Chapter 6
Eve Sedgewick stared at Hank Dubloon with cool green eyes, trying to seem undisturbed by the story he had just told her.
But his husky, mesmerizing voice, describing the torture and sex scenes in great detail, had sent quivering sensations of mingled fear and excitement coursing through her veins, and her heart was thumping hard.
"Am I supposed to believe that?" she asked.
Hank grinned at her and said evenly, "I never lie, Miss Sedgewick. Viveca Sothby is still a guest of mine on Gorse Island.
"After the first few weeks of initiation, she became addicted to the brutal treatment to which she was repeatedly subjected, begging me to allow her to remain as a slave.
"She has proved to be most amusing. I often lend her to my guests for their pleasure, and she and Brutus have lots of fun together when I'm away."
Eve stirred in her deck chair.
She had been trying to think of some plan of escape, but it seemed more and more evident that she was completely at the mercy of this devilishly handsome, horribly sadistic man.
There was something thrilling about being that helpless.
All her life, Eve Sedgewick had been accustomed to having everything she wanted, to having all her whims catered to instantly.
She had always been surrounded by sycophantic servants and by employees who would never even talk back to her, let alone tell her what to do.
The men she'd dated were invariably milk sops; guys who treated her with kid gloves, as if she were made of glass.
The novelty of being treated like chattel, of being dominated by a brutish, masculine man who could care less who she was and was using her for his own whims had a kind of a thrill to it.
But it was still frightening. And she certainly didn't want to end up like poor Viveca Sothby, a slave on remote Gorse Island for the rest of her days.
Hank stirred in his chair and lit a cigarette. Leaning over, he placed it between Eve Sedgewick's lips, his eyes smoldering like the match he held to a second cigarette which he lit for himself.
He dragged on it, blowing out a lungful of smoke, and then said huskily, "Let me tell you another story, my dear, the story of a restless rich young man. A young man with all the money he could ever want, and yet, a man who felt unfulfilled and hollow.
"That man was me. I was twenty-two and built like a brick shit house. I was incredibly handsome and a star football player at the Ivy League school I was attending.
"Girls flocked to me like flies to honey. But I was bored. And so were a couple of other guys in my dorm. We got drunk together a lot, and chatted about things in general. One thing led to the other, and we began to talk about fantasies, the more bizarre, the better. And from these fantasies emerged dark, frightening talks of bringing them to life, of actualizing the frustrations and needs we had kept pent up inside of us.
"One young girl became the unwitting victim of our beer-induced plotting. A lovely, leggy blonde of seventeen, walking to the library on campus one night, unaware that a nightmare was about to begin..."
Sheila Loveland looked nervously over her shoulder. She didn't know why she felt so creepy tonight. Every little sound made her jump.
It was a limpid, dark night. The moon was full, a heavy, white circle in the heavens, surrounded by sharp glittering stars.
The large, gothic campus looked dark and haunted, the towering buildings looming up in the night like menacing shadows.
It was autumn, and the leaves had fallen from the trees, so their branches scraped back and forth nakedly, like hooked, gnarled claws against the cold light of the moon.
Sheila gathered her sweater closer about her shoulders and shivered, shifting the pile of books she was carrying from one hand to the other.
She was a lovely girl of seventeen. Her hair was a dusky honey blonde and hung in long, curling strands below her shoulders.
It framed a delicately hewn, oval-shaped face with large, long-lashed hazel eyes, a small button of a nose and full, crimson-red lips, sensuous and ripe for kissing.
She had a terrific figure. Her jutting breasts lifted her sweater and blouse invitingly, and bounced as she moved, jiggling in the breeze.
She had a slender waist and slightly curving hips.
Her skirt ended shockingly close to her thighs, and her long legs were bare and lithe and sexy looking, even at night.
She was wearing high heels, and they clicked on the sidewalk, the only sounds to be heard, other than the strange rustlings of the night which disturbed Sheila and made her skin crawl.
She didn't like this walk from her dorm room to the library, and she very rarely traversed the campus this late at night.
But tonight, she simply had to study for a chemistry test which was to be given on the following morning. She couldn't fail this test, or she'd flunk the course.
The girls in the room next to hers had been giving a party, and they were so noisy she couldn't concentrate.
Finally, fed up, she had gathered up her books and stalked out of the dorm and made her way toward the library.
Now, Sheila realized why she usually made sure not to go out on campus late at night without a companion.
It was pretty deserted, and badly lit, and it was a long, winding walk through a dark grove of trees before one got to the library.
For some reason, things seemed darker and creepier tonight. Sheila shivered and increased her pace. She felt scared all of a sudden, as if creatures of the night were watching her from the shadows.
What was that? She jerked her head to the left nervously. She thought she heard the crackle of a dry twig near at behind.
But all she could see was the shadows, and silence had settled on the campus like a blanket.
She started walking faster, and her prickling ears kept on hearing strange noises, first to her left, then to her right.
She thought she saw a large black shape glide behind a tree out of the corner of one of her eyes.
Oh, you're just being paranoid! she said to herself in exasperation, increasing her pace.
She took a deep breath and started to relax.
That's when it happened.
Swift as lightning, three dark shapes converged upon the nervous but unsuspecting coed.
A strong, hard, be-gloved hand clapped roughly around her mouth and she was jerked back against a powerfully built shape.
Sheila's arm was twisted painfully behind her back and a voice hissed in her ear in a deadly whisper, "Don't struggle, bitch, or you're dead!"
Sheila was paralyzed with fear. She almost seemed to be looking at the scene from far away. She couldn't move, and was so terrified she stood there rigidly in the menacing stranger's arms, completely at his mercy.
