Chapter 3

Bodden had been waiting for Gil in the bar for nearly an hour before the tall, handsome American finally came in. Bodden was angry and wanted to show his anger, but he knew that he should not try that. Gil Rogers would beat the shit out of him, the fat man thought, and Bodden did not like pain when the pain came from his own body.

Gil moved into the booth across from the fat man and sneered at Bodden.

The man made Gil Rogers almost sick to his stomach, and the American would be happy with he finished his business here in the islands and got away from that tub of lard.

"I have been out picking up something for Ginger," he said.

Bodden could tell by that tone in Gil's voice that he was not apologizing. He was just stating a fact. His voice was calm and his tone was even, almost cold.

"I don't see why you brought her alone," the fat man whined. "I could have gotten you a girl to fuck here on the island. I know all the girls here. They know me too and they are very cheap. You didn't—"

"I did not bring Ginger with me just to fuck her," Gil Rogers snarled, interrupting Bodden.

"Oh," the fat man muttered.

"I brought her with me because she is a crack shot with a rifle."

"Really?"

"Really. Probably even better than I am, although she has yet to kill a person, a real human being. With targets, she is magnificent, and I figured that I could use an extra rifle when we got to the island."

"Yeah," Bodden said. "I really don't like firearms myself."

Gil sneered at Bodden.

"I did not think that you would." Gil reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"How long do you think that it will take us to find them out there?" he asked, as he thumbed through a batch of bills.

Bodden licked his lips as he looked at all that money. He thought that he might he to Gil.

But then the fat man quickly reconsidered that idea. This tall American was deadly. He would not take lightly any kind of swindle, not matter how meager it was.

"Two days at the most," Bodden said, gasping out the truth. "That is if they try to hide from us, of course. They might not hide. They might come right out and meet us. But, if they do hide, we can find them in two days. The island is not very big."

"All right," Gil Rogers said. "Here's the money for supplies and the boat. Just rent the boat. I will take it out there to the island myself. I don't want anyone with us when we get to that island."

"Of course," Bodden said, as Gil tossed the money onto the table between them.

The fat man looked around and some of the tough-looking characters in the bar and wondered if any of them had seen him pick up that money. He did not want to be robbed on the streets.

Bodden was afraid of everything, but he did like money.

As Bodden shoved the money that Gil had given him into his pockets, a waiter came over and Gil ordered a drink. Then the tall American smiled at the fat man.

"Is that true, what Captain Castro said about you?" he asked. "Do you really fuck food?"

"Just twice," Bodden mumbled, starting to sweat. "I need another drink too."

He called across the bar and ordered a drink in Spanish.

"Tell me about it, Bodden," the tall American said. He could tell that Bodden was embarrassed to be discussing such a subject, and he liked the way that the fat man shook with shame as he had to talk about his experiences with food.

Gil Rogers liked it when he forced people to do things that they did not want to do.

He thought of himself as a master of psychological torture, much more subtle than real brutality, such as the brutality that they had seen that day at Captain Castro's office.

He stared at Bodden in silence until the fat man, shivering and quaking like a mountain of whipped cream, started to talk about his experiences.

"I only did it twice," he said, "and they never let you forget about something like that."

When the waiter brought the drinks to the table, Bodden paused and looked at his drink. Then he reached out with shaking hand and threw the liquor down his throat. That eased him a little bit, but he still had to tell his story. He knew that Gil Rogers would not be satisfied until he heard the shameful story of sex and food that was part of Bodden's past.

"The first time," Bodden muttered, looking at the empty glass, "was on a train from Long Beach, California, to Portland, Oregon. It took twenty-two hours to get there on the train. But I am just thirty years old and I figured that I could handle the ride. That was before I started to ache all the time. I ache a lot now. My feet hurt constantly. The doctors tell me that I have to have my feet operated on. That is why I need the money that you have offered me. I need it for an operation on my feet."

"I don't give a shit about your fucking feet," Gil Rogers snarled. "I want to hear about that train ride between Long Beach and Portland."

