Chapter 6

If Bob Birmingham was anything at all, he wasn't a quitter. Otherwise, how could his marriage to Ardis have lasted as long as it had? And sure, the remembrance of how Gail Turner had gulled him still rankled, served to make him hold back. But in good time (it was two days into August now), he'd licked his wounds clean. Ardis' unremitting priggishness was still the same; he had to do something or go insane.

Thus, once more, he found himself on the highway, heading north. Once more he was in search of a new generator and would be gone for the weekend. He hadn't found what he'd wanted in Toledo last time. And now-Indianapolis. He could hardly wait.

The girl's name was Samantha Earle. She was in her early thirties, a tallish, long-haired brunette. At least so the photographs she'd sent of herself had attested. Once more it had been one of those ads in the back of the swapping tabloid to which he'd applied.

He was wary of Samantha. He'd tested her in every conceivable way. This time there were no catches that he could determine. Not once was there any mention of money for traveling expenses, for photographs, or clothes as there had been with Gail. There had been others he'd written to also. And yes, the other two correspondents-Bob was getting cagey, all right-had started that "poor-me" angle. He'd dropped them instantly.

There'd be no motel assignations with Samantha, no imagine meals or shopping trips to spring for. Samantha was a widow; she had her own place, a house situated on a rural route, twelve miles outside of Wrightstown, a small town located twenty miles south and west of Naptown proper. Samantha was a country girl, innocent and unaffected, and Bob was sure she was the woman he'd been looking for all along. Those meals she'd described, the pastoral pleasures-Samantha was the answer to his prayers, all right!

Thus Bob whistled with expectation this Friday morning as he tooled his pickup north. If he kept up this pace, and didn't get lost in that confusing welter of back country roads Samantha had drawn for him, he'd most likely be knocking at her door by mid-afternoon. Freshly-made biscuits, country ham, ice cold buttermilk she'd promised him, no matter what time he arrived. Yes, he sighed happily, this was the girl of his dreams. Even if she was only half as pretty as her photo made her out to be-

Now it was I:30 and, having made even better time than expected, Bob was slowly cruising Country Trunk SSS, looking for the Hick-ham Road turnoff. Now, minutes away from confrontation with Samantha, his heart hammered painfully in his chest; his hands suddenly felt clammy on the wheel. Dear God, please make this one right for me. I can't go on much longer like this: Nothing's any good between me and Ardis these days.

Now his heart jammed up high in his throat. Hickham Road, the sign said. He swerved right, went two miles due west. Now he read the faded legend on the ramshackle letter box: Harvey Earle. He turned in and drove perhaps a half mile on a dusty road. Already, surveying the lush, rolling farmland, he was making plans in his mind, cataloging the repairs he'd make to the fence, to the tilted mailbox standard. He scoffed at Samantha's clumsy attempts at cross-tilling, let his mind race ahead to the time when he'd be riding that plow instead of her, or whichever fool she'd hired to contour her land. It would be good to be a farmer, to work in the soil once more.

Then the house, white frame, solid as a ship, a shaded veranda sweeping its eastern side, came into view. Bob saw where the lawn needed mowing and trimming, where the outbuildings needed a fresh coat of paint. But as quickly the thoughts of repairs were routed. For at that moment, Samantha, looking even more beautiful, more radiant than her picture had foretold, stepped out on the porch and waved shyly at him. She wore a ruffled dress; her hair was pulled charmingly back on her head, tied with a girlish bow. There were white sandals on her feet. Even more important was the unmistakable thrust of her sharp-tipped breasts in the gown's bodice-a bonus that the photographs hadn't promised.

His heart ached. He suddenly found it hard to breathe. Pretty, his mind refrained, so pretty. If she wasn't something-really something!

Then he was out of the car, his Stetson in his hand; he was slowly advancing toward her.

He wanted to die when Samantha bypassed all awkward formalities, immediately rushed into his arms, kissed him hotly and prolongedly. Her eyes glittered with warmth and affection as she broke the kiss, held him at arm's length and appraised him from head to toe.

