Chapter 2

"Fun seeing your old girl friend again, was it?" asked Split with studied casualness as he eased his long athletic frame into a chair next to Liza's desk and offered the "model" a swig from his bottle of beer.

"Oh, how nice it was of Joan to drop by!" gushed the girl sincerely. As far as survival was concerned, Liza possessed the jungle instinct of an animal, but in ordinary affairs, her intelligence could not be described as massive, and both Lynch and Split frequently played on her simple-mindedness to get whatever they wanted from her. Liza had never been really able to comprehend why Joan had elected to shun her old friends after her marriage, and had always been a little hurt by the fact, but today she was genuinely happy to see her again, and absolutely delighted that Split had proposed the idea of having a little party that night and inviting Joan.

"Funny though, that she hasn't seen fit to keep in contact with all her old friends," mused

Split nonchalantly. "I mean, Joan's gotten pretty high-hat since she married that rich businessman."

"Huh? I wouldn't say she was high-hat," Liza loyally tried to defend her friend, but she knew in her heart that she was having approximately the same thoughts. She had changed and there had been something vaguely condescending about the way she had glanced around the photography shop, as if she were now a little too good for this kind of thing.

"And that red sports car," Split persisted, deliberately harping on the point. "Of course, she had to park it right outside the shop to make sure everybody saw it."

"Yeah," breathed Liza enviously. "Nobody ever gave me so much as a second-hand Ford, and she gets to run around in that imagine thing. What's she got that I haven't got more of?"

"Not a damned thing, Liza," Split assured her quickly, seeing that things were going precisely as he had planned them. "And if you struck it lucky and married some rich guy, you wouldn't snub your old friends, either, would you?"

"Not a bit of it! After all, friends are friends!"

"That's how I've always felt about it. And tonight she's doing us the honor of attending our little party. What do you want to bet that she waltzes in here in some two hundred dollar dress?"

"That's exactly what she'll do," agreed the girl promptly, quickly falling victim to Split's convincing manner. "I'd say she needs taking down a peg or two!"

These were precisely the words the tall organizer had been waiting to hear, and he lost no time in capitalizing on the opening she had given him.

"That's what Jack and I were thinking too," he told her smoothly. "We were a little bit irritated at the way she treated you and thought it would be fun to remind her that we all knew her back in the days when she couldn't afford to be so high and mighty. What do you say if we play some games with Mrs. Caruthers tonight?"

"Suits me down to the ground," agreed Liza, simple-mindedly. "What'er you going to do?"

"Oh, nothing rough, but I can remember when our noble lady wasn't quite as holy and chaste as she likes to pretend she is now. Well just let the party get a little rough, and see if we can't get her on her back with her legs in the air, just to remind her not to put on airs with folks who know her better. I thought we could show that film Jack got his hands on last year and see if that doesn't get something started."

"Oh, that film! I always get embarrassed when I see it."

"But you watch it anyway, don't you, love?"

Split mocked her gently. "Let's see if we can make Mrs. Caruthers blush."

His mischief done here, Split walked out into the photography shop to find Jack Lynch, who was sitting behind the counter reading a movie magazine.

"You convince her?" inquired the photographer, looking up from the full-color picture of a naked actress he had been studying with great interest.

"I never have any trouble convincing that chick about anything," laughed Split scornfully. "How anybody could have such a nice body and such an empty head is beyond me. Look, here's my play...."

"Wait a minute, that looks like a customer," cautioned Jack, motioning to a young man who was standing nervously in front of the display window, comparing the address to something he had written down on a piece of paper he held in his hand. The youth was wearing a college-type blazer and was obviously ill at ease about being in this rough neighborhood alone. After a moment's hesitation, he entered the store.

"What can we do for you, son?" asked the photographer agreeably.

"Uh...are you Jack Lynch?"

"Might be, might not be," the photographer equivocated. "What do you need?"

"Well, I wanted to buy some film," stammered the young man, blushing.

"You don't need to know my name to buy film now, do you?" responded the Irishman carefully, playing the game according to the rules, even though he had already guessed what this particular customer was looking for. "Black and white, or color?"

"Uh, I wanted some of that special film, like the kind you sold to Fred Macintyre, you know, the redheaded guy?"