"Oh, yes," Bodden muttered. "Well, I sat up in the club car all night long with some other people. There was a cowboy who had a horse back in the baggage car. There was a football player from Washington State, a big guy. There was a model from Iowa and she was a very beautiful girl. And there was a librarian from Portland. She was like those librarians that you read about or see in the movies. She started to drink and she took off her glasses and she took down her bun and she was gorgeous. Really gorgeous. Well, anyway, we were all drinking a lot that night. We drank even after they closed up the bar because the cowboy had just won some kind of prize at a rodeo and he bought the liquor in bottles from the bartender. About three o'clock in the morning, we were all drunk and we started to go back to the baggage car to get the cowboy's horse. We wanted that horse to drink with us, and that cowboy told the conductor that that horse had better manners than he did. But they would not let us have the horse. They would not even let us back to the baggage car. So we went back to the club car and sat around and tried to figure out what we were going to do to make the rest of the night worthwhile. That is when the other people there sort of matched up. The cowboy took the librarian and the football player took the model and they started kissing around and I knew that they-those two couples—were going to fuck right there in front of me. I was fat even then, and the cowboy and the football player were both big and rough, and I thought that I should just excuse myself and go back into another car and get some sleep. But then they saw me leaving and the cowboy jumped up and grabbed me and said that he did not want his little, fat buddy to feel left out. The football player and both of the women agreed too, agreed that I should not be left out. But they were already matched up and neither one of those beautiful women wanted to fuck me. The cowboy wondered what I could do for pleasure and then saw this little melon over on the bar. He grabbed his knife and cut a little hole of that melon and he handed it to me and he told me to fuck that melon. I just held it in my hands. I thought that the whole thing was obscene, but I was also frightened. And I knew that the cowboy was drunk enough to get really angry if I did not do what he told me to do. He wanted to see me fuck that melon and he still had that knife in his hand. He held it like it was a weapon that he was going to use against me and smiled. I could not do anything else. I was drunk and a little horny from looking at those two beautiful women and I was scared too. So I unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock and shoved it into that melon and started to fuck it. At first, the others started to laugh at me. But then, as I fucked that melon, everyone just got real quiet and I could tell that they were all excited to see something like that, a man fucking a melon. I knew that they were getting even hotter watching me. The women started to take off their clothes and the cowboy and the football player started to strip too. But they all kept watching me. And I was getting turned on too, fucking that melon and feeling that wet softness inside of that melon with my cock, and I think that I was also turned on by the way that the others were making me the center of attention. I knew that they were getting turned on too, and I thought that I had never been the center of attention before. That thrilled me and when the cowboy and the football player started to fuck those two beautiful women right in front of me, I got turned on even more and I listened to them gasp and sigh and I fucked that melon and I watched the way that they were all watching me. Finally, I came into that melon and I fell back on the floor and just lay there exhausted and I watched those two other couples fucking away. That was the first time that I ever fucked food, and I did like it, but I thought then that I should never do that again. I thought that it was disgusting, absolutely disgusting, even though it was also exciting in a kinky sort of way. Most of all, I thought that, if I kept fucking food, I would become addicted to it and I would want to do nothing else but fuck food. I would not want to fuck women or even leave my house. I would just have food delivered to my door and I would fuck it. So, lying there on the floor of that club car and watching the others fuck, I decided that I would not fuck food again."

"But you did," Gil said. "You said that you did it a second time."

"Yes," Bodden muttered. "I need another drink."

He yelled across the room and ordered another drink in Spanish. Gil just smiled and sipped on his drink. He liked that story and he liked the way that Bodden showed his own embarrassment when he told it.

Gil Rogers liked forcing others to reveal some hidden part of themselves. He had liked it when he was a Texas Ranger and he continued to like it, though he had left his life as a lawman when he had married into his wife's wealthy family.

When Bodden's second drink came, Gil waited for the fat man to gulp half of that drink down.

Then he gave him an order.

"Tell me about it, Bodden. Tell me about your second time with food."

"Well, it was here," the fat man muttered. "Right here in this bar about two years ago."

When the fat man said that, he looked around the bar and Gil knew that he was probably searching for someone who had been there during the moment of his shame.

He obviously found no one who had been there that night two years before. He sighed with relief.