"Oh, Bob, you are big! You weren't kidding when you described yourself, were you?"

And though Bob couldn't be sure, he would have sworn her eyes were riveted to his crotch with bawdy delight, that she was taking in the seam-straining hard-on that had grown there.

"C'mon in, Bob!" she hooted in a earthy, folksy way. "I'm so darned glad you made it early. I've got everything ready to go. Just give me fifteen minutes with the biscuits and..." She stopped, put her arm around his waist, and stared up at him admiringly. "You must be starved."

Bob's heart felt big as a melon as, arm in arm, they proceeded up the stairs, their hips bumping in salacious contact every step of the way.

Now, at long last, the delicious meal was finished, and Bob was stuffed. But still they sat at the table, chattering like long-lost friends. She was all woman, natural and easy, and when she wasn't touching his face, stroking his back in passing, twining her fingers in his, she was pressing her cheek against his, giving him loving pecks on the lips. "I can't believe it," she repeated again and again. "Y'r all you claimed y'rself to be."

The meal, the quick confidence and caresses, the fact that she asked absolutely nothing of him at all, further lulled Bob. There was no catch here, no tricks up the sleeve. Samantha was a simple girl, without a man, starved for love. They'd be in bed before another half hour.

It was cool and refreshing in the house, despite the bright sun of the day. Idly his gaze went about the kitchen,-peered into the other rooms, and he liked what he saw. Substantial furnishings, no great clutter. And everything in apple pie order. Here and there were small breakdowns and patch-work jobs, all denoting the need of a man's hand.

"Tell me about Ardis," she said now, pulling her chair closer to his. "About Garrett Falls. I'm so glad you told me the truth in your letters, Bob. I feel I know you so well already ... even before we..."She faltered, blushed. "Ain't I the brazen cat though?" She giggled so charmingly it made Bob ache to reach out and pull her into his arms. "I'm sorry, honey. Can't help myself. like I said in my letters. ... It's been so long since I ... with any man at all."

"Y'r fine, Samantha, jist fine," he soothed her. "A man knows where he stands with a woman like you."

"Call me Sam. Everyone else does."

"I'd rather ... if you don't mind ... call you Samantha. It's such a pretty name."

"Samantha suits me fine. Now, about Ardis. Are things still as bad between you? I don't know what on earth ails that woman. With a handsome man like yon." She caught herself. "I mean, if you want to tell me. I hope you won't think I'm prying."

"No," he assured her, "not at all. I think ... if we're ever to become serious ... you should know what y'r up against." Then he unburdened himself .completely to Samantha, gloried in the good feelings, the comfort she inspired. like some weepy drunk, he ran ahead of himself, talked about the possibilities of marrying her once they'd decided this was for real.

"Money won't be no problem. I've got a hefty chunk ... forty thousand or more ... in the bank. Some Ardis don't even know about. We'll do fine ... jist fine..."

It was here that Samantha shushed him. "I didn't mean f r you to talk about money, Bob. That don't concern me. I'm fair-well fixed myself. We'd never have to worry on that score." Then, abruptly, she was up, sliding onto his lap, wrapping warm arms around his neck. "Forgive me, Bob," she purred, kissing him passionately, her tongue dipping into his mouth. "I can't help it. It has been a long time. And if we're ever gonna get at it ... "

Bob took her in his arms and rose from the chair. He felt dizzy, like a giant among men as he carried her out of the kitchen. "Where, darling?" he husked. "Tell me where."

She tore her lips from his mouth and gasped, "Down the hall. First door." Then her mouth clamped to his. She sighed as his fingers found her Vagina through her skirt and commenced to caress and pinch it.

"You can open y'r eyes now, Bob," she murmured after they had made it to the bedroom where Bob was now seated on the bed's edge.

