Chapter 8
The first time Gene brought a friend home with him Fran was quite pleased. Here she'd been going with him for four months and living alone with him for two and she didn't even know he had friends; he never spoke of them if he did. The man he brought home with him somehow wasn't the sort of friend she would have expected him to have. He was a little over forty, wasn't dressed any too well, had a sad look about his eyes, and said his name was Eustace. Gene brought him in one evening after he'd worked late and then, apparently, gone out for a beer. She was already in her nightie preparing for bed, but Gene said never mind, just throw on a robe and come out, and she was so pleased that he had brought someone home to meet her that she did just that.
Gene fixed them all some drinks, whiskey sours, and they sat on the couch to drink them. Fran was so nervous lest she fail to make a good impression on her man's friend that she downed hers quickly, and Gene right away got up to fix her another.
"What do you do, Eustace?" she asked.
"Oh, nothin' much," Eustace said with a nervous look in Gene's direction. "Just mess around mostly."
"Oh," Fran said. It seemed odd to her that a middle-aged man would just mess around, but she accepted it knowing that some blacks were sensitive about their form of employment. "Are you married?" she asked in her most social manner.
"No, I was, once, but we split up."
"Oh, that's too bad," she said.
"I don't know," he said. "I guess I just had a little bit too much of the dog in me to settle down properly."
Here, he chortled, and, as Gene had come back with her second drink, he chortled too.
"Dog?" she said.
"Never mind," Gene said. "He just likes the women."
"Oh," Fran said, frowning, "that's nice."
But before Fran could begin to worry about her ability to hit it off conversationally with Eustace, the party livened up. By the time she had half finished her second drink, things were downright convivial with both men telling stories and laughing it up. The stories were off-color and Fran didn't quite catch everything, but she laughed along with the men anyway, glad that they were all having a good time. Sitting between the two of them on the couch, each of them nudging her whenever he said something she was supposed to laugh at and both of them half leaning on her, she began to feel quite giddy.
Eustace nudged her with his elbow just as she was downing the last gulp of her drink. The glass left her lips just in time to dump its con-tents unceremoniously onto her chin, and the sticky liquor ran in quick rivulets down her neck, soaking the top of her nightie and robe. "Damn!" she said, wiping her chin with her hand.
"Sorry about that, baby," Eustace said.
"Oh'" she squealed, suddenly aware of the full extent of the damage, pulling her sopping garments a few inches away from her chest. "I need a towel!"
She started to hop up, but Gene, thinking quickly, said, "Here," and he grabbed a doily from the arm of the couch and wiped her neck with it. Quick as a wink he unbuttoned the three buttons at the top of her gown and tucked the doily in, wiping away.
"She spilled it all over herself, Eustace. Why don't you grab yourself a doily and help mop her up?"
Eustace did not need to be asked for assistance again. Stifling a giggle, he picked up his doily Fran started to take it from him, thinking she could wipe herself far more effectively, but when he refused to relinquish it, she deferred, not wanting to seem impolite. She looked down at her chest quizzically as both men rubbed her collarbones with their doilies. Both doilies now too damp to do any good, she started up again to go get a towel, which had been her intention in the first place, but Gene gripped her shoulder and immediately began to wipe her left breast, reaching his hand far into her nightie to envelope it. Eustace quickly followed suite.
"Oh!" she squealed, taken aback at their combined forwardness and feeling her nipples stiffen as they were rubbed with the damp doilies. "Stop it!"
"Relax, sweetheart, we'll take care of it!" Gene said, holding her down.
Feeling nervous about the wild tickling of her titties, Fran giggled helplessly. Gene abruptly pulled her gown and robe off her shoulder and when Eustace quickly pulled the other her arms were pinned at her sides. Each man reached in to lift out one of her bursting ripe tits and after giving it one or two cursory swipes with the wet doily, began plying it, a mauling which rapidly gave way, on the part of both men, to violent suckling of her tenderly elongated nipples. "Stop it!" she hollered, feeling panicked now that the situation had gotten totally out of hand.
As blithely as if he hadn't heard her, Gene pulled up her clothes, denuding her to the waist, saying, "Have a look at her pussy."
Fran couldn't believe her ears! Had her lover really just now invited his friend, whom she hardly knew, to look at her most intimate parts? She suddenly came soberly to her senses: what was this relative stranger doing, for that matter, sucking on her breast, mauling it feverishly? At the mention of her pussy, a mention which directed the attention of all three of them to it, Fran realized from the familiar tingle that the men's dual labors at her breasts had had their effect, that her pussy had emitted its lubricating fluid, that to her embarrassment and chagrin, her pussy was slick with excitement.