"Big Forrest O'Rourke was here that night. He was later killed in a brawl back in the States. When he died, I heard, at least four men came to the undertaker and offered to pay that guy if they could piss on O'Rourke's corpse. I would have done it too, if I had been there. I think that he was killed in Miami, and I have often thought of going back there to the bar where he was killed and drinking a nice, cool glass in his memory. Well, actually, not in his memory. Sort of in praise of the men who killed him. I am sure that there was more than one guy who killed him. O'Rourke was six foot five and he was real strong and tough. It would take more than one guy to bring him down."

The fat man was stalling again. Gil Rogers knew that.

"Bodden," he snarled. "Tell me the fucking story or I will smash your fucking face in."

When Gil said that to him, the fat man jerked back against the booth and started to quiver and shake again. Then he picked up his drink and finished it with a gulping.

He had to tell Gil Rogers what the tall, American wanted to know, but he told him softly

Bodden did not want more people hearing about his shame.

"I was drunk that night, real bad drunk. I don't usually get drunk, but that night I was feeling good or bad or something and I had some extra money and I got drunk, real bad drunk. That night, O'Rourke was in here with a couple of his cronies and he was drunk too. You know how drunks get sometimes? How they act like the best of buddies? Well, that was the way that O'Rourke was treating me that night. He was treating me like his fat, little buddy. He was buying me drinks and he was telling me stories about how big his cock was and the time that he had fucked three Mexican, teen-aged sisters in one bed, fucked them all night long. He said that the .youngest one kept saying, "Meester Big, my turn, my turn." He would laugh whenever he told that part and I would laugh too, because it was sort of a funny story and I liked being O'Rourke's friend. I knew that no one would hurt me as long as I was O'Rourke's little, fat buddy." Gil sipped on his drink and waited while Bodden ordered another drink.

Bodden sat quietly while he waited for the waiter to bring him that drink. Gil Rogers thought that Bodden looked like a fat, little boy, sitting quietly in a school-room because he was afraid of the teacher.

Gil Rogers had never been afraid of anything.

When the waiter brought the third drink for Bodden, the fat man gulped down most of it and then sighed and continued with his story.

"O'Rourke wanted to hear me tell a story about some kind of sexual adventure that I had had. Well, most of my sex has been with whores, and it has not been very adventurous at all. I don't guess that that surprises you, Mister Rogers. I mean, you can look at me and tell that I am not really the adventurous type. The only story that I had to tell that man was the one about the train and the melon, and I was so drunk that I told it. I thought that O'Rourke would get a kick out of that story. And he did. He had his friends listened to it and then they started laughing. They kept right on laughing, and I laughed too and then I saw O'Rourke get up and walk out of the bar. He was still laughing as he left and I thought that he was just going to the bathroom or something like that. I was stupid with drink. I should have known that I was in some kind of trouble. I should have gotten up and left too. But his cronies just ordered me another drink and kept on laughing and I sat there, because I was really too drunk to get up and escape, to leave the bar."

Bodden gulped down the rest of his drink. He felt the alcohol hit his system and he closed his eyes for a moment. He knew that he had to tell this story, and he thought that that alcohol might make it easier, just as it bad made it easier to tell the first story to O'Rourke that night two years before.

"Then O'Rourke, came back," he said softly, "and he was carrying a piece of meat wrapped up in white paper. The paper was all bloody and I knew that that meat was raw. He sat down at the table and said that he had not been able to find a melon. He actually apologized for that, for not being able to find a melon for me to fuck. Then he opened the paper and I saw this long, brown piece of liver, and I shivered. I knew what he was going to demand of me now. I knew that I was no longer his fat, little buddy, and I knew that no one in that bar would protect me from O'Rourke. They were all frightened of him, as frightened as I was. He was a big man and he was used to having his way."

"He made you fuck the liver," Gil Rogers muttered.

"Yes."

"Tell me about it," the tall American said with a smile.

Bodden looked at that smile and knew that Rogers was enjoying this. He hated that tall, American just as much as he had ever hated O'Rourke. This man was not even drunk. He was just sadistic and strong and good-looking. Bodden knew that Gil Rogers was everything that he was not and he knew that the women would do things for Gil Rogers without even being paid.

