White Slave Chapter 2

      Chris O'Brien took one look at her checkbook balance and swore.  Damn!
There was no way she could pay the rent and afford bus fare too, not to mention
coincidentals like laundry and an occasional glass of wine.  Then the worst
realization imaginable struck the sandy haired girl between the eyes like
40,000 watts of voltage: there was no more money coming in until she found a
job. Thank God they were getting food stamps!

      Oh God!  What to do?  She collapsed on the single bed that squeeked under
her slender weight and, covering her face with her hands, she wept, her
five-foot four-inch body rocking back and forth on the Indian print bedspread.
Why had she insisted on coming to San Francisco without a job?  Her uncle Frank
had warned her, her aunt Violet, her father, and her very own younger sister.
But no, Chris O'Brien was going to prove her independence regardless of the
ominous odds. So what if California already suffered from 13% unemployment, not
to mention the spate of 18-22 year old jobless, of which she was but a
statistic.  Chris would prove them all overly cautious and narrow-minded.  She
would come in cold, get a well-paying, creative job with travel benefits. After
all, she had a college diploma in one hand and a portfolio brimming with talent
in the other.  What more could she have going for her?  Her professors at the
University had encouraged her, telling her she should try cracking into the
fashion design market out here on the West Coast.  Sure, they'd said, it you
want to start a career, go to New York; but the West Coast has lots more
amenities.  Now, after two months of scouring the streets, all she could show
for her efforts was a bad blister on her left heel and an arm-long list of
useless telephone numbers and contacts.  And no money.

      A roar as loud as her own crying rocketed through the Geary street
apartment, the din's vibrating rattle making the stereo groan, then skip a cut.
Chris pounded an angry fist into her knee.  And this hole!  It was filthy and
noisy, snorted Chris. You couldn't listen to a record album without a bus
interrupting everytime its brakes ground to a halt to repeat its never ending
route up and down Geary Street all night.  But you could hardly complain to a
landlord about cockroaches and broken windows when you still owed last month's
rent and had no prospects for paying the current month's either.  You bit your
lip and endured: that was city living.

      What could she do?  Chris bit into her trembling lower lips and stared
blurrily at the yellow cracked wall.  She might as well call her parents
collect and humiliate herself by asking them to send her a one-way ticket back
to Detroit and forget there was any part of America west of the Mississippi
River.  No.  That would be giving in, sniffed Chris, wiping her nose with the
back of her hand.  She'd rather work at the telephone company, God forbid, than
do that -- if they were hiring.

      The twenty-two year old slim-hipped girl braced her foot on the bed board
and, out of habit, twisted to reach her cigarettes on the night stand.  With a
wince and a snap of her fingers she remembered she'd smoked the last one last
night -- or had her roommate bummed it?  She couldn't remember which.  Just
yesterday she'd spent her last cash on a pair of stockings she didn't like, to
wear to a job interview for a job she didn't want.  Damn! she hissed, clenching
her fists.  We've got to do something. Anything!

      And her roommate Sandy was no help either.  God, she couldn't keep a
dollar in her pocket for five minutes without it sending up flames.  That,
thought Christ pacing in front of the window, is the whole trouble with Sandy.
Drugs.  Money spent uselessly on drugs, and all it got you was a headache and
another day in debt. In school it had been no problem even though they'd roomed
together since neophyte freshman.  One collect phone call to the folks telling
them you needed another easel or art book, and the check was in the mail
pronto.  Now, being twenty-two and independent, neither of the girls could
expect anything in the mail except for a good wish and a stamped,
self-addressed envelope to back home.  A case of responsibility, pure and simple.

      Chris put her finger to her lip and concentrated on the old man across
the street, stooping over to pick up cigarette butts from the gutter.  Where
had last summer's savings gone?  She tapped her foot, mentally counting off the
dollars.  Rent-$70, clothes-about $10, rock concerts... ummm, that's where a
good share of it had gone.  And dope.  One pound of top grade marijuana that
she and Sandy had bought the first week in San Francisco. "Good stuff... safe
connection... you can sell it, keep a couple lids for yourselves and make a
killing on the rest."  Right, thought Chris with a sarcastic nod of the head.
Safe investment, huh!  The dealer, some guy Sandy had picked up in the park and
brought home for an afternoon of frolic and post-hippie lovemaking, sold them
the goods and ripped them off on the same night.  Some scam!

      He'd come late at night to break up the kilo and weigh out the pound in
front of the two girls.  Next thing Chris remembered she was lying on the floor
from an overdose of PCP sprinkled in the marijuana -- a drug she'd smoked
occasionally while in school -- with Sandy making passionate love to the dealer
on the sofa. Chris, on hands and knees, had crawled to her bedroom, just one
doorway beyond, and listened to the grunts and groans and slurping and slapping
of flesh on naked flesh only to wake up the next morning to find her roommate
passed out on the couch and Chris' purse laying open and empty... and the pound
of dope picked up and carried off by the same hands that had brought it in only
four hours earlier.  It was a killing all right, mused Chris with the caustic
wisdom of a victim of the city.  A real lesson.

      She'd blamed Sandy for it, calling her irresponsible and a poor judge of
character, that she should have been able to pick up on the guy's vibes and
known better than to buy dope from a stranger.  But then, honestly speaking, if
Sandy had to pass on her judgment of people, she wouldn't have passed
kindergarten, for Sandy was a girl who knew what she wanted on the skimpiest of
superficial levels and sacrificed anything to get it -- money, honor.  It
didn't matter.  If it felt good, Sandy indulged.  It was her life's principle.
"Some people live by the ten commandments," Chris remembered her best friend
saying, "and I have my fun."  No one could argue the point; in a crazy sort of
way it made sense.

      Even Chris couldn't argue with Sandy on that issue.  The long haired girl
lit the half-burned cigarette she found among the marijuana roaches in the
seashell ashtray and lit it, feeling the hot match warm her fingers as she
thought on.  No, Sandy had never been discriminate about her college dates.  If
they liked loud music, beer, and dope, they were Sandy's kind of people.  Poor,
rich, white, black, yellow, red -- Sandy had had them all.  And loved it.

      That must have been thought Chris pulling on the second-time-around
cigarette, why Mom and Dad were opposed to her coming along with me out here to
California in the first place.  Though she was loathe to concede the issue, her
parents were right.  Sandy was getting out of hand with bringing home guys from
the laundromat, the bus stop, and the pool hall -- anywhere she could find a
willing mate who wanted to spend an afternoon in bed.  And worst of all, they
would crash all night with Sandy in her bedroom and play the stereo on full
blast so that Chris couldn't get to sleep until the east turned yellow.

      But damn it, you couldn't help but love Sandy no matter how many times
she broke a promise or borrowed money.  She was a true friend, a real sister,
and Chris would do anything to help her roommate.  After all, Sandy had stuck
by Chris through all her traumas and hard times, always offering everything she had to give.

      Like the time Chris's parents had decided to make a surprise Sunday
afternoon visit to their oldest daughter in college, and Sandy had given up her
afternoon to chat and play hostess to Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien while Chris lay in
frozen silence behind her bedroom door with her boyfriend after a night of
de-flowering love making.  Chris had been far too embarrassed and shame-faced
guilty to face her parents, especially with Dick haggling her for a second time
around.  Hadn't Chris a debt to pay there?  Return one good turn for another?
Sandy had shrugged it off, saying she enjoyed company.  True, the dark haired
girl did like people.

       That, succinctly, was another one of Sandy's problems.  But nobody could
blame her.  Everybody said she was lucky not to be scared for life.  And to
think her step-father was responsible.

