Chapter 11
If Mr. Veely saw her face, Kay knew he would read the knowledge that could only mean her death. She knelt and opened her mouth wide, stretching to get the hard dry knob of his circumcised skewer inside. This time she had to be careful and not scrape it with her teeth like she had the cameraman's.
"Eager little bitch, aren't you?" Mr. Veely chuckled. He caught her by the ears and gently disengaged her. "Save it until the cameras are rolling," he advised.
Kay was afraid to let him see her face. Was there any chance that he had guessed she was peeking from the bathroom keyhole when he had indulged himself with the voluptuous Miss Purlett? He must have seen the pictures.
Still kneeling, she followed him until they were in position on the bedspread. Good heavens, his thing must be twice as big as the cameraman's! Kay remembered how she had naively thought Tommy Taskoosh would split her in two if he ever put that great brown nozzle between her legs. How long now before Mr. Veely wounded her with his equally massive masculinity?
Then she remembered the way Miss Purlett had begged for penetration. Mr. Veely had seemed to take a perverse delight in denying her this pleasure. Kay wondered if the lawyer preferred blow jobs. Did the balding little man in the domino mask prefer this or would he in his own due time ram that horrendous harpoon into her? It would hurt like hell, she knew. Yet Kay found herself wondering. She had had it in her mouth and up her bung and she wasn't dead yet. Could losing her cherry hurt any worse than the cameraman's rod had hurt as it augered up her innocent anus?
"Now!" Mr. Veely said. He stood in profile to the camera with his lance protruding at a jaunty angle. "Now move in on it slowly," he instructed. "A little more to the left so they can see your tits."
Remembering the whip, Kay crept forward. "Hands behind you," the cameraman said. "They cut off the view."
Abruptly he stopped the camera and dimmed the lights.
"Now what?" Veely asked.
The camerman came forward with a short bit of rope and tied Kay's wrists behind her.
"Good idea," Veely approved.
The lights and cameras came on again. Kneeling, Kay faced his enormous erection. It was hard to get it in her mouth without using her hands. She began licking it.
"Great!" Mr. Veely said. "Now, when he gives the signal, you gobble it."
Before Kay could ask what the signal was, the whip popped at the nape of her neck. As her mouth opened in a soundless scream, the balding little lawyer grabbed her head and lunged. Kay felt the tremendous thing slide past her lips and teeth. It kept on going and going, until it seemed he was going to ram it halfway to her stomach. Then he stopped thrusting and began slowly pulling it out. Kay had thought she would vomit like she had the last time, but instead, to her growing horror, she felt a thrill of excitement.
Good heavens, they are torturing me. It's the hurting. Why do I have this all-over tingly feeling just like I did the day Tommy and I played strip poker? Dazedly, Kay felt Mr. Veely's enormous erection passing slowly in and out of her mouth. She seemed to be sucking it and licking it satisfactorily. At least he wasn't whipping her. She felt hands over her firm young breasts, and at first she thought they were Mr. Veely's. But his hands still guided her Jiead. The cameraman was fondling her from behind. She felt her nipples swell-the one that was sore from the whip was responding too. Good heavens, is there anything I can't enjoy?
Kay felt her upper body blush at the feel of the cameraman's rough hands. She felt his semi-rigid rod nuzzling the small of her back as he squatted to get his other hand up her crotch.
The cameraman's rough hand was surprisingly knowledgeable in the way it sought out that nameless tender spot where she and Miss Purlett had known such joy. She felt warm juices flow as his calloused finger continued gently patting and circling her clitoris.
Then his hands were busy spreading her legs. He rotated her, and, to Kay's intense disappointment, Mr. Veely's, smooth-sliding rod came out of her mouth. She caught it and held it lovingly in her hands for an instant, but the small man in the domino mask stood to one side. The cameraman grabbed her by the shoulders and began slowly bending her backward. With her legs widespread, Kay felt herself being twisted unnaturally backward. Dimly, she realized he was lining her up so the lens could focus on her unbroken hymen.
"You won't get a movie of that very often," Mr. Veely said.
Kay was flat on her back now. She felt the cameraman lift her bottom and slide a pillow beneath her. Bending her knees, he said, "Wiggle a little. You're supposed to be fighting us off!"