He turned and opened his eyes. Samantha, stark naked, the sun making her tanned limbs glisten like silvered honey, stood in a sexy pose before him, one hand on her hip, the other lazily stroking her gorgeously voluptuous breasts. His mouth dropped; his eyes bulged; he couldn't look everywhere fast enough. The long, svelte waist, the trim, athletic legs, the dark brown pubic mound. Then her dark brown nipples, polished brown caps, that looked like blunted cones. He's always wanted to try a girl with tits like that. Just like blondes-it was another long-denied fantasy of his.

"God, Samantha," he husked. "You are beautiful. Much too beautiful f r the-likes of me."

"Not too beautiful at all," she sighed, coming close, drawing his fingers to her breasts herself. "Just right. Just right for a wonderful man animal like you." She hissed, pushing her hot belly against his chest. "Oh, yes, Bob! Touch me, kiss me, lay with me like that. If you just knew how long if s been..."

Moment by moment, she turned into a writhing and panting wildcat. He took her nipples into his mouth, tasted their firmness, sampled their shape. His fingers slid up and down her back and buttocks, grazed the rich hair of her snatch. She whimpered, then meekly surrendered the whole of her femininity to him. He wanted to bury his face in her tawny, undulating belly and break into thankful sobs. But he did not. Instead, he sucked the caps all the harder, drove her into even greater paroxysms of lust. His lips tugged at her nipples; his hands clenched and probed her vagina feverishly.

Then, abruptly, Samantha pulled away and stared down at him with hazy eyes. "You now, darling," she gasped. "I want to see you ... have you naked."

Before he could make any move to forestall her, she was upon him. With whoops, she attacked his shirt buttons and undid his zipper. She fell at his feet, untied his shoes and drew off his socks. While he pulled off his shirt and tee-shirt, revealing his hard, earth-brown musculature, she tugged down his trousers, her other hand manipulating his stone-hard penis throughout, making it burn. Now the shorts were coming down.

There was no shame, no embarrassment in Samantha's face as she knelt before him, regarded his monstrous penis with amazed yearning eyes. Her voice caught piteously. "Oh, Bob, darling. Please, I have to. I must have..."

Without a moment's hesitation she wrapped her fingers around the swollen head and drew back his foreskin. The motion made Bob start, made his penis throb, and a great, glittering pearl of come formed on the tip of his penis-head. He groaned. She calmly reached up, spreading the sticky goo all over his glans with a playful finger. Another drop miraculously appeared and she also massaged it into the purplish-colored crown.

Bob wanted to scream, to stop her as her lips opened hungrily, as a pink, serpentine tongue emerged, calmly began to float over the slippery penishead. But he only groaned, permitting the enraptured female to have her way with him. The realization of another lifelong fantasy! What man in his right mind could have turned the penis-sucking little wanton off just then? And now, as the hot silken sheath affixed completely to his throbbing penis, as it began pumping up and down-exerting pressure like a murderous collar-from base to tip, he gasped like a gored bull and lent himself freely to the attack. He had never felt anything so exquisite, so thrilling in all his life.

Both of them sprawled on the bed and the fuck-crazed woman slowly turned and took a very sexy position. A smooth arc of one leg, and her drooling, tempting vagina was poised above his gaping eyes. Now, inch by slow inch, it began to descend, the slippery, livid lips splitting, stretching of their own will as her legs spread to their apex.

Then her vagina was there, a luxurious, wet feast, the materialization of yet another dream. A woman who loved to suck cock! A woman who loved to have her vagina sucked in the bargain ! It was too much, altogether too much at one time, and Bob fell into a frenzy, snorted and gurgled as he chewed and sucked her. Samantha yelped, almost bit him off when he jammed her still closer, swiveled his tongue in her very ass-hole, managed to get an inch up her.

He was slurping and gnawing and groaning insane gibberish when Samantha abruptly pulled him away. "Enough, darling," she gasped. "God, a gal can stand just so much of that. You are a lover, aren't you? A regular madman." She playfully worked her mouth. "My jaws ... they ache something awful. Oh, so big, so fucking big. I'm glad I waited. I'd wait for cock like that all my life."