"No!" she said. "Goddamn it, no!" But as she tried to cross her legs, each man grabbed a knee and pried them violently apart to reveal her gash at the center of her fluffy blond muff.
"Just as blond as you said it was," Eustace said.
Both men reached for the glimmering delicacy at once, but before they could touch it, the panicked woman began kicking with her feet, kicking at the air to free her knees-she also scratched with her hands, but with her arms pinned at the elbows she had no reach-and with her knees free she twisted from the waist to knee Eustace stiffly in the solar plexus.
With an "Oooff!" and assorted groans, Eustace doubled up in the corner of the couch.
Fran stood, turning on Gene at a half crouch, poised for the moment like a lady wrestler, one who was half-cat, poised for the kill, eyes glinting, threatening except for the fact that her tits wobbled so nakedly as her chest heaved and the fact that with her arms pinned she wasn't able to reach out to kill anything.
With a weary sigh, Gene stood, grabbed a fistful of hair right at the top of her head and lifted, both holding her at arm's length and pulling her onto tiptoe as he drew back his other hand to give the recalcitrant woman a haymaker of an open-handed slap across the face, catching her with the back of his hand on his backswing and then swinging again. Fran's jaw dropped open in horrified stupor even as she was being struck. This had never happened to her before! She gagged on outrage, was stunned speechless, and huge tears formed in her eyes.
"You didn't have to ..." she began, as soon as she found her tongue.
"Look," he said, menacingly, "as long as you're my woman, you'll do what I say, and be damned happy I asked you to do it. Dig?"
Fran nodded, stunned, somewhat scared, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"Okay, suck my cock," he said, unzipping his pants to pull it out. It stood at half-mast.
Fran did not want to lose her man and she had no objections to sucking his cock, not under normal circumstances anyway. She glanced over her shoulder at Eustace who was still doubled up on the corner of the couch, oblivious to them.
"For a little while," she said, her eyes beseeching, trying to strike a bargain.
"You'll suck it as long as it takes!" Gene said, taking hold of her hair again.
Fran nodded dumbly and dropped to her knees. She took her man's broad pecker in one hand, licking all around its velvety head as she held it like a lollipop before opening her crimson mouth wide to receive it. Her jaws formed hollows as she began to suck it. Grown to full size, it depressed her tongue and shoved against her uvula, utterly filling her mouth; her lips formed a tight ring midway down the length of the shaft. Both hands on the back of her head, Gene pulled her head more firmly onto himself, watching as another two inches of his massive cock slowly sank into her mouth. Fran gagged, nearly vomited, then canted her head to direct the prodding rubbery head of the shaft into her throat rather than into her windpipe. She had never been so brutally filled, and sucked with wild fervor.
Gene gasped heavily. Holding her firm behind the ears, he slowly sank to a squat, then dropped onto his ass so that he was sitting on the floor. To avoid gagging, Fran followed head-first his every shift of position with care. Once sitting, he tucked his legs between hers then spread them, forcing hers apart as she knelt, head down. Eustace had caught his breath and was watching them. Gene pulled Fran's robe and nightie up over her hips, letting them settle about her waist before laying back, keeping hold of Fran's head.
On her knees with her head held down, Fran's ass stuck up into the air; and with her knees spread, her pussy was all too vulnerable. On his knees behind her, Eustace undid his pants as he looked into the center of her, where, puffing out beyond the tightly stretched hair-lips with their yellow fluff, her wrinkled pussy lips glistened wetly, were slightly spread. Her vagina gaped open maybe a quarter of an inch and was actively secreting its off-white lubricant.
Eustace dug his thumbtips into the folds of stretched skin on either side of the orifice, then spread them. Fran groaned, wiggling her head a bit in protest as a blissful look stole over Gene's face. His cock standing out achingly and almost as large as Gene's, Eustace flexed it and then guided it by sight to Fran's creamy center, peering down as he nudged his glans into her primed aperture. As soon as he was surely lodged, he grasped her hips with both hands and slammed into her with such force that she squealed through her nose and almost bit Gene's thrusting cock. Then, fully enveloped in sweet pussy, Eustace relaxed for a moment.
