Chapter 4
Yvonne and Carole were sitting in their living room watching the ten o'clock news when there was a loud knocking at the door. They exchanged a curious glance.
"Wonder who that is?" said Yvonne, rising languidly and going across the room. "Keep the chain on," said Carole. "You think I'm stupid?"
Before turning the doorknob, Yvonne called out. "Who is it?"
Through the panels she heard Suzanne's high-pitched, nervous voice. "It's me, Yvonne."
The chain rattled and, a moment later, the door swung open. Yvonne's startled gaze took in her friend standing with a look of tearful misery on her face and a suitcase in her hand.
"Got room for an unwanted wife?" asked Suzanne, trying hard to stem the tears which threatened to overflow her cheeks any second.
"Come in, idiot."
Suzanne walked into the living room. Carole looked up and grinned. Then," she saw the suitcase and her face creased in a frown.
"What's this? First step in a divorce?"
Suzanne dropped her suitcase and collapsed into a chair. Yvonne closed the door and replaced the chain. She came over, putting her arm around Suzanne's shoulders. "What's happened, baby? Or need I ask?" Suzanne looked up at her and then over to Carole.
"He threw me out," she whimpered, and the tears came pouring out. Yvonne patted her and let her weep until the spasm had passed. Finally, her emotions subsided and she wiped her face with a Kleenex and blew her nose, noisily.
"Okay, tell."
"I had the evening all set. I had on my best dress, the one he liked. I had fixed dinner. I even made a special table setting. I had the martinis all ready. Then I told him about the prowler and he didn't believe me. He was so suspicious, I guess I screwed-up on my story. I said, I locked the back door, but when he came in, it was open, so he wanted to know... oh, shit! Anyway, he accused me of having a lover. He said when he came in last night he could smell that I'd been fucking. He came over, slapped me around, tore off my things and then fucked me with a rubber. " Carole and Yvonne exchanged horrified looks.
"Why with a rubber?"
"He said he didn't want to catch the clap from me after I'd been screwing my lover. But then... " Suzanne hesitated and her voice faltered. "He pulled off the rubber, jerked-off over me and stuffed the condom in my mouth. Ugh!"
"Jesus God!"
"Son-of-a-bitch!"
"Then I threw-up on the couch. He told me to be sure and clean that up before I left." Yvonne shook her head.
"Men," she snapped. "And they wonder why some women prefer each other? Jeez, I'd have kicked him so hard in his balls he'd be singing falsetto. Oh, Suzanne." Yvonne put her arms around Suzanne and hugged her.
"You're staying here, baby, until that maniac calms down," she said. "But you know, I can't understand why he should have suspected you'd been screwing. I mean, you've had sex with him ever since you two were married."
"Sure I have, every night, until last night," said Suzanne. "That's why he suspected something, so he said. And, of course, I screwed-up that story about the prowler. Oh, hell, I guess I'm just not a very good liar. And I was scared to tell him the truth. I finally did but he didn't believe that, either."
"Why didn't you tell him to call me?" demanded Yvonne.
"By that time, he had started slapping me around and tearing off my things," said Suzanne. "Afterwards, he stayed in the bedroom and wouldn't talk to me. He just said to get the hell out of his house."
"Oh, crap," said Carole. 'Yvonne, you call Sam now and explain things. This is ridiculous."
"He wouldn't listen to you," Suzanne muttered. "He'll only think it's one of my friends covering up for me."
"It's worth a try."
Yvonne stood up and walked over to the telephone.
"I'll convince him," she snapped, lifting the receiver and dialing. She stood, nervously tapping her fingers on the instrument. Then her face brightened. "Sam? Yvonne." Carole grinned over at Suzanne. "It'll be all right."
Yvonne settled in a chair by the telephone.
