Chapter 6
A mist hung over the canal. The sun had not yet appeared above the escarpments. On board the old barge, below deck in what had once been a cargo hold—a damp, hollow-sounding cavern illuminated only by the daylight admitted through a small hatchway from which the cover had been removed, Miss Prunella Garfield sat on a heap of moldy sacks. Her clothing had been removed. Her wrists were tied together, the end of the rope passed through a rusty ringbolt embedded in the split, gnarled timbers. Noises from the adjoining compartment echoed loudly.
No water leaked into the hull—a tribute to the barge's solid construction and the quality of the tar covering a thick sheathing of iron protecting the entire planking. There were square portholes opening off the former living accommodation, but only very limited ventilation. Aft of the upper deck a squat wheelhouse loomed, bleak and isolated, gloomy, the windows starred with cracks and thickly grimed. The woodwork was warped and rotten.
A gag bulged Miss Garfield's cheeks. She occupied a slumped position with her back against cold metal. Twice more she had endured further outrage. All four youths had raped her. Even the girls had molested her sexually, encouraged by Boone. She had been reviled, pinched, slapped, drenched with urine, forced to witness lurid sex acts involving the three utterly depraved teenage girls.
Connie had paired off with Roach but encouraged Dent to take liberties. Mason and Janet remained together. Boone considered Daphne his exclusive conquest and treated her like dirt, but his uncouth treatment and sadism merely increased her adoration.
In the surprisingly spacious living quarters Dent squatted on a fusty mattress, part of the original furnishings, preoccupied with blowing through a straw inserted into a frog's anus, then watching the unfortunate creature, bloated and in agony, clop across the deck. Roach munched an apple. Mason had a large eel coiling and writhing on a length of line, and kept trailing it against Janet's bare leg, teasing her. Boone and Daphne occupied a low sofa. Its rag-gnawed upholstery was covered with a fleecy white blanket Daphne had a hand inside Boone's unfastened fly, but his interest was obviously elsewhere. He kept looking toward the cargo hold. With an irritable gesture he knocked the girl's hand away.
"Let's have Prunella in here again," he said. "It was over too quickly before. I'm ready for another stab at her. And this time I'll make it last."
"What about me?" Daphne complained. "What's so special about her? I thought you fancied me, Fletcher Boone."
"I do, kid. But you and me can have it any time. Darling Prunella won't be with us very long. I don't want her to feel neglected. And remember, what we're doing to her isn't supposed to give the bitch pleasure—it's grudge fucking. We want her to sweat blood."
"You're a vicious swine."
"I am, and don't you forget it. She got the four of us a stretch in Borstal, remember? We've rubbed the dean's nose in the shit. Now it's her turn. Bring her in, Dave. If you girls don't want to watch then go swimming or something. Or fuck off back to Beechers."
"Who's complaining?" Daphne protested. "I was just saying—"
"Well don't. You 11 get all the cock you want when we get to Paris, and I'll still have some left for you, kid, after I get finished with Prunella. So behave."
He slapped her bottom, stood up, took his penis out and forced the foreskin back.
"When I shag 'em they don't forget it," he bragged. "Get her in here."
Mason, too, opened the front of his jeans in lewd anticipation. Janet promptly seized his lifting organ and played with it until, submerged in the morass of swamping lust, he forgot about Miss Garfield and allowed Janet to convey his stiffening roll to the enticing slit already wantonly exposed to receive the fat tool. Mason instructed her to turn round. Janet obeyed, bent over, laughing as he effected crude entry and thrashed his huge stalk deep, blocking her avid quim almost before she had time to brace herself and jerk her frock up out of the way. They fornicated quite openly, with brutal candor, oblivious of the other kids. Janet did not even drop her panties but merely pulled the wide leg-hole away from her vagina.
They were still locked together when Roach and Dent reappeared dragging Miss Garfield between them. Naked, she was magnificent, beautifully proportioned, radiating sex from every shadowy hollow and exaggerated recess, every plump, white curve and protuberant mound. Haggard, filthy, cheeks tear-stained, hair tangled and matted, her proud flesh smelling strongly of sweat and urine and the clinging odor of drying sperm, she was thrust into the cabin and supported by the grinning youths.
Roach had his penis out. His nostrils were flared, his gaze drawn irresistibly to the compelling attraction of the teacher's beautifully rounded bottom. Her reddened breasts bore the imprint of bruising fingers.
Dent put his hand between her thighs from behind and mauled her deliciously pouting vagina, mouthed excitable demands, ripped his fly buttons undone, resumed his rough handling. The captive jerked forward spasmodically.
