Chapter 9
Even under another circumstance, the apartment doorbell at eleven o'clock would have startled Joan and her mother. It was a long, insistent bell, snapping Joan erect, out of her mother's arms and to her feet, shocked by her nakedness and the sudden return to awareness. She hurried to her room, grabbed up her robe, then went to the door. A number of illogical speculations went through her mind; Miss Addleson perhaps though unlikely, somebody who had mistaken their apartment for the one above or below, and with a twinge of apprehension, Bonnie because of some difficulty that had kept her out of school for a week. Joan settled her glasses and gave her hair a swipe, then she opened the door.
Sight of Sam Price stunned her. He stood nervously, his pot-pie hat in hand, his dark glasses and short thin beard making him seem blacker than she had remembered. "Oh, Mr. Price!" she exclaimed. "Oh. Is Bonnie sick or something? She hasn't been to school-" "Yeah, she sick. It is pretty late but she sent me to talk to you about it, Miss Gilbert."
"Well, please, come in! I'm not in condition for guests-but I guess-you are more of a friend than a guest."
He chuckled. "Maybe that's right." Then he stepped through the door, crowding her back and before she could even gasp, two more tall lean Negroes were into the apartment.
"What-" Then Sam spun her to a seat on the sofa. Her robe flew up, exposing her long tapered legs, sleek and white and instantly trembling. The three were all different, but somehow the same. One had a crooked hand and in the other, he held a wicked-looking knife with a long, thin blade. No one smiled, and for a moment, not one of them spoke.
"You listen, woman," Sam finally growled. "These my friends. Claw and Snake. We had a little trouble a few days ago. Law looking for us. It's a bad scene. We going to stay with you a few days. You scream or make a fuzz, zip goes your head. Bonnie says you live with your ma. Where is she?"
"You can't-can't get away with a thing like this!"
"Snake, see if you can find the old blister," the one called Claw said. "She holler, belt her good. Hey, this is a right-type pad!"
"My mother," Joan managed to say. "She's in b-bed. Let me go awaken her-she'll be terrified if she wakes up and-" "Sit down! Go ahead on, Snake. Rack the old babe out!" Claw snapped. "Now, I'll give you the word, woman. We going to hole it out for as long as necessary. You going to be nice and feed us and see to it that the fuzz don't bust in on us, right?" "Right!" He stared at her legs, then leaned down and ran his curled fingers, wearing long untrimmed nails, raked lightly along her flesh. "We just might be kind of right to have around, woman. Seeing you and Sam, here, understand each other! He say you're a dyke but I think different. Well see, yeah."
Tense with beginning hysteria, Joan turned her head. She heard Snake and her mother, but there was no scream. Then Snake laughed loud and harshly. Terror and shame made Joan's body turn pink with flush. Martha, like herself had been lying on the bed stark naked. The dildo was still fastened to the spinning wheel, its formidable shape coated with the red balloon. Somewhere, on the night stand, she remembered, her own rubber cock was lying. Then she heard her mother protest, and a moment later, she stumbled down the hallway, still naked, being propelled by Snake's big black hands on her back.
"Joan-Joan, what are these-these men doing here?"
"Hey, now!" Claw laughed. "That's what I call a lot of woman! Hi, old babe. You got company, or ain't you noticed?"
"You know what, Claw? They got a goddamned fucking machine in the back room!" Snake laughed, pushing Martha down into Joan's arms. "From the size of the prick on it, we come to the right place and the right time! Sam, you should-a-thought about this layout before! We been wasting a lot of time. Ain't been here five minutes and I got a hard-on a cat couldn't scratch. Man, this is the living end!"
Joan tried as best she could to cover her mother's quivering body, at least to hide her vital privates from the hot eyes of the trio. "Oh, Mama, I'm so sorry!" she whispered. "They are terrible beasts! They are in some kind of trouble and want to stay here-for a while! Oh, Mama, Mama, you poor darling."
"I'm-all right, baby, all right! Oh, they are so dirty and ugly. I feel so ashamed!"
Joan looked at Sam. "All right, you're here and there's nothing two defenseless women can do about it. But will you have the decency to bring mama a robe or something?"
"I'll get her some threads," Claw said. "I want to see the fucking machine. Snake, go check the kitchen. See if there's something for scoff and check the refrigerator for beer."
"There's no beer," Joan said. "If you want something to eat, I'll fix something. Just let us alone!"
"Sure, sure," Claw said. "Man, all that white meat and no potatoes! Sam, you watch 'em."
Claw went toward the back bedroom and Snake went to the kitchen. Sam moved close, looking down at them. "Listen. The fuzz want us for that dead cop last week. We didn't do nothing, but they want us. You sit tight and fly right, or Claw may lose his temper, see? He say jump, you ask how high! Hey, baby, you remember old Sam, some?" He grinned. "Don't get uppity. I already told the boys what a good fuck you are. How about you, grandma? You got some of her come-on-and-give-it-to-me?"
