Chapter 6

Marion dropped the telephone receiver back in its cradle, then leaned forward and wept into her cupped and trembling palms. Oh, my God, she shivered in horror, what have I done? Why me? ... WHY ME! Tears fell wetly from her lovely green eyes--eyes the color of a tropic sea eyes that had wept before in fear on nights when she'd had her horrible dream ... and now ... now that dream had become hellish reality. And worse, much, much worse, was the heartfelt knowledge that under the properly wicked tutelage of men like that wicked Danielson boy, she herself was as capable as they in bringing about her own destruction. Yesterday in the motel had proved that once and for all. What had begun as a rape wound up turning her into a hopeless wanton, a slut unfit for the company of decent people. And today, too, she knew would-likely end up the same way. Joe and his-pals would make her do sickening depraved things and she would wind up loving every minute of it. One look at their rigid young cocks and her feet would turn to clay.

With a deep sigh, Marion got to her feet and found her way into the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of Scotch from a cupboard. She poured two fingers into a water tumbler, and drained it in a single searing gulp. She poured again; three fingers this time, and an ice cube. Again she drained it. She poured again. She wanted to get drunk. She wanted to die.

Finally, her head pounding from the too-rapid ingestion of the potent Scotch, the redheaded mother heaved another heavy sigh and slowly meandered into the bathroom to put on her makeup. No sense looking like a pig, she admonished herself, taking another hearty sip from the glass she'd brought along with her, just because you're going to gang-bang a bunch of horny teenagers!

She found her lipstick applicator and painted her lips generously, almost slatternly with the reddest shade of lip gloss she owned. Then, in like fashion she smeared a large gob of blue eye shadow over each doe-sized orb. Almost viciously, she tossed down the last of the Scotch and snatched up her hairbrush, nearly pulling her rusty hair out by the roots as she dragged and jerked it through its shimmering loveliness, letting it fall freely from her simple center part. Then, finished, she stuck her drink-thickened tongue out at the slightly blurred image that stared back at her from the mirror over the bathroom sink, and smiled. They want a whore? she laughed. Well, they got one now for sure!

She spun on her heels then, and flung herself down the hall to her bedroom. Determined now to complete her self-imposed image of herself, she rifled through her dresser drawers for those special finishing touches that would complete the picture she intended to present. A black, lacy half-bra. A pair of accompanying lace panties. High-heeled, black satin mules. A whisper-thin baby doll nightie top that barely covered the shimmering copper-colored cleft of her pubic mound. Done!

She was just slipping into her high-heeled mules when she heard the distinctive throaty rasp of a pack of chopper-style motorcycles pouring into her drive. Mustn't keep company waiting, she hurried herself. Then, flying down the hall to the front door, "It's time to fuck, fair lady!" In part from the hastily-imbibed liquor, in part from her own self-pity, Marion Peters was drunk.

"Jesus!" Chuck exclaimed as he entered the living room behind his friend, Joe. He'd never in his young life seen anything quite so breathtaking as Marion Peters was at that moment.

"Come in, boys," she chirped. "I thought you'd never get here!"

Eddie reached out and tugged Joe Danielson's sleeve. "Hey, man," he whispered. "That dumb bitch is drunk!"

"So what," the tougher boy flinched away. "Her pussy's okay, ain't it?"

"Just sit right down anywhere, boys. You can each take me to my room and fuck me one at a time."

Joe took a seat on the couch next to Chuck. Eddie found himself a niche in an overstuffed chair next to a potted rubber plant.

Marion crossed to the kitchen entrance. "You boys old enough to drink?" she mocked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Joe flinched involuntarily on the couch. He wasn't sure he cared for this turn of the cards. Just who the hell does that dippy bitch think she is! he brooded, balling his fists.

"I'll take a beer ... if you got it!" Chuck smiled contentedly.

"Beer? ... What about you in the chair?"

Eddie looked surprised. "Me?"

"I don't think anybody could squeeze in there with you, dear."

"Ha ha ha, hey, Joe, did you hear-"

"Shut up, Chuck!"

"Gimmee some tequila," Eddie barked, his jaws grinding in anger. '"'Cuervo okay."

"Yeah, Cuervo's tops. "Joe?"

"I don't want nothin'. "

Marion poured Eddie's drink, then brought it and Chuck's beer to them where they sat. "Are you sure, lover ... you look like you could use a little something.".

"I don't want nothin'. "

"Afraid it will affect your performance, DAHling?"

Chuck nearly choked on his beer. Joe cut him off with a warning glance. "Just watch your mouth, bitch!"

"How 'bout some nice cherry Koolade? I've got some-"

"SHUT UP!"

Marion smiled softly, but said nothing. Instead, she returned to the kitchen and poured herself another shot of Scotch.

"Never mind the drinks," the angered Joe spat at her back. "We're going to your room now ... all of us!"