Boone tripped her so that she fell on the sofa. He thrust her face downward, held her. Roach fumbled, striving feverishly to enter his gross penis. Dent flopped his prick out, but abruptly left Miss Garfield and grappled with Connie, pulling her down on the deck. She received him joyfully, squealing with delight, and they squirmed behind a heap of miscellaneous junk, instantly oblivious of the sordid spectacle being enacted across the squat, low-beamed cabin, conscious only of their violent, youthful passion.
Prunella Garfield was twisted over, dragged from the couch and forced to lie on her back. Legs thrashing wildly, she was subjected to a repetition of vile debauchery intended to plunge her continually deeper into the cesspit of degradation and despair, and abject humiliation. Roach attacked her like a ravenous beast. Her wrists were still tied and she could only toss and strain helplessly, mumbling and choking behind the gag, while the youth satisfied his lust.
He finished quickly and pulled out, flopped on the sofa, deaf to Boone's sarcasm.
"You s ire you're all through?" Boone demanded. Roach grinned.
"I'm screwin' myself to death," he declared. "But what a way to go! She's all yours, Fletch. I'm bushed."
Boone pushed him aside and approached the prone teacher. He knelt, removed the wadded handkerchief from her mouth.
"Go ahead," he invited. "Scream all you want. Nobody will hear you."
Miss Garfield's mouth opened, but only hoarse, rasping sounds issued. She had lost her voice, strained the vocal cords raw through the violence of earlier outcries. Boone chuckled.
"Can't talk, eh?" he jeered. "That's a change, darling. You talked all right before you cow! About prick-shy Phyllis Dexter. I said you'd be sorry."
He brought his left hand into view and displayed the large eel Mason had been tormenting Janet with, holding the lashing eel behind its head, the powerful, snakelike coils whipping round his wrist and forearm, and brought the slimy, elongated tail close to Miss Garfield's genitals, gloating when she recoiled frantically.
Crouching low, Boone turned her over again. He sprawled across her body, lying partly on her buttocks, and while Roach held the shuddering woman's legs apart mauled and kneaded her luscious bottom. Then, broadly splaying and separating the cheeks, he dangled the writhing eel so that it touched and coiled against Miss Garfield's anus and cringing vagina. Boone hoped the eel might wriggle into the lower opening, but it disappointed him. Swearing, he hurled it across the cabin.
Roach released the teacher's ankles long enough to pick up a stinking, long-dead mackerel and toss it to him.
"She was always a bugger for fish at meal times," he said, grinning maliciously. "Try this for size." "Hold the twat still then."
Roach endeavored to restrain the violent movements of Miss Garfield's limbs. Boone used the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to separate the lips of her quim, obscenely displaying the round, crimson maw, and attempted to insert the narrow head of the fish, laughing uproariously when the slippery object entered without difficulty. He fed more of it into the wet split, kept ramming until only the tail protruded.
"Let's see you piss now," he taunted. He rubbed his inflated penis, masturbated vigorously but desisted when his organ attained maximum erection.
"I've been saving it up for you, Prunella," he mocked. "But now you're going to have it, darling. Every bloody inch, and right up your juicy brown asshole."
To emphasize his threat he parted the quivering, pink and white cheeks and stretched the dark pit of her anus, poking his index finger at it and laughing when the hole shrank in on itself like the darkly closing petals of a soft, purple-brown flower.
"Drape her over the sofa," Boone ordered. Roach, whose penis was already stiffening again, stopped pawing Prunella's thighs and the glistening fissure partly embedded in the thick rug she and Boone were lying on. He helped Boone trail Miss Garfield to the couch. They draped her belly downward over the low back. With her hands tied she was unable to offer much resistance, and incapable of shouting or even speaking above a whisper. She jerked and flopped ludicrously, increasing her pathetic struggles when Boone forced her legs apart and kept them wide with his hips. His large hands ridged the yielding flesh of her buttocks, forcing the cheeks tightly together, emphasizing the deep, dusky cleft, then stretching them and bringing the anus into full view, gouging his thumbs into it.
Daphne, attracted by Miss Garfield's frantic plunging, left off watching Dent and Connie copulating and lurked behind the sofa, sipping Coca-Cola from a bottle. She did not voice excitement or extend suggestions, but merely gaped, regarding Boone's lewd antics with mild disgust and obvious resentment.
Boone, completely preoccupied, was on his knees, sniffing the resilient hole he intended to fuck, tonguing it, moistening the crinkled rim with saliva.
