Chapter 10
It was big; it was hard. As the knobbed end of his thing slid into her mouth, Kay thought she would gag. But she was surprised. For some reason she hadn't expected it to be hot. She felt muscular hands clasp over her ears.
Kay struggled and managed to draw in a gasp of air. She got a firm grip on the end of his thing with her teeth and started to blow.
WHACK!
One hand detached itself from her ear and hit Kay so hard she tumbled out of camera range. "You stupid bitch, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Kay wiped the tears from her eyes. One false eyelash was half off. "What'd I do wrong?" she asked.
"You're supposed to suck, not blow!"
"Then why did you call it a blow job?" Kay asked.
The man in the black domino mask did a double-take and finally decided she wasn't kidding.
"How the hell would I know? Anyhow, next time don't bite it either."
He waited until she had gotten the eyelash in place and fixed the rest of her makeup, then he started the camera whirring again. "Now take it easy," he warned. 'That's my cock you're eating; not a banana."
He was standing in camera range. Kay scurried on her hands and knees and got his half-flaccid penis in her mouth, hurrying to get it rigid again before he started using the whip.
She tried to lick it and suck it the way she remembered seeing Miss Purlett tend to the balding little lawyer's needs, but whatever she was doing, she knew it must be wrong. His hands gripped her ears and jerked her head back and forth. She saw his pelvis thrusting, felt his meatus drive deep into her, poking at her palate and making her gag.
Kay knew she was going to vomit, but he held her head so tightly that there was no way for the bile to get past the monstrous cock he kept tamping halfway down her throat. She remembered the way Tommy Taskoosh had exploded like a punctured balloon when all she had done was touch his throbbing masculinity.
She could still hear the faint whir of the camera. She wished he would let go a moment, let her catch her breath and get control of herself. Then abruptly he did.
Kay breathed deeply. She realized her body was shuddering before the one-eyed monster that whirred amid its nest of lights across the room. Finally she collected herself. And just in time, she realized. She could feel his erection grow limp. In another moment he would start using the whip again.
She pulled gently back until the head of his hammer was halfway out of her mouth. She ran her lips daintily back and forth a few times and was rewarded with returning rigidity. That was a little more like it. She had been wondering if her little body was totally unattractive to this man. Now, as his rod returned to readiness, Kay knew she was not a total loss. Before he could think about the whip again, she let it fall clear out of her mouth. It was all the way up now, straining and rigid, jerking up and down with each pulsing beat. She licked its throbbing head. Gently, she snaked one hand up his hairy leg and began teasing his scrotum.
"Mmmmm," he said. "Not bad, kid." Then the camera made its loud flapping noise and whirred louder.
"Goddamn it to hell!" he growled. Kay grabbed at his tool and tried to get it back in her mouth, but he was charging across the room toward the camera. She sank back onto the floor, feeling more dirty, more used, more useless, than she had ever imagined possible.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Quarter of four," he growled and continued loading film into the camera. Finally he was finished and ready to film the next chapter of her descent into hell.
Kay crouched, waiting for some hint as to how she could get his thing up again before he started using that whip.
It hung limp as an empty glove. The man in the domino mask stared at Kay. He beckoned. She came forward, and he ran his hands over her perky little breasts. With mounting self-disgust, she felt her tiny nipples turn hard and rigid. The cameraman's tool remained soft. She flinched as his rough hand pinched the nipple where his whip had landed minutes ago. He knelt to nuzzle her breasts and belly while his hands snaked up and down her thighs, stopping to flick her marble-hard clit. Still his jock hung slack.
Kay could see him eying the whip again. Frantically, she threw herself on the floor where she could reach his flaccid phallus. She stuffed its limber length in her mouth and began sucking, licking, tonguing it frantically.
Abruptly the naked man in the domino mask stood up. "No use," he growled. "Got enough footage on the blow job anyway."
"What are you going to do?" Kay asked, eying the whip.
He stopped the camera's whir and turned off the floodlights. Then he peeled off the domino mask and began dressing.
"Are we through?" Kay asked. "Can I have the pictures and the negatives now?"
"Not yet," he grunted. "Still one more scene to shoot. You wait here." He stepped outside and closed the door after him.
Frantically, Kay tore off the red wig and the false eyelashes. The gooky orange makeup could wait. She threw her clothes on and tried the door. It was locked.
She scrambled frantically over the bare floor, looking for the bobby pin she had been using. She couldn't find it.
Finally she thought to search the discarded red wig. There was a bobby pin in it. Twenty minutes later Kay was finally convinced that even without somebody sliding something in and out of her bunghole and fondling her firm little breasts, she would never get the door unlocked with only a bobby pin.