      Chris felt a wave of nauseating guilt.  She drew heavily on the last drag
of the tortured cigarette and snuffed out the filter in the carbon-stained
seashell.  For some unaccountable reason Chris sensed that she shouldn't even
be thinking about Sandy's problems... that lurid, terrifying story had been
related in confidence, and Chris wasn't even sure she had the facts straight.
The antidepressant drugs -- stelazine and meloril -- the doctors administered
to Sandy that night in the hospital after she'd attempted to commit suicide by
threatening to jump out of a ten story campus building because of a breaking up
with her boy friend, had triggered her memory and blurred her speech.

      Chris had spent the night in the psych ward of the University hospital
holding Sandy's cold, clammy hand and listening to the mumbled horror of a
childhood nightmare.  Had Sandy the courage to relate her story without the
mellowing effect of drugs to ease the emotional and physical torture that
scorched her body each time she talked about it, Chris was certain the
objective truth might run like this:

      The day that Sandy was to remember forever had dawned very hot, and she
had decided to go for a walk down by the creek to get a bit of sunshine and
daydream as twelve-year-olds do.  A physically mature girl for her years, the
black haired girl had walked with her back curved and her full young breasts
jutting out and bouncingly firmly.  She'd been happy; her mother, after a year
of husbandless loneliness, had married a man at last, and Sandy was happy to
have a father.

      Sandy strolled along, occasionally raising her hand to shield her eyes
against the glare of the sun.  Born and raised in the Michigan countryside, she
loved the out-of-doors and especially the creek, where as a child she used to
build log dams and fish for trout in the cool fresh water.  She sauntered down
to the creek that ran through their property, down to its shady banks where she
drifted under the willow trees, feeling the coolness like caressing fingers all
over her body, and finally reached a sheltered place she knew.  It was a spot
where the creek widened out into a crystal pool that was hidden from all eyes
by the bushes and a natural embankment.  Here, Sandy kicked off her shoes and
waded ankle-deep in the water, playfully kicking up a spray, with her dress
showing a flash of nakedly white thigh.  Here, in the tiny glen, Sandy felt
that she was safe to do as she wanted.

      It felt good being out of the house, because things hadn't been going as
smoothly as the twelve year old thought they should. There had been much
arguing between her mother and step-father, much of it having to do with Sandy
and her newly discovered social life.  Already at the approaching teenage year,
she had dated once or twice and her step-father thought she was being too loose
for a girl her age.  He had made accusations which sent her mother into tears,
and Sandy had the feeling he'd been following her, something her mother refused
to believe of her new husband.

      The young brunette hadn't counted on the prying eyes of her step-father,
who made his quiet way up and down the creek embankment, and now stood looking
down at Sandy tossing her thick mane of black hair.  He crouched down behind a
tree on the top of the knoll and watched Sandy sprawl in the grass and turn her
face up to the warming sun.  Her face was delicate, with a slender nose that
ended in a provocative tilt.  There was also a tilt to her wide pale green
eyes.  Her face was delicate and feminine, right down to her wide, fleshy mouth.

      But it was her voluptuous young body that excited her step-father and
made him chew on his lips.  He watched his step-daughter from behind the tree
and saw Sandy lean all her weight back on her arms, letting her head even
further back so that her face and throat were presented to the warming sun. She
raised one leg and bent the knee.  The man held his breath as he watched her
firmly white thighs.  He saw her sprawled with the hem of her dress in her lap
and her legs spread as she let the knee wantonly fall over to one side,
revealing the tight white band of her panties that so snuggly held and hid her
pussy.  He stared as though mesmerized at the flimsly white panties covering
the treasure he wanted to so badly to see, then blinked and wiped sweat from
the palms of his hands by rubbing them on his pants.

      Christ, his wife had one hell of a good looking daughter, alright.  A lot
of style for a young girl, the way she strutted her stuff, flashing her ripe
breasts in front of the young guys. And already she'd come home at two o'clock
in the morning on two different occasions.  Hell if she wasn't out getting it!

      Sandy sank back, her eyes closed, smiling slightly at the kiss of the sun
on her face and neck.  It felt good!  The rays caressed her flesh and made her
tingle in a drowsy kind of way.  A slight breeze blew and sent ripples of
pleasure over her face and neck.  Sandy listened for a moment while lazily
thinking how nice it would feel if she were to...

      Her step father was like an Indian, freezing immediately when he saw the
girl sit up and open her eyes and look around.  Slowly, he sank back into the
shade of the tree and held his breath.  With one eye, he watched Sandy glance
around and cock her head as if listening for something.  Had he made a noise or
did she hear someone coming?  He was sure she'd run off and was waiting for her
boy friend to show up.

      No!  He held his breath and felt his rapidly awakening cock give a hard
jerk in his pants as he saw her unbuttoning the front of her dress and pull it
free of her creamy shoulders and gather it around her incredibly slender waist.
His mouth went dry as he saw her sitting with her breasts looking so full blown
that they were literally stuffed into the bra and were straining to burst free.
He watched as Sandy reached behind her with both arms.  Her breasts jutted
forward and up as she worked with the clasp in the hollow of her back.  Her
fingers snapped the clasp and her ripely fleshed mounds sprang quivering free.

      The step-father, George, almost yelled and his cock jerked again so
powerfully in the tight confinement of his jockey shorts that he bent over in pain.

      Jesus, Christ!  His step-daughter had beautiful tits!
      His mouth was as dry as sand as he looked at her two nakedly free breasts
with their tightly tensed nipples so dark and round. He watched her breasts
quiver and shake in a wantonly provocative way; they were ripe and round with
half-moons of shadow under them as she again leaned back all her weight on her
arms and let her head loll back with her eyes closed.  Her breasts were jutting
up, right at him and the older man felt he could leap up, run down, surprise
her, and grab those tits in his hands... and massage them... and put his hungry
mouth over those tautly teasing nipples and bite and suck on them.  He bent
over again, forced to adjust his swelling cock in his pants.

      "Jesus, I'm in for a show!"  He whispered the words in his dry, caked
throat as he waited for her boy friend to show up.

      His hand swatted at the sweat forming on his upper lip just as Sandy sat
up again, and looked around with a dreamy expression. He sank back further,
keeping one eye on her and one hand on his painfully tight groin.

      Sandy was feeling good, very good... and a little bold and wicked.
Supposing someone should come along?  She smiled, knowing that no one would.
Only her mother was at home, and she was doing the wash.  And her
step-father... well, he was probably in town getting drunk.  After all, it was
Saturday afternoon.  Just as well, her step-father had been accusing her of all
sorts of ridiculous things of late, and she'd just as soon he spent his time on
a bar stool, rather than trying to play father which he failed so miserably at.

      Satisfied, she felt safe, felt that this was her day, her hour, that she
could be safely alone and do exactly as she pleased, that she could be free and
enjoy the sun.  Free!  The word hummed through her head like a song, a wantonly
sensuous song.  She cupped her budding breasts with either hand, touching them
softly and intimately, her fingertips brushing across her already distended
nipples as she marveled at the way her body had changed so dramatically in the
last six months.  Already the boys at school were calling her a cock teaser
because of the way she strutted proudly.  A thrill of lustful desire swept
through her body, mixing, smoking and brooding, in her groin.  Her entire young
body seemed to, for a minute, throb with the hotly liquid desire of being a ripe woman.

      Sandy almost lost her balance as she felt desire ripple through her body
in increasing undulations as her fingertips brushed back and forth across her
nipples.  It felt so good!

      God damn!  She's acting like some twenty-two year old whore!
      Lust twisted his face as he watched the unsuspecting girl gently teasing
and exciting herself.  He was right about her.  She was putting out for
somebody!  Somebody definitely was getting her nooky!  He clenched his fist and
crouched low behind the tree, preparing to charge.  He couldn't stand watching
any longer and, damn, her mother never did that for him!

