Chapter 6
In the week that followed, Dean found himself wanting more than ever to quit his job at the gas station. He knew his only chance was to make his show at the Pumpkin Eater a reality and to sell enough of his creations to make a living.
So one evening, after he had finished work, cleaned up and eaten supper at his loft, he decided to pay John Thomas a visit and begin making plans for the show. He rummaged through some papers, found Thomas's address and set off for his house, which was in Sausalito.
The gallery owner lived high on a hill in a typical modern bachelor's pad with an impressive view of the surrounding countryside and the bay. Dean parked at the curb and began climbing the steps which led up along the side of the house to the entrance. One of the windows along the way was lit up, and, as he passed it, he heard a thin scream of pain from inside. Impulsively, he stopped and looked through the window near the bottom where the shade was not quite drawn all the way down. What he saw sent a strange surge of fear and excitement through-him.
In the brightly lit room, John Thomas lay spread-eagled, face downward on a circular bed in the middle of the floor. His wrists and ankles were secured with leather straps to the frame of the huge bed. He was naked. Towering over Thomas's helpless form was another man, tall and strong looking in comparison to the slender white form of the man on the bed. The taller man was handsome like the models who pose for cigarette ads. He had dark, wavy hair, and long sideburns. He was naked to the waist, and a large silver medallion hung by a chain around his neck, highlighted by the dark hair which covered his chest. His clothing consisted of skintight black leather pants and a pair of motorcycle boots. From his hand swung a wide, black garrison belt with a silver buckle. Dean crouched down close to the window and waited to see what would happen. The man in leather was speaking angrily, and Dean could hear him clearly.
"Well, Johnnie-boy," the tall man snarled, "so you admit you've been hanging around the Cinderella Bar with those slimy little faggots, don't you? I thought I told you to stay away from those places. If you want action you'll get it from me, you bitch!"
Thomas did not reply. Dean could see him trembling on the bed as he awaited whatever punishment might be in store for him. Then the man in leather spoke again.
"What you need, Johnnie-boy, is some discipline. And that's exactly what you're going to get." With that, he raised the belt in his hand and brought it down hard across the backs of the bound man's thighs. Dean flinched as he heard the crack of leather against flesh and saw the ugly red welts appear on Thomas's legs. Thomas did not cry out at the blow, but a trickle of blood on his chin showed how hard he had bitten down in an attempt to remain silent. The tall man raised the strap again and struck at his victim's buttocks, first one, then the other. Red welts appeared on these areas, too, and Dean could see that Thomas was about to break his silence. The next blow landed on the inside of Thomas's thigh, and finally he screamed. The leather had cut so hard that there was a thin stream of blood running down his leg and staining the sheet bright red.
The tall man grinned cruelly to see his companion in pain. He snaked the end of the belt between Thomas's spread legs and flicked it gently at the exposed testicles. Thomas, despite his pain, reacted with a sensuous shiver, as he felt the fleeting kiss of leather on his balls.
"I guess you've had enough for now, Johnnie-boy," said the tall man. "Just remember to stay in line with me or you'll get worse than this." As he spoke, he reached over to a small table beside the bed and took from it a small jar of vaseline. Unscrewing the cap, he took a blob of the slippery stuff on his finger and bent forward over Thomas to lubricate the other man's anus. When he was satisfied with this preparation, he replaced the bottle and began to undress. Dean could see the bulge of an erection straining against the leather pants. The man kicked off his boots and tugged the tight pants off his legs with some difficulty. Underneath, instead of ordinary undershorts, he wore only a brief, black satin jockstrap. Hurriedly, he discarded this last article of clothing, baring a huge erection which reared up threateningly from the dark curls of his pubic hair. All through this ritual, Dean was amazed to find that his own organ had become stiff and pulsing. He knew it would be wiser to leave, but curiosity kept him crouched at the window, watching.
Now the tall man was kneeling between the legs of his partner. With one hand, he supported himself on the bed, while with the other he guided his thick staff into the most private orifice of the man beneath him. When he was halfway in, he lowered his other hand to the bed to support himself more fully. Then with a forcefulness that was almost vicious, he drove his distended organ fully into the tight passage. Once the penetration was complete, he began to move his hips back and forth very slowly, as if enjoying the tight suction of Thomas's rectum.
Thomas, meanwhile, seemed soothed and distracted from his recent ordeal. The look of pain on his face turned to one of pleasure as the tall man drove in and out of him, slowly increasing his speed. He lifted his hips up backward from the bed as much as his bonds would allow, and soon their fucking attained a ferocious, pounding rhythm. The man on top gritted his teeth in concentration and delight as he felt his orgasm coming, and he spurted his hot fluid deep into the other man's bowels. Thomas had lifted himself high enough off the bed so that Dean could see his organ spouting its own stream of semen into the bed as the strange stimulation brought him to his climax.
