Chapter 6
Marci had arranged fresh flowers in the room and had ordered a very special breakfast for Janet when she awoke in the middle of the afternoon the next day. It wasn't the first time that she'd nursed her buddy through the hangover to end all hangovers.
"Tomato juice with lemon and just a hint of gin," she giggled. "The tail of the dog that cures all ills."
Janet opened one eye, groaned, and turned over. Then relenting, she turned back to Marci and half-smiled. It did work, Marci's ridiculous old-wives-tale cure.
Memories of the night before soon came flooding back to Janet, though, and she grew angry all over again, weak as she was from the drinking and wretching of the night's activities.
"Marci, you fucking little slut!" she moaned. "Thanks for the hair of the dog and all that, but how the fuck could you—?"
"Could I what?" Marci smiled innocently.
"Well, fucking that man in shower like that for one thing," Janet exclaimed. "And doing it while I lay near death in the next room. And letting that Italian prick eat you out like that right in front of me-I mean, how do you think I felt?" Then the worst memory of all flooded back to her.
"And—and-and-Jesus!-how could you let that pig of a bartender talk to me like that, abuse me like that in front of all those people?"
"Abuse you?" Marci said meekly. "But, honey, I thought you were loving it. You certainly seemed to be in absolute ecstasy."
"Oh, damn, damn, damn!" Janet sat up furiously-and too quickly, her jerky movement sending a series of sharp pains coursing through her head. She lay back down just as quickly, feeling even worse.
"Keep calm, honey," Marci urged. "You had quite a night."
"I had quite a night!" Janet wailed. "I had quite a night? Jesus, look who's talking. All the dick you could possibly gobble up with any hole or crevice in your whole fucking body, and you say I had quite a night! Holy shit!"
Marci, as usual, obviously wasn't going to talk about it. "Do you want your poached egg, honey?" she asked.
Janet did. Downing her dose of cholesterol, she felt a bit better, especially since she washed it down with yet more of Marci's special slightly-less-than-virgin mary brew.
By the time she was really beginning to feel cranky again, Marci too had begun to relax. And when Janet began to rant and rave about going home to Louisville two days early, even Marci realized that she was bullshitting. She knew full well that nothing could drag her friend away from the resort now-at least not until she had sampled the bartender's wares. And she was convinced that he was as hot for Janet as she was for him. The only real problem now was simply getting the two of them together on the same wave length.
"I hear James is off tonight," she said casually. "Not bartending, I mean."
Janet's face dropped. "What difference could that possibly make to me?" she shrugged, but Marci could see how shaken she was.
"I dunno," Marci shrugged. "I just overheard that this is the night he and Vito go into Nashville, looking for some action."
"But Nashville's over a hundred miles away!" Janet snapped back. "They couldn't go that far every week, just for a little pussy. At least not when—not when—"
Janet didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't really have to. Her meaning was clear. She squirmed in the bed and pulled the covers up over her head, pouting.
By five o'clock, both women were dressed and ready to check out the cocktail lounge. Janet seemed to have made a speedy and rather remarkable recovery. Both women were looking very good indeed.
Jake was on the bar and greeted them warmly.
"Feelin' better, ma'am?" he inquired of Janet. She nodded and ordered another very weak bloody mary.
In about twenty minutes, James arrived, accompanied by his mother and his uncle. James was in full leather, including a black leather jacket and motorcycle hat. Out of his back pocket dangled a pair of hand-cuffs.
"What the fuck is that?" Janet whispered to Marci. "Some" sort of goddam costume parade."
Marci smiled wanly and said nothing.
James walked over to the bar and ordered drinks from Jake. They chatted a few moments about nothing in particular, then James walked back to his table with the drinks he had ordered.
"Who are those weirdoes with him?" Janet whispered to Marci, who answered with a giggle.
They did indeed look quite peculiar. The woman was about sixty and so tiny that she almost looked like a large grandmother Barbie doll. Every detail of her dress and coiffure was perfect, which further added to the highly unreal vibration that she gave off, as if she were not quite real.
The man was as gross as she was fastidious. Greatly overweight and very jowly, he was dressed expensively, but his clothes all looked slept in—and as if he had drooled all over them. Janet wondered if he were retarded or something.
"I think she's his mother," Marci whispered. Janet laughed in total disbelief. The little wisp of a woman didn't look as if she could possibly give birth to anything, much less a strapping hulk of a man like James.
"And the fat, sloppy one?" Janet asked. "What's he supposed to be? The daddy?"
"I don't know," said Marci. "But they're both kind of creepy. They watch, you know."
"They what?"
"Watch."
"You mean, like look? At him? While he's having sex? You've got to be kidding!"
Janet felt herself growing hot and excited again at the idea of kinky voyeurism. But she had to be super careful. She and Marci had worked out a careful master plan, and she had to play her cards perfectly.
James at last glanced their way. Janet shot him a look of icy hatred, and Marci shifted herself in her seat almost too condescendingly.
"Don't overplay it, toots," Janet hissed sweetly through her teeth.
Marci nodded, then on cue walked to the bar for two more drinks.