      He was just about to go barreling down the hill as if her were pulling
off an off-tackle plunge when he froze, catching his breath in an audible way
he was afraid she heard.  She was sitting up again and using her hands to push
the dress down over her creamy-white hips.  He held his breath as he watched
her rocking from one cheek of her buttocks to the other, wiggling and writhing
lazily as she brazenly slipped the bunched up dress down over her thigh and all
the way down to her knees.  She sat for a moment in her little white bikinis,
feeling so drowsy in the sun.

      George licked his dry lips and watched her with her naked breasts caught
between her arms, pressing her cleavage tightly deep.  Her breasts ballooned
under her arms, making her nipples more tautly tempting than ever before.  His
eyes greedily took in her firmly flat stomach with its navel plainly visible as
her abdomen tautly rippled when she again leaned back on her arms and tossed
her wild black mane of hair.

      Sandy basked in the gently, sensuous warmth of the sun.  She closed her
eyes and felt it warming her all over.  On an impulse, she again sat up and
hooked her dainty thumbs in her flimsy panties and pulled them off, feeling a
rush of cooling air on her heat-moistened cuntal slit and in the deeply tight
crevice of her buttocks.

      George felt his body quivering like a big cat ready to leap. There she
was before him, totally naked, her sensually voluptuous body so young and firm
with a rubbery kind of resilience.  He watched her breasts twin white orbs
quiver elastically as she moved, lying down and stretching out in the hot sun.
He saw her young naked loins moving enticingly as she stretched her legs.

      His eyes were drawn to her groin where her firmly shaped thighs met her
nakedly tempting torso and he saw her softly parted pubic hair that fuzzed out
virginally.  His eyes fastened on that slit and he caught a glimpse of warmly
pink cuntal flesh as she lazily spread her legs.  Her pulpy pussy lips were
already glistening and swelling even as he watched. His cock throbbed and
lunged once like a wild animal seeking freedom, and he gritted his teeth hard
in an effort at self control.

      Sandy lolled back, closed her eyes, basking in the gently warming rays of
the sun and gradually becoming sensually aware of her own naked body.  She felt
her genitals growing moist with a throbbing itch, and her hands whispered over
her ripely swelling breasts once more, her fingers teasingly skimming back and
forth. Then she let her hands trail down, down over her contoured stomach and
over her navel to the sparse triangle of pubic hair that was beginning to
sprout there.  She felt wantonly hot and she raised one knee slightly as her
fingertips skimmed down the length of her wetly swelling slit.  She felt the
moist warm heat of her own cunt, and a tiny moan of delight escaped her lips.
The sun, her hands, they felt so good!

      Her fingers began tenderly probing and exploring her teased clitoris into
an erect life of its own.  She felt a rippling erotic pleasure tingle through
her naked pussy under her gentle ministrations.  She felt so devilishly wicked
as she allowed her hips to jut obscenely upward while her finger slid up and
down the heated lubricated slit in an ever increasing rhythm.

      A crash from up on the embankment made the young brunette sit bolt
upright, a strangled cry frozen in her throat.  She didn't have any time to
move before her step-father crashed on top of her with savagely guttural snarl.
Sandy was knocked completely over, her naked loins flashing, her young breasts
bouncing.  They rolled over and over under the impact of his charge and ended
up right next to the pond, with George on top of her.

      Sandy was seeing stars, and her lungs felt like they were on fire as she
gasped for breath and tried hard not to pass out.  She opened her mouth to cry
out but George clamped his hand roughly over her mouth.  "Shuddup, you little
bitch," he snarled.  His wild eyed face was only inches from her.  She could
smell beer on his breath.  He had been drinking again!  His lips were twisted
in a facsimile of a grin.  "You make one sound, one little peep, and I'll beat
the living shit outta you."

      The words were hissed, spat out in her face and her whole body tensed as
she tried to shirk away from him.  He gradually removed his hand from her
mouth, keeping one finger held up as a warning.  Slowly, he removed his weight,
getting up and allowing her to catch her breath with her breasts ripely heaving
up and down to in front of his eyes.  She watched him with wide-open eyes as he
began taking off his shirt.  She couldn't believe her step-father was doing
this to her!  My God, he had to be insane!  Or did he really hate her that much?

      He pulled off his pants and kicked them to the side.  She gave a gasp of
horror as she saw the hugely obscene bulge in his jockey shorts.  His cock was
so big he had trouble getting it out of the underwear until finally it sprang
free with a life of its own.  Her hand flew to her mouth as he stood nakedly
menacing over her.  His cock!  It was so huge!  She had no idea men's cocks
could get so big.  He held it lightly with one hand, sadistic grin on his
brutal face.  She stared up at the lust-swollen, blood-red mushroom head.  She
saw his thick white shaft with the bulging veins and, as she watched, her heart
pounding, he pulled back the tautly tight sheath of foreskin and the flanged
head ballooned out, red and shining.  "No!" she cried, her voice trembling.

      "Come on, you're putting out for those young boys," he growled.  "And now
you're gonna put out for me!"

      "N-no!  Never, n-never b-b-before!" she stammered.
      "Don't give me that shit!  You been staying out almost all night with
those studs.  Don't tell me you ain't fucked before." He crouched over her, his
voice grating, his long massively pulsating cock held firmly in one hand.  "I'm
going to fuck you to within an inch of your life."

      "No!  Help!  Mother!" Sandy rose up, crying out as loud as she could. She
never even saw the punch.  She felt it as the world seemed to explode right in
front of her eyes; her head snapped around and she fell backward heavily,
feeling the pain sponge deeply into her face.

      George kneeled over her naked young torso, sitting on her stomach and
slapped her face back and forth with an open hand. Sandy tried to ward off his
stinging blows but found she was too weak and stunned to have much effect.  His
strength was incredible and brutally effective as he seized her wrists and bent
her arms back above her head just as his hotly wet mouth clamped over hers and
she felt his hot tongue wetly probing into her mouth.

      She tried to yell, but his fiery hot tongue slid in her mouth and lewdly
lashed at her own tongue.  The terrified young girl fought for her breath as
his tongue pumped lewdly and wantonly in and out of her mouth.  Despite her
terror and pain, a certain lasciviousness rippled through her body pleasurefully.

      George was grunting like a madman as he pulled his cruel wet mouth away
from her bruised lips and hissed.  "You make one sound, and I swear I'll punch you silly!"

      Again she tensed.  She believed him; she believed he might even kill her.
He was wild, his eyes were bloodshot, his breath reeked of stale beer, and his
hands were hurting her wrists as he squeezed them tightly to show he meant business.

      George shifted his weight and looked hungrily down at her large fleshy
breasts in all their firmly erect splendor.  With her hands forced up above her
head and pinned there by his grip, her breasts were arched with her nipples
right below his face.  With a savagely cruel chuckle, he lowered his hot wet
mouth and clamped his tongue and lips over one pinkly erect little nipple.

      "Nnnnoooooo!" Sandy moaned, her head rolling back and forth as she felt
him first suck, then bite the nipple so hard she winced.  Despite the pain, she
felt an unexpected ripple of pleasure mix deep down in her loins... a
masochistic thrill at being so helpless while his hungry mouth ravaged her
nipple, sucking and nibbling it into a tautly hot shape of its own.

      "Oooooh, God, please stop!" she whispered, her voice hoarse, afraid to
yell.  She shivered with fear as his voracious mouth moved over to clamp on her
other breasts, and she felt that second nipple being sucked until it ached with
a combination of wanton desire and physical pain.  She knew there were red
teeth marks in the hotly tender flesh of her breasts.

      "N-N-noooo!" she wailed as her hateful step-father shifted his weight on
top of her, his thickly muscled chest crushing her ravaged breasts and pushing
the breath out of her tortured lungs as he grunted, "Spread 'em, Baby!  Spread your legs!"

