Chapter 6

Two o'clock. Burt Conroy glanced at his watch and felt a kind of satisfaction to see his plans working out so well. He had his feet in the water of- the swimming pool and was seated where he could see Ellie's cabin. Just as he had expected, she had not intended to meet him at the creek. Which was all right, for Burt had never even gone there. He had waited by the pool, knowing that when she did come out he'd be there to see her and would take her by the arm and they would go up to Spindler Creek together. He had noticed right away that Ellie was timid, that she wanted to do what people told her to do.

He had something else to hold against her now. He didn't really think it out this way, but Burt's anger against Ellie had increased when he had learned that Shirley Wilson was no longer at the camp. She had left. Just left. Late yesterday night, when Burt got back to the camp, he went to her cabin and kicked at the door. There was no answer. Then he noticed that Shirley's car was gone. Just like that she'd gone away - gone home, probably, leaving him here thinking about what he wanted to do to her.

But in some queer way Burt Conroy linked women all together, blamed each woman for the other's fault. So his rage had been transferred to Ellie; his revenge would be taken on her.

"You got a light?"

Burt looked up. The man in front of him had arrived only this morning, and he had taken Shirley Wilson's cabin, coincidentally. Burt had reacted to him instantly, seeing in him a rival like Mike Taylor, for Claude Branch - that was his name - was not only handsome but possessed the sort of calm self-assurance that made women feel secure around a man.

He was a big man, perhaps six-four, a little bigger than Burt, maybe, and much heavier.

His arms were thick and muscular, his legs stout and strong. He had a fairly ordinary face, with a jaw that jutted out, and calm, gray eyes. His manner - that was what mattered to women, after all - was that of someone who knows his way around, a man among men, the sort of person that you would not care to bully.

It was said that he was a football player, a lineman with one of the professional teams. This fact, or rumor, had made him even more interesting to the women. Yvonne Daley was already hanging around him. She lay on her belly, supporting herself on her elbows, and gave him sweet smiles and low conversation as her heavy breasts threatened the grippers on her bikini top.

"A light? Sure."

Burt held out his lighter to the big man, who lit his cigarette from it. He sat down by the pool and stared over it meditatively, not even looking at the women. Burt Conroy wondered if he was queer; a lot of these football players were, after all. And the bigger, the meaner-looking they were, the more likely it was that they were queer. Burt had heard that this was so, and he believed it.

"This is a nice place," said Claude Branch meditatively. "You must get a lot of action around here. All those chicks."

Burt Conroy looked up again. "You're telling me. That's why I come here." He was suddenly talkative; this guy Branch wasn't at all unfriendly, and Burt liked being around the guys, being one of the boys. It might just be that Branch would be a little friendlier than some of the other guys around here, who were jealous of Burt for the way he got on with the women.

"Who are the good ones?"

"Yvonne over there," said Burt. "Yvonne's always hot to hop. She'll fuck you for a dollar and give you two dollars change."

"She's good, huh?"

"Real good. She likes to get up near you and kind of grind her crotch up against your face.

She's a bitch maybe, but good. And Honey Farraday, the blonde over there, the one with the big boobs. The one with the smile. I've fucked her every way you can fuck a woman.

She's a hot little bundle."

He glanced up at Claude Branch, wondering if he believed him. Honey Farraday was one woman Burt hadn't even gotten close to, but he would. What was a lie at the moment could be cold truth another day.

"Any others?" asked Branch, looking at Burt with interest.

"Sure. Shirley Wilson, only she's not here right now. She was in the cabin you're in. Tall redhead, big, long tits. She'll do it any way you like. Maybe it's kind of personal talking about something like this, but you ought to try Shirley. When she comes back, that is. If she comes back."

"What's her specialty?" asked Claude Branch. He was staring at the lighted cigarette in his hand. He had not drawn on it, not even once.

"Shirley's specialty," said Burt expansively, "is anything having to do with the asshole.

She's got an asshole like another woman's cunt, big and flappy and comfortable. And she doesn't stand on ceremony. If you meet her, if she comes back, you just go right on up to her and ask her to fuck. Tell her I sent you."

"Sure," said the big man thoughtfully. "Sure. I'll do that." He leaned over and touched the cigarette to the surface of the water. It hissed and went out. "Well, thanks for the light." He turned to go away.