And he hated that tall, handsome American and he wanted to shoot him right then.

But Bodden was not the kind of guy who could kill anyone. He was too fat, too weak, too spineless. The fat man knew the truth about himself and sometimes he wished that he could just die and get it over with. He hated his own weakness and his own fear. But that same fear that made him want to die also kept him alive. Bodden was frightened of death too.

"He told me to stand up and pull out my little whacker. That is what he called it. My little whacker. He told me to pull it out and fuck that liver right there in the middle of the bar. And he and his cronies looked at me and I knew that I would have to do it. If I did not, they would hurt me bad. And I can't stand pain. I can't stand to feel pain at all. So I stood up and I unzipped my pants and I pulled out my little whacker and then I picked up the liver and wrapped that cold meat around my meat and started to jerk myself off. When I started to do that, O'Rourke called out to everyone else in the bar. 'Hey, everyone, look at the fat man! He is fucking food!' And they all came around and looked at me and laughed as I whacked off into that liver. I hated O'Rourke and I hated myself, but I could not do anything about that hate except let it boil inside of me. And that boiling seemed to make my cock explode too. My little whacker. I came right into that liver and I dropped the liver on the table and everyone looked down at the white stuff there in the middle of the bloody, raw meat."

Bodden gulped down some more alcohol and sighed.

"I guess I was lucky," he said. "I guess I was lucky that O'Rourke did not make me eat that fucking liver after I came in it."

And then the stories were over. Gil Rogers finished his drink and looked at Bodden.

"Sometimes I think that men like you would be better off dead," the tall, American said with a snarl.

"Sometimes I think the same thing," Bodden said softly.

Then the tall American changed the subject. He had made Bodden suffer enough, he thought.

"What time tomorrow do you think we can head for the island?" Gil Rogers asked quickly.

"Tomorrow?" Bodden asked, jerking up and looking at the man.

"Yeah. Tomorrow. I want to get my work done as quickly as possible and get back to the States."

"Well," the fat man said, "it would have to be tomorrow afternoon. I would have to spend the morning getting supplies and renting the boat. I think we could leave by noon."

"All right," Gil said, standing up. "Noon it is. How long will it take us to that island?"

"Not long. Thirty, forty-five minutes."

"Okay," the tall American said.

Then Gil Rogers leaned down and jabbed his finger into Bodden's fat chest.

"You better be ready to account for everything that you spend on supplies and the boat," he snarled. "I don't want you using that money that I gave you to get drunk here and buy food to fuck."

And then Gil chuckled and stood up straight. The fat man just stared at him in anger.

Bodden was sorry that Captain Castro had ever bought up the subject, sorry that he had had to tell this American about his shameful experiences.

But there was nothing that Bodden could do about it now, nothing except wait until that American was finished with his work on the island. Then the American could leave and Bodden could spend the money that he had earned drinking until he forgot about all of his shame.

Gil Rogers turned and, laughing, walked out of the bar.

Tomorrow, Bodden thought. He would be able to get the boat and supplies in a couple of hours. That would mean that he would have to get up at nine o'clock in the morning in order to have the stuff ready by noon.

Bodden looked around the room again, wondering if anyone had seen him shove all that money into his pocket. No one seemed to take any notice of him at all.

The fat man looked at the clock on the wall. It was eight o'clock at night. He could drink until midnight or so and still be up by nine in the morning.

He ordered another drink in a bellow to the bartender.

He needed that drink, the fat man thought. He needed it in order to feel better about himself, in order to get over that guilt that he felt about his life.

He would drink and let the alcohol heat him up, he thought, sweating and wiping his brow. That heat from the alcohol would burn all the shame out of him, at least, he thought, it would get rid of the shame for a little while.

When the waiter brought the new drink, Bodden told the man to keep them coming. He downed that drink and then waited for another one.

He would pay for this with the money that Gil Rogers had given him and then he would fix the receipts tomorrow to make up for it. He knew how to cheat an American. He just did not know how to stand up to any of them, to anyone at all.