      "No!  Please!  I'll give you anything... I-I won't tell Mom."  Tears
welled up in the naked young brunette's eyes from the pain and fear as she felt
his heatedly pulsating cock pressing against her stomach.  It felt hard and hot
and thick and huge!  He was going to tear her apart with that big obscene thing!

      "Anything?" he asked between gritted teeth.
      "Anything!"  Tears snaked down her flushed twelve year old face, and for
a wild second she thought she might be getting out of it.

      "How about a little nookey?"  His laughter was wild and harsh.
      Sandy screamed again and received another sharp blow that almost knocked
her out.  Dimly, her strength ebbing, she realized he was forcing her legs
wide.  She felt his powerful loins between her legs, and then her eyes opened
very wide, and she screamed in pain as she felt the thick head massively
pushing on her virginally tight pussy lips.

      "Aaaaggghhhh!"
      His teeth tightly gritted, his lips twisting open wide, he thrust with
all the brute strength he possessed.  He was driven wild with the taste and
smell of her.  He felt the thickly blunt end of his cock spreading her wetly
cringing cunt as he bore down hard.  She whimpered and the sound caused him to
thrust forward with brutal delight.

      The flanged head of his cock plopped just inside her tight, hotly
quivering little cunt with a wet tearing sound.  Sandy felt herself impaled on
his heatedly pulsing cock.  His massive cock head was buried just inside of her
cunt with her cuntal lips drawn tight as rubberbands around the thick shaft.
Sandy was positive he was going to shove his massive maledom clear up into her
belly and on past, on up into her throat itself.  She trembled with abject
fear, sending her cunt into an oddly pleasing quiver around the throbbing head.
She smelled his sexual heat, and felt his huge cock like a throbbing piece of
hot meat lodged in her virginal pussy -- the treasure she had saved for the right boy.

      Slowly, with a cold-blooded brutality, George began pumping his hips,
moving his rigidly thick cock like a huge piston plunging in and out of her tender flesh.

      Sandy couldn't move, and she gasped for breath and tried to keep from
screaming as she felt the lust-thickened shaft spreading her cuntal walls until
it seemed they surely were being ripped from her clitoris to anus.  She lay
rigid, her cruelly violated young body trembling in spasms of fear and guilt.
Guilt!  She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, tried not to think about
the wanton excitement she had begun feeling with each brutal, pain-filled
thrust; she couldn't help herself, and the more she tried not to think of it,
the bigger and harder his cock became ... and finally she was forced to admit
to herself that she was enjoying it!

      She loved it -- all twelve childish years of her!
      A sudden stab of guilt shuddered through her body as she felt her wetly
pulsating cuntal lips inched in with each wonderfully heated thrust of her
mother's husband's heated shaft.  On each withdrawal stroke she felt them
clinging to his hardened shaft and the obscenely exciting mental picture of
what was happening made searing spasms of pleasure streak through her loins and
caused her puckered little anus to tremble with delight.  She was enjoying
making love to her own stepfather!

      She knew she shouldn't be liking it, knew she was being brutally raped,
that she was being marked forevermore, she knew it and felt full of fear and
pain.  Her pain made her sob real tears and babble incoherently for George to
stop.  Her head thrashed from side to side, and she bit her lips against the
increasing pleasure she was feeling with each deeper stroke of his hotly
rampaging cock.  She fought against the itching urge in her hips to pump them
lewdly back and forth.  The more she tried not to think of it, the more she
enjoyed it.  She loved it!

      There was something so thrilling about being so helpless while being
fucked!  She shuddered and her mouth fell wantonly open as she gave out a
half-cry, half moan.  The cry ended in a deep moan, a moan as rich and deep as
a cello; her father grinned triumphantly as he saw her face and began fucking
her harder and faster.

      He went crazy, fucking her insanely, his thick, wetly glistening cock
slamming mercilessly in and out of her hideously stretched cunt, his balls
slapping rhythmically against her thrashing, softly fleshed buttocks.  He
fucked her with all his might, lifting her hips up off the grassy ground and
slamming her down again, ramming all the way into her, feeling his mushroom
head slam into her young cervix deep in that velvet volcano that was her tight
little pussy.

      It was as if all restraining bonds had burst inside Sandy for she lewdly
threw back her head and thrust her nakedly straining breasts up at his face,
all the while wantonly pumping her hips up and down.  She was suddenly a lewdly
writhing animal, curling her legs and arms around his hard body in an effort to
take all the cock he could offer.

      Her mouth was open, her eyes closed, and she moaned with an obscene
delight as she gripped his hotly plunging shaft hard with her cuntal muscles.
She saw his eyes squint with pain and delight.  He grinned savagely at her, and
then their needy mouths locked together, step-daughter and step-father, while
the girl ground her hips up into his groin and bent her knees as much as she
could.  She wanted all of him in her, every last single inch.

      George gripped her with all his strength, his eyes bulging. He was going
to give her the fucking of his life, a fucking she would never forget.  He
gathered his strength, his teeth gritted. Damn, but she's tight, he thought.

      He enjoyed the rubber-glove feeling of tightness he was getting in her
moistly hot little pussy.  She trembled ecstatically at his slightest movement,
and he knew she was enjoying it.  He could feel the rubbery tightness in her
cuntal lips and the taut exciting way her tiny erect clitoris stood up when his
pubic hair rubbed against it.  She was loving it!  She was a slut and loving
every minute of it!

      They fucked, their now sweating bodies locked belly-to-belly as they
writhed and undulated.  He crushed her with his arms as he gasped, "You love it, you little bitch!"

      Her only reply was a low moan and her hips moved as if they were on ball
bearings as she fucked up against him with a wanton abandonment.

      "Tell me you love it!"
      Again she moaned as their sweating stomachs slid one against the other.
      "Tell me!"
      "I... I... like..."
      "Tell me!" his voice was a growl as his wetly lubricated cock slammed
like a jack hammer in and out of her tightly fitting cunt.

      "I... I like it."
      "Louder!"
      "I like it.  I like it."  Her voice began to waver and rise as she felt
the fucking rhythm increase and she worked to match thrust and thrust.  She
could feel his heavy balls slapping wetly against the tightly clenched cheeks
of her buttocks.  Her cuntal lubricant had seeped down into her anal crevice as
she fucked him with obscene abandon.  "I lllloovveee it!!!"  Her voice was low
and wanton, "I love it, fuck it, hurt me, fuck me, rape me!"  She was screaming
with lust now, and it seemed his cruel hurting hands were everywhere at once,
all over her body; at her hips, her thighs, her nipples, raking across her
wildly thrashing buttocks and splitting her ass-cheeks open while a cruel
outstretched finger stabbed at her puckered little anus!

      "Fuck me, fuck me all night!" she moaned, spitting the word, "Fuck" out
with delight and feeling and obscene pleasure shudder through her body at the
forbidden word.  "Fuck me!"

      George closed his eyes and thought of nothing but driving it home.  They
fucked, crushing the wild sweet grass beneath their bodies, slipping and
bucking across the slope until they were splashing in the water.  I'll continue
to fuck her even if she drowns!  Fuck it, I ain't gonna stop now.

      He fucked her as he felt her tensing beneath him and her moaning becoming
deeper and more rhythmic; it was only then that he felt his own heated cum
building in his balls to the point where they ached.

      "Aaaaagghhh!"  He felt her body suddenly full of a wanton strength as she
arched up beneath him and her body began trembling deeply.  Then she was
fighting him like a game fish before falling back into helpless spasms of
searing ecstasy as her first orgasm convulsed her.

      That was too much for the step-father and, with a guttural roar, he came,
pumping powerful spurts of his white-hot cum deep into her cunt, filling her up
so that it spurted out all around his wildly jerking shaft.  Then grinning, he
pulled his eagerly ejaculating cock out and let it flop on her stomach where it
continued to pump sticky white sperm onto her nakedly rippling stomach.