"Yeah, any time. Hey, let's get together and have a drink sometime. Maybe tonight."

"Good idea," said the big man as he walked away.

Burt Conroy settled back and went back to watching for Ellie and glancing from time to time at the women around the pool. Honey Farraday met his gaze and her jolly face froze into a frown almost instantly. He grinned at her wolfishly, watching the tight straps of her bikini top, the bulge of her large breasts. That too would be his before long. But for now he had other concerns.

It was only a few minutes after two o'clock when it suddenly occurred to Ellie that Burt might come looking for her when she didn't show up at Fall Creek. She had been showering, but now she stepped quickly out of the shower and grabbed for her towel. Her young body glistened with beading water that dripped from her pert breasts, down the flat stomach to where it caught in a brief cluster of golden pubic hair through which the delicate flaps of her vagina could be seen, if there were anyone to see them.

But even Ellie was not looking at herself. In fact, she had a towel draped over the bathroom mirror, just so she wouldn't be able to see herself. Her body offended her; it had caused all her troubles, it seemed to her. She grabbed panties and a skirt and put them on. Then a light summer blouse. Barefoot, her hair down over her shoulders, she stepped out of the house. It was warm outside, and the smell of the pine trees, aromatic and heavy, hung over her senses. The world was so lovely at times, so rich, so beautiful. For a moment she just stood there, breathing deeply, closing her eyes, wishing that the moment could last forever.

But then she remembered why it was that she wanted to hurry. She would go downstream, away from Spindler Creek, down to where Doc Reynolds would be fishing.

Maybe he would even teach her to catch trout. No one else caught anything in the streams around here, but Doc had the reputation of being an excellent fisherman. If anyone could do it, he could.

She hurried on through the camp. Over at the pool, Burt Conroy had gotten up quickly and was walking in the direction of Fall Creek, nod- ding and smiling at acquaintances. He broke into a run as soon as he got beyond a row of cabins. Running fast, he was soon out of breath. He slowed down to a fast walk. Ellie was ahead of him. Ellie stopped when she heard him call. "Not that way, Ellie. Back here!"

She turned around. Burt was motioning to her.

"I -"

"Come on, this way!"

Ellie stood there for a moment, not moving. Far down the creek she could see Doc Reynolds. He had a long fishing rod in his hand and was slowly whipping it back and forth, swishing a heavy line through the air over a pool, casting upstream.

"I don't have time, Burt," she called.

He strode down the path toward her. "Nonsense, Ellie. Anyway, I promised Liz I'd bring you up. She really does want to talk to you."

Doc Reynolds was intent on his fishing. The fly on the end of his line flashed quickly across the pool, snapped by the heavy line, and touched the surface of the water at the head of the pool. There was a silver flash as a trout took the fly. Doc Reynolds, his expression intent, concentrated, began to play the fish.

Burt took Ellie by the arm. "Come on, Ellie, you know the way. I waited for you up there, but you didn't come."

"I - I remembered that I had something to do."

"Down here? Come on, Liz was going to wait, she'll still be there." He took hold of her arm.

His expression was intense, although he was smiling. His smile looked as if it had been made by forcing up the corners of his mouth, against the will of his face. Something about his manner, some authority in it, some taut resolve, made her obey him. She was aware that she was being hurried down the path, toward where the two creeks met, Spindler and Fall, and the thought popped into her head that she didn't want to do this, she didn't want to go with Burt. Something Doc Reynolds had said - "What about - what about Shirley?" she demanded as she stumbled along the path with him. "You and Shirley - "

"Huh?" Burt's face showed amused surprise. "Shirley Wilson? What about her?"

"You and Shirley - I mean, I heard that you and Shirley were - going together or something."

He laughed indulgently. "I know, that story about her stranding me. I heard that too. Ellie, I'm ashamed of you, believing that sort of gossip. You're old enough to know that people gossip about each other. It's pure malice, Ellie. Doc Reynolds is known for telling stories like that around."

"Doc Reynolds -?"