"Oh, that film! Well, I may have a reel or two left. How's old Fred doing anyway?"

"Well, he flunked out of school," confessed the customer, "But he said the stuff was great."

"The very best," confirmed Jack, "That'll be five bucks a roll."

"Gimme two," said the student quickly, throwing a ten dollar bill on the counter. He scooped up what looked like two normal rolls of thirty five millimeter film and left.

"I'm gonna have to raise the price of that stuff," speculated Lynch as he pocketed the money. "Those college boys just can't live without it."

"Give me a couple of good Scotches any day," put in Split, "and these kids think that marijuana is God's gift to mankind. They all use it to turn on their girl friends. When those smart-ass college chicks get good and stoned on this stuff, they just can't seem to keep their pants on."

"That's what they tell me...hey, I noticed this morning that our Mrs. Caruthers had taken up the evil habit of smoking cigarettes. Why don't you roll a couple of our own special little cancer-sticks and use the same kind of funny tobacco you just sold to our nervous friend there?"

A lascivious smile spread slowly over the photographer's lazy but handsome face as he got the point.

"Oh, Split, you are an evil man," he joked. "I'll set the cameras up this afternoon behind the mirror and...are you figuring on showing that film?"

"Yeah."

"Might scare her off."

"Not if she has a drink or two and a puff of your magic tobacco first," grinned the arranger. "You take a bath and look desirable and leave everything else to old Split."

Joan Caruthers was happy and excited as she gazed at herself in the mirror, holding up one dress after another against her panty-clad body in an attempt to decide which outfit would be absolutely right for the evening. It had been marvelous seeing Liza again after a year, and even talking to Split had been fun, although she had once been a little afraid of him back in the days when she had tended bar at the tavern because of the mysterious aura of cruelty and menace about him. But now that she was the wife of a rising young businessman, people treated her with more respect, and she had noted the difference the moment she had parked the red convertible in front of Lynch's studio and walked in.

The clock on the wall of her bedroom informed her that it was after nine, and she would have to make a decision about what to wear. Despite the fact that her wardrobe was filled with expensive dresses, nothing seemed exactly right and she almost gave in to the temptation to call Liza and find out what her girl friend would be wearing. All of her dresses suddenly seemed to old for her, and too sober for what promised to be a fun-packed evening. But a decision had to be made and finally she selected a colorful top, put it on, and examined herself in the mirror, finding that it was pretty but almost school girlishly modest. She knew her husband's opinions on this subject, but she could not help feeling that it would not be a mortal sin if she were to show off a little more of the magnificent body which nature had given her. The top had a patch of cloth sewn in front which made it an abnormally modest outfit, but upon closer examination, Joan found that it could be removed with a few quick snips of her scissors, giving her a cleavage which would make Jack Lynch's Irish head spin. In fact, it was almost too extreme, she feared as she modeled the altered garment in front of the mirror, and she knew she would have to be careful how she stood and moved, or she would put more of her richly lush bosom on display than she intended. But it was getting too late for any more revisions. The party was waiting!

An hour later, she was extremely glad that she had disobeyed her husband's stern instructions to stay away from the part of town where Liza lived. She had expected more people, but in fact, only Liza, Jack Lynch and Split were there, although some other old friends were expected to drop in later. Every one was behaving just the way people had always behaved when she was a girl growing up in this neck of the woods, and she noticed the difference immediately between these warm, uninhibited people and the icy, snobbish society gentry her husband liked to associate with. In Jack Lynch's studio, a girl could laugh loudly if she liked, or drip her cigarette ashes on the floor, or cross her legs, or do just about anything she felt like doing, and it was a pleasant change to be able to relax in company and not worry about her manners all the time.

"Here, your glass is empty, lovey," murmured Jack Lynch in her ear, bending forward to fill up her cup with the red sparkling wine they were drinking and simultaneously helping himself to a lecherous look at the generous amount of bosom revealed by her low-cut dress, the two broad straps of the top barely covered her rosy nipples and in between where the superfluous material had been removed was the tempting valley between her two warm-fleshed breasts. Sitting to one side of her, Jack Lynch could occasionally catch a glimpse of one taut little brown nipple whenever the golden-haired young wife forgot herself and leaned carelessly forward. The photographer's cock was slowly hardening in his pants as he surveyed the desirable creature before him, her dress now riding higher up over her thighs every time she rocked back and forth with hilarious laughter at one of Split's outrageous jokes.