Fran's mouth was too full for her to protest verbally, though she squealed and waggled her hips and tried to twist off the impaling spike. She tried to draw her head back from Gene to give voice to her protest, but Gene maintained his grip on her head. Tears began to roll from Fran's eyes as Eustace, holding her hips steady, pulled his own hips back and then rammed her, marveling at the sweetly gushing suction cup and at the round globes of her ass, which smacked delightfully as he rammed her. Each time his hips shot forward, her body likewise shot forward-like a pinball hit by the plunger in a pinball machine-ramming Gene's cock farther into her throat, further gagging her and numbing her mind.
Fran had stiff pricks sticking mercilessly into each end of her. She was being brutalized and was powerless to do anything about it. Would she survive physically? she wondered, and if that, would she survive the humiliation? With one compartment of her mind, she had been wondering how she might get out of this and what she could say later, but now her full attention was focused on the two cocks, first on one then on the other, her mind working like an alternating circuit, an over-loaded circuit. Heat began to build inexorably in her cunt and she had no control over it. Saliva drooled out of one corner of her mouth and dripped into Gene's tight black curls.
"Well, she an all right cunt, after all," Eustace said.
"She can give a decent fuck," Gene admitted.
"Urgg," Fran moaned. She was beginning to anticipate the stresses-Gene's prick plowing her mouth and Eustace's her cunt, churning her canal as his balls slapped her pubic triangle each time he pinballed her. Fran's toes tingled, her mind reeled, and she felt shocks all up and down her spine. Partly in reaction to the shocks and the growing ache in her cunt, and partly in self-defense against the double battering, she began to buck her body. She arched her back suddenly with each thrust from the rear. She found herself gripping Gene's cock more firmly with her mouth to prevent its sliding quite so far down her hapless throat, tightening her lips into a thinly compressed ring and wiggling her tongue as wildly as possible with her mouth so full; and at the same time she ground her cunt with increasing force against Eustace's prong as if that might be a way of getting a better grip on what was happening behind her.
Before long, mind and body buzzing in unison, Fran began to snap her waist rapidly from side to side, gyrating her pussy on the cock behind as her mouth twisted in semi-circles as she sucked Gene, her breasts flopping with audible smacks back and forth across his thighs.
Two over-heated cocks at once was almost too much for the poor woman to bear. Groaning, "Ummmhh! Ummmhh! Ummmhh!" through her nose, knowing that she couldn't keep it up for a minute longer without exploding inside or being able to let out a scream, she arched her belly toward the floor, leaning forward to put all the tongue-tingling pressure she could on the one cock and whipping her head wildly from side to side as if using only her sucking mouth and her fury she was going to rip it out by the roots while her aching breasts went smash smash smash rubbing in one place on his thighs; all the while she kept her belly arched toward the floor canting her cunt up for Eustace and spreading her legs even more to allow him to plunder her hurtful throbbing pussy with greater ease. He pounded into her with enough force to send her over the threshold; when she felt her orgasm beginning to wrack her, she cradled Gene's balls with one hand and reached her other through her legs to grab Eustace's scrotum. She moaned mindlessly through her nose as she squeezed both men's balls, grinding her hips down hard on Eustace with his next thrust, clenching her cunt-muscles and not letting go: both men came at once.
"Ahh! Ahhh! Ahhhh!" Gene moaned as she gobbled at him, her cheeks filling as he emptied one spurt after another into her too fast for her to swallow, filling her cheek chipmunklike with jism as she refused to spill any.
"Ohhhuuu... argh! Sheee-it, fuck!" Eustace exclaimed as she stayed determinedly clenched on him, her buttocks clenched as she pumped back while he rode her almost to the floor as with one back-breaking lunge after another he spewed a load of cum into her pulsating twat.
"Well," Eustace said, after he'd caught his breath, gone to the John and put his coat on, "I guess that was worth the twenty."
"Damn right," Gene said.
Having only heard him with half her benumbed mind, Fran watched Eustace hand Gene a bill.
"See ya 'round," he said.
"Yup, see ya 'round," Gene said.
"Why'd he give you money?" Fran asked when he'd shut the door.
After a second's pause, with a contemptuous smirk, Gene said, "Owed it to me."
Puzzled, not recognizing his contempt, Fran frowned.
Gene mixed himself another drink.
Gene felt his contempt for this woman becoming more and more open. Where, at first, it had been an emotion he felt but rarely, now it was predominant among his varied feelings for her and it welled up and out into the open more and more often.
