A brisk rap at her door made her heart flutter. She put a slim hand up to her throat. Would her client be another handsome young man like Jamie? She laughed at herself for being naive enough to imagine that she could have that kind of luck twice.
She'd grown up a lot in the past few days.
The knock sounded again, impatiently. She didn't think that was a very good omen. Outside, it was evening. The blazing glare of daylight had gone, and a cool breeze cut through the dull heat the day had laid down. Two people stood on the concrete walkway in front of Liz's room. Behind them the pool lapped and gurgled complacently.
They were not at all what the auburn-haired adolescent had expected. One was a man who looked to be in his early middle age, his body leather-skinned but firm like a much younger man. He had wide cheekbones, a great vulture's beak of a nose, and straight jet-black hair worn relatively long for a man of his age. There was no grey in the hair, but it was thinning on top, and he'd brushed strands over the bald spot in an attempt to cover it. He had a coral-colored choker around his neck and a massive silver watchband with a coral inset. An Indian jewelry dealer, Liz guessed, and a well to do one by his looks.
But it was his companion that made Liz's eyes widen and her breath stick in her throat.
His companion was a woman, at least six feet tall, Liz thought. Her long, lithe body was slender, almost gaunt. She was clad in a denim suit, with a long-sleeved jacket and calf-length skirt. The jacket was open. Her pointy jugs were encased in a double-knit tube top that left her pale shoulders bare. Her hair was a gleaming black mass, darker even than the man's, so that it looked blue-black, like a squid's ink.
But the most compelling thing about her was her eyes. Liz had always been vain about her own eyes; the deep brown contrasting with the red-brown luster of her hair had always made a stunning combination. But the woman's eyes were pale grey, so pale as to be almost colorless. They were strange and striking beneath her midnight hair.
They also had a dangerous look in them that made Liz grow cold.
'Hi,' she said, trying to sound bright and cheerful. 'I'm Liz. Come on in and…'
The man reached into a pocket of his custom-cut jeans and pulled out a bag of tobacco and some papers. 'Shut up, bitch,' he told the girl. Liz blinked. 'Make her shut up, Wanda.'
The tall girl stalked forward. Her hand smashed down across Liz's face. With a startled cry, the girl reeled back into the room.
Her face blank, Wanda followed her. The nameless man brought up the rear, thoughtfully shutting the door behind him. Uncertain of her balance on her high heels, Liz staggered back against the dresser. She touched her cheek lightly with her fingertips. The skin was hot to the touch.
In a sudden rush of anger, Liz completely forgot Danny's instructions. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' she demanded angrily. 'You think you can just come in here and…'
The man glanced up from rolling a cigarette. 'I told you to shut up,' he said. 'Use her, Wanda.'
The black-haired woman spoke for the first time. 'Bare your tits, slut.' Her eyes met Liz's in an unblinking gaze. As the black-haired woman unslung a heavy leather bag from her shoulder, Liz found her fingers moving helplessly to obey.
The girl had no intention of performing a lewd striptease for this strange couple. She didn't feel very cooperative, but she had the impression that Wanda meant her command to be obeyed, as rapidly as possible. Her fingers fumbled. She looked down, working the buttons of the powder blue blouse as quickly as she could. Her tits swung free of the blouse, luscious globes of white flesh tipped with copper circles of her nipples.
Wanda was taking something out of the bag. To the adolescent's horror, a quick wrist-flick revealed a cat- o'-nine-tails. A cluster of leather strands sprang from a single leather-wrapped handle. The end of each strand had a wicked-looking big knot tied in it. Liz imagined those vicious knots digging into her bare flesh, and cringed.
Wanda let her bag drop to the floor, and kicked it aside with a booted foot. 'Now, bitch,' she said, a gleam of evil interest coming into those colorless eyes, 'eat my pussy!'
Her free hand swept down and threw open the front of her denim skirt, slit from hem to waist.
