Chapter 2
Suzanne awoke exhausted, her eyes red rimmed and gummy. It was Friday. She had to look for work. She dressed and made her face as well as possible, then put on her one good outfit. The skirt was long for Los Angeles, where legs and more legs seemed to be the rule, but it was a business outfit, less than a year old, and all she had.
The thought of more tap-water instant coffee made her queasy and she decided to hold off until she could get to a restaurant. She made a last inspection of her face in the picture window by the door and went out.
A set of stairs led down from two of the upstairs apartments, beside her door. As she locked her door, three people came down. The first was a grotesque little man with a twisted back, walking with a cane. He carried a briefcase and wore an out-of-date suit. He gave her a frankly lecherous look and passed by. The next two were a man and a woman. The woman drew Suzanne's eye first. She was black, with clear, chocolate skin. And she was beautiful, with a fashion model's thin lines and planular face. She wore an extremely short, expensive dress that left arms and legs and most of her breasts bare. And there were bruises on her skin. Bruises on her thighs. Ugly welts on her arms. What had to be a bitemark on one breast. The marks were covered with makeup, but the bright morning sun exposed them.
The girl was hanging on the arm of a tall, ruddy-faced man in his early thirties. He was just beginning to run to fat in places. His hair was blond and worn to his shoulders. Gold-rimmed glasses sat high on his nose. He was good-looking in a dissipated sort of way.
As they passed, the man turned a smile and a quick once-over look on Suzanne. "Good morning, neighbor-lady." He had a blurred Southern accent.
Suzanne nodded. "Good morning." She watched them walk up the concrete passage to the street. The black girl threw a cool smile at her around the man's shoulder. Another sizing-up look. Involuntarily, Suzanne felt a coldness run up her spine. One of the two men she had just seen had to be Roger Watlington. And she wasn't sure which one she'd prefer it to be.
Suzanne had breakfast in one of the in-and-out places that cater to people in a hurry to get to work and read the want ads. Grim.
She made the rounds, going from employment agency to restaurant to circled advertisement possibility. And going from disgruntledness to hopelessness to despair. There simply was no work in Los Angeles. At least not for a country girl with some typing and no experience. Even the waitress jobs were taken by experienced girls.
Around six, she gave up and had coffee in a diner. When she went to pay her check, she discovered that her wallet was missing. She'd had it when she came in, she knew. But now it was gone. The manager was sympathetic, commiserating with her over the high crime rate in Los Angeles. Could she get home, he wondered? No? Well, if she'd care to wait a half hour, he was off and could drive her. No trouble. Suzanne gratefully sat out the thirty minutes and felt miserable.
"Ready, Miss? I'm off now."
She looked up. "Oh. Y-Yes. Thank you."
In the lot, the man handed her into a Ford van and let himself in the driver's side. "Where to, Miss?"
She told him the address.
"Know how to get there from here?"
"No. I don't know my way around very well yet."
"Yeah. It's an easy town to get lost in when you're new."
There was something in his tone that made Suzanne look closely at him. He was a short, stocky man, thickly covered with reddish hair. He was smiling to himself and humming a tuneless hum.
They pulled out into the evening traffic and he began expertly threading his way through the traffic. He talked almost incessantly, once they were underway. About wife and kids, weather, other trivia. He asked her questions about herself. Where was she from? Relatives living in the city? Where did she work?
Suzanne answered his questions, her mind on her troubles. It was a good while before she began to notice the traffic thinning out. "Where are we?"
"This is a little shortcut I know about."
"It doesn't look like the right direction to me. We're going up, and I live below Hollywood. I know that."
"This is Griffith Park. It beats the traffic if you go through here."
Suzanne felt an unease creeping into her. The rush hour had been ending when they left. And traffic wasn't that heavy anyway. "I think... I think I'd better get out here, please. I'll find my way home from here."
The man looked at her and grinned, showing large, yellowed teeth. "Relax, honey. I'll get you home okay."
"No, please. Just let me out here."
The hairy man laughed. "There's lots of bad things up in the woods here, little girl. I wouldn't want anything to hurt you, no siree."
In panic, Suzanne reached for the door handle. Better to be skinned up from a fall than... But the hairy man reached quickly beneath the dash on his side and something clicked. Suzanne found the door handle firmly locked. She tried the window. The knob wouldn't turn.
"How you like that, chickee? Little thing I rigged up myself. All electric."
The van slowed and eased off the road under the trees. Suzanne felt her heart pounding against her ribs. "Please," she whispered. "Just let me go. I'll give you money. I'll send you some, I promise."
The squat man laughed again, more loudly this time. "Please," he squeaked in a falsetto imitation of her voice. "I'll send you all my money." He roared with laughter. But there was no humor in it.
The man began unbuttoning his shirt. Curly hair sprang out around his stubby fingers. His grin was predatory now. "Why don't you just scoot on over here, honey? Let me keep you warm."