When it did, he made little attempt to hide it. It was as if he'd begun to throw her challenges, wanting her to recognize it yet knowing she would accept it. Ultimately, she would take anything he dished out, he felt, and his sureness of this sometimes frightened him. Dumb twat was so goddamn hard up that she'd never be able to break it off with him. She needed a man around to lavish love on ... or more than that, she needed a cock and found his more than adequate. She was so unsure of herself-emotionally, she was so hard up-she was so grasping that if he didn't now and then express contempt for her he would suffocate, and would never know anything of life besides what she had to offer.
At the same time and by extreme paradox, she sometimes managed to castrate him, and when she did she accomplished it with singular ease. He could see it coming ... he could see the wheels turning in her head those times she thought, It's okay, because he's black, or He just acts like that because of his environmental and racial background. And then she'd say something to demonstrate, if indirectly, that she had made allowances for him or was excusing him too easily.
And so the contempt welled-up, and so he demonstrated to himself, to her, and now to other people his mastery, his absolute mastery over her.
The second time Gene brought someone home to meet her Fran was not pleased for an instant, knowing at once that this man was not the sort Gene would have as a friend, although he introduced him as such. Introduced as John, the man was about fifty-five, white, weighed two-fifty if he weighed an ounce, was totally bald and looked like a giant slug. The only lively thing about him was his eyes, which were small and dark and danced around over her body as if he had x-ray vision. Before Fran had even learned his name, his John Doe as it were, he had managed to comment on her tits, and as soon as he'd said, "Pleased ter meet cher" he was commenting on her ass and trying to goose her.
Fran darted around the table, confident she could at least outrun the freak, and paused to look at Gene, her mouth agape, demanding an answer to an unasked question.
Gene's face broke into one huge frown, he pointed at the two dinner plates on the table and roared, "I told you I was bringing a friend home to dinner. Wha'd'ya mean, not setting a place for him?"
"I'll set one right now!" Fran said, hurriedly.
"But you've already made him feel unwelcome!" Gene said. "You're going to get a spanking for that."
"I'll set a place for him," Fran said, her face crimsoning. Whenever Gene wanted to give her a spanking, he'd find some excuse, he'd find something she'd done wrong as a pretext. Fran had actually come to enjoy it if he just used his open hand-that is, she knew that if she let him slap her ass a little, he would make beautiful love to her afterwards and that was what she looked forward to, as if that activity energized him. It was about a once-per-week form of sex for them.
"Your fat little fanny is going to be so red," Gene was menacing, "that you won't be able to sit down for a week."
That threat was one of his favorites, but hearing it with this giant white slug in their kitchen made her want to retch. Composing herself quickly, Fran said, "Later, if you insist. Right now, I'll set another place, since I 'forgot' to do it sooner."
"Now," he said. But his eyes twinkled and he smiled as he said it, and so when he grabbed her by both wrists and tipped her head-first over the back of an easy chair, Fran knew that he wasn't really going to spank her now, that he was just going to play around a bit, and she wasn't afraid. And he didn't even give her one swat, although she wished he had, almost, when instead he lifted the back of her skirt and pulled the crotch of her panties way aside and said, "There, see," when she began to struggle. But John was right there to help hold her and her efforts to cover her snatch were to no avail. "See," Gene was saying, "just like I told you-when you tell her she's going to get her ass licked, her pussy juices right up. Excites the hell out of her."
"Hmmm," the fat man said, running his thick fingers up and down her admittedly slick slit. He ran one of his fat cold fingers into her cunt and then withdrew it, saying, "I guess it does. Juices her up real nice." His face began to twitch and his breathing quickened.
When Gene let go of her, Fran stood at once, pulling her skirt down with a yank. She began shaking violently; a voice in the back of her head said run!
"Well, sweetheart,' the slug said, cooing lecherously, "ready to have your fanny paddled?"
"Not on your life," she said, coldly.
"Ho, ho, ho," he said. "That makes it all the better!"
"Go to hell," she said.
"Now sweetie," Gene said, voice oozing as he enfolded her in his arms. "That any way to talk?" He kissed her on the mouth, probing her deeply with his tongue. In spite of herself, even as she frowned Fran kissed back.
"Get her ready," John said. "I'll go get my case."
Gene nodded and the fat man lumbered out and down the dock to his car. He opened his trunk and lifted out a guitar case. As he lumbered back, swinging the case, he presented a silly sight. This man had too much paunch to hold a guitar, for one thing. For another, he swung it too freely as he walked, as if the case were empty.