She fell back in a lovely, tempting heap, her brown-furred vagina seemingly winking and smiling at him, a film of her vagina juices forming over her opening, popping like a bubble. "Oh, I want that beauty in me! So bad. Oh, love me, Bob. It's been so long since a man's touched me. Anything, lover ... just say the word."

For long, happy moments Bob hovered over

Samantha and tormented her unique tits. If he'd thought they would soften, he was mistaken. Now, as he'd learned in those sex manuals, he palmed both breasts from each side, compressed them until the nipples touched. Then his lips closed on both of them simultaneously; his tongue lashed and figure-eighted around them. The sensation was new to Samantha and she hissed and flopped on the bed, crying out brokenly: "Oh, God, baby, that's good! So damned good. I've never had a man suck me like that."

Then, when he slid one hand down her belly, inserted a finger into her snatch, lubricated her clitoris, and commenced to strum it in earnest, the woman flopped and gurgled as if she was suffering an epileptic fit. "Good, Bob, good!" she wheezed. "I love it, I love it. Suck harder, rub your finger harder ... go around and around..." Her own hand dropped. "Here, I'll show you..."

A few seconds later, her hips churning and pumping fantastically, her moans growing, she shrilly announced her first orgasm. "You devil," she babbled, "you sweet, filthy devil. And your .wife doesn't dig your style? She's gotta be crazy or something. Oooh, you fuck, you!"

Bob seemingly couldn't get enough of Samantha, especially when he made her come repeatedly with his swirling finger. He was starting her up the magic mountain still another time, when she called a halt.

"Stop, oh, stop!" she mewled. "That's too much, altogether too much. Something else now."

Again, following the examples in the sex books, he roved her body with his famished, vibrating tongue; he laved her sweet flesh from head to toe.

Samantha became more possessed, became the epitome of all the wantons the world had ever known then. She couldn't squirm, squeal, praise, or accommodate Bob enough. She climbed atop him, mischievously sitting on his stone-hard penis. With her own fingers she opened her vagina lips, guided the fat tool into her womb. She aahed as it went deeper and deeper into her. And when it was finally buried, she slowly began to ride up and down upon Bob, bringing secret muscles into play.

But no sooner was he adjusted, beginning to enjoy it, than she pulled away, demanding still another variation. He must fuck her from the rear, while she knelt on all fours on the mattress. Now he must lick the backs of her legs, slurp in her vagina. He must make a great show of licking her ass-hole, of fighting to squirm his tongue into it. At the end, Samantha actually held her buttocks wide, exposed the hairy, puckered star completely. The forced enlargement allowed him to get his tongue in.

Deeper and deeper, while Samantha vowed she'd never felt anything so thrilling in all her life. Then she tired of that and got out of the bed, stood beside it, her palms on the mattress. A last imploring look at Bob, and she slowly sank her head and let him have his own way. Holding her tits in his hands, he fucked her madly.

"Please be careful, Bob," she whimpered. "Don't miss. You're so big. You'd kill me if you did."

He stood behind her, exulted in the gutty filthiness that filled him as he rammed her from behind with all his might. Shortly he tired of that. Turning her on her back, he slowly gravely sank his penis into her. She pulled him back onto the bed and locked her knees over his shoulders, as his forward charge lifted her rear right off the bed, balancing her on the nape of her neck and shoulders. Again his penis drove home.

"In," she gloated, "are you in! I've never had such a big one, felt such a huge, fat, slippery penis. Do it! Don't be afraid. Shove that cock home." She recoiled. "It feels like you're denting my heart! I'll never get enough of you, Bob! Never, never!"

Even then she wasn't willing to end this first fantastic fuck session; again, she insisted that Bob suck her vagina once more, tongue her to still another orgasm.

He complied without hesitation and did a beautiful job on her. Then-a madman, insane to have her one moment, content to wait the next-he was upon Samantha again, his penis digging deep into her hot folds. She dragged one of her breasts up and urged him to suck it in cadence with his penis thrust. She began to come like some sort of firecracker.