The nameless cameraman had told her to wait. She put on the false eyelashes and the red wig again. Then she waited.
The studio was big and bare. There were no windows. It was warm. Kay looked vainly for some place to sit comfortably. Finally she collapsed on the bedspread in the middle of the room and tried to figure out where her life had started going all wrong.
She remembered when she had just turned eleven. That was the year the Indians had all started the fishing cooperative, and suddenly old George, little Tommy Taskoosh's father, had become an important man. While old George and her own father, old Sam, had conferred endlessly over prices and contracts, Kay and little Tommy Taskoosh had played tag up and down the floating cannery dock, chasing each other noisily across whatever boats and barges happened to be tied up.
It had been such a wonderful summer. For the first time Kay had possessed a live friend instead of dolls. She and Tommy had played checkers and had played the Indian stick game and they had played poker. Suddenly Kay remembered the day they had played strip poker.
It was funny. Suddenly they were talking about strip poker and afterwards she honestly couldn't remember who had brought up the subject.
They were in the warm place near the boilers that kept the floating cannery running. It was warm and quiet, and Kay had just introduced Tommy Taskoosh to her hideaway. "Nobody else knows about it," she had said. Then seemingly without any interruption or buildup, her memory had them playing poker. After four years in a convent she could scarcely remember the rules of the game. But she remembered that she had won the first hand and Tommy had somewhat sheepishly removed his cap.
Kay remembered that she had also won the next three hands, which had left Tommy barefoot and jacketless. Then Tommy had won a hand and claimed the right to remove her boot. Kay worried momentarily about establishing a dangerous precedent, but Tommy pointed out that he was behind in the game and it was only a boot and if she wanted to be that way about it they might as well forget about the old game and go feed the gulls. Reluctantly, Kay had agreed.
The cards favored her and Tommy was stripped to his trousers before he won his next hand. He looked sp forlorn that Kay could not deny him the pleasure of removing her jacket. Tommy won several more hands in quick succession, and before she realized it Kay was allowing the delighted little boy to undrape her gangling body clear down to her underwear.
The atmosphere in the snug little boiler room was changing. Tommy was down to his trousers, and Kay was having mixed feelings. Did she hope he was wearing something underneath them or didn't she? Two more losing hands and Kay would be out of the game. Was that good or was it bad? Tommy shuffled. She cut and he dealt.
They turned their cards up, and a moment later Tommy did his best to look triumphant instead of frightened as he peeled the top half of her underwear over Kay's tousled head.
Kay remembered that she didn't exactly have breasts yet, but her nipples had become painfully sensitive in the last couple of months and had seemed definitely swollen. Behind each tender nipple was a tiny breast the size of a walnut. Tommy's eyes remained glued to them. Clearly his hands wished to know if they were hard or soft. Just as clearly, he seemed to know Kay would never allow him to touch them.
Grimly, he dealt another hand. He lost!
Kay remembered the look on his face and she had abruptly known it was the end of the game. Obviously, Tommy wished most desperately and thoroughly that he could have won this final hand and satisfied his growing curiosity about what wonders lay beneath the bottom half of Kay's long Johns. But had he realized that her curiosity had equaled his own?
Tommy was down to his last garment. Now he had to remove it and in return ... Instinctively, Kay knew Tommy wouldn't do it.
"I will if you will," she offered.
Thinking back on it, Kay wondered ... Had Tommy's brown, nearly hairless machinery remained flaccid because he was too young-or because he was as frightened as she was? Standing naked before the little Indian boy, Kay had been even more hairlessly exposed than now.
"You ain't even got as much hair as I have," Tommy had said.
"I have too!" Kay retorted, though she knew it wasn't true. They stood woodenly, inspecting each other at arm's length like strange dogs making up their minds whether to fight or sniff each other's hind ends. By now Kay was heartily sorry they had started this silly game and she suspected Tommy was too. Now that they were naked and alone in this warm room, clearly something else was expected.
Kay knew that boys and girls kissed on occasion. There seemed to be no connection between kissing and taking one's clothes all off. Silently they stared at one another. Tommy swallowed a couple of times. "Can I touch it?" he asked.
"If you let me," Kay said.
"Tommy!"
For an instant they froze, too terror-stricken to move. Then they both realized old George was yelling clear from the other end of the dock. Kay stuffed her underwear and sweater in a hole behind the boiler. She got into her overalls and buttoned her flannel shirt as she crawled down the back of the cannery line to the opposite end of the dock. When little Tommy finally appeared fully dressed, she was feeding seagulls a hundred yards away. She remembered nearly freezing to death before she had a chance to go back and put on her underwear.
