Chapter 10
Pat sat beside her father in the front seat of the Chrysler staring blankly ahead, as he alternately ranted and raved, cursed and screamed, and worriedly, solicitously questioned her about her ordeal. She hadn't spoken a word since he had bust into the cabin, untied her, and escorted her to the car.
"Can't you at least talk?" he yelled. "Goddam-nut, what the fuck's the matter with you? Me and your mother were worried sick about you-neither of us have had any sleep since you've been gone-cops are searching for you all over the statel Tell me what happened to you girl-who tied you up and raped you like that-talk to me, goddamn you!"
Pat stared blankly, glassy eyed out the windshield. If she heard her father speak, she gave no indication. The blanket that he had tossed over her shoulders to cover her nakedness had slipped down behind and around her on the seat, leaving her tits, belly, and cunt exposed. She didn't seem to notice.
"Baby," Carl went on in a choked whisper, "I'm sorry-I didn't mean to scream at you. I'm-I'm just I'll upset, is all. I'm so glad to have you back alive. Why did you do it, Pat, honey, why did you run away like that? Come on, nobody's mad at you, nobody's going to try to force you to do anything against your will again.
"I know you must have gone through pure hell, but can't you see, baby, you've got to tell me what happened to you so I can go to the police-get this thing cleared up. Who'd you go up there with, that Hayden boy? Where is he, what happened to him?"
Pat remained silent. She still did not even look at her father. She appeared to have been struck both deaf and dumb.
"We're pretty sure that both your sisters and your mother are pregnant," Carl announced hap pily. "All of them were supposed to have had their periods within the last few days, and none of them came around. So you don't have to worry about a thing. Everything is back to normal around the house."
Pat remained mute.
"All right, have it your way," Carl said angrily. "play deaf and dumb. Whatever happened to you is your own goddamn fault. If you'd stayed home like you got some goddamn sense, you could have at least gotten fucked by clean, decent guys, and they would have fucked you with love and consideration. But no, little Miss smart-ass had to sneak off in the woods with a simple-minded teenager who wouldn't know what to do with a cunt he found one in his jockey shorts. So no goddamn better for you, I hope those bums fucked the living shit out of you.
"You know what else I hope? I hope that your selfish little ass is knocked up higher than the moon, and if you are, you're going to have that baby, you get me? You're going to have that baby if I have to take you back up to that cabin, tie you back up, and keep you tied up for the whole nine months. If you're not pregnant, and you keep on with this deaf and dumb act, I'll shove your ass so deep in a mental institution that you'll never see daylight again, so either way it goes, I win, and you lose."
They were still miles up in the mountains on a lonely, winding, tree-lined road. Carl drove in seething, teeth-grinding silence for a few miles. Every once in awhile he would glance over at his silent, all but naked daughter, and he would visibly shudder with desire for her perfect woman's body. He hadn't fucked for days, and his boner ached in the confines of his pants.
Abruptly, viciously, he swerved off the blacktop onto a trail that led into a thick copse of trees. Cutting the engine, he ripped open his fly and hauled out his throbbing, flange-headed cock, and shook it at her threateningly. Twisting up on his knees, he picked her up bodily, and flung her over the back rest so that her head and hands landed in the back seat, and her feet remained in the front seat, with her ass hiked over the hump, naked and open to his gaze.
Her cunt was open and oozing, her asshole was swollen completely closed. Carl had no desire to ride the sloppy caboose of the train that had been pulled on her, and he stuck his finger into her asshole to test it for entry. It was hot in there and so tight that he had to push hard to get his finger all the way in.
This is your last goddamn chance," Carl said to her softly, hoarsely, already hovering bent over her, with his feet on the seat beside her, his cock in one hand, the other spreading her ass cheeks. "If you don't start talking before I count to three, I'm gonna go harder on your ass than the guys who raped you. One-two-three."
Carl drove his rigid cock into her entrails with all his might and almost screamed himself at the heat and tightness of the biting orifice. Beside himself with lust and frustration, he humped into her frantically, moaning, whining, almost crying as he pulled her hair, slapped her as hard as he could on both sides of her up-poked ass, beat her in the ribs with his fists. And it wasn't until he had blasted his nuts into her passively immobile ass that he realized that she wasn't acting. Something was wrong.
It had taken Carl the rest of the day and part of the night to get Pat secreted into a down-state, private clinic owned by a friend of his. The doctor had told him that she was merely suffering from extreme shock and assured him that she would be all right with lots of rest and proper care.
He managed, though, to make it just five minutes late to the same spot he had stood when he met Slim, five nights earlier. He cursed softly to see two well-dressed young men, one black and one white, chatting and laughing in front of the Cock-a-Doo, a shuttered bar that was to have been their meeting place. He couldn't afford to be seen with Slim, and these two guys seemed to have taken a lease on this particular spot.