Then Bob felt that great booming, felt that life pulse, like someone was swinging a mighty mall against the solid steel gate to the universe. He felt that murderous, scalding pain building in his testicles. He felt the hot flood back up in his stomach, gather in one thick, creamy mass. He felt it pop its seal, go careening down his pipe into Samantha's pulsing, milking vagina, into the depths of her bowels, where it splashed and spurted. Still his penis throbbed and spurted. Still his animalistic gruntings abraded his throat.

Bob never knew where the man-tall, thin and ferret-like, his smile a smug smear on his sallow face-came from. He jerked away from Samantha. "What the hell!" he spat. He wanted to charge the man, bowl him over, knock the living shit out of him.

At least until he saw the mean, blue steel of the .45 automatic in his right hand and the expensive camera hanging around his neck. The guy waved the gun menacingly at Bob, who fell back with a defeated whimper. Immediately

Bob knew the meaning of the intrusion. His stomach knotted painfully; despair crushed him, and he knew that once more-rednecked hick that he was-he'd been taken.

His eyes focused next on Samantha as she stood beside her partner in crime, her sweaty body still glistening, a derisive sneer twisting her features. In that instant Bob wondered how he could have ever thought her beautiful. She was a rotten vampire, a bloodsucker.

"I reckon you know what this's all about, plowboy," the man snickered. "Don't try anything, unless you want your head blown off. Camera, see? Pictures? Get it, stupid? We've got your address, your letters. You stupes are all alike. You think you're in love; you blab everything you know to a perfect stranger." He waved the gun at Samantha. "Get his wallet, baby. We'll see what his first payment's gonna be."

Samantha leaped with glee to Bob's clothes, extracted his wallet which revealed 200-plus dollars. Her friend chuckled mockingly. "Really thought you were gonna have y'self a time, didn't you, plowboy?"

He gestured with the gun and herded Bob toward his clothes. "Well, that's the end of it, rube. That's all you get. Just a sniff. Get dressed, get outta here. Skedaddle for home if you know what's good for you."

He turned to Samantha. "God, talk about guys going ape for snatch! Really turned my stomach. He ain't had any for a month. God, the pictures I got! His precious Ardis'll shit when she sees these." He threw the wallet at Bob. "You got your credit cards. They'll get you home."

"What ... what...." Bob stammered, "do you intend doing with those pictures?"

"Nothing, you dumb hillbilly, unless you miss a payment." He turned to Samantha. "What do you figure? Two hundred a month? We don't want to be greedy."

"Sure, he's good for it. Got a mint. Unless you'd rather arrange a lump sum. Say ten grand, lover?"

"Let him think about it. He's got our box number. He can write us whenever he pleases. Two hundred, Bob. The first of the mouth. Don't mess up. 'Cause if you do ... your wife's gonna get the nicest pictures in the mail. Either that or I'll send them to that Reverend Milton you kept harping about. That'd do you in real nice."

Bob was dressed by then. And feeling mortified and smaller than he'd ever felt before in his whole life, he skulked toward the door.

"Don't try running, Bob," the man taunted. "We'll find you. Sam and I have processed dozens of suckers like you; we know all the tricks. Now move! Get in that truck and make tracks."

The woman and her lover stood in the doorway, watching Bob's truck raise thick clouds of dust as it streaked down the drive, hit the highway, then turn back the way it had come. "Did you see the moron's face?" the man chortled, pulling Samantha back into the house, cruelly digging his fingers into her right breast. "The poor dope never knew what hit him." He pushed her toward the kitchen. "Now, how about some supper? I'm starved. It's been a long afternoon."

Bob Birmingham cowered in the thick hedge to the east of the house. Cautiously he slapped at mosquitoes and flies while he waited. It was nine o'clock; he'd been keeping vigil for almost five hours now. A light still burned in the living room, and he cursed the conniving duo. Weren't they ever going to get to bed?