      She lay with her loins and stomach glistening with cum, completely
relaxed, feeling like putty, feeling tired, very tired ... and a little
uncertain about her own emotions.

      George rolled off her with a groan and lay catching his breath for awhile
before he got up and slowly dressed.  His clothes on, he looked down at the
still naked Sandy and spat in the water, then turned and climbed up the
embankment.

      Left by herself, Sandy had rolled over, sobbed, and lay still until it
was almost dark.  Then she slowly got dressed, a sad and weary young girl and
went home.  Two months later she realized her afternoon encounter had left her
pregnant.  She'd let her mother believe it was Curtis' fault, a young freshman
boy she'd been seeing on the sly.  It caused an uproar, predictably enough, but
the reticent girl refused to tell the truth, reasoning she had been hurt
enough, there was no reason to destroy her mother's life, too.

      The baby was adopted out from the hospital -- a darling seven pound baby
girl with black hair and brown eyes.  Sandy had seen her infant through the
maternity ward's glass window, but never once did she hold her baby, never felt
it squirm in her arms.  For nine months she had been holed up with nothing to
do but watch her body grow to a distended grotesque shape, and those months in
solitude had taken their toll.  The thirteen year old girl made a vow to
herself on her first teenage birthday, to never, never allow any one man to
claim such a great part of her.

      Any psychiatrist would say it was a natural rebellious response to a
stressful situation, that she had been far too young to bear the burden alone
with no natural father to help her through the rough times and dreary, lonely nights.

      Predictably, it had been all down hill from there, though Chris would
never have believed it possible for her girlfriend to sink any lower into the
depths of confused depravity she was exhibiting now in her twenty-second year
of life.  From what little Sandy had confessed, she'd spent most of her time
hot-rodding around town with the loose crowd in high school -- smoking dope,
drinking beer, having wild parties.  Everything a young girl should not even
know about, let alone indulge in.

      In college it had been the same way.  Chris was the only friend who stuck
by her, sometimes out of pity, occasionally out of unsatisfied desire to have a
sister, but always out of genuine sincere friendship for Sandy, confused and
ravaged though she had become.

      Sandy's carefree, live-for-today, the hell-with-tomorrow attitudes could
be a bit disconcerting sometimes, though, particularly when Sandy seemed to
bounce from one man to the next, from one affair to another, without a trace of
scars from the frequent, and often tempestuous breakups.

      And Chris, her one and only real love experience now just a shattered
memory, still hated herself for crying softly sometimes in the night as she
remembered those wonderful times with Mark. She hated him now, loathed his
brutality and cowardice, but she still thought of him on lonely nights when she
lay there on the other side of the door listening to her roommate making love
in low soft whispers and giggles.

      Chris O'Brien stared out of the window, watching Sandy get off the Geary
Street bus, a boy right behind her.  Chris witnessed all of Sandy's feminine
tricks: the flinging of her long black mane of her hair over her shoulder, the
hip-thrust stance that could provoke the Pope himself, and the carefree style
in which she handed the stranger her telephone number as casually as if he were
asking for a donation for the Salvation Army.  Oh, no, thought Chris with a
gasp of disbelief.  Another night listening to Sandy making it with another
stranger... it never ends.  She let the curtain fall from her clutching
fingertips with a movement that might have been a sigh.

Synopsis: These poor girls lived miserable lives in big city. No matter what background they had, what other destiny they could have?
White Slave

White Slave
Chapter 1

Margaret Sorenson spilled another quarter-cup of Spic 'n Span into the
plastic wash bucket and swirled it around with her delicate hand, feeling the
grit instantly dissolve into sterile suds. She churned the suds to life and
dipped her scrub brush into the hot soapy water to continue the humble task of
scrubbing years of accumulated wax from the yellowed floor of her landlord's
kitchen. Her modest red and white checkered house dress, still speckled with
furniture polish from yesterday's house cleaning, pulled across her lap to
expose her slim thighs. Margaret poked a finger to tuck a strand of blonde
hair behind her nape-tied scarf and, wiping a purling drop of sweat from her
unwrinkled brow with a swipe of her sudsy hand, sat up to admire the rewards of
her plebeian task. In an arm's stretch semi-circle around her, an oasis of
white glistened in a desert of sandy yellow. Another two hours of sweating and
scrubbing and backache, and she would have worked off one week's rent here at
her Geary Street apartment in downtown San Francisco. But the thirty-eight
year old woman refused to complain; at least she had a roof over her head,
which was a lot more than many women in her situation could brag of.

The proud Swede had seen many an unfortunate woman in the social security
collection lines. Single women, many not over forty, bent and stunted from
malnutrition and medical neglect, a hive of buzzing, scraggly children at each
side, pulling on her work-wearied body, each claiming a part of a mother who
hadn't the energy left to enjoy her blessing of motherhood. And in the welfare
lines too... unkempt, dirty hair, worn-down heels on blistering over-sized
shoes bought for a quarter at St. Vincent de Paul's. The poverty and humility
brought tears to Margaret's eyes. No, she would never resort to such poverty,
even now in her widowed years. She would work off her debts with honest
physical labor and not complain how many backaching hours it took to satisfy
Roger Blasser's insistent demands.

After all, as landlord's go, he had been sympathetic enough to appreciate
her dour situation since Sandor was killed in the construction accident down
south of Market Street. Then, too, her poverty was only a temporary
inconvenience; the union lawyers were working overtime trying to get a court
date to settle the lawsuit involving Sandor Sorenson's needless death in the
explosion that rocketed him twenty feet in the air to crash on the steel beams
still loaded on the flat-bed truck below. When the case was finally settled,
the union lawyers anticipated a $500,000 settlement for his death, plus another
$100,000 for her trauma and personal loss; that didn't include either of
Sandor's two life insurance policies that would come due in two months.

When her ship came in, she'd pack up her modest belongings and buy a
ticket back to Sweden where her relatives were crying for her. But that was in
the future and the thirty-eight year old husbandless blonde realized she must
cope with the squalor of her existence until she could free herself. She would
put up with the wheezing hydraulic brakes of the city's busses that roared
beneath her bedroom window, and the cockroaches that infested every openly
seeping draining in the soon-to-be condemned apartment house where a
conglomerate of centurians, widows, taxi drivers, hippies left over from the
flower days of Haight Street, and single-parented children hovelled in the
ruins of what was once an elegant place to call home. It had its amenities,
too. The rent was extraordinarily cheap for San Francisco, and transportation
was readily available for people like Margaret who couldn't afford a car. Then,
too, the landlord would accept excuses when the rent was late, like now; or
better, still, he would accept what humble labor she could offer in exchange
for a place to call home.

In the three years she had occupied her third floor one-bedroom apartment
here on Geary Street, she had grown comfortable and had made friends with some
of the occupants who shared the ten-story eyesore. After Sandor's death the
widower from upstairs whose television set she had tolerated at three o'clock
in the morning for three yeas without protest, ingratiated himself by inviting
her up for coffee and to watch the afternoon soap operas. And Lola from across
the hall had invited her to Saturday afternoon Matinees. So it wasn't as if
nobody appreciated her loss. Roger, too, had invited her to his apartment on
several occasions, a truth which brought a blush to her cheeks and she kneed
over to the far corner of the kitchen, pushing her sloshing mop bucket along ahead of her.

Roger... she mused, watching the water drip from the natural bristle
scrub brush before descending it to the floor. Roger had been more than kind.
Sandor wouldn't approve of her cooking and cleaning for another man, she
thought guiltily; but what was she to do? Spend the rest of her life holed-up
crocheting and mending house-dresses? Ah, it was silly! There wasn't anything
between she and Roger. Margaret levered herself to her knees and elbows and
dug the brush into the yellowed linoleum, watching cakes of dirt and wax lift
like magic. But her mind wasn't on the floor, it was on Roger. Roger would be
home soon, and for some unexplainable reason, she didn't want him to see her on
elbows and knees like a common scrub lady. she was only thirty-eight; she had
time to live... and love.