The other two men grabbed hold of her, too, and she was dragged and hustled along to a spot near by where a car was waiting.
Two men forced her into the backseat with them, while the other two guys hopped in the front of the Chevy and started it up.
The car sped along through the dark, bumping down a rough dirt road which led away from the campus toward the lake.
Her blood was like ice. Her heart was in her throat. One of the men had wrapped dark tape around her face, gagging her mouth.
She was too terrified to scream.
She managed to steal a glance at the shapes of the two men on either side of her.
They were dressed entirely in black, and dark hoods covered their faces, with slits for eyes.
None of the men talked among themselves. Each of the guys in the back seat held tightly to one of Sheila's arms.
The Chevy drove down by the still, glassy lake and came to a stop beside a dark shack.
It was a deserted structure which once had served as the dressing room for the college's crew.
Newer accommodations on the other side of the lake had supplanted these more primitive ones, and they were now not being used.
The men scrambled out of the car, dragging the horrified, paralyzed blonde with them.
They forced her in front of them to the shack, and one of them opened the door, and they shoved her inside.
When all four abductors had followed Sheila into the shack, they shut the door firmly, and someone struck a match.
Several lanterns were lit, and these were suspended from the ceiling, casting long golden swathes of light across the dark murky shadows.
Sheila was standing in the middle of the room, bathed in the flickering light from the lanterns.
The four brawny masked men surrounded her. She could see their eyes glittering through the slits in their masks.
One of the men, a hulking monster of a man, strode forward and reached out, grabbing hold of her blouse.
With one brutal movement, he ripped the front of it off, baring her breasts. Her luscious, ripe tits sprang free like bouncing, jiggling melons, capped by orange, succulent, sand-dollar sized nipples.
Sheila gave a gurgling sob of fear, jumping back as he ripped her blouse, her big hazel eyes fearfully begging for mercy.
Another man came up behind her and grabbed her arms. She gave a little muffled shriek through the tape which covered her mouth, and tried weakly to break loose.
The man in front of her drew a knife. He held it in front of her face. The lantern light flickered on the cold, sharp steel.
Horror cut through Sheila's body in icy waves. She saw her life flash before her eyes. Was he going to cut her? Was she going to be murdered???
The big stud stepped forward, teasingly weaving the knife back and forth in front of her face. He brought to blade down, laying the cold flat edge of it against one of the trembling lobes of her breasts, and then against the other.
She gave a choking sob of fear, trembling uncontrollably.
He reached down, hooking his fingers in the belt line of her skirt, tugging it away from her body.
Slowly, he slid the blade down, slipping it between her flesh and the material of her skirt.
With a violent jerking motion toward himself, he sliced through the skirt, rending the material into shreds as he cut downward.
The skirt fell in a heap on the floor at Sheila's feet.
She was wearing just a pair of pink, frilly panties now.
The big masked man crouched down, running his hands slowly up the insides of her thighs.
Sheila shuddered, feeling the cold blade glide along her trembling flesh and slip beneath the elastic of her skimpy panties.
She sobbed as she felt him jerk his hand upward, slicing through the elastic and ripping her panties into two shreds of silk.
They fluttered to the floor, and she was naked.
Her luscious, naked, creamy white body gleamed in the lantern light.
Between her thighs, a golden triangle of soft down lined the pouting lips of her pink, sweet vagina.
The masked man stripped off his gloves. His hands were big and powerful. He reached out and ran his fingers over the front of her trembling, naked body, squeezing and kneading the soft, pillowy hills of her knockers, catching the nipples between his knuckles and wrenching them back and forth lewdly.
The man who was holding her arms was grinding his groin against her trembling ass.
Sheila shuddered, feeling the outline of his rock hard penis throbbing through the tight, skin-clinging leotards which each stud wore.
The four men were all jocks from the football team. Hank Dubloon was the leader. Ian, who was holding Sheila, was a big black stud. Riff, a tall, lean blue eyed guy, and Otis, a hulking six foot three inch Okie, watched from the side lines, their eyes gleaming with lust.
All four jocks had consumed more than their share of booze and grass that evening.
They had talked about nabbing an unsuspecting chick and raping her ritualistically, but it wasn't until that evening that they had decided, in a drunken wave of uninhibited passion, to carry out their plans.
They had pulled on black leotards and dark sneakers, black sweaters and hoods made out of black sacks.
Now, they had a beautiful, terrified blonde chick at their mercy, and all four jocks was horny as hell, and the feeling of power which burned in their alcohol-soaked blood was incredible.
Standing in front of Sheila, Hank gathered up his sweater and carefully pulled it over his head, making sure not to disturb the mask which obscured his features.
His chest was massively muscular, and he had broad shoulders and bulging, cantaloupe sized biceps.
His pectoral slabs were like slopes of concrete, densely covered with whorls of dark, silky hair.
He had a rippling, washboard belly. Even though she was so consumed with fear she couldn't move, Sheila was dimly aware of how brawny and attractive this cruel kidnapper was.
Hank hooked his fingers in the elastic of his leotards, and in one deft, swift movement, drew them down, after kicking off his sneakers, and stood naked before the gagged, shuddering girl.
His rock-hard, ten inch pecker thrust impudently upward from a thick patch of dark pubes. His large, swinging, baseball-sized balls dangled virilely beneath.
He held the knife up in front of Sheila's huge, frightened eyes.
"You're gonna get fucked, bitch. You're gonna get fucked like you never been fucked before. And you're gonna like it!"