Suzanne swallowed hard. "I'll scream," she said, as firmly as she could. "Even up here, somebody will hear me.
"Don't bet on it. I've done a lot of work on my little van. It's so soundproof that you could have a hippy convention in it and nobody would hear it five feet away." He slid out of his shirt. His back was as hairy as his chest and belly. He started undoing his trousers.
Suzanne knew that she had to do something and very soon. She took a quick, deep breath and lunged for the spot under the dash where the locking device was concealed.
A stubby hand caught her wrist in a grip like a steel trap and held it immobile. She struggled against that cruel grasp, but her only reward was harsh, tantalizing laughter.
"Go ahead, girl. Fight me. Fight for all you're worth. It won't do you any good."
With horror, Suzanne realized he was dragging her across his lap by her wrist, holding her down with a hand in the middle of her back. She tried to twist away, to get her knees up under her. But the position of the seat, and the weight of the man on her back, prevented it.
Relentlessly and seemingly effortlessly, the hairy man dragged her across his lap until her head was pressed into his sweaty belly. In a wild, bold move, she turned her head and bit him just above the navel. He gave a hoarse curse and Suzanne felt a blinding pain at the base of her neck. Her whole body went numb and blackness swam into her eyes. She was conscious, but couldn't move. Her muscles seemed to be made of rubber. Through the ringing in her ears she heard the man's hissing voice.
"Be nice, little lady. If you aren't nice, I might break all your bones into little pieces-slowly. You just do as I say and you'll get home in one piece. Otherwise, they might find you in the bushes, you hear?"
Suzanne tried to nod but her head wouldn't move. Bright lights flashed behind her eyes when she tried. The man dragged her other arm across his lap and held both her wrists with one paw. Then, to her utter horror, Suzanne felt his free hand on her thigh, at the edge of her skirt.
"Now," the man crooned, his voice high and dreamy, "Now we'll get to know each other a little. I'll just take a little tour here and see where you're at."
Suzanne felt the hairy hand slide slowly up her thigh. Some muscle control was returning and involuntarily her legs tried to close. The hand on her thigh clamped down on her muscle so hard she cried out.
"That's it. Scream. Cry. Beg me! But keep your goddamn legs open if you don't want to be crippled."
Suzanne began to sob. It took all her willpower to keep her trembling thighs apart. Her face was still pressed into the man's belly and she could feel his heart beating through the flab, fast and heavy. He smelled of something powerful; something carnal.
The stubby hand moved farther up under her skirt, kneading the flesh of her thigh just hard enough to make her wince with pain. But it wasn't the pain that caused her sobs. It was the humiliation of being held helpless across this gross man's body while he casually felt of her intimate parts. It was too awful to bear. She began to cry. It seemed to stimulate him further. "That's right! That's the ticket! Cry, damn you. Cry for mercy!" He twisted her wrists against themselves, and Suzanne groaned at the pain. The man laughed, a flat, evil laugh.
Through the pain, Suzanne felt the man's blunt hand slide into the small, moist triangle between her legs. It was almost too humiliating to stand. She closed her eyes and the tears came in hot washes. The thick fingers toyed with the edges of her panties, then slipped past them. She felt the first rude touch on her delicate mechanism. "Oh, God," she cried softly. "Oh, please don't. Please stop. I-I've n-n-never... I've not been..."
The man gave a nasty laugh. "Ha! A virgin, uh? At your age, that's a crime. But don't worry. I'll fix that for you soon enough." And with a cruel thrust, the man jammed a broad finger inside her.
Suzanne cried out at the searing pain. It felt as if a hot poker had been shoved inside. The pain was a bright fire that spread from her crotch to her belly, making her arch her back to escape it. In spite of the man's warnings, her legs closed protectively, almost by themselves.
"So! You want a little discipline, eh?" He ground his finger inside her, causing her to scream and twist against the rush of horrible pain. He ground and ground, levering with his forearm, twisting her wrists with his other hand, jamming her back against the underside of the steering wheel with his knees.
For a time Suzanne knew nothing but waves of pain. She was dimly aware of sticky warmth flowing down her legs, of hard pressures against her back, of ripping sounds as her panties were torn from her. But most of all, she was aware of a huge presence pressing against the side of her face. Pressing through the fabric of the hirsute man's pants, blunt and powerful and menacing.
Then for a time, it was over. The man held her down, but didn't twist or jab her. His hand, wet with her blood, caressed her buttocks almost tenderly. He was breathing heavily and again humming tunelessly. Sweat rolled off his belly and onto Suzanne's face. She lay and cried quietly, hopelessly. After a while, the man shifted his bulk. "Okay, lady. Time you got to know me!"
Suzanne felt her heart sink. What more could this man do to her? Her arms and back were raw from his chafings. Her whole body ached. And her violated sex was an agony of fire. What more could he want? With fresh horror, Suzanne realized just what the man wanted. He transferred his hand from her buttocks to his pants and began unzipping them.