When he entered the bedroom Fran was done-up on the bed. Her head was on the pillow. Her wrists were tightly bound and the rope was fastened to the head of the bed, pulling her arms straight out above her head as she lay on her back. She was naked and her breasts thrust up tautly, full and round. There was a wide strap of adhesive tape across her mouth and, if her cheeks seemed puffed out, it was because a wet washrag had been stuffed inside. Her knees were crossed and slightly raised, giving her body the appearance of relaxation, but her eyes read fear.
John set his guitar case down and gazed with satisfaction on his victim.
"I can tie her feet, too," Gene offered.
"No, not yet," John said. "I want to see her writhe."
He opened his case to reveal a collection of whips which, had Fran been able to see them, would have made the hapless woman faint. There were birch rods, horsewhips, knotted chords and paddles of various shapes and sizes. He and Gene discussed the relative merits of each implement of torture and John finally selected a leather paddle about two and a half feet long, with a handle like a baseball bat. It was four inches wide and made of several layers of thin, tightly pressed grain leather. John swung it in the air to demonstrate its flex, which was considerable. Its chief merit, so far as Gene was concerned, was that it would leave no marks. "I call this one 'the stinger,'" John explained. "It's wide enough so that it doesn't mark the flesh, doesn't even leave welts, it... uh, it stings without inflicting any deep injury. In some ways it's probably the most effective-I'm not one of those slobs who has to mark a woman up to get his kicks."
"Okay, use that," Gene said, and then he stood waiting. John pulled out his wallet and counted out ten twenties. Gene pocketed the money and left the room.
Panting heavily, John put his hand to his chest to feel the palpitations of his heart; he cautioned himself to take it easy. He'd never had such a beautiful woman in this position before, since old whores were the ones who'd usually go along with this. He walked around to the side of the bed to show Fran the whip, waving it in front of her eyes until he got a reaction, until she turned those dilated irises on him in absolute horror.
"I'm sorry," he said. 'But this is the only way I can get it up anymore."
He touched her knee with the whip and lightly ran it up her thigh, across her tummy, over one thrusting breast, into her armpit and onto her throat... her flesh cringed in its wake. "Oh, you'll love this," he said.
Abruptly, he swatted her near breast, Fran's only forewarning being the singing of the whip, a thwicker-thwick just before the sharpest pain she'd ever felt covered the sensitive end of her upthrust breast. The top half of it turned a sudden crimson as her body went rigid in agony, her eyes bulging in their sockets. Humming to himself, John swatted her breasts several more times in rapid succession before Fran, her entire chest quivering, had the presence of mind to move. She rolled to the side, away from him. A swat stung her armpit, her hip, and she turned onto her tummy and scampered on her knees to the far edge of the bed and off it.
When he lumbered around the bed Fran kicked at him where he was most vulnerable-his paunch-but he caught her by the ankle and, with a strength that surprised her, held that leg in the air as he swatted her at the vortex of her thighs, then let go of her and stood back, watching with pursed lips as she shuddered, her entire body covered with a film of perspiration, rolling her head back and forth as she chewed on the gag in her mouth.
"Okay now," he said, "get back on that bed and get your ass up in the air."
Her body's central nervous system recoiling from shock, her numb mind reeling and containing only one thought-that this perverted beast had it in his power to seriously maim her-Fran dumbly complied. Pulling with her arms, using the attachment of her bound-together wrists to the headboard as leverage, she half pulled and half crawled to get her lower anatomy back onto the center of the bed and, her joints almost creaking, managed to lift her ass maybe a foot off the mattress. This put most of her weight on her knees and her chest beneath which her burning breasts were squashed.
Stepping to the foot of the bed, John gazed on her for a moment, admiring the expanse, the smooth rotundity of her marbled buttocks, which began to quake. He so admired their perfection that he felt it a shame to mar them... ssssss-thwicker-thwick! Where he had been using mere half swings of his forearm to make her squirm, he now drew his arm back over his head and swung with all his strength. Her hips bounced on the mattress as she reacted to the blow. She shrieked deep in her throat, the sound coming from her nose like a small animal's death-squeal. Her left buttock twitched, a red stripe covering the length of it.
John quickly caught her ankle, holding her as he swung, his lash burning brightly the skin on her other quivering buttock, then returning to the first, placing each blow well. Sweat dripped from his brow as he belabored her and the armpits of his shirt became soaked. He kept his eyes on target, watching the writhing woman as she tried vainly to evade the lash, rolling from side to side, kicking her free leg out, rubbing her knees together in mindless agony and then spreading her legs wide to expose a quim glistening wetly with its secretions, or humping crazedly up and down on the bed before holding stock still, holding quite still and even lifting her ass a little, her legs parting again in her attempt to steel herself against the blows raining upon her. Her entire buttocks glowed like overripe neon berries.