Abruptly, Kay realized that was exactly what the sisters would expect of her. Death before dishonor and all that tired old crap. She wondered how many of them would struggle in her place. She felt the pressure of Mr. Veely's quiff-splitter and automatically recoiled.
CRACK!
"Goddamn you!" Kay wailed, "That isn't fair! I'm doing everything you tell me."
Both men seemed to think that was uproariously funny. Mr. Veely gripped her buttocks firmly and began pressing again. He pushed gently, alternately forcing and relaxing as he worked at busting Kay's surprisingly firm cherry.
To hell with this! Kay decided. III let him, he'll go on playing around all day! She waited until the next time he was pushing. Then, without warning, Kay lunged. She threw her weight, her ass, her body and soul directly toward the point of Mr. Veely's torturing tool.
There was a tearing sensation and a single sharp pain as if someone had cut her with a knife, then Kay felt his slick spear sliding in, into her secret depths. Will it never stop going in?
Finally Kay felt the pressure of pelvis against pelvis, and she knew the lawyer had bottomed out. "Ooooohhhh!" he sighed.
But the cameraman was less delighted. "Goddamn it!" he roared. "We could have strung that out for half an hour!"
Even when she felt the whip slash against her hip, Kay was not sorry she had done it. It was better than being tortured with the eternal poking and stretching. The stinging sensation was going away now. Feeling Mr. Veely's arrogant erection sliding smoothly in and out of her hungry sheath, Kay decided it was a lot better. And getting better every minute!
Mr. Veely's masked head was nuzzling her perky young breasts. Kay felt his hands gripping her waist, pulling her down each time he rammed that hammering hammer into her. It all felt so good, so solid. Thinking back to her delicate, fluttery encounters with Miss Purlett, Kay finally and irrevocably realized that, at least for her, nothing could ever begin to compare with the simple solid joy that was penetrating her innermost being with each bottoming out of Mr. Veely's pelvis against her vulva.
The sisters probably had other words for it, but now Kay finally realized that, though there might be other words-euphemisms to describe the various delaying tactics and preliminary maneuvers that had occupied her up to now, for what she was doing this moment there was only one satisfactory word. I'm fucking! After sixteen years of thinking and wishing and being scared shitless, I'm finally fucking! Maybe I'm going to hell, but it's a nice trip.
The way the balding little lawyer was going at it, it promised to be a very leisurely trip. He was pouring it to her slowly, with the steadiness of a pendulum, in and out, in and out. Then he began stopping at the bottom of each stroke. After an instant's rest, the little man would rub his pubis against hers with a grinding rotary motion that drove his rigid rod into unexplored corners of Kay's being.
She felt the rush of blood, the sudden tingling warmth that grew and grew until the feeling of imminent explosion was unbearable. "Faster!" she moaned.
Mr. Veely chuckled and checked to see if the camera was still properly aligned. While Kay writhed beneath his relentless prodding, he became even more leisurely. Now, in addition to stopping for a grind at the bottom of each stroke, the diminutive lawyer was stopping on the outstroke too.
Each time he withdrew, Kay could feel the burning tip of his tool hesitate a moment while bobbing up and down the tortured slit between her aching thighs. Each time, she held her breath in an agony of suspense, hoping and praying he would put it back in again.
And each time he did!
What am I doing enjoying myself? I ought to be planning some way to get out of here! But instead, Kay surrendered herself to the sensuous feel of skin against skin-the soul-satisfying surge of a man's thudding thrill drill where no man had gone before. She felt that tension build within her belly, growing, straining, stretching. Mr. Veely was going even more slowly now as the camera recorded her helpless lust, filling each frame with her futile lunges and plunges. II only he'd let go of my hips, so I could really come up to meet him!
Then finally it was happening: the abrupt explosion came as every nerve simultaneously stretched to the breaking point, then snapped. Kay felt her insides dissolving-felt her heart and her immortal soul melt and pour like liquid fire in gushing jets around that diabolical piston that still pumped, ground, withdrew, hesitated a tantalizing moment, then slowly drove for home again.
