and unexpected tears to her eyes as the two youngsters walked out into the refreshing night air. 'Why did he have to say that? He was talking to me like I was some kind of two year old moron. He sounded just like my mother!' she protested hotly.
Randy put a comforting arm around her shoulder. 'Don't take it so hard, Davie. Your old man's just looking out for your interest, that's all. He doesn't want his little girl out with a big, bad wolf like Randy Ferris!' (And with good reason, he added silently.)
She had to smile. She looked up at him and he gave her an endearing grin. She thought he had the sexiest eyes she had ever seen.
They walked slowly on, and she began to feel more relaxed in his company. He really was a nice boy. He was as understanding as Trish…
They laughed a lot. He wasn't nearly as shy as she thought he was. Maybe he was only shy in a crowd. At one point he casually took her hand and she felt another surge of excitement go through her. Every now and then, their bodies would brush against one another. The air was cool and fragrant. Crickets chirruped and the sea gently slapped the shore. Davie felt warm and contented to be with this understanding, masculine boy…
In another part of the compound, Peter Knight was declining an invitation to 'come in for a nightcap'. 'Thank you, Trish, but I'd better get home.'
'Why so soon? Afraid the boogie man is going to get your darling daughter?' she taunted.
'Look,' he said through clenched teeth, 'my daughter is none of your Goddamned business! And as far as that goes, I'd be ever so grateful if you left her the hell alone! A girl like Davie doesn't need a woman like you as a friend!' He hadn't intended to loose his cool – Trish Byers was a guest, though she wouldn't be a guest ever again! Still, he prided himself on self-control; on maintaining an unruffled, professional posture with both guests and help alike. He didn't want to show his hand; the bitch just might tell Davie that her father had seen them making love!
Trish felt her own anger bob. 'How would you know?' she railed back at him. 'You haven't even seen her for three years! It just so happens, Mr. Big, that Davie does need my friendship. Who else is she going to talk woman to woman – YOU? Yes, I suppose she could…'
That hit home. She had slashed at his manhood, and any residual control that he had fled with the wafting island breeze. He reached past her, opened the door and thrust her roughly inside. The light from the moon illuminated the room enough so that he could see her striking features clearly. He looked at her bright, sensuous mouth, remembering vividly that it was the mouth that kissed Davie, that licked and sucked her tender breasts, that ate her teenage pussy…
He grabbed both her arms and held her in a viselike grip. He looked at her long and hard. Her face was close to his as he breathed the words out through his rigid jaw.
'You know what you are? You're a vile, low-class scheming bitch! Worse than that – you're a cunt a real cunt!' (God, how he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to tear her apart with his cock. He never wanted to fuck a woman more in his life than he wanted to fuck this big-titted, sexy blonde bitch!)
'Flattery will get you nowhere!' she snarled back at him, her lips curled in a defiant pout.
'I don't want to get anywhere, cunt!' he growled back through clenched teeth. 'I wouldn't fuck you with a ten foot pole!'
'Braggart! You'd touch me with any kind of a pole – if you had one. But obviously, you don't…' She had him now, and she knew it. Peter Knight smarted visibly from the gauntlet she had flung so cruelly across his face. If that assault on his masculinity didn't get him to drop his pants, nothing would. She looked up at him with disdain in her big, blue eyes. She smiled a mocking little smile with dewy, half-parted lips.
He could feel her hot breath on his flushed cheek, scalding him like oil from a boiling cauldron. Her bare knee touched his trousered leg, searing his flesh through the sharkskin. Oh Geezus, he had to fuck her! He didn't care about Davie being home alone; he didn't care whether the blonde bitch was a guest, or that he hated her guts; he didn't care about anything! He only knew that the cum in his balls was being boiled to a broth. He had to put the meat to this pagan, she-devil cunt standing so tauntingly before him, had to teach her a lesson she would never forget… with a fucking she would never forget! When he got through with her, she would crawl back to Nassau!