"Sure. Come on, Ellie, we both know that he's the one who told you this." For one thing, he said to himself, he's the only one you've talked to all morning. "Reynolds is just that way. Oh, he comes on all dignified and grave and everything, but he's just another old guy who can't quite make it anymore. Come on, Ellie, I'm sure you've noticed how he spends all his time with the young girls, giving them 'advice' and fatherly suggestions about their love life. He's a joke, Ellie. He really is. People laugh at him around here. I don't want to be unkind or anything, but you don't want to take somebody like that seriously. I'm sure he warned you about me. Did he? I thought so, it's just the sort of thing he'd do. And I don't even hold it against him. I like to think I'm above that kind of petty fighting."

He still had hold of her arm. They were walking too fast for Ellie. Doc Reynolds was no longer visible in the distance.

"Can't we just See Liz at my cabin or something?" said Ellie.

"I told you, Ellie," he said, his expression cross just for a moment. "She's kind of embarrassed about the whole thing, she just wants to see you alone. Personally, I'm getting kind of tired of the whole affair. Women! You're really too much for a guy to handle, two at a time. I think it must have something to do with your hormones or something."

Ellie felt hopelessly confused. Everything Burt said seemed to make sense. Seen in the light of reason, she had only one thing against him, namely his behavior of the other day, at Spindler Creek, and even that could be explained in the light of a man's overwhelming sex drive when he was aroused. After all, she had seen this very thing happen to her own brother. Besides, Burt wasn't even trying to touch her, the way most men did.

Then they were at the path. Liz was nowhere to be seen.

"She went up the creek. She thought we might go swimming for a while. Liz really does like you, Ellie. She really does want to get along with you."

Ellie hesitated a moment at Spindler Creek; memories of the other day came on her suddenly, made her want to turn and run. But when she glanced at Burt and saw his amused smile, his raised eyebrows, her fears seemed to her foolish. She went with him.

The creek trickled down a narrow canyon, through sycamores that were stunted and twisted. Far above them were pines. They climbed the narrow trail, and Ellie was soon out of breath. She sat down. Burt was in front of her, watching her.

"You're a beautiful girl, Elli%" he said softly. "A really beautiful girl, you know? If I weren't engaged - but I shouldn't even think thoughts like that. Anyway, you deserve a better man than I am." He reached out and patted her hand. "You deserve a man like Mike."

"Mike - "

"Mike Taylor. Come on, Ellie, I can see it in your eyes, when you look at him. You like him, don't you?"

"No! I mean, that is - I like Mike all right, but he's just a friend."

"He's in love with you, Ellie."

He watched for her reaction, and saw, or thought he saw, how her gaze fell when he spoke of Mike. At that moment his whole body seemed shot through with a feeling of coldness, of bitter anger, and he thought again, enraged, of what he would do to her, how he would hurt her, rape her.

"Come on, let's go," he said. "Liz will be waiting. Let's go!"

Ellie got to her feet, grateful for the diversion.

The thought of Mike had made her feel oddly sorrowful and excited at the same time. Was it true? The thought of Mike filled her with a sudden eagerness. It couldn't be true. And yet Burt had seemed so sincere, his eyes had been so sad when he spoke of himself, said he wasn't good enough for her, A man wouldn't say such a thing unless he meant it, would he?

She wanted to get it over with, to see Liz and go on back down the mountain, to stay near the pool and see if Mike would talk to her. And so she hurried to keep pace with Burt.

When Ellie saw the pool she stopped short. The memory of the other day came over her in a rush. And Liz was not there. "Liz!" She called out, hearing how her voice became anxious and tense, and not looking at Burt. He was behind her, near the downstream end of the pool. "Liz!"

There was not even an echo, nothing, no sound at all. And suddenly Ellie was afraid to turn around and face Burt; her fears had been revived. She stood stock-still, looking here and there, even peering into the brush near the sycamore tree where she had hidden the other day.

Liz was nowhere to be seen. Ahead of Ellie was the bend in the river. A steep cliff of granite rose high above the trickling water of the stream, and in its shadow the water grew deep, just at its base, then rippled over flat sand toward the larger hole that Ellie was standing near.

"She's not here, Burt." But she still didn't turn around, fearful of what he might be doing.

And then she heard him. He was moving behind her. There were brief scuffling noises.

Ellie was afraid. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, felt the cold sweat of fear on the surface of her skin. She turned around and gasped with surprise.

Burt was leaning against a boulder, smiling at her. His eyes were cold, though, without humor. The smile on his face was held there as if by rivets. He was naked.