Gil went up to the bedroom that he shared with Ginger and he unlocked the door and walked in. The beautiful redhead was kneeling by the bed, a collar around her neck.

"Hello, doggie," the tall, American said.

The girl looked at him. She was beautiful with her flowing, red hair and her firm, ripe tits. She was naked and she looked like a really beautiful dog-slave.

Gil walked across the room and looked at himself in the mirror.

He looked good, he thought, damned good. It was no wonder that he had gotten all the beautiful women that he had wanted in the past.

His wife had been beautiful and sexy and the other girls from his past had been beautiful too.

But they had all wanted him so much that they had been willing to take any kind of abuse that he wanted to give them. They had been willing, even eager, to be his slaves.

But he looked at the redhead's reflection in the mirror and he knew that no woman, not even his sexy wife, Bonnie, had ever been the kind of slave that this girl had been. This girl would do anything, absolutely anything to be with her master.

Gil unbuttoned his shirt and opened it. He looked at his hairy, tanned, broad chest. Then he pulled the shirt off. He kept glancing at the reflection of the girl in the mirror as he stripped and he liked the way that she never took her eyes off him, that she kept sense of slave-like wonderment even as she knelt there like a dog. He saw her lick her lips slowly as he loosened his trousers and he grinned at her.

She could see his reflection in the mirror too, and she knew that she was pleasing him. And that was all that Ginger wanted to do. She wanted to please her master.

Gil Rogers slipped out of his shoes and then pulled off his socks with ease as he leaned against the bureau. Then he stepped back so that he could see more of his body in the mirror and he pushed his pants down and stepped out of them. He studied his cock in that mirror and reached down and gently touched the thing with his hand.

He saw the girl by the bed close her eyes and shiver when he did that, as if he had been touching her.

"Doggie," he said with a smile at his own reflection in the mirror. "Just wait until you see what I have brought for you, Doggie. It is good dog food, the best dog food that a bitch like you could have."

Gil Rogers picked up his shirt and reached in his pocket. He pulled out a little container that had a lid on it. He dropped the shirt and then turned and smiled at Ginger.

"See, Doggie," he said with a grin, holding the container up in his hand. "See what your master brought home for you? Your master went to a lot of trouble to get you this food. Do you want to know how much trouble, Doggie? Your master had to get into a cab and figure out how to tell the driver what he wanted. Finally, he made that stupid driver understand that he wanted a boy, that your master wanted to go to the section of town where boys sold themselves. The driver thought that your master was a faggot, but that was all right. Your master did not mind. He just wanted to get his doggie some food."

He stepped toward the girl and she knelt there and looked up at him with eager eyes.

"When your master got to that ratty section of town, he saw the boys standing around. He got out of the cab and he told the driver to wait for him Then he went to that bunch of boys and he picked out one that he thought that you would particularly like. It took your master a long time to explain to the boy what he wanted, because the boy did not speak English and your master did not speak his language. But then your master finally got the boy to understand and he handed the kid this little container and the boy went into an old warehouse and, in just a few minutes, he had it filled. Then your master paid the boy and got back into the cab and came back. He talked to Bodden for a long time, but now he is here, and your master has brought you to the food."

Gil Rogers opened the little container and held it under the redhead's nose. She looked down into that container and saw the white stuff, like a jell, like a glue.

"Lick it out, Doggie," the man said. "Lick out the food that your master has brought for you."

And the redhead stuck her tongue out of her mouth and moved that tongue through the jelly-like substance. It was cold by now and it was a little bitter, but Ginger licked it in and swallowed the jelly.

When she had taken that stuff into her, she pulled her face away from the container.

And Gil dropped it on the floor and smiled down at her.

"How do you like it, Doggie?" he asked. "How do you like that cold, stranger's come?"

"It is good," she gasped, still feeling the coldness and the bitterness in her mouth and throat. "Thank you, Master. Thank you."

Gil lifted up his own meaty root and ran the tip of her cock around her lips.

She knelt there and let him do that and she shivered.

"Suck on it," he said. "Suck on my cock and taste some nice, warm come, you bitch-dog."

And the girl opened her mouth wide and took that prick into her and sucked on it.