Oh, sure, he'd kissed her one time and hugged her, lifting her off the
floor with his strong Arabian arms. But that was just kidding around, nothing
serious. Roger liked women, Margaret knew with a small pang of jealousy. She'd
seen several women, all dressed for the night club and heavily made-up, leaving
his apartment at strange hours. Margaret sat up on her haunches, yanking down
her dress that had hiked up to her thighs. Yes, she reasoned generously, Roger
should have many women, he surely had the looks of a lady's man with his black
thick hair and rich tanned skin. For a man of forty-five, he still carried
himself in a dignified manner, straight and tall and strong. Margaret liked
that. Sandor had been a strong man.

Tonight she would cook for him. Oh, he wasn't subtracting anything off
of the rent for her kitchen labors, but he'd once said he loved meatballs and
gravy, and Swedish meatballs was her dish -- and it would be good having a man
praise her cooking again. It had been so long... so darned long since she'd
had anything to look forward to.
* * *
Margaret had cleared the gravy-smeared plates and run warm water from the
dripping faucet to rinse them off before the cockroaches decided it was time
for a meal and came lurking out of the woodwork in silent armies. In the
living room off the kitchen, she could hear the television set's scratchy roar;
it sounded like a baseball game. Suddenly she remembered the world series
season was upon fans everywhere; Sandor had always watched it, too, sitting in
his favorite overstuffed chair, nursing a can of cold beer. The remembrance
brought a smile to her lipsticked lips. Running a dishpan full of hot water,
she set the dirty dishes in to soak and walked into the screen-lit room to sit beside Roger.

Roger smiled down at the blonde woman beside him and slipped his arm
around her, never taking his eyes off the television set. Somehow it all seemed
comfortable, and Margaret felt no guilt at this man showing a gesture of
absent-minded affection toward her. She basked contentedly, sitting back on the
aging springs of the sofa, and pulled a hand crocheted afghan over her knees
that had been folded and thrown over the back. Her full stomach and after
dinner glass of wine suddenly made her feel drowsy and she took the silent
liberty of resting her head on Roger's shoulder.

"You're a hell of a cook," whispered Roger when the Gillette commercial
interrupted the game. The Arabian landlord gave her shoulder a gentle nudge.
His hand felt strong and powerful through the thin fabric of her cotton dress.

"T'ank you. And did you like the way I clean your floors?" she asked in
her sing-songy Swedish accent, squeezing a little closer to the man's side.

And then, without a word between them, Roger allowed his fingers to slide
along the upthrust swell of her breast until his opened palm cupped the full
swinging mound of her tit delicately. He could feel her body stiffen, her
breath suddenly coming faster as with one finger, his middle one, he caressed
the inviting softness of her breast, rubbing the swollen tiny peak of her
nipple through her flimsy dress as he admired the ample, womanly figure she
still possessed. She was a specimen of health, her skin tight and resilient,
so typical of blonde Nordics, and her shimmering blonde hair showed only one
streak of platinum gray. Roger could hear a little purr coming from her lips,
and he smiled to himself savoring the effect he was having on her... he had her
wrapped around his finger, that was for sure, right where he wanted to keep
her. She needed affection, that he knew and in return she would bring him a
gold mine if only half of those law suits and insurance policies came to
fruition. A lonely woman in a strange country with no man... hell!

He tweaked the sensitive nipple with his thumb and index finger, and she
shivered involuntarily from the tip of her toes along her spine to her
shoulders. Pausing for a moment, he moved his exploring hand around the firm
curve of her breast until his fingers found what he was looking for: with
practiced deftness, he eased the zipper down along the satiny plane of her back
until he reached the taut elastic band of her panties. He stopped there an
instant slipping his fingers between her warm flesh and the tight band, far
enough down the hollow of her naked back to reach the first few inches of her
fleshy buttock crevice. Teasingly, he flicked a finger against the tightly
puckered ring of her anus and felt her quickly shrink away.

Shit, I'll bet old Sandor never poked his prick in there, Roger mused to himself.
He massaged her nakedly sensitive flesh in slow concentric circles as his
hand eased back along the smoothness of her back until he reached the stretched
fabric of her dress, pulled taut now over her shoulders. Pausing first to
unsnap the tiny three hooks of her bra, he then eased the shoulders of her
dress down along her arms until the dress hung limply over her whitely firm breasts.

He stopped his smooth seductive motions and looked Margaret over again,
eyeing hungrily the rich, womanly full swells and hollows of her well-formed
body. Yes sir, she was quite a nice looking woman, all right.

Again with his right hand, Roger tumbled the fabric of Margaret's dress
and the sheer tissue of her bra over the bulging mounds of her breasts,
exposing the twin half-dollars of her fully erect nipples, all pinkish and
excited at being exposed to the air and to his eyes. They swelled even more
rigidly as a sudden chill breeze caressed them, sending a burst of rippling
electricity through her breasts and down into her man-hungry belly, fanning the
embers of a long-dormant fire that once burned there.

Yes, God help her, she had been so long without a man, so long she had
nearly forgotten the magic of a real man's touch, the thrilling ecstasy of
being looked at and caressed this way.

His outstretched fingertips brushed lightly over the soft, warmly
beckoning bulge of her tits, first one, then the other, before finally clamping
tightly over the ripely mature mound, squeezing the delicate ivory-white flesh
between his clenched fingers.

Margaret could stand no more; she had kept silent as long as she could.
"Oh, you are a sweet man, Roger. Oh, it feel so good."

Her knees were opening and closing like an accordion and she flung the
afghan to the floor; her firmly fleshed buttocks were ground tightly against
the sofa. Margaret could feel the warm dampness of love juice spreading
between her thighs as the cheeks of her fully rounded ass clenched like
starving lips at the fabric, beneath them. Even his touch was driving her
almost insane with heated desire; she was going out of her mind with blind
passion... a scream was ready to burst from her lungs any second now from the
agonizing deliciousness of his knowledgeable fingers were bringing her. She
offered no resistance as he shoved her over onto the cushions of the long sofa,
stretching himself out beside her and continuing to relentlessly caress the
nakedly soft white mounds of her full fleshy breasts. A low moaning cry
escaped from her lips as he roughly squeezed the tenderly pulsating nipples
between his fingers, toying with them mercilessly as her whole body trembled
and quivered from his touch.

His hands left the feverishly jutting nipples and slowly eased along the
flat plane of her belly. Margaret's body arched off the sofa as his fingers
slipped once again under the waist-band of her panties, brushing over the
fluffy mound of her sparse pubic hair until his hand made a maddening electric
contact with the warmly moist lips of her cunt; even in the dim light of the
television Roger could see her flesh was covered with a million tiny
goose-bumps as she shivered convulsively at his wonderful touch.

"Oooo, it is so nice, so nice..." the love-starved widow murmured
mindlessly, floating in space now at the ecstasy of a man's hands down there on her naked cunt.

Clutching the moist flanges of her pussy with his palm, Roger ventured a
finger between the wetly pink ridges, and Margaret gasped as her feverish loins
suddenly ground tightly up against his hand. His middle finger now slowly
explored the entire hot length of her narrow wet slit, starting with the taut
muscular ring of her anus, easing over the hard membrane of flesh that
separated the two enticing channels before the probing finger finally reached
the moistly clasping sheath of her pussy.

The soft pink walls parted unhesitantly as his outstretched rigid finger
slipped into the warmly clasping tunnel, and he could feel the fleshy passage
open hungrily as he probed it deeply with his finger.