"Oh, Joan, Joan!" Martha murmured.
"I know, Mama, but these-animals are murderers!"
Claw came back, his chuckle sounding like a sputtering exhaust. He tossed a robe to Martha, then leaned down and patted her bare hip. "Any shit you come on with gets stuffed down your throat, see? Your number is on the wall, old woman! That's a real gimmick back there!"
Snake laughed. Joan felt the perspiration of fear wet her between the legs. As they took off their jackets and made themselves at home, she saw the huge ridge of Claw's stiff prick and the bulge of Snake's hard-on laying up the front of his tight trousers. She helped Martha into the robe and Sam hollered from the kitchen that there was chow like it was going out of style. "Bring the broads and let's get it going! And there's a half a bottle of brandy, too!"
They stood around the kitchen like black ghouls. The steaks in the freezer were frozen tight, so Joan sliced cold ham and filled a skillet with eggs. Martha helped with toast and the kitchen table to keep from sitting down, but even then, black hands grabbed at bottoms and breasts as the two women put together the impromptu supper. The kitchen was crowded, the air thick with menace, but it was obvious that for the moment, food interested the three Black Panthers more than did the loosely clad bodies of their hostesses. The half bottle of brandy didn't last long passing from mouth to mouth. Claw didn't believe they hadn't more liquor, and he ran a cupboard check to suit himself. Then the food was on the table, with a huge pot of strong coffee to help. The black men became jolly, derisive and foul, and they didn't pay any attention to Martha and Joan until the latter edged toward the living room door, thinking about the telephone and a frantic call for help. Claw raised his good hand.
"You fixing for a fat lip, bitch," he warned Joan. "Wise up!"
Joan moved back, slipping one arm around her mother. "I don't know what to do," she whispered.
"Only whatever they want, I guess," Martha whispered back.
"Oh, Mama!"
"Maybe, if we just-go along with them, they won't hurt us. It's just like a nightmare, isn't it? Oh, dear, if only they weren't so dirty-and so c-crude!"
Then Claw's plate was cleaned and he turned his chair around, burped noisily, and let his beady eyes strip the two women. Joan tensed as she felt him rape her mentally, then turned the same hungry look on Martha. His good hand lying across one thigh, toyed lazily with the bulge in his trouser leg but to Joan's inexperienced eye, it didn't seem hard nor as urgent as it had been.
"Whose turn is it?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth.
"Here, too? Goddamnit, whyn't we just lock 'em in a closet and sack out? I'm dead, and we don't get some decent sleep, we going to fall out, man," Sam growled.
"No dice, man. Maybe that sister of yours comes on with mouth. We got to be able to shag out fast if the fuzz comes. Anyway, until I get a chance to shake this joint out, I don't trust these broads. Okay if you're beat, I'11 stand first watch. Me and four-eyes got some talking to do so she can stay up with me. Can't you, baby?"
"Yes, if you'11 let my mother get some sleep-I'11 stay up with you," Joan answered quickly, tightening her hug around Martha's waist.
"Don't signify, woman," Claw told her. "I want you up, you stay up. As for your mother, that's up to Snake and Sam."
Snake snickered. "Who needs her? I'm for some sleep." "Yeah," Sam grunted. "Tomorrow's another day. I'm uptight!"
Claw set the chain-lock on the apartment door, then moved around, tucking drapes tight and turning out the apartment lights. Joan, sitting stiffly on the sofa, watched him and as the lights dimmed to one single lamp in the living room, a peculiar change came over her. She shadowed, Claw seemed less menacing, less formidable. Her nose had become used to the smell of unwashed bodies, and her mind had lost its hysteria. With Martha alone in Joan's bedroom, the first accomplishment had been made; Joan abruptly decided that unless the trio became violent, the experience could only be horrible. Claw was now standing close in front of her, his hand down to the long tube in his tight trouser leg. It was tremendous, and before she could control herself, her knees jerked slightly apart. Claw chuckled in that obscenely aware way.
"Yeah, baby," he said. Then he unzipped his trousers and shoveled out his massive black cock and the thick puff of his hairy balls. He skinned back his prick and the size of the dark purple head made Joan quiver-and close her eyes. The smell of an unclean cock wafted from Claw to her, and her cunt, pressed wetly between her thighs, did some tiny inside movement. Claw stepped forward and put one knee on the sofa, leaning forward so his prick touched her chin. Joan's head twisted away, but she could feel the maddening heat of his penis only an inch from her cheek. His clawed hand came out and the back of it knocked on her forehead, then pressed firmly. Hypnotized by her own imagination, Joan let her head be turned back and the hot thick glans rubbed back and forth across her mouth. "Yeah, baby!" he reminded her.