"Sam, Suzanne's over here. She" Her voice trailed off. "Now, Sam, what she told you was the truth. There was a gang rape. These three bastards broke into the apartment." She paused a moment, and her face darkened with anger. "Now, listen to me, Sam, I'm not" She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, giving Carole and Suzanne a despairing glance. "Sam, they fucked me and Carole as well. It's the same kid who broke into" She took the receiver away from her ear, stared at it and then banged it down in its cradle. "Son-of-a-bitch hung up," she snapped.
"Here, let me try," said Carole, jumping up and moving over. She dialed, and stood a moment. "Sam? Carole. Now don't hang up, please. You've got the whole thing screwed up. Suzanne needs you now. She's in a helluva state. She was raped by this hood and you gave her more of the same. Now, listen, Sam, we'll bring her back over there right now. Sam" She replaced the receiver and shrugged hopelessly. "He hung up again."
"Okay, forget it," said Yvonne, going into the kitchen and getting three bottles of beer out of the refrigerator. "Here, nothing like a cold beer to bring one right back, I say."
Suzanne took the bottle and took a deep swallow. She smiled and nodded..
"Better. Oh, Yvonne, what's going to happen?"
"Well, you're staying here until we can figure it out," said Carole, smiling warmly. "And try to straighten up, Suzanne. He's not worth it, considering what he did to you. I think that was obscene, stuffing a rubber in your mouth. Christ!"
Suzanne smiled wryly.
"I don't know what to say. I'd never have thought Sam could have done what he did. He must be absolutely out of his mind."
Yvonne settled down again, licked the beer off her lips and reached for a cigarette.
"Well, I'll tell you," she stated, lighting up and puffing furiously, "you've always said Sam has been kind, tender and loving. All that genie shit. Well, I believe every man has a violent side, and it just takes a certain something to trigger it. He's never suspected you'd had anything to do with anyone but him and the shock must have flipped him out. I guess you can't blame him but I certainly don't buy what he actually did. Tell me, hon, did you enjoy it? I mean, like you told me you enjoyed Donald?"
"How can you say that?" cried Suzanne, glaring across the room. "Of course I didn't. He was hurting me. And he wasn't doing it to enjoy it. He was doing it to hurt me. I could tell from the look on his face. If he'd been enjoying it, he'd have climaxed inside me, instead of pulling out and then jerking off over my body. Oh, Christ, I can't stand to think about it."
"Yes, I know," said Yvonne gently, "but you didn't feel that same thing with Donald, like you told me earlier today? You were wondering about being turned on by the violent approach. Well, now that Sam's been violent with you, are your feelings towards him any different?"
Suzanne nodded.
"You're damn right they are. I don't feel the same anymore. I don't think I'll ever feel the same towards him." She paused a moment. "I guess I still love him, but... " Her voice trailed off. Carole banged her beer bottle on the coffee table.
'Yvonne, lay off. She's too upset to rationalize over her feelings. All we have to do is get through to Sam. But how?"
"We could drive out there," said Yvonne. "If he won't talk on the phone, he's gonna have a hard time trying to avoid us in the house."
"If he lets us in."
"He'll let us in. I'll make such a racket he'll have to." They looked across at Suzanne.
"What do you think? You want to come out with us and try to reason with him?" Suzanne shook her head.
"I don't want to go back. Not now. Maybe tomorrow. Let him cool off. I'll try talking to him tomorrow." Yvonne shook her head.
"Nope. I've always believed strike when the iron is steaming, baby, and, right now, he's so hot he could bust. I think now's the time to set him straight. He had no right to treat you like that, no matter what he suspected."
"I agree," said Carole. "Tell you, Suzanne, you stay here, and Yvonne and I'll go out there. If we settle him down, we'll have him call, and then you can come. You came in your car, I gather?" Suzanne nodded. "Yes. I'm parked out front."
"Okay. You stay here, and be sure to let no one in, remember? And then we'll call you from the house."
Suzanne nodded dumbly, and looked at her two friends with blurry eyes.