"No! Please, not that," Suzanne whimpered. "Not that. I just can't."
The man laughed. "But you will. You will!"
As the man worked his pants open, a wave of man-scented heat rose to Suzanne's nostrils, almost gagging her. The scent was so - male. But her revulsion was as nothing compared to her feelings when the man's thick member sprang up and brushed her face. Like some sinister snake, it weaved and bobbed before her eyes, stubby as the man himself and thickly veined. At that close range it appeared to be as thick as an arm.
"Oh, mister. Please. Don't make me do that. I-I don't think I can."
But the man wasn't listening. His breathing had become high and fast, whistling in and out of his teeth like steam escaping a valve. He crooned, half to himself. "Just take it in your pretty little mouth. Just put the old tool against your tonsils, bitch. And no bity-bite, or I'll break your little neck. Just put it in."
Suzanne couldn't make herself do it. She tried to turn her head away, to avoid the horrible bluntness of the thing. But the man took her by the back of the neck, just behind the jaws. He pressed with thumb and forefinger and she felt her jaws open of their own accord. Helplessly, she watched as he dragged her head up and back, straining the muscles of her neck and throat. Watched as he pulled her over his twitching member. Watched powerless as he relentlessly forced her down until her open mouth was actually over the head of the tool.
"Now," he crooned, "you do it yourself, or I'll keep your nerves pressed and do it for you. I'll tell you in advance that it's a lot easier on you if you give in to my will and do it yourself."
He slowly relaxed the pressure on her neck and Suzanne's mouth, freed of the strain, closed around his shaft.
"Ah! That's a good girl. Now; are you going to do it?
Through tears of mortification, with the head of his cock between her lips, Suzanne nodded. She had no choice.
The man let go of her wrists and moved both hands to her head. "Let's not try to be brave, lady. One wrong move and I snap your pretty little spinal column, understand?"
Numbly, Suzanne nodded again. The man held her head down firmly and began to ease his shaft into her mouth, giving a long, pleasant sigh as he did so. Suzanne felt the thing filling her mouth, pushing her tongue back, jamming against her throat. It was huge and salty-hot. She could feel his hard pulse throbbing through it. She thought she would gag.
The head of the broad tool touched the back of her throat and she spasmed, her stomach convulsing. She heard the man laugh and felt his hands clamp down on her neck and head. Then, as her throat worked in an effort to rid itself of the blunt intrusion, the man heaved his bulk upwards and drove the shaft painfully into her throat. Suzanne's system revolted. She felt bitterness rise in her throat and fill her nostrils. But before it could spew forth, the man withdrew his tool to the front of her mouth. "Don't take it out, lady. Don't you dare take it out."
Suzanne lay weakly, trying to draw breath through her nose. She found she was gripping the man's thigh with both hands, straining with all her body not to throw up.
The man let her catch her breath, then began to stroke in and out, in and out of her mouth. She could feel her lips stretching each time the big shaft slid into her. It was hardly possible to breath because of her crying and the rapidity of his movement. She felt him increase his tempo - and the pressure of his hands on her head. He was holding her immobile and, with the new frenzy of his thrusts, was jamming his tool against her throat with every movement. It was a constant fight not to spew the contents of her stomach all over them both.
Then a new horror. The man loosed her head with one hand and began to squeeze her buttocks. His finger slipped into the crevice between those creamy mounds and spread them apart. With helpless frustration, Suzanne felt his finger touch, then press into her dark rosebud. Her buttocks contracted against this fresh humiliation, but they couldn't overcome the powerful hand. The strong middle finger drove inside her sphincter and she felt a sharp pang of new fire. She cried out, but it came as a muffled moan, for her mouth was filled with the hairy man's organ.
Her cry sent him into a veritable convulsion of lust. He gripped her head in vicelike fingers and drove his tool into her mouth until her face was buried in the matted fur of his genital hair. Suzanne couldn't catch her breath at all. Between the bright pain in her rectum and the choking presence in her mouth, she was helpless with rage and agony.
Then the man's body began to quiver. He sucked in a hiss of breath. His hands became claws, clamping Suzanne down. He jammed his organ violently down her throat, pushed a cruel finger deep into her rectum, and came.
Suzanne felt the hot, thick liquid spurt down her throat and knew she couldn't hold back any longer. Her stomach heaved, its burden rising to meet the rush of hot, salty semen coming down. They met explosively and Suzanne retched.
"Swallow!" The man's voice demanded. "Swallow, you little bitch! Swallow all of me, take it down!"
With tears of pain and humiliation leaking from her tight-closed eyes, and fire running through her body, Suzanne swallowed the thick stream that still pumped into her mouth. She swallowed and swallowed and still it filled her. She could feel a blackness coming on again. There was no reality but the huge organ choking her and the gushing fluid filling her throat. No sensation but the harsh pain in her rectum. No time but the brutal, degrading instant. And then Suzanne Corville passed out.