"No, no," she murmured and the insistent flesh knob look advantage of her momentarily parted lips to push against her quickly closed teeth. His good hand clenched itself into her loose hair, and though it didn't hurt, she seemed forced to let her jaw drop slack so her mouth came open. The cock moved hotly in, and she merely let her lips deform around it as her tongue picked up the acrid taste of sex. He began to slowly move his prick in and out of her slack mouth, picking up the rapidly flowing saliva to slip softly in her lips. Eyes tightly closed, Joan began to work her mouth, to keep the deeper pushes from choking her and to swallow the unreasonable amount of her own saliva. Her lips burned with the obscene friction, and she fought her tingling body to remain still. Finally, his hand in her hair began to hurt her scalp and she raised her head to grip his wrist. At the same moment, she let him know that surrender was imminent by tightening her mouth. "Yeah, yeah, baby!" he encouraged her, and Joan's resistance collapsed. Her brain cleared itself of every thought except about the magnificent prick so thick and heavy in her mouth. She put her hand to his groin, thrilling at the feel of the wiry hair growing from the hard, straining loin. She caught the sturdy cock root in her fingers and began to suck in earnest, pulsating her throat, moving her head forward and back with a deliciously steady rhythm. Her tongue came alive, to flick the pulsating head at the extreme of each stroke. She opened her eyes and turned them down to see the gleaming black shaft with its swelling veins and mobile skin, and the impact of watching the throbbing penis sent shivers of delight from her mouth to her cunt and back up again. Above her, Claw's breath was rushing, catching in his lungs, to be expelled as he urged to her with back slightly arched. She didn't care what he did; her hands pulled his trousers down and she cupped his rock-hard ass cheeks, feeling the under-skin man straining to her flicking, slipping caress. She pulled his nates apart and felt of the sweaty steel wool growing in the deep crack. She took his cock extra far back by pulling him strongly, then she sent her head forward swiftly, dragging his foreskin back so he winced at the tightness of her lips. She felt like one big cunt, one massive, eager receptacle for the club she sucked, and her head whirled with building passion. Suddenly, she felt him tighten and quiver and his asshole under one fingertip seemed to draw in. Joan thought he was going to cum, and for a moment, the thought of his jism spurting into her throat, nigger jism, thick and creamy and musky, and maybe diseased, nearly caused her to vomit over his vibrating prick, then she moaned and mewled and let it come straight into her mouth like a solid jet of molten fire. His gasp was followed by another, then he seized her head between his claw and his good hand, holding her while he pumped his sperm in seemingly endless spewing, filling her mouth with slime she had no chance to swallow. But presently, he eased back, permitting her throat to clear the voluminous liquid, and she started to sob on the sweet stiffness that had suddenly run dry. With a sigh of exhaustion, Joan fell over on her side, trembling hard enough to shake the sofa. Her own orgasm was a slow, inside beat, her cunt fighting one more weary time to spread the passions in fiery waves. She heard the rustle of clothing and when she opened her eyes to practical slits, Claw was naked. His cock swung in a half-hard arc, the swollen head holding the foreskin back in thick, black and gleaming wrinkles.
"Oh God, no m-more, no more!" she husked, but he was down on her, stripping aside the robe, his good hand going swiftly to her fully rounded ass, his clawed hand digging at her nearly bursting tits.
Nigger, she thought, primitive beast, insatiable man, brutal rapist, ruthless satyr. "Fuck me," she murmured. "Oh, do it, do it!"
"Yeah, baby," he assured her and she felt his cock, again rigid, jabbing at her bottom as his weight settled down on her flaccid body. She tried to raise her leg; his prick pinched the swollen lips of her cunt, wedging them apart, forcing in, until she felt the glans finding the wet inner tissues of her vulva. She did not move, could not move. He shoved and the tree moved in, distending her cunt, displacing the excited organs around it, and then he was fucking her with slow, deeply seeking strokes, and Joan's lower body came back to life. It took a brief moment for her second cum, but his was a long lime arriving. Her cunt lips burned like fire from the ruthless frictions, her tits ached and she felt herself being slowly destroyed, turned into an inferno of soaring sensations that kept striking her brain like arrows. After a minute, she discovered his thick wet mouth was nibbling at her shoulder and she twisted, raising her uppermost tit for the big demanding mouth. The wire of his beard raked her sensitized flesh and she had orgasm again, timed now to the speeding cock coursing in her vagina. Senseless; what he did then seemed exactly what he should have done. He pulled his cock out of her cunt with a slosh-sound and shoved the knob into her asshole, and his jism came instantly. She felt it fire her rectum, soften and soothe the surprised ring of her anus, then lie in a molten pool. She wondered if he could hold his hard-on and smear his sperm deep into her bowel, but it seemed not. He lay heavily over her and she almost wept as his prick went soft and slipped from her jism lubricated asshole. The thought came once that the sofa would be spotted, then she sighed contentedly and forgot to care.