Joan had lived long enough in the real life of the slum to know that Lynch was very definitely on the make, but she promised herself sincerely that she was here for a good time and some companionship and nothing more, vowing that she would never be unfaithful to her husband. But somehow Allen Caruthers seemed very far away at this moment, and her head had already begun to spin slightly with the quantity of wine they had succeeded in pouring into her. She knew perfectly well that Lynch's lascivious black eyes never wandered far from her erotically exposed breasts, but after all, she told herself there was hardly anything she could do about it now. And the knowledge that he was hungry for her somehow produced a delicious sensual quiver which lingered deep in her loins. She would never give in, of course, but it had been a long time since a man had looked at her with such open undisguised lust, and she had forgotten how good it felt.

"Hey Split, when we gonna see that movie you promised us?" demanded the Irishman, anxious to proceed with the evening's entertainment.

"Well, I don't know," shrugged the organizer deceitfully. "Maybe it isn't the sort of thing a proper married lady like Joan should be looking at. I imagine she embarrasses easy."

Joan was not sure whether this should be taken as a back-handed insult, or a compliment, but something in his manner challenged her. He knew perfectly well she had lived a pretty wild life before her marriage, and that it really took something to shock her.

"I might blush, but I won't faint," she promised gamely, pretty sure that they were proposing to see one of the usual men's smoker films, not something where a scantily clad girl jumps out of a cake, or something equally silly.

"Well, if you don't think you'll be offended," he teased them, "I've got to take a quick run out for some cigarettes, and the film's over by the projector. Jack can set it up."

"You don't have to go out," chimed in Jack, who was already on his feet and fastening a reel of film to his machine. "I've got a pack of those cigarettes I brought back from Mexico."

All of this was prearranged between the two men and Split shrugged indifferently as he spoke his next line.

"Well, okay, but I'm not interested in getting high. That's kid stuff as far as I'm concerned."

"Oh, is it marijuana?" questioned Joan, a little alarmed. She knew that some people smoked it, of course, but the price had always been more than she could afford, and the legal penalties for getting caught had always been very severe, so she had never touched it, even in her wild adolescence.

"Just barely," Lynch returned. "It's mostly tobacco with just enough pot mixed in to give it some taste. I brought them back as souvenirs."

"Well, I'll take one then," said Split, apparently hesitant, and he accepted a brownish hand-rolled cigarette from the pack Lynch offered him, frowning as if he were dubious about the idea.

"Come on, Split, it's not heroin," Jack nagged him, and as if to prove the point, he lit one himself and passed the pack to Liza who accepted one, and then to Joan, who hesitated for a moment and then followed suit. After all, it just had enough marijuana in it to give you an idea of the taste, and she hated to pass up the opportunity to seem like more of a swinger than Split.

"Well, all right, if you drug addicts are going to do it, I don't want to be left out," Split grinned, seeing that victory was now within their grasp. As a matter of hard fact, these reefers were loaded with the most potent grass sunny Mexico had to offer, and she would be lucky if she got half-way through one of them before it stood her on her ear. She would soon be helpless and with a little added stimulation from the film they were about to see, they would have her where they wanted her.

Jack Lynch took a moment to point the motion picture projector towards a blank section of the wall while Split helped by pulling two couches into position. Joan settled herself comfortably on one of them, feeling slightly giddy and titillated at the prospect of seeing a naughty movie, and she dragged deeply on the cigarette they had given her, forgetting in her excitement that it was not one of her own. The taste was warm and so strong that she had to suppress a cough, but it was pleasant and not wanting to seem stuffy and naive, she smiled and took another slow drag.

"My brother picked up this little number in France," Lynch explained as he activated the projector, plunging the room into darkness except for the bright rectangle of light against the wall. Moving skillfully through the gloom, he joined Joan on the couch, casually throwing one arm around her shoulder while the two of them puffed on their cigarettes and waited for the film to start.