She worked back and forth on the cock, and Gil moaned, feeling her mouth work wonders on that root.

He put his hands on her red hair and twisted his fingers into the long, red stuff.

Then he slammed his cock into her mouth and held it there, letting that hardening spear of flesh work down her throat. He let the thing grow harder in her and listened to her sigh. Then he held her head and started to work his cock back and forth, fucking her mouth, giving her what she needed to be a real woman, a real dog-slave.

Ginger was happy that he was doing this to her, for his fucking cock-motion was now giving her heat in her mouth, heat that made up for the coldness of that stranger's come that her master had given her.

She sucked on the cock and felt that heat and felt Gil's fucking motion and she felt her pussy start to quiver with sexual ecstasy too. She sighed and she raised her hands and touched her bare tits.

Then Gil took his cock out of her mouth and he bent over and loosened the collar around her neck.

He pointed toward the bureau and he snarled at her.

"Over there, Doggie," he said. "Get over there and spread your legs."

The redhead stumbled to her feet and dashed across the room. Her body was aching because she had been in that kneeling position for a long time, most of the day. She had not wanted to move because her master had put her there and he would be angry with her if she moved at all.

She spread her legs and bent over the bureau and she sighed, looking at her own reflection in that mirror. She could feel the wetness and the heat in her cunt and she knew that that wetness and that heat meant that she was turned on, meant that she was something special to her master too.

Gil Rogers moved behind the girl and aimed his hard cock at her pussy, the pinkness that she offered him.

He loved that pinkness and he knew that it would be warm and sweet and giving to him.

Ginger studied her own pretty, freckled face in the mirror. There had been a time, she thought, when she had been called a pretty, sexy girl, when men had followed her around like dogs.

She was still pretty and sexy, but she was now the dog, the dog for her master.

And she felt that that was the way that it should be.

Ginger was twenty-six years old. She had been a small-time, rock-and-roll singer in Austin, Texas, when Gil Rogers had found her.

She had dreamed of being another great performer, another new Austin star, but she was beginning to believe that she did not have the style or the talent to be truly great. She had a good voice, but nothing distinguished, and she knew that she sounded like a thousand other girls who sang rock-and-roll all over the country. She knew that her big drawing card was her red-haired beauty and she used her sex appeal as much as she could. She wore tight jeans and halter-tops when she performed, but she knew that that was not enough to make her a star either. There were thousands of girls who looked good in tight jeans and halter-tops, she thought.

And then Gil Rogers had come into her life, that masterful man. He had come and sat in the audience night after night and she had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

When she felt him drawing her to him, she knew that she could not resist him. There was something about this man that told Ginger that he would not allow any woman to resist him. And she had gone home with him one night. That was the night that he had taught her about the doggie game.

And she had come to some conclusions about her own life that night. She knew that she would never be a star, so she thought that it was just as good to be a dog. She would be the star dog of Gil's life. She left her rock-and-roll band and she did not sing any longer. Gil would not allow her to sing. He would only allow her to whimper and moan and speak to him softly, thanking him because he was her master and she was his dog.

And he also taught her how to use a rifle. She had gone hunting with her father in the backwoods of Texas when she was a little girl, but Gil wanted her to be good with a rifle, so good and so cold that she would be able to help him in his job. It was then that she had learned that Gil was now a hired killer, and she thought that that was only right. After all, he was a man who* would not be denied.

It seemed only right that he should be a hired gun.

Now, as she looked at her freckles and thought of them as spots on a dog's nose, she felt his hard cock at her pussy-lips and she threw back her head and moaned to Gil.

"Oh, fuck me, Master," she said. "Fuck my cunt, Master. I want to be fucked by you."

And then she felt his cock slam into her. She felt that hardness invade her and she moaned and twisted and sighed there as she leaned over the bureau. She moved her hips and her butt and fucked Gil back. He deserved this kind of fucking, she thought. He was her master and he was giving her something special.

And he had gone to a lot of trouble to get her that cold, stranger's come, she figured.

Then she thought about that, about the trouble that he had gone to to get her that come, she fucked him with a certain amount of love because she thought that that trouble was a sign of something and she figured that it just might be a sign of love from her master.