"That feel good?" he asked, sure of himself now.
Margaret tried to reply, but as her lips parted to speak, Roger
sadistically squirmed a second stiffened finger into her constrictive passage,
burying it up to the last joint in the warm juicy depths of her cunt. Only a
muffled cry of pain and pleasure came hoarsely from her throat.

"Well, like it or not?" he teased again, grinning down at her between
pearly white teeth accentuated by his bushy black mustache and flashing
chocolate eyes. He wiggled his two fingers deep inside her hot, softly-layered flesh.

"God, oh, yaaaa!"
Roger's ravishing finger slipped from her pussy wetly clasping grip, and
he tantalizingly dragged his fingertip along her warm slit until he found the
throbbing little bulb of her clitoris. Using just his thumb and forefinger, he
squeezed the incredibly sensitive nerve-ending as the sex-hungry widow moaned
and squirmed beside him on the sofa. Back and forth, as if playing with a
marble, he rolled the pulsing little nodule, and Margaret gasped and choked for
air as rippling waves of undiluted passion and ecstasy swept over her
shamelessly aroused body.

As her naked pelvis ground upward tightly against his palm, Roger
continued his maddening assault on her loins, twisting and pulling on her
hardened pink clitoris until she moaned and cried out loudly from the
delightful agonies of his skillful fondling.

"Don't stop, please... Don't stop!" she screamed between hissing teeth,
her shrill words reverberating above the roar of the baseball fans on television.

Sensing she was near her orgasm, Roger began to roughly rub her moistly
throbbing cuntal slit with the tips of his fingers, stroking over the quivering
fleshy peak of her clitoris and along the hot furrow between the hungrily
pursed lips of her cunt.

"Oh, yaa, ya, ya!"
Suddenly Margaret's buttocks and back arched high off the sofa, and as if
she were possessed by dozen demons, her warmly moist cunt began grinding madly
against his open hand as a long pitiful moan slipped from her parched half-open lips.

"Oooohhh... Aaahhh..." The impassioned young widow suddenly quivered
from head to foot and jerked convulsively as the shuddering currents of her
orgasm raced from her hotly straining loins, bathing his hand in a slippery
gush of orgasmic juices that soaked his palm and seeped down the crevice of her
buttocks before spreading in lewd trickles over the soft half moon cheeks of
her ass. Finally, with a trembling sigh, she slowly sank down on the couch,
lying face to face with her landlord.

She gasped hoarsely, still struggling to regain her breath. "Oh, oh that felt so good!"
Roger only smiled wordlessly, pulling his fingers from the warm wet grip
of her pussy, wiping the slippery traces of her orgasmic fury from his hand
with a handkerchief, keeping one eye on the baseball game. Then he spoke,
"We're not done yet. Take off your clothes."

Without thinking, Margaret hurriedly removed her crumpled dress and
panties, then unhooked her garter belt and, sitting on the edge of the sofa,
pulled down her stockings and left them in a heap on the living room carpet. In
just a few seconds, she was completely naked, her ripely mature body glistening
with tiny beads of perspiration from the excitement and the anguished
anticipation of having her first man in almost six months. She glanced down at
him reclining on the sofa with his head tilted toward the television screen
watching the Oakland A's hit a home run, and she covetously eyed the thick
elongated bulge in his polyester pants that seemed to her passion-glazed eyes
to be a foot long. She twitched nervously, unused to a man's hungry eyes on
her naked flesh. "You 'vant to watch 'vatch me or de game?" she whined
finally, grinding her sleekly firm thighs together to fight the growing agony
between her legs.

But Roger had other plans, plans he'd laid out as carefully as those he
was watching on television. Only his stakes might be higher... Margaret was
coming along nicely, even better than he'd hoped. But if she was going to have
any respect for him at all, he was going to have to show her who called the
punches. Women liked that, he thought, they liked to be dominated -- especially blondes.

Margaret watched nervously and impatiently as he swung his legs off the
sofa and without haste pulled off his clothes, tossing them to join the rest on
the nearby chair. She had to quickly draw her hand to her lips to stifle a
gasp as he tugged down his undershorts and the entire huge length of his
massively thick cock swung out into view. God, it was so big! Even bigger
than Sandor's! And so big around, nothing like the only one she had ever seen.

"You 'vant to fuck now?" asked Margaret with saucered eyes. Just the
thought of making love again was enough to make her soar. And with a man as
handsome as Roger, she thought. A man... her man. He liked her; he had
praised her cooking and cleaning, hadn't he? Wasn't that what a man looked for
in a good woman. A ripple of happiness spread through her tingling body: she
wouldn't be spending the rest of her life alone after all. She had Roger. But
it bothered her the way he kept watching television instead of whispering sweet
endearments in her ear, as Sandor had done. Her forehead furrowed and her
pouty lower lip protruded as she said, "You 'vant to make love, or not?"

Roger glared at her. "Get down on your hands and knees," he ordered. "I
want a blow job. You Scandinavians are supposed to be good at that."

Margaret's mind reeled at the sound of those horrible words. Where was
the love? She'd done it with Sandor thousands of times, but he had never
demanded it of her. The blonde widow drew a deep breath and forced a smile. It
that's what her man wanted of her, that's what she would do, but the tingling
ache between her legs cried for a need to be fulfilled, too. "But can't we
make love first?"

"You heard what I said. Now get down on your hands and knees and show me
what you're worth." The landlord was determined that this step in Margaret
Sorenson's total subjugation and humiliation would not be skipped over. "Down
on your knees. Now!"

Brushing her blonde hair from her eyes, Margaret obediently crawled from
the sofa and settled at Roger's feet, all the while trying to think of a way to
get Roger to make love to her instead of what she must do. She knew he meant
it; the flash in his dark eyes promised that. He was the only man in her life
now. God had taken her first man, and now it was time for him to give her a
second. She needed him, needed a man to cook and clean for and make love to
her in return. His dangling cock, sagging from its own immense weight, was
scarcely a foot away from her face as she struggled to hold back the hot lump
in her throat, terrified and skeptical of having another man's big white cock
in her mouth... that same mouth that had only kissed and sucked her dear
Sandor's. Another man's cum in her throat... it was almost too hard to swallow.

Roger slid forward on the sofa, gauging carefully the distance from his
limply hanging prick and her wetly trembling lips. He adjusted his hips just
slightly so that the purplish swollen head brushed her lips ever so little.

"All right, baby... it's all yours! Do a good job and I'll make it up to
you later. Now hurry up, the A's will be back at bat in a couple of minutes."
And with that he gave her a rough pinch deep inside her naked thigh as she
knelt below him, squeezing her soft tender flesh just an inch from the warmly
moist lips of her still-hungry pussy.

Margaret turned her face away from the enormous bulb-shaped head and
closed her eyes, hoping somehow that it would go away -- or better still, turn
into Sandor's long hard prick that she knew every ridge and vein of.

Roger spun her head back so that she was less than a scant inch from his
half-erect, dangling prick.

"Listen, sweetie, I don't wanna get rough with 'ya, but I said to hurry
up, okay? OKAY?" His tone was calm, but threatening, and Margaret didn't want
to get him angry. She'd heard him yelling at some tenants upstairs about being
late with the rent, and had witnessed his rage as he slammed his clenched fist
into the door and sent it rocking on its hinges. With his size and strength,
she knew she would be helpless against him.

Suddenly he grew tired of waiting and grabbed her ears with his powerful
hands and twisted them upward, causing a pain so excruciating that she thought
for a moment she would black out. She cried out for him to stop, but he ignored
her pleas, keeping one eye on the television screen and one on her. Abruptly,
he pulled her face roughly up to his naked loins, shoving his hips forward so
that the blunted end of his heavy cock pressed lewdly against her moistly
glistening lips. Once more he twisted at her small ears and she again groaned with pain.

"Now, Margaret... open your mouth and suck it! NOW! SUCK IT!" he
screamed above the deafening roar of fan's cheers blasting from the television set.