"Do you feel anything yet?" called Liza from the next couch where she was sprawled comfortably with Split.

"Oh, wow, my head feels like it's going up on a rocket," Joan confessed happily, noting that a strange light sensation was slowly taking possession of her body as if the law of gravity were being gradually repealed and she was soon due to go floating up towards the ceiling.

"Shhh, here's the movie," warned Split, anxious that Joan see every inch of the lust-inspiring film he was counting on as an essential part of his strategy.

It's nice to be with people who aren't so terribly serious all the time, the young flaxen-haired girl told herself with a giggle, hardly noticing when Jack Lynch tightened his grip on her bare shoulder, pulling her body into a more comfortable position against his chest. The movie was called "Highway Rape," and from the background scenery behind the titles, Joan guessed that the story was set somewhere in rural France. By the side of a lonely country lane, a young girl was hitchhiking, but automobile after automobile seemed to be ignoring her extended thumb and passing her by. This allowed the cameraman to spend some time panning back and forth across her sweetly innocent young face and the teasingly attired adolescent body which only French women seem to have. The girl was wearing only a skimpy pair of shorts which accentuated the smoothly taut globes of her buttocks, and a halter top which showed off the high perky spheres of her newly-developed young breasts to the best advantage.

An older woman who was wiser in the ways of the world would never have begged for a ride dressed in revealing, provoking clothing like this, and Joan could see in a minute that she was asking for trouble in that blatantly sexual outfit. But there was something fresh and innocent in the girl's eyes which told the viewer clearly that this was still a child whose body had developed ahead of her intelligence, making her particularly vulnerable in a situation of this kind.

"Ohhh, Split!" came a giggle from the next couch, and Joan took her eyes off of the screen long enough to see what was happening. "You never could behave yourself in the dark!"

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the subdued light, but from her vantage point, Joan picked out the bodies of her two friends wrestling on the pillows, and one of Split's hands seemed to have been thrust up under Liza's mini-skirt while the other one was invading beneath the girl's tight sweater. Liza, however, did not seem to be taking this lascivious behavior too seriously, and Joan guessed that her girl friend had probably become Split's mistress. The idea did not shock her very profoundly, and her eyes wandered dreamily back to the screen as she took another puff on the tip of the drugged cigarette.

A car had stopped for the desirable young hitchhiker, and the two chatted for a moment, presumably about their destination before the French girl nodded with a smile and climbed into the front seat. The giggling and wrestling from the direction of the other couch was still going on, and Joan guessed that both of them had seen this film before but liked an excuse to turn down the lights and fool around with one another. Jack Lynch seemed to be in approximately the same mood, but he did not seem like a rough or demanding man, and Joan was confident that she could turn him off with a flat "no" if he became too amorous. At the moment, his hand was playing lightly across her bare shoulders, but he was keeping his distance from her voluptuously full breasts, and Joan failed to feel any sense of immediate danger.

What she was feeling, on the other hand, was the heavenly swaying sensation of a babe being rocked in a cradle, and her fair sensitive skin seemed to have come alive with the narcotic effects of the marijuana, turning her entire body into one vast erogenous zone. She knew perfectly well that she was getting as high as the proverbial kite, but there seemed to be no danger in it, and she wondered why she had not taken the opportunity to try this marvelous stuff before. How wonderful it would be to get stoned with Allen!

But she was losing track of the movie, and with a certain amount of difficulty, the young woman focused her eyes and concentrated on the screen. The car had driven only a short distance down the main road and then taken an abrupt turn onto a dirt road which led off into a group of pine trees. When the driver of the vehicle felt sure that he was safe from observation, he halted his car and got out, affording the viewers their first view of his face.

As he circled rapidly around the back of the automobile to intercept the now frightened French teenager, Joan could see that he was a strong, mean-looking man in his forties and from his face, she judged that he could easily be a criminal of some kind or even a murderer. In his hand, he held a long vicious dagger, and as the hitchhiker leapt free of the car and prepared to flee, he put the blade to her throat, forcing her to stand still and face him.

