She would have been able to believe it all-if only she could have hurt and suffered a little bit. But god damn a God who gave her a body incapable of syllogism-a body which only confessed openly to its needs and erotic desires. God damn it all! Getting raped was bad enough. But did she have to like it?
Before she had time to dwell further on the world's injustice, her come-riddled cunt revived and began once more that insidious erasure of her mental processes. Despite having just melted, despite practically having died from the violence of her reaction to all that no-tomorrow wham-bamming, once more her body was responding to his slow, steady thrusting. And despite doing everything humanly possible to kill herself, she knew her full-fashioned, totally feminine body was getting ready to do it all again.
My god, how many times could she come before she died? Surely the most healthy of hearts could not endure this pounding forever. It might be different if she were a sexual athlete or a working girl like some of her clients. But she was not. She was in good physical shape-good enough to have turned every head when the goddam escalator at City Hall had performed an involuntary strip tease. But it had been more years than she even liked to think about since she had experienced the fine full flutter of wings as she took off on a series of high-flying orgasms.
It was going to kill her as sure as hell. And if it didn't these two sons-of-bitches who were taking turns raping her would. Convicted felons. There was no way they could both possibly be so stupid as to believe she was not going to blow the whistle on them the first time she could get her hands on a telephone.
Or was there? She had been wailing and squealing, twisting and turning like any other woman in the throes of joyous orgasm. That was the hell of it. They might be raping her but somewhere deep in her heart of hearts Paula knew that if they were both to desist, all the sons-of-bitches would have to do would be to lie around her house naked, their king-sized cocks at half-mast while they drank her booze and ate her food and sooner or later she would be crawling into their laps, begging them to stick it in her again.
They must both know she was incurable-unbelievable, totally turned on by the thought of fucking and unable to say no to any man no matter how unsuitable. There was a word for that kind of woman. She didn't like to think about it but it was there and she knew it. She was not taking pay, therefore she was not a whore. She was not in love with her partners, therefore she was not some silly, approaching-menopause bitch in love with love. She was a woman who just plain couldn't say no to anybody in possession of a cock. A round heels, of course. But Paula knew she was even worse than a classic round heels. She was a nymphomaniac!
No wonder these male chauvinist pigs were using her as if she were a bar of soap. They had pegged her for what she was before she even knew it herself. They admired her lush, flawless body, used it to fuck themselves into dry-bagged stillness and-
Suddenly she knew what this meant. If they were that sure her-if they knew they could come back for seconds, thirds, hundredths, there was no reason to kill her. They knew her better than she knew herself. They would be back time and again until sooner or later some newsman got wise and put a spectacular end to her career as a parole officer.
Then she remembered that the news noses were probably hanging from every tree outside right now. Oh Jesus! She had to warn these bastards. Like it or not, she was involved, would have to scheme with them, cooperate with them, work together to save their separate asses.
And come to think of it, where was Harry Riggs? Her question was suddenly answered as her sensual appreciation of the red-headed man's steady thrusting was distracted by a pair of hands slipping over her full firm tits. That made four hands on her body!
CHAPTER 14
Oh Christ! She had forgotten about Harry Riggs. Not exactly forgotten, she amended. She had just made some assumptions on insufficient evidence. She had supposed he would spend the interval charging his batteries so he would be ready to take up the torch and feed eight revived inches to her as soon as the red-haired man's hard-on faltered. Now she knew she had been wrong once again.
What was he going to do to her?
As if she didn't know!
She reminded herself of what he had done last time, how he had been all set to do it without mitigation or preamble until some sudden access of passion-some supernal desire to lick her pussy and overcome and diverted him. But this time, with his red-headed friend already pouring his bald-headed cock to her seething cunt, there was little danger of Harry Riggs getting his face into the cockpit.
And she could remember vividly the place where his eight erect inches had ended up last time. Her throat was still sore and strained from all that swallowing, swallowing a hunk of raw red meat that resolutely refused to be swallowed.
My god, didn't she have enough to do now? The redhead was still pouring his cock to her with the steady dependable beat of a symphonist trying to play jazz. Her writhing, twisting body was responding in ways she had never imagined possible. Her whole being was suffused with a single desire to destroy herself, to fuck herself into premature senility, to come and come repeatedly until her heart finally gave up and she experienced that final orgasm from which nobody ever recovers.
But despite the passion that pervaded her lusting body Paula found herself pondering things like the simple mechanics of a three-way fuck fest. The redhead was in classic missionary position, his hard-muscled ass between her gaping thighs, his bald-headed banger spreading her labia as he drove' it deep into her vagina. His chest was over hers, scant red ringlets rasping the swollen rock-hard nipples atop her twin pectoral volcanoes.
She couldn't work out exactly where Harry Riggs was. From somewhere out of her line of vision he had his hands between her chest and the red-haired man's cupped over her full firm jugs like a living bra, his thumbs and forefingers industriously twiddling away at her tiny pink nipples as if they were not already as hard and upstanding as tiny twin Gibraltars.
She shuddered in a joyous ecstasy under the assault of those fingers which turned her on even more than the redhead's spasmodic licking and kissing for, after all, he had only one mouth and the breaker and enterer who played with her tits had two capable hands.
But was that all Harry Riggs intended to do? Paula couldn't believe he would be content to mark time on the sidelines while somebody else enjoyed the splendors of her abundant femininity. He couldn't fuck her, at least not until his red-haired friend had gotten his share.
Nor would he be able, without considerable physical rearrangement, to get his tongue in the only other place she knew was of any possible interest to a lusting, thrusting male. She remembered her mixture of horror, revulsion, and delight on the occasion when she had first learned about that alternate route to gratification.
With a suddenness that astounded her, a teenage Paula with a teen-age body surmounted by a thoroughly grown-up pair of tits had discovered herself no longer atop a ladder looking for a book while nice old Mr. Costello held the ladder and peeked up her skirt. She had known all the time what he was doing, had thoroughly enjoyed her power over this ageing pillar of the legal community.
She had not minded at all when the old man had been tempted into indiscretions by the sight of all that firm young flesh so tantalizing, so exposed, so eminently grabable at the top of his purposely unrepaired ladder.
And, reflecting on it with a wisdom beyond her years, Paula knew that she really wasn't sorry for the way things had worked out. She didn't yet know if she would ever become a lawyer but she had typed enough wills in Mr. Costello's office to know the wisdom of planning for the future. It was inevitable in her future that something hot, hard, and male find its way between her legs. And, she decided, the sooner the better.