"You're both such wonderful friends," she whispered, "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Oh, hush up, and dry those tears," said Yvonne gruffly. "Come on, Carole, let's make tracks. It takes awhile to drive out to that god awful suburb she lives in." She sighed and threw up her hands in a theatrical gesture. "Why she can't live in downtown Detroit, in the slums like we do, I'll never know." She grinned at Suzanne. "Take care, baby. We'll call you soon."
Yvonne and Carole moved to the front door. Carole picked up the car keys off the end table and they paused a moment.
"Now don't forget, no one comes through that door till we come back, or you leave, right?" Suzanne nodded.
"Right. Hey, what if it's someone I know, like some of our friends?"
"Then you'll know what to do. 'Bye."
They opened the door and were gone. Suzanne attached the chain and settled back in her chair, taking a few long swallows from her beer bottle. She glanced at it, seeing it was almost empty, and upended it, draining the last from it. She rose, went into the kitchen and took out another from the refrigerator. She opened it, and went back inside, plumping down in the chair and stretching lazily. She felt slightly better, both from the beer and from the decision reached by Carole and Yvonne. She hoped they would be able to talk some sense into Sam.
She could still hardly believe what had happened. In the first place, for Sam to suspect her was a terrible reflection on his faith in her. She had never even dared think of being unfaithful to him and she was sure he had not strayed from his marriage vows. Yet at their first major disagreement, his jealousy exploded. Which meant it had obviously been simmering in his brain for longer than just a day. Which meant that he had been suspicious of her for some time; how could he think things like that?
But what was most hard to accept was his physical attack on her. She had known Sam for so many years and, even in his most passionate moments, before and after they were married, he had never once let his self-control slip; never once had he been anything but the tender, loving man. Yet in a few short seconds, he became transformed into the vicious, unfeeling sadistic personification of everything that she would have expected in Donald, or Ted, or Clayton, boys who had no background of breeding and dignity to hold their baser instincts in check. The slapping-around she might have understood. Anger can often sweep away self-control; but his sexual attack and the perverted conclusion to their encounter were exhibitions of animalism that she would never have credited to him, not in a million years. Yet it had happened; he had assaulted her with as little regard for her feelings as a rapist in an alley. He wanted to hurt her; and this was the big problem.
Concerning Donald's attack the night before, she admitted that she had enjoyed it. Once the initial parrying was done and they had joined in the violence of fucking, she found her own animal instincts taking-over, but only in a release of her pent-up repressions, only in ways that pleased Donald sexually and gave her the uninhibited sensual eroticism that she did not normally feel with Sam. But with Sam, there had been none of that. It was hate that drove his penis in-and-out of her; and it was disgust that permeated her mind as she felt him violating her with such fury. Even her approaching climax had been dispelled by his obscene conclusion to the act.
She remembered vaguely rolling off the couch and lying there, breathing heavily for a few minutes, then rising, going to the kitchen, filling a small plastic pail with water and detergent, and returning with a scrubbing brush and attempting to clean up the mess she had left on the cushions. As she wiped it up, she felt her gorge rising again and she had to run to the bathroom, but it was only a passing spasm.
She had returned, cleaned the couch as best she could and then gone to the bathroom, where she stepped into the shower, letting the stinging spray soothe her body and chase the ache in her back and the hot burning in her loins that was not passion, but the aftermath of Sam's ceaseless and thrusting violation of her vagina. Even though she and Donald had fucked far longer the night before, she was not nearly as sore as she was after the short session with Sam. She was reminded of Yvonne: "The thicker they are, the less they hurt," Yvonne had said. This was true. Donald's penis was far thicker than Sam's and fitted her vagina much better, pushing the sides apart as it slid in-and-out, rather than poling around like Sam's. Yes, Donald had certainly matured in his lovemaking. She wondered how many young Southern belles had been seduced by him during his stay back in Kentucky and how many illegitimate children he was responsible for. She wondered, too, where Donald was, right now, right this moment as she sat, consuming beer in Yvonne's apartment and going over the events of the past two days.