In a moment, the tall man withdrew from the buttocks of the man on the bed and stood over him, breathing heavily from his exertions. His cock, which had begun to soften, was slimy with semen and traces of excrement. He picked up the belt once more and walked around the bed until he was standing directly before his partner's face.
"Suck it for me, Johnnie-boy," he ordered, "suck it until it's hard and make me come."
Thomas looked frightened and repulsed. For the first time since Dean had been at the window, he spoke. His voice was petulant, pleading, like a woman's.
"Oh, no, Bruce, I can't do that. Please don't make me do it!"
Bruce wielded the heavy belt in his hand menacingly. "You don't want me to thrash you with the buckle-end of this belt, do you Johnnie?"
Thomas answered silently with a pouting look that said he would rather submit to the distasteful indignity that Bruce demanded than to be whipped with the belt buckle, but that he wasn't at all happy about the whole business. Bruce moved closer until his penis hung right against Thomas's face. Resigned, Thomas dropped his jaw expertly, making a soft "O" of his mouth, and took in the head of the reeking organ. As his tongue caressed the sensitive head and licked hotly up the length of Bruce's cock, the stimulation brought the soft tool quickly to a quivering stand. Dean could see by the expression on Thomas's face that his reluctance was quickly turning to passion, as the man began to suck down vigorously on the inflamed rod, his face screwed up tightly in concentration. Bruce then held Thomas's face with both hands and began to drive his cock in and out of the soft, moist receptacle. His motions grew faster until the tensing of his muscled buttocks indicated that he was approaching his orgasm. Then he buckled and spewed his hot fluid down the other man's throat, holding his head firmly so that he would be forced to swallow every drop that he was offering.
Outside in the darkness, Dean reeled against the side of the house with confusion and lust. When he had recovered his senses, he crept quietly down the steps to the street and got into his car, thinking that he needed a drink very badly.
He cruised the main street of the town until he found a bar that looked unpretentious, a few blocks removed from the glittery nightclubs and swanky tourist traps. He parked the Porsche at the curb, straightened his clothing and went in. The interior of the bar was dimly lit, with the usual row of booths against the wall opposite the long bar. It was an ordinary-looking tavern, the kind Dean felt most comfortable in. As it was a weeknight, there were few other customers, and it was only a few moments after he had seated himself on one of the leather-covered bar stools that a woman appeared on the other side of the counter to take his order.
"What'll it be, honey?"
"Scotch and water," replied Dean. He drew his cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and laid the pack on the worn wood in front of him. As the barmaid moved about, getting the bottle and the glass for his drink, he took a good look at her. She was older than he, in her early forties, he guessed, but there was a look of well-preserved sensuality about her that Dean liked. When she had spoken to him to get his order, there was an earthiness in her voice. He was just beginning to consider seriously the possibility of trying to arrange a meeting with her later in the evening when she set his drink down in front of him.
"Here's your drink, honey. That'll be fifty cents." Dean dug out a couple of dollar bills from his wallet and laid them on the bar. "Take it out of that," he told her, "and keep some for yourself." As she bent forward, he caught a glimpse of the tops of her breasts. They were lush and full, as if they had not suffered the slackening that age tends to bring. Surely she must have a husband waiting at home for her, he thought. He reached for a cigarette and noticed that his pack was almost empty. The waitress was walking down behind the bar toward the back of the place. "Oh, Miss!" he called, "Do you sell cigarettes here?"
She turned and came back along the bar until she was opposite him again. "Sure," she answered, smiling, "there's a machine over by the door. And my name's Eva, not Miss."
Dean returned her smile as he rose from the stool. "Sure," he replied, "Eva's fine with me. My name's Dean."
"Glad to meet you," she told him. "I just get tired of being called 'Miss' all day. Tending bar is hard enough without that."
Dean could scarcely believe it, but it seemed that she was, in the tone of her voice, extending to him the invitation he so desired. He put his change in the machine, pulled the knob under his brand, and absentmindedly grabbed the pack that appeared in the long slot. He was thinking of the lush, full body under that waitress uniform. The woman was old enough to be his mother, but how he desired her! All that remained was to find a way to be alone with her; then, under the right circumstances, he was sure that she would submit to his advances. As he returned to his seat, Dean decided to linger there until closing time. He finished his drink and ordered another from Eva the next time she came by.