Mason reached his climax but lingered, relaxing with Janet on another luxurious rug that had probably cost Boone's mother the equivalent of a hundred dollars. Roach, obsessed with the urge to violate Miss Garfield's twisted mouth, made another attempt, and this time she was too exhausted and sickened to prevent him, barely conscious as she hung over the back of the creaking sofa with the blood rushing to her throbbing head, her bottom obscenely elevated, while Boone thrust resolutely at the stubbornly resisting aperture.
The torn upholstery chafed her breasts. Her hands were white and bloodless from the cruel restriction of the thin cord cutting deeply into her wrists. Roach, abusing her mouth, made the interesting discovery that Miss Garfield wore artificial dentures and that the teeth were loose in the gums now that her jaws gaped slackly. Surprised but elated, Roach thrust his thumbs against Miss Garfield's cheeks until the dentures were forced out. He put them in his jacket pocket then, gloating, grimacing, knowing he had overcome the last barrier hampering his disgusting purpose, he butted his swollen penis at the wrinkled, sunken cavity, grunting triumphantly when he encountered no resistance whatever. His tumid roll beat right in, displacing the writhing lips enormously, and bludgeoned effortlessly to the back of his victim's retching throat. Delighted, Roach withdrew, quickly thrust in again, and groaned at the hot wave of excruciatingly rapturous feeling traveling along his violating shaft.
He commenced a rhythmic undulation of hips and buttocks, gripping Miss Garfield's head, grimacing like an imbecile, gasping, grinning lecherously at Boone who. with the broad, pointed glans of his penis embedded in the taut, quivering pit of the sobbing woman's anus, strove to overcome the burning restriction and force his bulging knob past the stubborn obstruction, gaining a fraction more each time and, encouraged, ramming recklessly, disregarding tearing friction and the sharp, tugging pains round his foreskin, gouging into the already abnormally widened aperture with stiffened thumbs, ferociously stretching it and jerking his huge cock frantically deeper until, quite suddenly, the tension lessened considerably and the rim yielded, splitting and tearing the skin but allowing the brutal prick to intrude slightly before closing firmly round it, behind the glans, and gripping with a fierce, clutching contraction that created demoralizing tempestuous sensations and hardened Boone's furiously jabbing rod to the rigidity of a thick iron bar.
Miss Garfield heaved, uttering muffled, strangled sounds. With teeth clenched, Boone resumed the assault. Roach was nearing orgasm, dragging at Miss Garfield's hair in the frenzy of crude excitement flaying his stocky body. He came, shooting his seething sperm load to the back of her mouth, partly withdrew, and watched semen pump from his wet prick past Miss Garfield's flabby lips. The milky flood kept spurting in short, furious gushes, filled the soft, sunken cavity and oozed down the spluttering, retching woman's chin.
But the nauseating horror of the vile act paled into insignificance compared with the raging, burning torture in her rectum. Roach pulled out completely, wiped his organ round Miss Garfield's nostrils, then grasped the deflating roll and squeezed a few more drops from the reddened knob, smeared them down Prunella's hollowed cheek.
Her throat worked spasmodically, the defiled mouth opening and closing like that of a fish, but the only outcry produced was a hoarse, whistling sound.
Boone dragged her toward him. He had several inches of rocklike penis into her cruelly distended back passage, and was determined to bury the whole formidable length. Arid now that his knob was past the initial obstruction he could maintain a regular movement without dragging friction destroying the acute, ecstatic pleasure. The hot orifice responded to the surging strokes like a tiny, clutching vagina, oozing a brown accumulation of excrement and blood.
But Boone did not complete the massive intrusion. A third of his cock remained beyond the agonized ring of torn flesh when he uttered a loud groan and tried to pull out. He was too late. A jetting flow of semen spattered the swollen aperture, leaked down into the hairy folds of vagina and crotch, glistening round the ragged anus. Boone swore. He had not wanted to spunk so soon. He had intended to prolong the vile act.
Miss Garfield slumped, slid sideways and toppled from the back of the sofa to the cabin deck, collapsing on the rumpled rug.
"You've killed her!" Daphne exclaimed awesomely.
"Balls!" Boone answered scornfully. "Give the twat her dentures and toss her back in the hold. Wait! I've got something else she can have, something I've been saving since lunch."
He dropped his jeans, squatted astride Miss Garfield and flopped her over on her back. With white buttocks poised above her pale, twitching face, he contracted his bowels and squeezed out an enormous turd, twisting round, red-faced with effort, to aim the dangling coil at Miss Garfield's mouth. But he misjudged, and in that moment, recovering from her faint, shuddering with nausea, her whole system churning and upheaved, seeing that odious evacuation about to drop and then feeling its warm, soggy impact between her breasts, Miss Prunella Garfield experienced the first really satisfying orgasm she had ever known.