As he fucked the girl, Gil Rogers looked at his own reflection in the mirror.

He watched as his own chest expanded with the deep breathing that he was doing. He looked at his own face and he saw the beads of perspiration that broke out on his brow.

As he looked at that perspiration, he thought of Bodden, who was always sweating.

Gil Rogers drew a distinction between him and Bodden. This sweat that he had on his own body, he thought, was good sweat, healthy sweat, the sweat that came with fun and work and fucking. Bodden's sweat was just fat turning into grease. As he fucked the girl, he thought of the stories that Bodden had told him and he had to laugh again.

He had to laugh when he thought about those stories and the humiliation that Bodden had had to suffer. Gil Rogers wanted to go out and find a piece of meat and make the fat man fuck it in public again.

But he ran his fingers over Ginger's sides and he decided that this was the piece of meat that he really wanted.

Gil Rogers decided that this was the piece of meat that any man would be proud to fuck.

This was sexy, beautiful, dog meat, giving meat, slave meat, hot and lusty meat.

And Ginger was fucking him back and that made Gil even happier with his meat. She was moaning and squirming against that bureau and he was filling her cunt with his cock and she was reacting to his massaging and he fucking just as he had wanted her to do.

Then Gil Rogers put his hand on top of Ginger's red hair and pressed her down, pressed her face toward the hard wood of the bureau.

"Fucking dog," he snarled.

And the girl who was his piece of meat just whimpered and turned her face slightly and felt the pressure of her master's strong arm against her head as he fucked away on her pussy.

"Bitch dog," he hissed at her, looking at himself in the mirror and smiling at his own reflection. The girl whimpered again.

"Fucking piece of shit cunt," he snarled. "You are nothing but a piece of shit and a cunt."

"Yes, Master," she sighed. "Thank you, Master."

And the girl could not help herself. She felt as if she had been found out, and she surrendered to this man who had so much power. She felt that cock working back and forth in her pussy and she whimpered and sighed and knew that she would never be a rock-and-roll star. But that did not matter, she thought. What mattered was that she was a lusty, sexy dog to her master. That was better than being a star, a rock-and roll star that made a lot of money, she thought.

And then Gil snared at her again.

"I am going to come in your fucking pussy, you cunt, you bitch, you dog."

"Yes, Master," she said. "Come in my pussy. Come in my dog cunt, Master. I want to feel your hot come in my cunt."

And she thought that she had already felt the cold come of a stranger in her mouth and throat. If she could feel the hot come of her master spreading up from her cunt, that would offset the chill and the bitterness that that stranger's come had left in her.

She tossed and moved there on the bureau, but Gil Rogers held her head down and continued to slam his cock into her pussy.

Then Gil felt his cock start to pulse and his balls start to spasm and he looked into the mirror and saw himself.

And he knew that he was a powerful man, a sexy man, because he had such a sexy and wonderful dog-slave.

He came deep into her pussy with a few jerks and then he pulled out of her and took his hand off her head.

And he stood over her and smiled down at her and then turned away.

The girl collapsed onto the floor and lay there. The side of her face, the side that had been smashed against the bureau, was numb and she slapped herself to bring back the feeling there.

When Gil heard the slapping, he turned and smiled at her and moved toward her again.

"Let me do that for you, Doggie," he said, bending over her.

And then he slapped that side of her face hard and she whimpered.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

She rolled over onto her side and pulled her knees up to her tits and lay there quietly.

Her master looked down on her and wondered what else he could do to her, and then he heard the phone ring.

Gil walked to the phone and picked it up.

"Hello," he growled.

He immediately recognized the fat man's voice. It was Bodden and he seemed very drunk.

"Hello, Mister Rogers," Bodden said, slurring his words with his drunkenness. "Is your wife a redhead?"

"What?"

"Is your wife a redhead, a little, sexy woman with nice tits?" the man asked again.

"Yeah. What the fuck business is it of yours, Bodden?"

"She is here at the hotel," Bodden said.

"What?"

"She is here at the hotel."

"How do you know?"

"I saw her."