After a while the place became busier, and Eva came around to Dean only when his glass needed refilling. As it grew near closing time, Dean found himself rather drunk, and his inhibitions about approaching the waitress dwindled to nothing. He was still tense and confused from the spectacle he had witnessed at the house of John Thomas. The scene of violence and homosexuality had excited him in a way he had not suspected, and he was more than a little worried about being some kind of pervert himself. He knew that an easy success with Eva would release the tension and calm his fears. He downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and looked over at the clock.
Then suddenly, the time had come. Chairs were being turned upside-down on the tables, and the last stragglers were bolting down their beer and heading for the door. He looked around for Eva and saw her wiping down the empty tables with a speed and agility that made this last annoying job of the day look like child's play. When she had finished, she came up to him, rubbing her hands on a towel.
"Well, that's it," she remarked, "another day another dollar. How about you, honey staying all night?"
Dean, despite the effect of the evening's drinking, kept his voice level and friendly. "No, I'm about ready to leave. Can I offer you a ride home?"
Eva surprised him by accepting. "Sure," she nodded, "just give me a minute to get my coat and purse."
When they were in Dean's car, Eva gave him directions, and they started off through the small town, which was quiet and empty at that late hour. Though she leaned back and closed her eyes, as if exhausted from her day of work, she conversed freely as the Porsche growled through the streets and onto the highway leading to Mill Valley, where she said she lived. The bittersweet smell of sweat and perfume filled the little car and ignited the slow fuse of desire in Dean's half-drunken body.
She told him of her tempestuous marriage to a merchant seaman who set sail one day for Japan and never returned. When she finally managed to contact him, it was only for the purpose of filing for divorce proceedings. She had lived alone since that time, but Dean was sure that she'd had her lovers. Even as she spoke, he could almost sense the need emanating from her curvaceous body, and there was definitely an inviting sexiness in her voice.
Dean told her he was an artist, though he hesitated, thinking she might find that strange. But Eva seemed to admire his occupation; she had developed an interest in painting and sculpture, when her ex-husband used to bring home objects of art from foreign ports during the better years of their marriage.
A few miles down the freeway, Dean pulled onto a deserted little road which led to a small beach. Eva made no objection to the detour; she sat relaxed beside him, letting her eyes close from time to time. Finally he brought the car to a sliding halt on the sand and turned to her, putting an arm about her shoulders and pulling her face to his. She looked at him invitingly with sultry eyes, moistening her slightly parted lips with a darting motion of her tongue. Dean pressed his mouth roughly on hers in a long, deep kiss. The hot sweetness of the breath from her nostrils fanned his senses into flame, and he dropped an impatient hand to her ripe breasts, squeezing one, then the other through the material of her blouse under the open coat.
Then she pushed him away coquettishly. "Why Dean," she teased, "I thought you were taking me home!" Dean began to fumble with the buttons on her blouse as he answered. "Sure, I'll take you home, baby," he muttered drunkenly, "but first we're gonna have some fun, right?"
But the barmaid shoved him away violently. "This is all the fun we're going to have, Dean. Take me home right now!"
Dean was taken aback. He had expected perhaps a little resistance, but certainly not complete rejection. "Whaddaya mean, take you home? You want it as bad as I do, you bitch!"
Eva's voice grew wild with hysterical hatred.
"No! I don't want it! I don't need it! My husband was like you. Thought he was irresistible. Thought he could get away with anything. Can you imagine what it feels like to be left at home while the man you love is screwing around all over the Pacific? No, you couldn't. But let me tell you, Mr. Handsome Young Artist you're not getting anything-not off Eva!"
Her outburst so startled Dean that he loosened his grip on her, and she took the opportunity to push open the door and bolt from the car. Dean jumped out and saw her running across the sand, stumbling in her panic. He followed, racing after her down the moonlit beach. Finally, about fifty yards from the car, she tripped and fell, sobbing, and Dean caught up with her. He kneeled on her fallen body and held her down. Both of them were panting from the chase.
Eva seemed suddenly to realize her situation. "Oh, no," she moaned, "Oh, God, no!" Then Dean's palm came down and clipped her hard across the face. "All right, lady, you'd better listen. You do what I want, or I'll kill you. It's no use screaming because no one will hear you out here." As he spoke, Dean's drunken mind tried to calculate whether or not he really would kill her. At this point, he didn't know. His body and soul were completely overwhelmed by his lust for the older woman.
"Are you going to cooperate, or do I leave your body over there?" He gestured toward the ocean, which reared darkly nearby, the foam-topped waves glistening in the moonlight. Apparently, he had Eva convinced and frightened. Her breasts heaved beneath him as she struggled for breath. "Okay," she whispered hoarsely, "okay, I'll do what you want. Please don't hurt me!"