His thoughts drifted to the turn-in where he'd concealed the truck. He recalled the mile-long, cross-country trek to backtrack to Samantha's house. What would he do now? He didn't rightly know. Kill them? Just maim them a little? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, only the fact that he must avenge himself upon them. What good was living when a man's honor had been so basely violated? If they thought they were dealing with another docile redneck, they had another damned think coming.

Abruptly he froze; the light had gone out.

Now, suddenly, another one came on in the rear of the house. They were in the bedroom. It was safe now. He picked up the two heavy rocks and started sneaking toward the house. He carefully opened the cellar door and let himself into the musty, cluttered vault. He fell against a wall until his eyes became accustomed to the deeper gloom, then he picked his way through the junk, making his way toward the stairs. The muffled, sugar-sweet intonations of the two lovers were beacon enough for him.

How long Bob stood outside their door, watching Samantha lovingly suck her boyfriend's penis, he didn't know. But it was just long enough for the man to get far enough along so that his reflexes would be slowed. Then, when he began to grunt and wheeze, when Samantha's head went crazy on his swollen penis, Bob burst, into the room and made a crashing lunge for the automatic which lay on the dresser. The man made a jump also, but he was too slow. Bob kicked at his naked shanks and sent him flying. Another kick in the ribs and the man rolled over, groaning. His groans turned to full-fledged screams when Bob deliberately whirled back from the dresser, gun in hand, and calmly stomped his right hand into the floor. There was the sound of crunching bones, a new intensity to the victim's cries.

Before he knew it, he was being dragged to his feet. Bob merely had to point the gun at him and he dissolved into a cringing, blubbering hulk. "Blackmail, huh?" Bob snorted. "Pictures y'r planning on sending to my woman?" He clubbed the man with his left hand and kept him from falling with his right. Bob shoved the gun in his face, seemingly to push it into his mouth and unload it there. The man gagged, howled, tried to fall away as Bob jammed the nose of the .45 against his teeth, breaking them off at the gums. Bob grunted and drew the gun away. Then he released the greasy, dark hair and delivered a solid haymaker to the man's face. His nose was pulverized this time. He huddled in a sobbing heap on the floor, great bloody bubbles coming out of his face when he looked toward Bob again.

Samantha broke from her horrified trance and started to scream. Bob openhanded her, sending her flying against the wall. Before she could recover, his pants were open, his penis out. "Here, you dirty cheating bitch," he growled. "You like to suck cocks so much, suck this one." His fingers twisted in her hair and held her to the bestial task; his torso bucked at her face like an oil pump. Her gaggings and wheezings were music to his ears, as were the choking gasps that broke from her ravaged throat when he began to unload into her mouth for the second time that day.

Bob turned into a virtual madman after that. He showed Samantha no mercy. He dragged her back to where her lover still groveled on the floor. "Spit on it, you rotten bastard ! " Bob commanded. "Get it all juicy so I can fuck your girlfriend's ass." He raised his fist a little and lover boy strained up, pushing his mouth at Bob's penis. He spat and spat-a mixture of blood and drool.

"No, no!" Samantha shrieked as he flung her at the bed again and came at her from behind. "You'll kill me, you'll ruin me for life if you put that thing into..."

Her cries were unheard. Bob wasn't about to be stopped now. He jammed her buttocks; he drove his shaft into her anus as brutally, as swiftly as he could. He felt hot blood fleck his loins; he gloried in Samantha's gagging screams. Then he was in her, pumping like a dog. His fingers dug into her hips, came away with bloody flesh. He moved faster and began to scream himself. Sharp pain almost ruined his pleasure.

Afterward, he forced the man to give him the film and the money. He made him open a specially constructed safe and produce all the letters he'd written to Samantha. He smashed the expensive camera against the wall. Then Bob took the gun and advanced on Samantha a last time. "It's all drippy again," he rasped. "Dig it out. Suck it clean, like you did before." When she haggardly complied and was done, he pulled back her head and spat full in her face.

A minute later he was out in the darkness, loping toward the road.