He had said he would see her again. But when and where? For all she knew, he might have been outside her house and seen her drive off after she had dressed, packed her bag and gone, with Sam sitting stonily in the living room, reading the paper, still stark naked. That was the final insult: to be there, displaying himself with no regard to decorum. He certainly had shown a side to his nature that she was appalled to discover. Maybe it was just as well. Maybe it was better to find out now, instead of wasting a few years and then separating.
But she really did not want to separate. She loved him. Yes, she had to admit, she did love her husband still, despite what he had done. And she wanted the marriage to work, to last, to bear his children. Oh, Sam... Sam Suzanne glanced at her watch. Almost forty-five minutes had passed since Yvonne and Carole departed. They would probably be there by now, sitting in the living room, talking to Sam; and, hopefully, showing him how wrong he had been.
She rose and walked restlessly around the apartment, stopping by the living room window to stare out a moment. She finished her second bottle of beer, and decided she'd have another. She went into the kitchen, and returned with a full bottle, plumping-down in the chair, feeling a little light-headed. She realized she hadn't eaten. And she suddenly was very hungry; and what went better with beer than pizza? Yes, there was that pizza place on Cass Avenue, just round the corner. They delivered. Sure, she'd have a pizza, loaded with mushrooms and anchovies. A large one.
She picked up the phone, got the number from information, and dialed the Pizza Parlor and ordered the largest pizza, which they promised to deliver in ten minutes. She relaxed in the chair, taking another large swallow of the beer. She felt much better, and even the hurt in her heart over Sam's behavior was beginning to dim, slightly. Things would work out, she knew. Yvonne and Carole were out there, now, explaining the truth: that she hadn't been lying about the gang-bang. And once he knew what had really happened, Sam would be contrite, apologize, and all would be well again.
She leaned back, her head against the pillow and smiled contentedly. Even her concern over whether Donald would try to see her again, faded away; she could only think about what might be going on at the house between Sam, Yvonne and Carole. Oh, when are they going to call? When would she lift the receiver and hear Sam's loving, tender tones again, begging her to come home? And once home, he would be sweet, gentle and her eyes opened wide as she suddenly realized: if Sam had been able to be that violent in a fit of unrestrained anger, would he not be able to turn it on again during their sex encounters, to perhaps give her the same perverse thrill that she experienced during sex with Donald? Could this perhaps be the key to making her marriage totally, completely satisfying in every way? She would have her desire for tenderness fulfilled, but also her savage side. With a smile, she took another sip of beer; things might really work out for the best after all! Oh, that would be the ultimate! It might even settle those wild fantasies she had about Donald. Sam might even get the boy out of her system forever.
It wasn't that she was in love with Donald; but he did satisfy one side of her that Sam had been unable to. And that cock of his. Suzanne licked her lips at the memory of the massive phallus, picturing it once more, rampantly erect between his legs, its bright, red glans pushing through the folds of foreskin, throbbing, oozing lube, enticing her to take it in her hands, press her lips around its incredible thickness and take it deep within her.
Unconsciously, she shifted in the chair, aware that her thoughts were starting a familiar tingle in her groin, that her vagina was beginning to react to her mental imagery. Slowly she moved her hand down between her thighs and pressed gently against her mound. She closed her eyes, imagining Donald's hands over her hot, flaming bush, pushing-in with his fingers, exciting her clitoris and getting her crevice all wet and warm and ready for what was to come.
Her mind, already dulled by the beer on her empty stomach, began wafting away, and she felt waves of sensuous relaxation wash through her with every pressure of her fingers in her groin. Donald's face became stronger as the fantasy grew. He was naked before her, his smooth skin rippling as his muscles moved, pushing his hips forward, bringing his penis closer and closer... and closer...
With a start, she jerked her hand away and almost dropped the beer bottle as a loud knocking on the door interrupted her thoughts. She put the beer on the end table, and, trembling slightly, she rose to her feet and walked across the room. "Who is it?"
A strong young voice called out. "Pizza Parlor."