Dean grinned wickedly. "That's better," he said. "Now get your clothes off, and make it quick!" He stood back slightly as the woman complied with his order, shedding her light coat, then unfastening the buttons of her white uniform. She kicked off her shoes, then rose up to slip the plain outfit over her head. Beneath the starched cloth was a sight that made Dean's mouth go dry. Eva's body was a perfect picture of voluptuous womanhood, and well preserved. Now it was covered only by her black brassiere and panties. Dean reached forward and ripped off the bra in one vicious, efficient motion. The breasts thus sat free were heavy and round, sagging only slightly with age. Eva, frightened into near-paralysis, stood there helplessly as Dean felt his blood pounding and the hot erection growing and throbbing against the confines of his trousers.
"Get down," he spat at her in a voice that was hoarse with lust, "get down and come over here on your knees!" Remembering his threat, Eva complied, and in a moment she was kneeling before him. She stayed there, motionless, awaiting the next command. Only the heaving of her breasts kept the two of them from looking like strange statues on the moonlit beach. Then Dean spoke again.
"Open my fly and get it out," he told her. "You're going to suck that down for me, and if I feel your teeth at all, I'll bust your head open, so be careful!"
His tone seemed to convince the barmaid that he meant business, for in a moment she had lowered his pants and shorts and was applying her moist, full mouth to his demanding organ. But Dean was not yet satisfied. He barked at her like a marine drill instructor. "Use your tongue you've had a prick in your mouth before! And get your hands on my ass!"
By this time, Eva had lost all inclination to protest. Softly, almost tenderly, she cupped his taut buttocks in her soft hands and began to pull him to and fro as she applied her hot, lithe tongue to his inflamed parts. The odor and heat of his sex began to act upon her senses, overwhelming even the instinct of fear, and she applied her mouth and tongue dotingly to the body of her captor with all the experience she had accumulated in her forty-odd years of life. Her tongue slid hotly along the tender creases of his groin, dipping down beneath the swelling scrotum to probe the softness of his inner thighs, and coming up along the underside of his cock with a wet indulgence that sent tremors through his body. Dean quivered sensually as she licked around the glowing head, darted her tongue into the tiny hole to catch the pearl of expectant lubrication that hung there, then made a tight circle of her lips and sucked down slowly on the big cock, until she felt it hit the back of her throat.
Dean felt her fingernails clenching his buttocks as she pulled him, directing him in and out of her moist lips. After a few moments of this ecstatic stimulation, he felt his crisis coming on. He wound his hands in the barmaid's long, dark hair, and his sperm gushed hotly into her mouth. So aroused was Eva by this time that she did not have to be told to hold her mouth still; she swallowed greedily every drop of the copious emission.
Dean slowly withdrew his cock, still hard and glistening with semen. Eva looked up at him expectantly, and he pushed her violently back on the sand. As she lay there in confusion, he kicked his pants off from around his ankles and bent down to her, ripping the filmy black underpants away from her helpless body. An enormous black muff of hair on the woman's pubis stood out against her white skin in the moonlight. Dean fell on top of her with a hoarse cry and entered her with one merciless thrust.
Even in her now aroused state, Eva could not forget her hatred of men. The reawakening of her dormant sexuality seemed to give new energy to her resentment, and even as her hips surged involuntarily forward to meet Dean's attack, she began to scream at him. She called him vile names, and invoked curses on all males in a demented, piercing voice.
In his drunkenness, Dean forgot their isolation and feared that her cries would bring intruders. He groped wildly about for something with which to silence her, and his hand touched a club-sized piece of driftwood that lay nearby in the sand. Still imbedded in the woman's cunt, he raised the makeshift weapon and brought it down hard against the side of her head with a crack that would have sickened him, had he not been so distracted with liquor and lust. Her face paled, and her head rolled limply to one side. Satisfied with her silence, Dean continued to drive his throbbing member in and out of the unresponsive body, until he emptied his lust into the depths of her cunt with a groan.
Withdrawing his softening organ, he stood up and brushed the sand from his knees. The drain of orgasm and the sharpness of the salty ocean air took a quickly sobering effect on him, and he began to shake uncontrollably as he realized what he had done. He knelt beside the nude body of the barmaid and felt for her pulse, but he was shaking so badly that he could not determine anything. Desperately, he put his ear to her still warm breast, noticing how the nipple had stiffened in the night wind. All he could hear was the roar of the waves. In a panic, Dean leaped to his feet, grabbed his clothing, and ran for the car. Blood spread in the sand, fanlike, around the fallen woman's head.