He was dimly, very dimly aware that later, when it was all over, there would be remorse and self-loathing. But at that moment, nothing else mattered except funding the shit out of the soft, warm, musky-smelling evil woman who was only inches away from his throbbing, granite-hard ten inch cock…
Without another word, he pulled her to his body and kissed her brutally on the mouth, pressing his teeth into her yielding lips and forcing his tongue into her oral cavity. He tongued her mouth, and she answered with hot caresses from her oral member. Suddenly, he bit it – hard, causing her to cry out in a gagged scream of pain. He relished her agony. Then he bit her lip, drawing a warm, salty trickle of blood from the petal-soft flesh. Trish began to fight him, pummeling him with her fists to try and push him away. But he was a pillar of stone, and she, with her 120 pounds of female flesh, was hardly a match for the enraged resort owner.
Peter reached behind her and unzipped the pristine white dress with one deft yank of the zipper, drawing her in tightly to his loins as he did, forcing his truncheon-like cock against her pubic bone as hard as he could; grinding it into her in a way he knew was bruising. Trish struggled against him, a look of fear and pain contorting her lovely features. She saw the look of a madman, the frenzy of the rapist in his blazing hazel eyes. Still, it excited her. She had wanted this man for so long; she never figured him to show the balls he was showing. Of course, she had goaded him into it; but she had expected to call the shots. He was definitely out of her control. What was he going to do?
'You bitch… you cunt… you frigging whore…' he kept muttering over and over under his breath, as he reached up under her dress and grabbed the sheer nylon panties she wore and ripped them down over her satin hips, leaving them around her thighs like a ragged tourniquet. She gasped under his harsh stripping as his clawing hands left angry red tracks in her sun bronzed flesh. Then he shoved his middle finger into her hotly steaming vagina, and she bucked from the suddenness of his harsh and abrupt entry, even though her pussy was a cauldron of desire, and the juices of lust lubricated her cuntal passage.
She started to groan as he finger fucked her deeply and she swayed on her feet, her eyes closed. Seeing her reaction, he abruptly withdrew his hand and wiped his finger across her supple mouth, saying, 'Here, slut, eat this! You like the taste of pussy, I'll bet; take it. Lick it!' He worked his finger into her mouth as though it were a cock, and slid it back and forth between her lips and around the inside of her cheeks. His other hand was up under her dress, pinching her ripely curved ass-cheeks as hard as he could.
Trish wanted to bite his finger, but she was afraid of what he would do. This man was capable of anything now, she realized. God knows what he might do to her if she retaliated. Besides, she liked the taste of her pussy; it was a taste similar to the sweet, aromatic pussy of Peter's teenage daughter. Hah! If only the bastard knew!
Yesss… that was it! What better way to get even with the stuck up son-of-a-bitch than to arrange for a little private 'exhibition'… with the star performer being his darling little girl!
He suddenly brought both his hands up to her shoulders and pulled the white dress down until it fastened like a straight jacket around her body, just below her melon-like breasts, pinioning her arms to her sides. The stewardess was unable to slip the dress either up or down, and stood there, her face a mask of impotent rage.
'Get me out of this Goddamn thing, you bastard!' she shouted out at him. She drew up her foot and kicked him sharply on the shin. She followed it with a knee to the groin.
Her aim wasn't true; he hardly felt it. But a devilish sneer appeared on his lips. 'Oh… so you like to play rough, eh? Ok, hitch. We'll play rough!'
He picked her up and slung her under his arm as though she were a store mannequin. She was screaming and kicking her legs. He literally threw her on the big bed, on her back, and tore the sandals off of her. Trish was still straight-jacketed by the crumpled, constricting dress, which had worked its way up to her hips, exposing her dark blonde mat of pussy hair to his wanton, rapacious gaze. While she lay there kicking and screaming, he ripped off her panties, then hastily removed his jacket, shirt and trousers. He slipped off his loafers and socks and peeled down his shorts.
Her eyes widened as she gazed at his naked, ten-inch rod of man-flesh, the blood-engorged head purple with rage. His huge, hairy testicles hung tautly between his sinewy thighs. He was a tower of virility before the
