning with frustration, begging for something to fill it ... his fingers, his cock ... her fingers ... anything!
Butch's hot velvety tongue snaked out as the strawberry tips of her hardened nipples popped free of its confinement. With pooched lips, he lowered his head and sucked on the fiery tips, drawing them into his mouth, bathing them with his warm saliva.
Little grunts of undisguised lust rasped from Amy's throat. "Stop!" she moaned, her curly eyelashes fluttering over her cheeks. "Oh dear God ... please! I can't ... "
"You can't stand it, isn't that right, miss priss? Look at you, you're so fucking hot you'd suck me off if I wanted you to. You're the horniest little cunt I've ever set my eyes on, you know that?"
"Oh, stop! Stop talking ... fil-filthy like that!" Her buttonish chin quivered pathetically, then Amy sucked in her breath again as his roving hands slithered down over her belly, stopping to massage it for a moment, then up under her nylon uniform, snaking its way up her nylon covered legs up ... up to the crotchband of her pantyhose. Shamelessly she slumped against the door, one naked breast peeking out of her brassiere, its nipple throbbing under the touch of his hand while his other rummaged around under her skirt, yanking the elastic waistband of her pantyhose down over her hips while his fingers searched for the swollen lips of her neglected pussy. She clenched her smooth white thighs together, but his palm brushed electrically against her pubic curls, hesitating there before beginning to probe for the petals of her seeping pussy.
"Like that, don't ya?" teased Butch sadistically.
Amy trembled from the deliciously forbidden contact. Yes, it was good ... but God, she had to stop him! His fingers slipped deftly down, feeling the moist furrow of her wet cunt and involuntarily, Amy flexed her pelvis up against the convict's middle finger and flushes of hot and cold arrows darted up from the pink flanges of her lust ridden pussy.
This isn't Joe ... oh God, this wasn't Joel With a whimper she gathered up her sealed will power and pressed her palms firmly against his hairy chest, grunting with the effort of pushing him away. "No ... no ... stop!"
Butch wasn't about to stop ... not when he'd gotten this far! He flicked his hand, pulling the strangling pantyhose lower until his fingers had a wide playground in Amy's violently aroused vagina. Her eyes closed as she began a low, lascivious moan while his finger played maddeningly at her desire drenched pubic curls, tugging at them, stroking them like he would a cat, and then suddenly dipping into the quivering furrow of her pussy. His fingers rummaged around in the warm, moist recesses, pillaging her inner secrets and her whole body vibrated from the fierce arousal below. His fingers found the bud of her clitoris and teased at it, stroking the hard spearhead into throbbing erection, each probe bringing fresh moans of delirious lust to her lips.
Amy tried to blot out everything except for this frenzied sexual activity going on down there in her crying cunt. To quell that hunger was more than a need now, it was a do or die demand. Amy sobbed aloud when the rapist finally found the quivering cuntal entrance with his middle finger, and wormed it around in the wet, willing hole up to the knuckle. Grunting lecherously to himself, he rotated that digit around up there, feeling the spasmodic contractions of the smooth vaginal walls as he finger-fucked her in and out. She thrust her churning cunt further down, bending her knees, her face a crimson mask of wantonness as she tried to suck his finger into her pulsating depths.
"You love, bitch. You can't get enough of my finger!" accused Butch, gritting his teeth and ramming his finger into Amy's tight depths, a wet slurping sound filling the empty bathroom with the fierceness of it.
"You're ... you're raping me!" burst Amy. "You're ... doing ... this against ... my will."
"Bullshit!" spat Butch, watching her body twitch and stiffen and shoved another finger in the throbbing hole until they were teasing around in the velvety interior of Amy's straining cunt. She ground her soaked pussy against his hand and her vaginal milk flowed down into his laboring palms so that he could feel the soft pulsations of her hair-fringed cunt lips.
Her eyes had taken on a glazed lust-dimmed look, her upper lips stretched taut over her teeth, her fingers digging into his back now.
"You ready to let me fuck you?" Butch growled animalishly, and reached down to pull out his throbbing erection, already seeping anxiously.
"No ... No ...! Stop!" wailed Amy, her breasts heaving, sanity returning in a flood of shame. Oh dear God, letting this filthy man attack her like she was some back street whore! "Get away from me!" Her scream was real this time. "Get away from me, you ... you animal!"
Butch's hand fell away from her pussy, cool air wafting in to replace the hot fingers. His face went tight with disgust, his eyes narrowing to angry slits. "My cock isn't good enough for ya, huh? I can finger fuck you to death but you don't want my cock!"
Amy sneered, hot blasts of air snorting through her nostrils. "You filthy idiot ... dirty rapist." she spat. "Who do you think you are talking to me like some ... some disgusting whore!" In that deadly pall, she stared at the man, knowing she had incited the lust that glinted in his eyes. Her behavior was unforgivable, an insult to Joe, a disgrace to herself. Her mouth grew wet with self-loathing and she didn't consider the consequences when she spit in his face right then, strands of her spittle dripping down his cheekbones, dripping onto his chest.
"You little cunt, you don't deserve a cock. Go ahead and dry up ... you and that uptight Tomkins ... " She could see his teeth working in his jaw, but he said nothing more as he unlocked the stall door and stepped past her, wiping the spittle from his chest with the back of his hand and stomped out the door.
"Oh my God, oh my God!" Amy crumpled to the floor, covering her face and weeping into her hands. What had come over her? She lay there, slumped over the commode, her hair disheveled, buttons torn from her uniform, the pantyhose strangling her knees.
Dear God, now what?