James and his family party were between Janet and Marci and the fireplace. When Marci came back to the table they had taken earlier with the fresh drinks, Janet took the lead and headed for the bench in front of the fireplace, walking right by James's table.
"I hear we're to be spared your piggish rudeness this evening," Janet said snootily as the passed the table.
James glared straight through her without acknowledging the remark. Elmer grinned obesely and Abigail gave a quick little nod.
"Is this a friend of yours, dear?" the older woman said to her son.
"Hardly," James said flatly. "Just another hot-to-trot cunt. One more horny bitch from the big city out her to try to get herself some country-boy cock. But this farmer isn't willing. That's why she's got a wild hair up her ass."
Abigail smiled and motioned for Marci and Janet to sit down. "Oh, James, you always say the silliest things. Especially after this young lady has already been a guest in our house—a guest we appreciated sharing our hospitality with very much, didn't we Elmer? Very much indeed."
Her brother grinned obscenely and nodded.
"It's not her that I'm talking about," James stressed. "Yeah, she was a hot little fuck, and she put on a good show for you and Uncle Elmer. I'm talking about the other cunt, the smart-ass bitch of a redhead."
Janet glared coldly at him. She was holding her own much better than she had expected. Her face, she was sure, maintained a look of icy calm, though her cunt and thighs were burning with desire.
"You really think you're the dalai lama's piss incarnate, don't you?" she snapped, taking care not to be too snide and bitchy. "I've never heard anything like it in my life. You're the most inhuman, insensitive person I've ever met. The piggiest, meanest, snootiest bastard I've ever come across." She paused, then smiled at Abigail. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, if he's really your son. But he is a bastard."
Abigail looked at her quite seriously. "My son James," she said calmly, "has a brilliant way with words. Brilliant, do you hear? He's a genius ten times over and could have out written Tolstoy and Henry James if he'd had a mind to. But James chose a different path, the path of sexual initiator. His life has been mapped out for him since the day he was born. Choices were made for him even before that, and there's little he could do to change any of that even if he wanted to. And those who cross his path, and linger there for however brief an instant of time, are blessed, young lady. You may be chosen to be one of those. Only time will tell. But, my dear," and here Abigail drew herself right up to her full stature, her voice growing in volume, "my son is not a bastard. My son called you a bitch, a cunt, a worthless piece of shit, and he is right about that. For my son is not a bastard, and he is never, never wrong. And he never ever fails to get what he wants and deserves." There was a deadly silence at the table.
"Was I one of those who was blessed?" whispered Marci.
Abigail turned slowly and looked at her. "No, my child. Not one of the ones who was blessed. You were merely one of the ones who was fucked."
Janet locked eyes at last with James. Their contact was the most intense erotic experience she had ever felt, and she knew, without a further word of bargaining or explanation that she was his completely, that he could do whatever he wanted with her, for as long and as often as he liked.
Silence descended on the room. Total silence. Jake stopped mixing drinks. A drunken couple who had been arguing at the far end of the room suddenly stopped short. No one at the table moved or seemed to even breathe.
James stood. He was a god in his shining leather, Janet thought His muscles bulged in his neck, his chest, his thighs. His cock was rigid and enormous, and Janet felt brutalized by it already. Her body ached for his, but her eyes remained icy, aloof, condescending. She knew that Marci was right It was the only way to really win him, to really get inside his pants for more than just a quick fuck. And Janet knew that this was going to be much, much more than that. It might be the last fuck of her life, but that was all right, because it was going to be so much more than anything else she had ever known that it was absolutely, overwhelmingly worth it.
James approached closer and closer to where Janet was still sitting at the table. Still silence hung over the room, and Janet was sure that every eye was on them.
"Fuck you," she hissed out at him. "You bastard!"
With that he raised his hand, just as he had the night before, but this time he struck her full across the face. The pain was so intense that Janet was sure that he had broken her jaw, but she didn't budge.
"Bastard, bastard, bastard!" she screamed out again and again.
And again and again he slapped her, hard, brutally, without pity. She felt her cunt grow moist and hot.
"You'll never break me, you bastard prick," she spat out, still never moving from the chair.
"We'll see about that," James laughed, reaching down and grabbing her up from the chair as If she were a sack of potatoes.
"Put me down!" Janet screamed as he picked her up and tucked her under his left arm. No one in the room moved to help. Elmer squealed in glee, and Janet couldn't help but notice that even Marci's face was beaming, fascinated at the show they were putting on.
"I guess it's time for me to bring the car around," Abigail said matter-of-factly. "Come along, Elmer."
The odd couple left quickly by the side door and James began carrying Janet in the same direction. "Put me down, down, down!" she screamed, knowing all along that it was totally futile-and feeling, all the while, more turned on than she had ever felt in her life.
James slammed her into the back seat of the black Cadillac and lunged his own heavy frame in beside her. Abigail and Elmer were in the front seat, and the older woman started the car quite calmly and took off slowly down the incline.
James still held Janet by the wrist firmly, uncomfortably, and she, the foolish girl she was, struggled a bit hesitantly to free herself from his grasp.