She smiled with relief and her hand went up to the chain, removed it from the slide, and she unlocked the door and pulled it open, turning away and going to where her purse was sitting on top of the bureau. "I hope you have change," she said. "I think I only have a five-dollar bill."
She heard the footsteps entering and the soft closing of the door, and not knowing why, she whirled around, her throat tightening as she tried to scream. She stood, petrified, her eyes boring into the figure standing before her, a large white cardboard box in his hand, an insolent grin on his handsome face.
"Hi, Suzanne," said Donald, "here's the pizza. Had a piece lately?"
She felt her knees buckling and she reached for the arm of the chair to guide her into its depths as she folded-up, her body trembling, her mind reeling at the realization of his presence. "What... what are you doing here?"
Her voice sounded high, crackly, and like an old woman's. Fear and disbelief lent uncertainty to her speech.
He laughed, and put the box down on the edge of the couch.
"I work nights for the Pizza Parlor. You did order a pizza, a large pizza, didn't you?" As he said the word "large" he pushed his hips out suggestively, accentuating the bulge in his blue jeans his eyes playing over her. And he laughed softly. "It's three-twenty-five. And I do have change."
He leaned over and expertly slipped the five-dollar bill out of her numb fingers. He reached into his back pocket, took out a tattered billfold, and took out a dollar bill. Rummaging in his other pocket, he extracted seventy-five cents. With exaggerated precision, he handed her the change.
"Of course, I usually get a tip," he said quietly. "But seeing as it's you, maybe I should give you a tip... a nice, hot tip on the end of a good piece of meat, huh? How about it, Suzanne? You feel like a little more tonight?"
She shrank back in the chair, trying to sink herself into its depths and disappear from sight. Donald replaced his billfold, and walked over to the couch, sat down, and eyed her.
"You look kinda scared," he murmured. "No need to be, you know. I ain't gonna do anything you don't want me to."
Finally she found her voice.
"Get out, Donald," she said quietly, "before I scream bloody murder and get the manager up here. And the police."
He calmly reached in his pocket for a package of cigarettes, and lit one, his eyes on her all-the-while. Her breasts were heaving and her face was chalk-white; her hands wouldn't keep still. "Why don't you have some pizza?" he asked. "It don't stay hot very long."
"Get out, Donald."
"All in good time. I think I'll sit here and have a piece with you. I'm kinda hungry myself."
He got up, went over to the box and opened the lid, revealing the enormous circle of tomato paste, anchovies, mushrooms and cheese. The tempting aroma rose and began teasing at Suzanne's nostrils, accentuating the empty feeling in her stomach.
Donald pushed his fingers under the edge and expertly lifted a wedge.
"Here," he said, proffering it to her, but she shook her head. "Oh, come on," he said pleadingly. "Ain't nothing wrong in having a little pizza together. Please... " His eyes were strong and sincere on hers, and she felt her anger and fear abate, somewhat. The surge of sympathy she always felt when she looked into those eyes was still real.
"Here."
He pushed the slice at her and, numbly, she reached out, took it, and began nibbling. It was good, and it wasn't too hot for comfort. Donald removed another wedge, settled on the couch and began chewing, unconcernedly. The silence in the room was broken only by the crackling of the crust beneath their teeth and Donald's occasional sucking on his teeth between bites.
"Pretty good, huh?"
She nodded, trying hard not to look at him. "They make pretty good pizzas, don't you think?"
She remained silent, and swallowed the last of her slice, and looked over at him. He grinned. "More?"
She nodded. She hadn't realized how terribly hungry she was. She remembered that lovely dinner of beef stroganoff left at home, with the home-baked cake, and the table so carefully set. All wasted...
Donald lifted-out another slice and handed-it-over to her. She ate without a word, without another glance at him. Donald helped himself to another slice and settled-back on the couch, absorbed in the food.
"You ain't very talkative tonight, Suzanne."
She sighed and looked steadily at him.
"I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since noon."
"Oh."