Over and over she felt that spasm within her belly, felt herself dissolving, melting, flowing. Soon she would be empty, totally drained. It had taken her forever to reach this peak, but now that Kay was on a plateau of pure pleasure, she couldn't seem to get off it. Mr. Veely cooled it, pumping ever more slowly and waiting longer intervals between each stroke. Still Kay's slight body was purged with constantly repeated orgasms. "Please!" she moaned, "More! Now! Faster!"
The sight of her ecstatically flailing body had finally done something for the cameraman's dormant dong. He checked the camera and, satisfied, came back to the scene of the action. Sliding in behind Kay, he lifted and pushed until Mr. Veely was in a sitting position with Kay sitting astraddle his lap. They rocked back and forth like a short-coupled seesaw, and Mr. Veely's prodigious prong achieved new depths each time he rocked back, pulling Kay with him until the entire weight of her body was spiked on Mr. Veely's throbbing thumper.
Between the shattering spasms that threatened to tear her apart, Kay sensed vaguely that the cameraman was getting into the act. His legs inserted themselves between hers and Mr. Veely's. Another pair of hands lifted her high, and the back-and-forth rock with Mr. Veely was momentarily interrupted. "No!" Kay moaned, "Don't stop. Keep it up!"
"As long as there's an inch of film," the cameraman promised. Gently, he lowered her, and Kay was spiked from another source. The cameraman's knob was sliding back up her bung, just as it had when they had done the lock-picking sequence with her humped over a doorknob. Only now his rod had to share space with Mr. Veely's indefatigable erection. Kay felt as if she might burst at any moment. Was this how it felt to have a baby? Probably not. Having a baby couldn't possibly feel this ecstatically good. Kay relaxed, let herself slump, and savored the sensuality of being passed back and forth from one man's hands to the other. Each time Mr. Veely's whooping organ slid up into her, the cameraman's would pull out, until the knob threatened to snap past her sphincter.
Each time Kay clenched her anal sphincter over the cameraman's thrill drill, Mr. Veely's pile driver would threaten to make good its escape so she would have to rock forward and recapture it. It was hard work, but it was rewarding.
Finally Kay began to understand that the men were finally losing their cool too. Mr. Veely's manhood was rebelling against the anal invasion which had sharply reduced its room for enjoyment. And on the back porch Mr. Veely's organ was creating similar difficulties for the cameraman.
Gradually their movements became less coordinated. Half the time they were pulling out and ramming at the same time. The sensation was so excruciatingly delicious for Kay that she heard herself emitting a high wordless squeal of joy. Suddenly Mr. Veely was gripping her hips, slamming her brutally down over his joint. All at once the cameraman began whipping her. Mr. Veely's mouth fastened on one of her nipples. He sucked it rigid and rapidly switched to the other.
Kay was starting to come again, but that damn cameraman was still pounding on her as his jock spurted its jolly charge up her bung. "Please, Mr. Veely," she pleased, "Make him stop hitting me!"
Even as she said it, Kay knew abruptly that the party was over. Mr. Veely wouldn't have gone to the trouble of putting on a domino mask, if he hadn't thought it very important that Kay not recognize him. And now she had blown the gaff!
There was just the tiniest instant's hesitation on Mr. Veely's part, then he surrendered himself to the joys of sexual abandonment as his pipe spurted and squirted, firing great joyful jets into Kay's tenderness.
Finally it was over. The unheeded camera made the loud whirring and flap-flap sound that meant it was out of film.
Despite the totality of her repeated orgasms. Kay was the first to get up. Possibly because she thought she had the most to lose.
She had to go through the motions just as if nothing had happened, but Kay knew that now they would never let her go. Probably they would keep her locked up here until she became a nuisance. Then....
Somehow she had to get a message out of this room. Somehow she had to make one of them carry it. There was neither pencil nor paper. What?
The men were stirring, talking lazily as they lit cigarettes. The cameraman stretched his hand and pulled a cord. The camera stopped and the brighter of the floodlights went out. In the sudden near-darkness Kay stumbled over Mr. Veely's overcoat, then sat down.
The men were on their feet, getting dressed now. Kay decided she had better put some clothes on too. She was just reaching for her bra, when the door burst open with a tremendous splintering crash.
A wild-eyed Indian stood in the doorway, gripping a short log he had used as a battering ram. It was Tommy Taskoosh.