"Shit, the sonofabitch probably won't show up, anyway," Carl muttered; "trash like him can't be depended on. Ill save $300, but goddammit, I wanted to know what went on up there."
The short hairs at the back of Carl's neck stood on end as the white man pointed toward his car, said something to his companion, and the both of them advanced on the Chrysler.
"Cops," Carl croaked softly; "goddammit, something's gone wrong."
The tall, blond man leaned down and grinned at Carl as he rapped on the window.
Trying vainly to control his trembling, Carl pressed the power button and opened the window a crack.
"Open the door, Pete," the man said. "Let me m.
"Slim!" Carl cried, laughing his relief, unlocking the door. "I didn't recognize you all dolled up, man."
Slim slid into the front seat and reached back to open the back door for his friend. "Say, what's with the nig-uhh-the other guy?"
Carl hissed out of the corner of his mouth. "What's coming off here?"
"Drive, Carl," Slim ordered bluntly.
"Carl? Carl? My name's Pete-what the fuck . . . ?"
"Your name is Carl Felton, and Pat is not your hot-assed, nymphomaniac wife, she's your sixteen-year-old daughter. So suppose you cruise around and explain to me the trick bag you put me in, then well discuss-uhhh-adequate compensation."
"I-I had my reasons," Carl said, pulling away from the curb, "good reasons that are none of your goddamn business. What I want to know is what this clown in the back seat has got to do with our deal. Man, don't tell me that you let a goddamn nigger fuck my daughter."
"You want to answer that, Chuck?" Slim asked his friend.
"You're in bad trouble already, man," Chuck growled from the back seat. "I'm not gonna make you apologize for that yet, but you're gonna apologize before this night is over. You go on and get straight with Slim now, but watch the name calling, unless you happen to get your kicks by going head first through windshields."
"You said get five other guys." Slim reminded Carl; "you didn't say a thing about race, color, or creed. I got five guys, two black and three white. I kept my end of the bargain. We fucked that poor girl damn near to death. She held up like a champ, though, and I really thought she was gonna make it with no sweat, until this morning.
"We all took a liking to her. In the first place she got the best pussy any of us ever had our dicks in, and in the second place, she's just about one of the sweetest kids I ever known. We all got us a farewell fuck, and I took it upon myself to give her a little fatherly advice, told her that when she got back to her husband, she better treat him right. She didn't have no trouble puttin' two and two together, and lettin' me know who you really was, and what your game was."
"But what if one of those colored guys knocked her up?" Carl cried. "I wouldn't admit being grandfather to no-shit-no, no-it's all been for nothing, I don't owe you guys a damn thing. You've ruined my daughter for life, and it was those colored guys that did it-that's why she's in shock, she's scared to death of nig-uhhh-colored people."
"Chuck and Claude, the other black dude who was with us, went easier on her than any of us did," Slim said calmly. "She took a liking to them right from the jump, and if she was scared of them, she sure as hell didn't show it. They voluntarily quit fucking her when her pussy got so sore and swollen she couldn't take no more, and she showed her appreciation by giving them two dudes some blow jobs the likes of which you ain't never seen.
"Goddamn it, Carl, don't make me kill you--don't make me beat you to death with my bare fists. I fell in love with that girl-all of us did-we ain't much, about as close to the scum of the earth as you can get, I guess, but compared to the likes of you, we're all knights in shining armor. You lousy mother-fucker, you shit-eatin' dog.
"When I got to talking to Pat about her so-called husband, she figured it out and cried, 'you didn't talk to any Pete-any husband-my father, Carl Felton, put you up to this-just to get me pregnant-just to get that money. Them's the last words she spoke; she became an instant vegetable. When we got back to town we did a little investigatin', and found out that you're richer than ten foot up a bull's ass. Now how about that."
"Bullshit," Carl snorted. "I haven't got any money. I'm flat-assed broke-ruined-that's why I wanted Pat pregnant. If she had a son, the kid would be worth millions-millions. But that's all down the drain. All I got is that three hundred dollars I promised you-take it, and leave me alone."
"Where do you bank?"
"The Mercantile and Trust, but I'm overdrawn-overdrawn by thousands-I'm broke, I tell you.
"You still got the Felton name," Slim reminded him, "and the way I hear tell, just that name's worth about any amount that you can count. So I tell ya what you're gonna do. You're gonna help me and my buddies retire early. We ain't used to much, so we ain't askin' much, just ten thousand dollars a piece-sixty thousand lousy dollars."
"You gotta be crazy-I'll go to the police in.."
"That's one of your choices. You can stop at the next police station and let us tell them a bedtime story, or you can drive around until you come up with a way to come up with sixty thousand dollars -whichever one comes first."