Her mouth opened slightly with one more twist and her agonized lips
slowly parted as Roger gazed at the wetly open orifice in front of his loins,
then very carefully forced the massively pulsating head into the warm moist
cavern and let it lay there twitching slightly as it grew still harder and more
erect. The young widow didn't move at all, lest the brushing of her quivering
tongue on the enormous heated shaft of flesh should cause it to grow even larger.

"It's your choice, honey, but I will have a blow job..." His voice was suddenly convincingly cruel.
Margaret knew it was hopeless to resist the landlord and, admittedly,
there was a part of her that didn't want to displease the darkly handsome man,
this was something she must do or lose him... lose the one spark in her dreary
life. And she couldn't stand the thought, no matter how disgusting this awful
degrading act seemed. She fought back the churning ball of nausea growing
thicker by the second in her knotted, fear-wrenched belly and closed her wetly
walled lips over the throbbing fleshy staff and eased it reluctantly with her
tongue, feeling his hands loosen their grip as she obediently complied with his
harsh demands. His powerful hands still held her, though not as painfully, but
she knew she should please him to avoid a scene. Margaret didn't like scenes;
Sandor had been such a mild-mannered, loving man. but Roger had it in him to
be brutal if he wanted to, and that scared her. She closed her eyes and tried
to keep her mind on the long pulsing prick that loomed before her.

Roger looked down at the long thick pole of flesh protruding from his
hair-covered pelvis and throbbing ever so gently in her warm, half-opened wet
mouth, at the pursed lips stretching tightly around the immense purplish head,
and he felt a twinge of disappointment that she hadn't protested more. Hell,
it would have done her a world of good to get kicked around a little first,
before sucking him off. Every woman worth her salt needed a good kick in the
ass once in a while, he thought. At least the women he had out on the streets
leaning against lamp posts sure as hell needed it to let them know who the boss was.

But there wasn't time for such thoughts now, all he wanted was to enjoy
this blow job and watch the Oakland A's slam a homer to win the series. And
watching her blonde head begin to reluctantly slide back and forth on the long,
saliva-moistened length of his prick was nothing but pure joy. Damn!

He allowed his hands to slip from her head and down over the smooth,
velvety skin of her naked shoulders, near-perfect and silky and unblemished,
deliciously warm and soft to his caressing touch. She obviously wasn't putting
her heart into sucking his cock, so the big landlord brought his hands back up
to the sides of her head, his open palms firmly placed on either side of her
face. His grip tightened and he held her neatly positioned there against his
heatedly pulsating prick as he began a rhythmic pumping motion with his lower
body, his still-growing long prick jutting from his pelvis and rubbing between
her moistly ovalled lips as the bulbous, lust-distended head poked against the
back of her mouth. He could feel her small white teeth grating against the
sensitive bottom side of his prick and the wetly rough surface of her tongue as
it brushed along the full length of his thickly erect flesh, now so finely
attuned to the tiniest subtle movement of her hotly licking tongue and lips
that just the very touch sent shivers of savage animal desire into his loins.

"Yeah, baby... that's nice, honey, real nice," he growled softly,
beginning to pump his thick, rigid cock deeper into her throat, her warm
enveloping lips sliding along its full length with each forward plunge of his
hips, and his fleshy stalk grew harder, longer, and thicker by the second,
stretching like a rubber band until it reached enormous proportions.

He grinned to himself as the young widow did her best to take his cock
full length in her mouth, something he knew she couldn't possibly do; as it was
she swallowed, gagged, and choked each time he gave an extra forward flick of
his loins. That part he especially enjoyed; nothing was better for a good
broad than a big cock to ream out her tonsils once in a while.

He hoped he'd found a good cock-sucker here, because there wasn't
anything on earth he liked better than a really nice blow job, one where the
broad knew her stuff, could relax her throat muscles like she could relax her
asshole, and let his cock just slide right down that wetly smooth channel until
the sides of her throat passage sucked him dry. Yeah, ol' Margaret here was
doing all right for a Swede.

Margaret slaved over his loins, desperately trying not to choke on the
pulsing fleshy cock invading her throat; it was so big! Each time his muscular
abdomen slapped against her moistly pursed lips, the terrible punishing thing
pushed lewdly against the back of her throat and at first, thinking she would
surely be choked to death, she had fought it back, gasping and coughing with
each of his vicious skewering thrusts. But gradually she had found a way to
relax her throat muscles and now it wasn't as bad. He would pull it almost all
the way out of her wetly clasping mouth, out over her widely ovalled lips until
the lust-swollen head of his cock was between her teeth, and then he would
begin that dreaded instroke, that journey deep into her tender throat. Somehow
that hardened shaft managed to bend just enough when its throbbing head rammed
against the back of her gullet to go down, lubricated with her hot saliva and
the first slippery traces of his seminal fluid oozing fitfully from the tiny
opening on the end of his prick. And every time it went down, she would have
to swallow or choke, and soon she realized that the flexing of her own throat
muscles was bringing on the inevitable torrent of hot cum even sooner, and she
viewed the climax with mixed emotions. She wanted it over, to be rid of his
pulsating rod that gagged and choked her so painfully... but the thought of
what was coming next, his ejaculated cum emptying down her throat like she was
a common whore! Sandor had never made her swallow it; in fact, he'd kept a box
of kleenex next to his bed for just that purpose.

Margaret tried not to swallow, but she choked immediately and he pulled
it out for a moment, rubbing its still throbbing head over her moistly smeared
lips, and she could taste the beginning of the end as small whitish drops of
his fluid oozed from the slit end and onto her tongue. He took the blunted
head between his clenched fingers and lewdly, obscenely, painted her lips with
his warm, slightly saline discharge, leaving them glistening from his
impatiently dribbling semen. She was totally beaten now, kneeling at his feet
like a servant girl in the old country.

Roger felt the telltale twitch of his loins and could feel the dammed-up
seething flood of hot semen restlessly surging behind the restraints of his
aching balls as he slowly, rhythmically, pumped in and out of her ovalled lips,
savoring every inch of his delicious instroke as it disappeared agonizingly
down her velvety throat channel. He wanted to feel every screaming millimeter
of his cum's long fast run from his lust-distended balls of his prick's
throbbing, blood-filled head, and his hands squeezed in on her ears now,
holding her absolutely motionless in his strong grip while he rammed his cock
down, deeper and deeper down that tight, constrictive little throat.

Ah, here it comes, he thought, it's cumming... it's cumming! He could
feel the hot sperm rushing out of his testicles and up the bottom of his prick,
and he stopped dead still, his madly throbbing cock rammed all the way to his
pubic hair down her hungry throat, her head perfectly still, as he waited
impatiently for the building explosion in his loins...

"Aaaahhhh!" he gasped anxiously, emptying his lungs as, at that same
infinitesimal second, he emptied his sperm-laden balls.

Margaret sucked voraciously, harder and harder, for as strongly as her
better reasoning had dictated, now -- tasting his pungency for the first time
-- she wanted it. She wanted every precious drop of his hot seething flood,
and she sucked at the long quivering cock, swallowing and gulping its gushing
waves of heated thick fluid like a starving animal. Her arms spontaneously
wrapped around his hips as she knelt at his feet, pulling his powerful loins in
hard against her face and lips until every hot swallow was safely down her
eagerly working throat.

He looked down at the kneeling figure of the love-starved widow and
smiled as she finally pulled her hungrily sucking mouth away from his pelvis, a
thin sticky trail of semen dangling from her lips and chin like a spider's web.
Yes sir, she was right where he wanted her, nothing stood in his way now, those
checks might as well be his!

But Roger had other things on his mind... other things that the
love-starved widow would not have understood in her silent modest humility.
Things a God-fearing woman such as herself didn't even know happened in a big
city where everyone is prey to other lethal talons.