Joan felt the tension of the scene sweep over her and she immediately sympathized with the kidnapped girl, understanding from experiences in her own life how it felt to be an attractive adolescent in a society populated by tough, lusting men. The lewd smile stole slowly over the abductor's face as he realized that this helpless child was now completely under his power, and Joan shuddered as he moved the knife down to the fabric of her halter, placing the blade between the girl's two trembling young breasts. With a flash of the dagger, he sliced the garment in two, laughing callously as it fell uselessly to the ground.

"Hmmmm, lovely breasts, don't you think?" commented Jack Lynch in an undertone, and for one confused instant, Joan thought that the Irishman was referring to her own firmly ripened mounds so inadequately covered by the top she was wearing. With a shake of her head, she tried to clear her pot-fogged mind, realizing that he was talking about the girl on the screen.

"Yes...." she stammered, wondering if the marijuana would make her slur her words. "I wonder how old she is."

"Probably about fifteen," the photographer guessed. "They usually pick very young girls for this kind of movie. Do you find it interesting? Exciting?"

Joan was about to say no, that she found it amusing and nothing more, but despite the vagueness of her brain at this moment, she realized that she was finding this particular scene very erotic indeed, in fact, embarrassingly so. The tiny bud-like tips of her nipples were standing out hard and firm just as if some invisible hand were caressing her lewdly. Worse yet, she knew that the orgiastic juices within her loins were slowly but surely beginning to glow, and she wondered if her panties were getting wet. She began wiggling discreetly from side to side in a vain attempt to ease the tormenting itching sensation which was gradually beginning to start up between her bare legs. But she could hardly confess all of this to a man who was almost a complete stranger.

"I'm not.. . not quite sure," she mumbled, avoiding the question. "He's not going to hurt her, is he?"

"Nah, this ain't that kind of film. Watch now."

Joan obediently watched, frankly incapable of doing anything else, as the gangster slid the wicked looking knife down into the girl's shorts, the sharp edge of the blade facing out so that he would not damage the delicate flesh of her girlish loins. The French teenager knew she was in desperate danger, and she was obviously trying to stand as still as possible, avoiding the slightest movement which could anger the man who had taken her prisoner. The blade on the dagger must have been razor sharp, because it cut cleanly and easily through the heavy fabric of her shorts, and the girl drew in her breath sharply, raising her arms helplessly over her head in fright as the garment parted and slid down along one leg to the ground. The action of raising her arms had forced her budding young breasts to jut out sharply, and Joan had occasion to wonder if the little French actress herself was not finding this scene fairly erotic, since the buds of her nipples were obviously as hard and Arm as tiny brown nuggets.

But as the kidnapper stepped back to survey the prize he had taken, the cameraman deserted the girl's lusciously ripened breasts in favor of something even more interesting, and the field of vision traveled slowly down over a flat, smooth stomach to the "vee" shaped triangle of pussy hair which guarded the entrance to her loins. A tremble ran through Joan's body as her eyes followed the camera, and for a moment she wondered seriously if there was not something shamefully Lesbian about getting all turned on by the sight of another woman's body. But Jack Lynch distracted her at this precise moment by handing her a second marijuana-flavored cigarette, and she accepted it greedily, welcoming something to divert her mind from the troubling thought she had just had. She put the cigarette to her lips and sucked on it powerfully, thinking that the pot would probably calm her down a little bit.

The young girl's pubic hair was thin and sparse, as it often is with teenagers, and her pussy did little to conceal the narrow pink slit of her vagina, now totally defenseless. The kidnapper dropped to one knee in front of her, but the child was far too terrified now to consider making a break for it, and she submissively moved her legs apart as the gangster dropped the knife beside him on the grass and put his cruelly menacing hands directly on the tender flesh of her cunt. Joan watched, her breath coming faster and faster as she observed this bizarre scene, and unconsciously she drew closer to Jack Lynch, as if the kidnapper could spring down off of the screen into the room with them and threaten her with that dagger. But the gangster stayed on the screen, his fingers crudely invading the teenager's flesh as he used his thumbs to force her tender cuntal lips apart, exposing to the camera's prying eye the moist pink flesh of her tight little vagina. For a long time, he caressed her naked flesh, bringing an expression of pure anguish to the young girl's face as her hands crossed uselessly across her breasts . . .