Then, abruptly, he stopped. Panting heavily, quite red in the face, he stopped to loosen his collar and catch his breath. After thirty seconds of rapid breathing, he loosened his pants and dropped them to the floor. They were so baggy that he was able to step right out of them, when he removed his underpants, stretching them out in front to get them past his upstanding cock, a short, rather slender cock for a man of his girth. Several drops of seepage were evident at its tip.
Holding his whip, he climbed onto the bed with the silently sobbing woman and turned her over. Tears streamed from her eyes and mucous ran from one of her nostrils. She immediately lifted her throbbing backside from the mattress. But, taking ahold of her just above the knees, he spread her legs and doubled them back. "Hold yourself just like this," he commanded. "If you don't, it will go very hard on you. Know what I mean?" He touched his whip lightly to her sopping pussy as a reminder and her eyes signaled mute acknowledgement.
Simultaneously, he pierced her and swatted her, sliding two fat cold fingers to the depths of her puffy vagina as he brought the whip down along the full length of the inside of her thigh, and then stung the length of the other thigh as he twisted his fingers in rapid semicircles in her snatch, lashing back and forth. Fran squealed nasally as her pelvis jerked in reaction to each lash, her legs stretching to their utmost as her lower spine jerked, grinding her cunt up onto the impaling fingers.
John dropped his whip and lunged forward onto the woman's straining body. His paunch draped over the V of her legs and pressed into her as he fumbled briefly between their legs, then found the steaming aperture and rammed into it. He thrust once, twice, and began to cum, holding the upper half of his body completely still as, buttocks clenched, he poured spurt on spurt of semen into the woman's tightly slick delicacy.
There was no expression in Fran's glazed eyes as he put his pants on, dropped his implement of torture into its case, shut it hurriedly, picked it up and lumbered, huffing and sweating, from the room. He did not glance back at Fran, who had turned to her side to lay in the most comfortable position she could find, knees slightly bent.
After awhile, Gene came into the room, untied her, untaped her mouth and removed her gag, wiped the tears and mucous from her face. Then, as he lay beside her, he undid his pants to draw out his erect cock. Careful not to clutch her ass, he eased it into her. After fucking her very slowly for over half an hour he succeeded in wringing an orgasm from her abused body.
It was a very weak climax which she acknowledged with a sigh. She sighed a second time when he had finished and withdrawn his dwindling cock, and said, "You rotten son of a bitch."
"It seems worse than it is," he said. "You'll be all right tomorrow."
"It's a hell of a lot worse than it seems," she said. "And I may never get over it."
"The female ass has great regenerative powers," he said.
"You're not going to use me this way," she said.
"Well," he said, "we'll try not to get too many like this one."
"No, I am not a prostitute-you will not use me like one again."
"It was two hundred bucks. No harm done. It was well worth it."
"I think you'll change your mind about that."
"I doubt it. I quit my job today. From now on, you're going to handle at least a couple of tricks a night. Right here at home. We're going to get rich."
"What makes you think I'll go along with that!" she roared, almost spitting at him. "What in God's name makes you think I'll go along with that? Just tell me, tell me why anyone..."
"Because you owe it to me."
"Owe it to you?" she sputtered. "How ..."
"Yes, because you and your grandfathers exploited me and my grandfathers, and because this is your only opportunity to right that wrong, because your body is the only thing you have to sell to repay the debt."
Fran didn't attempt to argue with him; she knew what she would do, but realized at that moment that it would accomplish nothing to argue with him. Gene took her silence as acceptance, and in the next two days elaborated on his plans, telling her how rich she would make him.
Two days later, forty-eight hours from the time she knew what she would do, she got silently out of bed and, careful not to waken the slumbering man, extracted her car keys from his pants pocket. She dressed in the bathroom, where she had thoughtfully hung the clothes she would wear. She had waited two days because it had taken that long for her to heal-only that afternoon had she been able to sit down without flinching.
As she left, as she climbed into her VW and headed towards Palo Alto, she had tears in her eyes. She had seen this coming but had refused to accept it. After Gene had brought Eustace home with him, she had told herself that it was an aberration on his part, a whim. With the hope that they could still make a life together she had been willing to overlook Eustace. But she could not forgive this. The tears in her eyes were not for Gene, they were in realization that she had been a fool, that she had been kidding herself for a long time now.