"There are millions of redheads in the world, Bodden," Gil snarled, staring at another redhead who lay there on the floor of his room.

"No," the fat man muttered. "I not only saw her. A friend of mine is the desk clerk here and he told me that Mrs. Bonnie Rogers had checked in with a young man. Then he pointed them out to me and the woman was a redhead. The guy was big and dark and young. He looked mean."

"Bonnie Rogers," Gil repeated.

"Yes sir."

"A redhead."

"Yes. A redhead, Mister Rogers. I saw her and she is a redhead."

"That is my wife all right," Gil muttered.

"Do you think that she is here to find her sister too, Mister Rogers?"

"Bodden, that is the most stupid question that you have ever asked. Do you think that she would just show up on this filthy island to take in the sun? Of course, she is here to find her sister. But we have to find Brooke first. Understand, Bodden, we have to find her first."

"Yes. First," the fat man muttered.

"Get those supplies tonight. I want to head for the island at daybreak."

"Tonight? But I can't-"

"Do it, Bodden. If you want your money, you do it."

And Gil slammed the phone down.

The tall American turned and looked at Ginger.

"My wife is here too," he said.

"Really?" the girl muttered, sitting up. "Do you think-"

"I don't have time to think about anything," Gil muttered. "We have to get to that island in the morning and find Brooke before Bonnie does. I know why Bonnie is here. She wants to try to save her sister. She knows that her father paid me to kill the girl and she is going to try to save that little, rebel bitch."

"Do you think that we will have to kill her too?" Ginger asked.

Gil Rogers liked the way the girl asked that question, with a flat tone, as if she did not care one way or another if they killed the woman who had been married to her master.

"We might," Gil said with a smile. "I don't want to unless I have to. It might make her father angry if Bonnie is killed too."

"But if she just disappears-"

Ginger let her voice trail off into nothingness and she smiled at her master.

"Right, Doggie," the man said. "If she just disappears, no one can be blamed for anything. If we catch her out on that island, we just might kill her and leave her there. Kill her new boyfriend too."

And, when he mentioned that new man in Bonnie's life, he wondered about the guy.

Bodden had said that the guy was young and dark and looked mean. Of course, Bodden thought that everyone looked mean. The fat man was frightened by his own shadow.

But Gil wondered who the young man was. He wondered what kind of man his wife was fucking now. It had been a couple of years since he and Bonnie had split up. He wondered what kind of man his wife had found to take his place in her bed.

Gil Rogers moved in front of the mirror again and looked at his own naked, hairy body. He knew that that new guy would have to be hell-on-wheels in bed. He would have to be great in order to really replace Gil in his wife's bed.

But Gil wondered if that new guy played the same kind of games with Bonnie that he had once played.

Gil looked at the redhead on the floor and he was not sorry that he had left his wife. Bonnie had been good at those slave games, but not as good as this girl.

Still, Gil could not help but feel that little touch of jealousy in his system as he thought about a new man, a younger man, playing those games with Bonnie. Gil had taught those games to Bonnie and had trained her to enjoy them. He knew that his wife would never be able to get by without those games now.

But he wondered how this man played those games, if this new, young man had given Bonnie new little things to do in bed that Gil had not thought of.

Gil Rogers could not really say that he felt jealous. He was just curious, in the way that a scientist might be curious about what other scientists were doing in their research laboratories. He wondered what this new man was doing to his ex-wife.

But then Gil realized that he could not spend his time thinking about that. He had to get some sleep so that he would be able to start the search at daybreak.

"Come on over here, Doggie," he said to the beautiful redhead.

And Ginger crawled toward the end of the bed. She knelt there on her hands and knees and let Gil fix the collar around her neck. Then she curled up on the floor and closed her eyes. Gil moved onto the bed and turned off the light.

But he could not fall asleep right away. He thought about his wife and he thought about his wife's sister, the beautiful Brooke. She was out there on that island somewhere, and she was doomed.

Gil would not come back from the island until he had killed that girl and had earned his pay. But, when he thought about how beautiful Brooke was, he decided that he might fuck her before he killed. Yes, he thought, if he got the chance, he would fuck her first.

And then he would blow her pretty head off.