Movement on the other couch suddenly distracted Joan for a moment, and she shifted her gaze momentarily to see what her friends were up to. Her eyes opened wide with shock as she peered through the half-light in the room and detected that Liza and Split were really starting to mix it up. The young model's dress was up to her hips and the girl was sprawled on the cushions with her legs stretched obscenely apart. Split had removed his shirt, baring a broad muscular chest, and he was hunched over the young woman, one hand thrust lasciviously down under the elastic waistband of her white nylon panties, his fingers obviously invading the delicate vaginal opening. But Liza showed no signs of objecting to this tormenting behavior; indeed, she seemed to be cooperating whole-heartedly in her own defilement, her hips busily rotating in tiny circles as she screwed her loins energetically back up against Split's prying hand. Neither one of them were paying much attention to each other, however, despite the lecherous activity they were involved in, their eyes locked onto the sensuous scene projected on the wall before them.

Joan continued to stare at her friends, thinking that this was really going a considerable way beyond the bounds of propriety. They must know that the room was not dark enough to hide their lewd sex-play, and yet they were behaving just as if they were alone in a bedroom somewhere, not apparently caring in the slightest whether anyone looked at them or not! It was obviously going to get worse before it got better, since Liza seemed to be half out of her mind with unsatisfied lust. While Joan looked on with scandalized eyes, her girl friend from the slum freed her hands from around Split's neck and reached behind her back, quite obviously rumbling with the fastening on her brassiere straps. After a moment's maneuvering, Liza's hands swept down to her waist, and with a deft flick of her wrists, she drew the sweater up over her head, carrying the brassiere with it and denuding herself to the waist.

Seeing Liza's sensually quivering breasts shimmering in the semi-darkness, Joan repressed a shudder of dismay. This was turning into an orgy! She tried to feel disgust and repulsion at being an unwilling witness to this carnally uninhibited scene, but somehow the only sentiment she could detect within her pot-wracked body was a growing feeling of sexual desire, now swollen far beyond the stage where she could possibly hope to deny it to herself or anyone else. With a sudden shock, she discovered that she had been unconsciously grinding her buttocks into the couch, trying desperately to ease the gnawing, itching lusty sensation up between her legs which was slowly but surely threatening to drive her wild. How could Jack Lynch have failed to notice? She was now leaning full against his chest, and he must be keenly aware of every movement of her aroused young body, including the fact that her breathing had now become very heavy and hard, as if her heart were racing.

"Hey, lovely, how are you doing?" the Irishman's mellow baritone purred into her ear, making her start for a moment. "Did you catch the games Liza and Split are playing? Never takes much to get ol' Liza all steamed up, does it?"

"Yes...I.. . saw them," she whispered back, feeling silly and out of place. How could he take this all so calmly?

"Are you comfy?" he inquired, his own eyes never leaving the lecherous scene on the wall before them, but his body inching deliberately closer to hers as the arm slung carelessly around her shoulder now began to creep gradually down towards the invitingly revealed breasts. In the one clear, sane portion of her brain which was left, Joan sensed that she had somehow stumbled into a trap, but everything seemed to be happening too fast for her to control. The lascivious, lust-arousing movie, the orgy taking place on the next couch, Jack Lynch's prying hands, the rich acrid smell of Mexican marijuana hanging over them like a curse, how could she ever hope to explain to Allen what had happened to her? How could she forgive herself for having participated in this low bizarre entertainment?

But the marijuana had drained away most of her will power, and Joan realized that she lacked the physical strength to stand up and march out of the studio. Lynch's fingers were darting lightly across the softly yielding flesh of the sides of her breasts, but her eyes returned helplessly to the motion picture they were supposed to be watching. The kidnapper had risen to his feet in the meantime, and was slowly stripping away his clothing while he smiled unmercifully down at the nakedly trembling young girl he had taken prisoner. As his pants slid to the ground and the gangster stepped casually out of them, Joan drew in her breath sharply, catching sight of the man's long pole-like penis which jutted out sharply in front of him like the bayonnet on a rifle, the heavy bulbous head slowly swaying back and forth as it pointed directly at the helpless flat plain of the girl's defenseless stomach.