Beneath it she was as naked as Liz was beneath her pants. Liz gasped. The bush of Wanda's pussy was as black as her hair, and incredible luxuriant. The thick black thatch of cunt fur was spread well up her pale belly, and tufted down hair was between her lanky thighs. All Liz could do was shake her head wordlessly as her stomach did slow acrobatics.
'You've never eaten cunt?' Liz shook her head as the other laughed. 'Well, every little girl ought to learn how to eat pussy. On your knees, slut!'
Liz found her voice: 'You're out of your mind,' she snapped without thinking. 'I won't…'
The whip moved so fast that Liz never saw it until it raked across her naked boobs like leopard's claws. The girl shrieked and clutched at her lashed boobs. Burning pain pulsed in her ample tits, and stabbed through her lungs like a thousand hot needles. Her eyes brimming hot, agonized tears, she looked down at her wounded boobs, expecting to see the delicate skin of her huge tits lacerated and torn.
The white skin of her juicy jugs was still intact, but almost a dozen angry red welts glowed across the front of the jutting tits. They looked almost like a strange net bikini top covering her boobs – except that her nipples stuck out rigidly, swollen with pain as they'd have swelled with pleasure, had a lover's tongue licked her tits instead of nine wicked leather thongs.
She looked up again at her tormentor. Wanda's beautiful face was a mask of unholy exultation. 'Nobody says won't to me, bitch!' the tall woman said, her low voice ringing. 'Now, get on your knees and get your face dirty. Lick my pussy good!'
Despite the pain in her tits, Liz rebelled. She just couldn't face the prospect of shoving her face into the dripping, reeking mat of Wanda's pussy! And dripping it was, though not the faintest hint of her pink pussy lips showed through the dense thatch of cunt hair between Wanda's thighs. The cunt fur was dewed with pussy oils, and a thin trickle of cunt juice ran down one sculptured, curvy thigh.
Liz could easily smell the other woman's horny, oozing cunt. Her pussy sauce was rank and sharp, smelling slightly like spoiled meat. It sickened the girl.
Her hands covered her big tits. The sweat on her palms stung the welts left by the nine-thonged whip, but it was better than having them stung again by the multiple lash.
When the girl didn't respond, Wanda's face contorted with anger. She swung her arm again. Liz heard a brief whine like a flight of bumblebees, and then the cat-o-nine-tails slashed across her crotch. The knotted thongs shredded right through the thin fabric of her beautiful, expensive pants to flay the forested pussy mound beneath.
Liz shrieked and fell to her knees. She pressed one hand between her thighs, cupping her violated pussy, the other barely covering both of her abused jugs at once. The top of her thighs and her lower belly throbbed with searing pain, and so did her cunt. She felt bare flesh and pussy hair beneath her palm – the whip had literally stripped the front of her pants away from her cowering body.
Liz rocked back and forth on her knees, crooning to herself a mindless song of agony. Wanda, her eyes burning with torture-lust, took two catlike steps forward and grabbed a big handful of Liz's auburn hair, ripping it loose from the neat knot at the back of her neck.
The front of her denim dress started to close. With savage strength, she yanked the teenager's head forward so that Liz's face was buried in the rank, wet cunt fur the instant before the skirt closed around her.
Liz felt something sopping-wet rub over her lips. She pressed them tightly shut and turned her face away. Cunt juice smeared across her cheek. She put her small hands against Wanda's cool thighs and shoved with all her might.
Losing her balance, Wanda staggered back. Liz lurched to her feet, but the whip sang its vicious song and her tits flared with new, horrible pain. Half-turning, Liz dropped to her knees, cradling her agonized boobs in her arms.
Like the breath of a blowtorch, the whip licked across her vulnerable asscheeks. As it had when Wanda had stroked it across her victim's pussy, the whip tore the cloth stretched over Liz's pert buttcheeks to pieces, and etched fiery lines across the snowy mounds of her ass.
Liz howled and fell to the floor. She racked back and forth, rolling from her back to her belly and over again, trying to protect her tender ass, tits, and aching pussy all at the same time.