The next time she and Tommy met, neither of them mentioned what had happened. A month after that Kay went off to the convent and managed to convince herself that it had never happened. It was just another of those odd dreams she had been having lately.
But now, sitting alone in this big bare room, wearing false eyelashes and a red wig, Kay knew it had been no dream. Had Tommy...? Had he been sitting on that memory for five years, brooding on it? She remembered old Sam's dying words: "All them goddamn Taskoosh are crazy!" It didn't make sense.
Old George had worked hard for his boat. Why had Tommy let it run down? Oh, what difference does it make? If Tommy ever saw me again he'd spit on me.
When was the detective-photographer coming back? Was he going to keep her a prisoner here indefinitely? Soon it would be morning. Kay wondered how long it would take for Mr. Veely to start wondering where she had gone. Then she wondered if he would bother. After the performance she had witnessed through the keyhole, Kay preserved no illusions about the balding little man's character. She understood perfectly well now, how the red-pated, puffing little man had intended to extract payment for room and board from her.
Suddenly she realized how neatly Miss Purlett had foiled his plans. Why had she done it? Kay wondered if it was jealousy-if Miss Purlett simply didn't care to be replaced by a younger woman? Or had Miss Purlett done it merely for the opportunity of a quick rub against Kay's virginal body? Then she thought of a third possibility. Maybe Miss Purlett had taken pity on her innocence and had done all this merely to save Kay from being raped by the voracious lawyer. It would have worked too-if only this photographer hadn't happened along.
She wondered where Miss Purlett was? At home waiting for Kay to call? What would the elegant blonde saleslady think when she finally checked out the apartment and found Kay was gone? Probably, Kay decided, Miss Purlett would assume she had scraped up money somehow and caught a plane out of here for Seattle-for anywhere to get away from those pictures! Then she wondered if Miss Purlett had seen the pictures. Did the elegantly constructed blonde know her face didn't show in either shot?
Kay's exhaustion was beginning to catch up with her. She stretched out on the pad and dozed, resigned to the knowledge that she could do nothing to help herself. Sleeping, she dreamed of Tommy. But she dreamed of a tender-hearted young Indian who did not try to rape her or to poke his big brown thing into her unwilling mouth.
They were on the ice floe together and it was breaking up. The ice was drifting, and then somehow they were on separate pieces drifting apart. As Tommy drifted away into the fog, she could hear his despairing shout, "Kaaaayy!"
She woke suddenly. Nobody was shouting. Somebody was clumping up the outside stairs in heavy boots. The photographer entered. Behind him came a smaller man in a domino mask. Both men wore street clothes. While she stared, they peeled off overcoats and scarves. "Hurry up," the cameraman said as they continued undressing.
Remembering the whip, Kay whipped off her dress. The red wig came with it, and then she had to spend extra minutes before the makeup table. While she was stuffing the last stray strand of her dark hair up under the wig, the little man in the domino mask came up behind her. He cupped her breasts in his soft, well-manicured hands and spoke for the first time.
"For a sixteen-year-old you've sure got the equipment," he said. "But from reports I hear, you don't know what to do with it."
Kay continued applying makeup, trying to ignore the feel of his rigid rod poking at her back. It felt different from the photographer's. Her mind was so full of what was going to happen to her that she couldn't put her finger on what else was odd. Finally she had it. She had heard the masked man's voice before.
He couldn't have traveled around town with a mask on. He must have put it on while he was coming upstairs. The cameraman hadn't bothered with a mask until he had actually started filming. Therefore, Kay reasoned, this stranger's wearing a mask because he doesn't want me to recognize him.
She took a deep breath and plucked up her courage. There was no escape. If she struggled, they would only whip her. "I'm ready," she said facing the masked man.
He was short. Automatically, Kay glanced down at his tool. It was amazingly large for such a little man. And it was different from the cameraman's, just as she had sensed it would be. Kay had seen the word, Circumcision, on convent calendars, but the sisters had always been so vague she had no way of connecting the word with his baldheaded cock that jittered up and down each time this little man's heart sent another rush of blood coursing through him.
But now Kay knew where she had seen that baldheaded cock and its baldheaded owner before. She had seen him stuffing it down Miss Purlett's throat while he spanked her lovely bottom to an angry redness.
And just as suddenly, Kay realized that if Mr. Veely ever found out that she knew he was hiding behind that domino mask, she would never leave this room alive!