two-dollar stickups.
But Paula had never been that type of woman. She had never encouraged her yearning-eyed, sex-starved clients. Never ever had she dressed provocatively. Never, until this morning in City Hall, had she ever undressed provocatively. But… had this ferret-faced little man with eight, full, throbbing inches-had he even seen her this morning? Could this all be coincidence?
This time his eyes did not seem so flat or weird. Whatever he'd been on the first time seemed to have worn off. She wondered what had prevented him from coming down with a thud, full of horror and terror at what he had done to his parole officer. Then she saw the sad truth. Harry Riggs was a breaker and enterer because he was not smart enough to work at one of society's more legal larcenies like selling cars or houses. He was not smart enough to realize that he might not be God's gift to women. He found himself fascinating. Why shouldn't everybody else?
Why should Paula? Christ almighty! If she were to put the other phone back on the hook, chances were she would have a hundred proposals or propositions before nightfall. Oddballs, freaks, weirdos-of course. But certainly no less suitable for studding her than a paroled breaker and enterer!
Still she stood paralyzed, paralyzed not so much by the sight of this sleek, ferret-faced little man undressing in front of her but rather by the memory of the prodigious prod that lay beneath his jockey shorts, the memory of what that potato masher had done to her insides.
God, how she hated him! It was crazy. An hour ago she would have said she couldn't even remember Harry Riggs, couldn't distinguish him from an even hundred hollow-eyed losers in her stable of parolees. Now…
The nerve of the miserable little bastard! He could barely spell his own name. He had spent half his life behind bars. He was totally incapable of finding a useful niche in society.
But he had found his niche in her! He had found it and he had burrowed into her tender, ticklish flesh. He had pushed her unresisting body flat on her back on her own rug in her own living room and he had put his hot, throbbing cock into her and she had not been able to stop him and now he was going to do it all over again and once more she knew she was totally powerless to stop him. He was going to fuck her and she didn't want him to only she really did and it was all so unfair and she wanted to scream and if he didn't hurry up and finish getting his clothes off and get on with it she knew that sure as probate she was going to kick and scream and wail and do all sorts of things lawyers were not supposed to do. God damn him!
Why couldn't she move? Why couldn't she resist him? As if she didn't know. Finally, after all these years her body was extracting vengeance for all the deprivation that came from independence in a man's world. God damn him! Why couldn't he move a little faster?
Finally he was free of his clothes and stood before her with his bowsprit standing out at a rakish angle, its tremendous, golf ball-sized tip moving in lazy figure eights in time to his heartbeat. He moved toward her and Paula put up her hands in a feeble gesture to fend him off. He pushed her nerveless hands aside and once more he was peeling her quilted robe back down over her shoulders while she stood like a sacrificial lamb.
But this time he didn't push her down to the floor. This time Harry Riggs had already blunted the fighting edge of his weapon and could permit himself the luxury of a long slow and careful buildup. He took her hand and led her unresisting into her bedroom. With a nicety that surprised her, he turned back the spread and blanket before pushing her gently back until she was touching the bed with the backs of her knees, then falling gently backward, and he was coming down on top of her, kneeling between her thighs, and it was just like an hour ago.
Or was it?
To her surprise and horror, Paula suddenly knew that this time Harry Riggs was not just going to fuck her again. Rape was not enough. Having tried his wings and discovered how easy it was to fly, he was moving on to the next logical step, moving slowly up her body, straddling her, no longer kneeling between her thighs.
Now her thighs were pressed close together and his thin, wiry body squatted over her belly. As he moved a fraction of an inch forward she could see the great thumping head of his cock pointing the way before him, onward and upward like the schoolboy Excelsior poem.
His thighs were spread wide to straddle her and as he moved she could feel the smooth roundness of her belly react to the tickle as his well-haired scrotum dragged along it, dragged along her midriff, and then the fronts of his thighs were impeded by the twin bulges of her full, firm tits and the tip of his juddering tool pointed forebodingly onward, upward.
Paula belatedly wished she'd used a little common sense. What had ever made her think this egotistical little chauvinist would be content to repeat his last performance? Now he was preparing to force her to the ultimate in chauvinistic and porcine degradation. Why hadn't she fought back while she still had a chance? Why wasn't she fighting now? Surely there must be a way to get a grip on all that male vulnerability he was thrusting so confidently forward, onward and upward.
What was she going to do? Her turn-on of a moment ago was gone now, submerged in a wave of terror. God damn him! Was there no limit to his male chauvinist piggery? Was there nothing she could do to protect herself from this ultimate degradation? She could feel the heat radiating like a branding iron from the tip of his cock. She could smell the essence of masculinity. She shuddered and could not tell if it was terror or if it was joy she was feeling.
CHAPTER 9
Paula closed her eyes and tried to tell herself it was just another dream, that soon she would awaken afflicted with prickly heat, with a strained empty feeling in her belly, and with a dampness in her crotch. She opened her eyes and he was still there. His cock was still there. She could feel the hot hardness of his stringily muscled thighs pushing at the sensitive lower sides of her full-firm tits, forcing them upward until she looked like some totally besiliconed go-go girl.
But most of all she could feel the hot maleness radiating from the tip of his tool, so close now she could practically taste it. Unless she got on the ball and did something to break free and blow the whistle on this breaker and enterer, she was going to taste it very soon. And it was not going to be at all like the first time she had tasted it.
'If you'd like to step into the other room,' Mr. Costello explained, 'I can show you some historical references to the Oneida Community.' Without waiting for an answer, he got up, which automatically removed his hand from somewhere above her knee. Paula gave a tiny sigh of relief. She wasn't a bit worried about nice old Mr. Costello but she had been very afraid that if he didn't get his hand off her thigh she might betray her totally improper thoughts with a nervous giggle. Silently, she followed the old man into the back office, which was equipped with a day bed, a single easy chair, a wall full of books, and a well-stocked refrigerator. 'Umm yes, up there if you please.'
Obediently, Paula climbed another rickety ladder steadied by her gallant employer and pulled a book from the top shelf. She sat beside Mr. Costello on the only seat where they could look at a book together, which happened to be the day bed.
She had been entertaining fond hopes of being initiated into a forbidden, grown-up world of racy postcards or any of the million interesting and secret things she was always being told she was too young to worry about. Instead, to her disappointment, Mr. Costello had shown her some blurry woodcuts of a bunch of farm buildings and a lot of nineteenth-century people dressed in nineteenth-century clothes from ankle to chin. She began to wonder if she could go home early that night. There didn't seem to be much work in the office.
'But what was so different about them?' she finally asked.
'No marriage,' Mr. Costello explained.
Paula knew lots of unmarried people. So what?
'They found a different, possibly better way to solve mankind's basic needs.'
She began to wonder if Mr. Costello was by any chance talking about a need that had been troubling Paula ever since before she had been old enough to demand a bra. With a tiny thrill of excitement, she managed a timid, 'How did they do that?'
Mr. Costello gave her a faint smile. 'As you've no doubt observed by this time, people in our society tend to pair off-formally or informally. Either way makes for monotony.'
Paula sensed that she was approaching the brink of something important. She waited for Mr. Costello to