Ellie had a confused awareness of Burt's large cock, semi-tumid, hanging out of the hair below his belly, a thick, brutal muscle that throbbed and lifted slightly as she looked at it.

"Burt, please - ƒ_'" He just stood there, leaning on the boulder, and looked at her. It was his eyes, she realized suddenly, that made him look crazy. There was a kind of demented gleam in them, a kind of fanatical look that left her feeling cold. At that moment she didn't believe that she could reason with him, and yet she had to try. And so her words came out sounding childish and ineffective.

"Burt, we're both grown up now, let's talk this out. We don't have to behave this way toward each other. You're a nice guy, Burt, really. But I don't want to - I can't be this way with you. I - " Words failed her. She couldn't look at him or talk to him unless she looked at him. Instead of doing either, she moved to the edge of the deep pool. She was crying. Kicking off her thongs, she stepped into the water and waded out to where it was deep and the water made her skirt billow up around her. It felt good, the cool water, as it lapped at her hips, then her belly.

Burt spoke. "Take off your clothes, Ellie. Take them off." He was watching her quietly, arms folded. His eyes still had that crazy look as his eyebrows were squashed down angrily over his eyes.

Then he moved. He came over to the side of the pool, stepped into the water, and as he moved slowly toward her - Ellie backing away - he went on speaking.

"Come on, Ellie, I know what you are. You know what you are. You're a bitch. A bitch, Ellie, just like other bitches. When you're in heat you're like any other bitch in heat, you've got slick thighs and a hungry look on your face. And you're all eager to get something up between your legs, just like any other bitch. You want to pretend it's different with you, Ellie, don't you? I've seen it before, with other bitches. You don't want to admit that you've got a hole down there, and that the hole is rimmed with your cream, and that it tickles, and that you want a man, a real man - not a youngster like Mike Taylor, a grade-A college boy - no, a real man, a man like me, to hump you until it hurts, until you squeal and scream and beg for more, and your breath is short, and your legs are squeezing around me, tightening like your cunt - "

"Stop it, Burt, for God's sake stop it! Burt, you can't do this, you can't, you can't!" She was screaming.

Burt just watched her, smiling faintly. "Those high cliffs, Ellie. Those high cliffs keep the sound from getting out, no one can hear you. No one can hear you, Ellie."

She was in deep water now. Her skirt floated up toward her shoulders. She stopped, unable to go any farther.

Then he grabbed for her. His momentum made him slip on the slick rock underneath, and, as he tumbled in the water, Ellie lunged for the side of the pool. She got out ahead of him, but to get out, had to go through the shallow water. Burt, being taller than she was, dove for the downstream side of the pool and came out of the water between her and the path.

Ellie ran. She ran upstream, ran blindly, hardly seeing anything in front of her. Up ahead was a steep granite cliff that came down to a deep, narrow pool, where the stream took an abrupt meander. The cliff was undercut. Ellie ran toward the narrow gorge. Burt was right behind her. He saw her slender body in front of him. Her waist was narrow, accentuating the fullness of her breasts and hips, and as she ran her long legs flashed golden in the bright sunlight.

He lunged at her, grabbed her skirt. It ripped free of her, revealing modest cotton panties over her full hips. Burt had a savage grin on his face as he lunged at her again, taking the panties in his hands, ripping at them, tearing them, until they too came free of her and her white skin gleamed in the sunlight, beading with water. Then he caught her. There was a brief struggle as he yanked at the blouse. Then he tore her bra away. Ellie, bruised and out of breath, sank to the sand by the pool, gasping for breath. She tried to speak, but no words came. Her one hand was up in front of her. trying to ward him off; the other supported her.

Burt leaped on her and grabbed her arms, dropping her to the ground. Ellie screamed again and again as she felt his heavy cock probing, trying to get into her. Burt looked down on her, watching the way her breasts, white and lovely and soft, with pink nipples quivering, flopped back and forth as she strained to get away. Her slender waist narrowed down to full hips, beading with stream water, and the modest bulge of golden pubic hair was glistening in the sunlight. It was a moment of intense triumph for him, a moment of exaltation, as he had this beautiful girl, this touchingly lovely nymph in his hands, at his mercy. He could do with her what he wanted. He knew that between those lovely thighs the cream was beading and melting and the lips of her vagina were slick and flushed and ready - ready for him, waiting for him to touch his lips to them, to taste the sweet-salt taste of her cunt, while his cock surged with power and vitality.