They continued eating in silence. Suzanne had a feeling of vague unreality. Here she was, sitting in Yvonne's apartment, alone with the young man who was the cause of her present predicament, enjoying a pizza with him; and were it not for the underlying current of apprehension, they might quite easily be two young people out on a date, enjoying a late night snack after taking-in a movie. Apart from veiled hints, Donald had made no attack on her; he hadn't even tried to touch her.
She stared at him, watching as he consumed the pizza with obvious relish, licking his lips and sucking his teeth to get the last fragments of the crust. It was a delicious pizza, she had to admit. And with every bite she took, she felt her stomach settling, her feelings improving.
By the time they had finished, she was relatively calm. The frantic beating of her heart had subsided. She washed-down the last bits with several swallows of beer and reached for a cigarette. Donald jumped to his feet, got out his battered Zippo lighter and offered her a light.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
He lit one of his own cigarettes and sat down on the couch again, staring at her.
"I didn't tell you before, but I reckon you've gotten purtier since a year ago." Donald's voice was hesitant, as though he was unused to paying a sincere compliment to a girl. She smiled, and took a deep drag off her cigarette.
"Thanks. You've filled-out some yourself."
'You think so, huh? I've put on about ten pounds. All muscle, too. I worked in a lumber yard down there in Kentucky for a few months. Hard work, but it sure built me up." He flexed his arms, proudly, showing his bulging biceps.
"Remember your wedding?"
She laughed to herself and smiled tolerantly at him.
"I should hope so."
"No, I mean, you saw me there, didn't you?" She nodded.
"Yes, I saw you there." She hesitated. "Why did you come?" He shrugged.
"I dunno. I guess I wanted to see how you looked in that white dress, with that veil and all. Them kind of weddings we don't have down in Kentucky. Mostly they'll git married on the way to the maternity ward at the county hospital." He laughed. "I went home and lay in my bed thinking about you all that night."
"I've thought about you, too, Donald."
"You have?" His face brightened and a look of genuine amazement crossed his face. "I guess you really hated me, huh?"
She shook her head.
"No, I've always felt sorry for you."
His face darkened and he frowned angrily.
"Don't you ever feel sorry for me. I do all right."
"Maybe you think you do. But where do you think you'll end-up if you just carry-on like you are? You should finish school, get yourself a decent job, and... " she hesitated, then plunged on. "And stop going around thinking every girl you meet is ready for a quick lay."
He laughed loudly. "Shit, every girl's anxious for a lay, 'specially with what I got to offer."
"A girl likes more than just sex."
"I know. But it's better to lay 'em first and then git around to all that other crap." She sighed. "If you only knew, it's that other crap that we like."
"You mean, you'd go out with me sometimes?" His face was pitifully eager, innocently bewildered at the implications of their conversation.
"I never said that. Besides, how could I? I'm married now, and I love my husband very much."
"Yeah. I guess I'm a day late and a dollar short, huh?"
"It looks that way."
"So then there's nothing for us to do but fuck once in a while. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She shook her head. "No. I wouldn't."
"Why not?"
"If you don't know why, there's no sense trying to tell you." He grinned lecherously.
"Yeah, but you dig me, I know. The way you get with it when we're fucking. If you didn't want to, you wouldn't get all steamed-up like you do. You like to fuck with me, Suzanne." She remained silent, and took another swallow of her beer.
"There're some things we may like," she said guardedly, "but we can't always have them. As long as I'm married to Sam, I don't want us to do anything more together, whether either of us want it or not. You understand?"
He laughed loudly.
"Jeez, I've heard some things, but that one beats 'em all. You know goddamn well we're gonna fuck again, so what's all this crap about not doing anything more together?" He mimicked her voice in a whiny, nasal tone. 'You want it as much as I do. Admit it."
His earlier cordial tones had changed to his familiar aggressiveness, and Suzanne found her heart beginning to beat faster again.
"Donald, they'll be wondering where you are. Hadn't you better get back to work?"
He shook his head.
"I only work till eleven. Sometimes I don't go back after a late delivery. They ain't worrying. And neither am I." He paused a moment. "Where's the other broads?"