The man's hard, muscular buttocks were facing the camera as the kidnapper put his hands heavily on the girl's frail white shoulders, and the biceps in his arms rippled with sudden strength as he applied a powerful downward pressure, forcing her to her knees. In a flash, Joan knew precisely what was coming, and the distraught young wife wondered if she could bring herself to watch it. The man's long throbbing cock was only a few short inches from the girl's wetly parted lips, and Joan was wise enough in the ways of the world to understand precisely what he intended to do to his innocent captive. Joan herself had never performed this particularly perverse act with a man, although some of her boy friends had asked her to during the days of her own high-living youth, but she had heard the act discussed more than once by the rough crude men who drank at the bar where she had worked. Naturally, it would never have entered Allen's head to try and commit oral sex with his tender young wife.

But here it was before her, coming closer by the minute, and Joan was so wrapped up in her conflicting emotions that she hardly noticed when Lynch slipped one of the straps of her top down off her creamy white shoulder, thus baring the entire quivering mound of her right breast. By the time she clearly understood that the lecherous Irishman was taking advantage of a difficult situation, his other hand had moved to the attack, capturing her tingling little nipple in his hand.

On the screen before them, the gangster had run one cruelly demanding hand into the girl's soft brown hair, while with the other hand, he seized his rigidly pulsating cock and rubbed it lewdly around the quivering edges of the terrified girl's mouth.

More than anything else, Joan was dismayed at the size of the actor's male instrument. It was obvious to her that he had not been chosen for this role because of any particular skill in acting, but as a result of this natural endowment. Her mind was confused and unhappy, particularly since Lynch was rolling her tiny nugget-like nipple back and forth between his fingers, nearly driving her mad with the pin-pricks of erotic sensations being aroused in her shamelessly responsive young body. But despite all that was happening to her in real life, she could not drag her eyes off that menacingly long hard cock on the screen! It must have been a full eight inches long, uncircumcised and as big around as the handle on a baseball bat, and Joan simply had never known that penises came quite so big.

She shuddered as she reflected what a battering ram like that would do to the fragile insides of a woman's body, and it occurred to her that perhaps the young captive on the screen was fortunate that the gangster had not decided to try to penetrate her vagina. He would surely kill her with that murderous rod!

"Interesting, eh?" commented Lynch, turning his body around to face her and taking the opportunity to slide the other shoulder strap down to her elbow so that her dress fell completely away from her tender sensual breasts, leaving her completely naked to the waist. "I mean, did you ever see a fuck show like this before?"

"No," she stammered, realizing that he was deliberately exciting and confusing her with this lewd conversation while his hungering fingers roamed lasciviously over the prickly sensitive globes of her heavy breasts. Somehow, it seemed easiest to pretend for the moment that he was not doing what he quite obviously was doing, and she somehow felt compelled to make a comment.

"No, I've...I've never seen anything quite like this...he's...so huge!"

"Him?" shrugged Lynch, acting as if this naive comment had surprised him. "A little on the big side, I suppose, but nothing special!"

This lewd conversation fell off sharply as the film gangster launched his attack. The girl had apparently been prepared for anything but this, and her body was wracked with hopeless shudders as she knelt nakedly before him, the lust-inciting curves and indentations of her fragile young body being surveyed carefully by the cameramen, but she obviously had no intention of opening her mouth to this vile intruder. However, the rapist was evidently experienced at this kind of resistance, and knew precisely what he had to do. Dropping one hand deftly to her nose, he pinched her nostrils, depriving her momentarily of air. The innocent captive fought back gamely for a moment, trying futilely to shake him off, but her lungs were obviously crying out for oxygen, and in another instant, her mouth popped involuntarily open, and the deed was done.

With a vicious flick of his hips, the man sent the huge blood-filled head of his cock sliding forward into the unnatural sanctuary of the girl's virginal mouth, and Joan could see the young adolescent's will to resist crumble as soon as she realized that the man was simply too strong for her. As his hands tangled harshly in her flowing brown hair, the four viewers watched her lips close hopelessly around the massive shaft of his invading penis, and with a sigh the naked girl closed her eyes in eloquent despair, and began sucking.