"Burt, you can't do this, what would your mother think - " The cliche came out spontaneously, but Ellie wasn't prepared for its effect.

Burt Conroy stood up suddenly, enraged beyond words. He stuttered and trembled and grabbed for his heavy cock, but his cock was already growing flaccid, drooping. His mother! The bitch! He remembered her when she was young and her slender yet voluptuous body leaned over him at night as he went to bed. She let him bury his face in her full, white breasts, while she smiled and talked to him. He had been allowed to sleep with her and had felt the bushy clump of hair below her belly - had felt it with his tiny fingers, running them curiously through the hair, and finally through the slick, sticky lips of her vagina, while she lay back on the bed, legs spread, eyes open, and face flushed from the intolerable heat beneath his tiny fingers. Finally she would come; convulsing, groaning, she would squeeze her legs together over his busy fingers, and her juice would sloosh out over them. He would suck contentedly on her clitoris while she fingered his small cock. This had gone on until one day he had seen her in bed with his father, doing the same things she did with him. He rushed in and attacked his father, enraged, but was put out of the room. The door was locked. From that time on his mother had scarcely allowed him to come near her.

He hated her. He hated all women. Standing in front of Ellie, unmanned, he recollected all the humiliations he had been subjected to by women; remembered all the reasons he had for hating them. His cock drooped and swayed below him. Ellie, laying there, was, if anything, more beautiful than ever: her delicate breasts, rounded, plump like two lush pieces of fruit, soft to the touch, hung down in a graceful arc, and her buttocks flared out as her knees were drawn up under her. She was cowering, wincing at his every move.

Burt liked the feeling, the feeling of power, and, after a moment, his cock still limp, he reached down and grabbed her by the arms, yanking her to her feet.

"Burt, please - "

"You bitch, you bitch." He slapped her face hard. Ellie recoiled from the blow and fell to the ground again. But now Burt's cock, rising from the excitement of seeing her cringing, burst upward, flowering, growing strong again, until it had reached its full strength and lifted high above her.

He grabbed it with both hands, beside himself with anger and lust - grabbed it and squeezed until, with a sudden showering, the hot jism spattered out of it, coiling and spurting, a heavy stream of semen that lifted into the air and then fell in lacy, rope-like strands over Ellie's face and breasts.

Burt pointed his cock at her and hunched forward, keeping her below it, until the last spurts had subsided and his cock flagged for a moment. But then he got down on her, shoving her onto her stomach and slamming his cock up against her asshole. Ellie screamed again, helpless, but there was no one to hear, and when Burt began patiently to twist and shove his stocky, heavy cock against her asshole she fought bitterly until, with a sudden blow, he slammed her down to the ground.

She lay there, motionless. Burt took his time. He wetted the head of his" cock with some of his semen, tipped it once again to her asshole, and began to insert its thick head into the tight hole. Ellie, senseless, lay there without moving, her lithe body relaxed, not even aware of what he was doing. With her body relaxed, it took Burt only a matter of moments to get the head of his cock into her.

He began to pump at her with a smooth rhythm. As always, it was the feeling of dominance, of control, that attracted him in his relations with women. He liked to be on top, to fuck them where it hurt, in the asshole - he was startled, in fact, to realize that he hadn't had his cock in a woman's vagina in some time, in weeks. Sex had nothing to do with love - little, even, to do with procreation. It was a means of asserting strength and control, of literally putting the woman down. On top of her, his rutting body curved and tightened around her, he had her under the ultimate control. A woman couldn't pull away when his cock was in her asshole; she couldn't fight him, laying on her belly, with him on her back, tupping her in the asshole.

Burt felt at peace there, laying in the sun with the most beautiful girl in 'camp under him, speared by his heavy cock, helpless, not even conscious, her girlish body sprawled on the sand. Looking down at her, he felt that familiar surge in his groin, then the spurt of jism that splattered deep into her body. He relaxed for a few moments before pulling out.

Standing up, he looked down at her and felt no emotion, not even hate. She lay still. When he left she still hadn't moved.