"They'll be back any minute."
"Oh, sure. How come you're over here, anyways?"
"I came over to visit."
"You came to visit and they ain't here? Come on, Suzanne, you can do better'n that."
"They went out. They'll be back."
"So you figure we don't have time for a little now?"
"No, we don't!"
Her voice shot across the room with unnatural force and he laughed, easing back on the couch and adjusting his crotch.
"He's feeling all ready for your pussy, Suzanne. Why don't you come over and say hello to him again?"
"Donald, please leave. Now. I'm tired of all this. And I'm not having sex with you."
"Oh, wow, that's too bad." His hand went down to his crotch again and began squeezing the long bulge that showed plainly through the jeans, down one leg. "I guess you don't mind if I just look at you and jerk off, do you?"
She sneered at him.
"Go ahead. Be my guest. Jerk off all you want. Isn't that what most kids do anyway?" He flushed.
"Don't you make cracks like that or you'll find him sticking up that hot little pussy of yours."
He continued massaging his penis, and she saw it was enlarging, lengthening within his jeans and growing thicker beneath his manipulating fingers. His eyes bored into her face and she turned away, her heart pounding; she knew what was going to happen and she felt powerless to stop it. She could make a dash for the door. She was closer to it than he was; all she needed was to get out of the apartment. Once in the hallway, she could scream and the manager would come to her rescue. And she knew Donald wouldn't try anything outside the room. She glanced down at her beer bottle which was almost empty. If she drained it, she could rise, pretending to go to get another in the kitchen, and then make it to the door. She lifted it to her lips, swallowed and then sighed in pretended contentment.
"Nothing like beer after pizza," she murmured, "I think I'll get me another."
She started to rise, and Donald stood up quickly and came over.
"I'll get it for you," he said and she looked away, conscious of the semi-erection that was protruding from his jeans. He laughed and stood before her, pushing his hips towards her face.
"How 'bout a little meat with your beer?" he said. She turned away, her expression conveying her feelings. "Okay, if that's the way you're gonna be."
He took her empty beer bottle and started into the kitchen. Suzanne rose quickly, and started across the room to the door. Her heel caught in the throw rug and she felt herself sliding. With a little cry, she overbalanced and fell sideways on to the floor. Donald turned, his face suffused with anger.
"Oh, you weren't gonna try and get out, were you?" he snapped, coming forward. "Listen, bitch, you try that again and you'll get it whether you want it or not." He walked to the door, locked it and put the chain on, then turned to her. He stood, and slowly unzipped his jeans, and pulled his penis out. She cowered back, scooting across the floor, conscious of a sharp pain in her ankle.
"Donald, I think I've twisted my ankle."
"Good. Then you just lay there. As long as you haven't twisted your pussy, everything's okay." He walked forward and stood above her, his penis swaying in the air. "Kiss him, Suzanne. Come on, baby. He's all ready."
She stared up at the thick, rigid member and she turned her face away and began weeping. She leaned against the couch, burying her head in the bend of her arm, and her body shook with sobs. All the frustration and misery of the past twenty-four hours welled-up again within her and she found herself crying, uncontrollably.
Donald reached forward, grabbed her shoulder and pulled her round. He leered down into her face.
"Got a good cure for all that," he said, thrusting his hips forward so that the end of his penis touched her mouth. "Suck it, goddammit, I'm tired of farting around."
She turned her head away quickly, but his hand came down pulling her around and restraining her. She tasted his flesh on her lips, and smelled the musky odor. Oh, God, she thought, it's going to happen again. And there's no way of evading it now. Even if Yvonne and Carole return, the door is locked and the chain is on. She was trapped inside the apartment, and Donald was about to She leaned-back and a loud, terrible scream emerged from her throat, but before it could gain volume, he lunged forward and she felt his thick penis ram into her mouth and the end penetrate her throat, choking off her plaintive cry for help.
"That's better," she heard him say roughly. "Now get with it, baby. He tastes even better than the pizza."