"Stop it, cunt," he hissed. "Your lily white hands are going to be strung up a lot tighter than this before the night is out."
Janet let out a sigh and tried to lean back against the hard leather seat.
"In fact, baby," James announced, "I think we're going to give you a little preview of what's to come. Sort of the on-the-road portable version." James reached up and unhooked two leather ropes hanging from the roof of the car. He tied Janet's wrists firmly with them, then slipped another leather manacle around her neck.
"Those pants aren't a bit flattering to you, cunt," he laughed, then proceeded to roughly rip off not only her rust-colored trousers but her panties as well. Janet's legs trembled, now cold against the black leather seat.
"My, Cinderella, what big feet you have!" he sneered, manacling both her ankles to the floor of the car before Janet was aware what was happening. The manacles were far enough apart that her legs were spread quite wide open, her moist young cunt hotly exposed to his sneering, angry eyes.
"You call that a cunt, you bitch?" he barked out, reaching behind the seat and drawing forth a fourteen-inch black-leather dildo with hard rubber bumps along its surface. "If that's a cunt, then this is the prick it deserves!"
James drove the dildo deep inside Janet's dripping pussy with one deft blow. He began working it around painfully inside her, then just as she began to moan, brutally ripped it out and dropped it to the floor.
"You worthless bitch," he hissed, turning away from her as she lay there, trembling in her shame. "You worthless fucking bitch. You're less than a cunt. You're a shitty asshole, not even worth fucking with the smallest dildo in the house. I wouldn't come near you with even my little finger. I wouldn't even let Uncle Elmer beat off in your face. Cunt, cunt, cunt. Miserable, worthless cunt"
Those were the last words James spoke to Janet for several hours. He turned disgustedly away from her, glaring out the window at the passing scenery.
Janet's head could still move enough to at least see out the other window. They had reached the bottom of the mountain and had driven around its base and were now headed up the other side. The countryside was like something from a science fiction movie of a barren, deserted planet. Nothing seemed to grow there—least of all grass. Everywhere there were rocks and cliffs, and if there were animals or birds or living things of any kind, Janet had the feeling they would be vermin or the most hateful kinds of insects and spiders.
The road itself was little more than a rocky path now, but still the car sped along up the other side of the mountain. Rounding a particularly foreboding cluster of rocks, the car turned toward its destination.
Janet found the house on the cliff shockingly ugly. She had imagined something palatial, rich-looking, because she had now surmised (partly from several things Marci had said) that Mrs. Crimpton-John and her two cohorts did have a fantastic amount of money. But nothing had prepared her for the sight she now saw.
Certain writers have always insisted that after a while people's houses start to look like them (and vice versa), just as people eventually take on the physical qualities of favorite pets. Whether that was actually true or not Janet wasn't sure. Maybe it was just that these people had planned and built this house themselves. At any rate, its whole look—its plan, its layout, it's very architecture—struck Janet as indescribably evil and inhuman. Brutal and life-denying. Nasty, petty, condescending.
For one thing, there appeared to be almost no windows and doors, just a steel-barred cubbyhole here and there. Much of the building did indeed resemble a medieval castle—something Janet always thought of in the same breath with the phrase "torture chamber"—and the whole heap of blockish-looking segments were surrounded by a moat which itself in turn was flanked by a heavy barbed-wire fence.
A number of vicious sounding German shepherds set up a roar of howls as soon as the car turned into view.
What didn't resemble a medieval castle about the building was the clunkishness of the building itself. Instead of reaching for the stars the way most castles do—and pretending that magnificence, in a sense—the building was all sprawled out over the whole cliff, like a cluster of little stone sheds, linked together by stone passageways, like a child's model of the atom. None of the compartments seemed to be very large, except for one in the very middle which also differed from the others in that it seemed to have a roof of translucent glass.
This honeycomb of one-story tombs gave Janet the creeps, compromising even the sexual gratification she had begun to feel when James was brutalizing her with the dildo.
Careful, careful, she told herself insistently. She couldn't let him know that she was getting any pleasure out of this. No, not the least inkling of pleasure. Not yet.
The car pulled up to the barbed-wire fence in front of the moat. Abigail fingered some sort of electronic device and the barbed-wire miraculously opened, although Janet was sure no one could possibly find an opening there under normal conditions. A drawbridge lowered itself from the cubicle wall across the moat, and the car carefully picked its way across to the grounds on the other side.
The barbed wire snapped shut and the drawbridge slipped back up into place.
Trapped!
James turned to look at her, and Janet trembled. He didn't say a word, but Janet could read his hate-laced thoughts through his dark, brooding eyes. You miserable cunt, he seemed to be saying. Now you're really going to get it. Everything was just a joke up till now. Foreplay. Now you're in for the real thing.
Janet's pussy was red hot In spite of herself, she squirmed anxiously about on the leather seat. James looked down at her cunt and saw drops of liquid forming on the lips.
His own mouth twisted into a sneer of disgust. Tears poured down Janet's cheeks. She squirmed and squirmed.
He slapped her and turned away.
The agony was unbearable.