Would it be fun? Would they keep it up, keep driving that bare-headed, calloused cock into her until once and for all she'd had enough and didn't ever want to think about fucking again?
How many more times would Harry Riggs get that eight-inch monstrosity up hard enough, rigid enough to penetrate her fragile flesh? Would the red-headed, bald-cocked stranger's smaller weapon make up in sustained firepower what it lacked in calibre?
Were they going to kill her? Would they kill her with kindness-make her come so many times that finally her straining heart would surrender? Unwillingly, she found herself contemplating a lifetime of defending woman's rights in a male chauvinist society and wondered if it might not be better to die now, die happy, die with eight full firm inches of manhood lending some spice to her drab and wretched life.
The red-headed, bald-cocked stranger was kneeling between her legs. She could feel hot maleness radiate like a branding iron from the exposed head of his circumcised stabber.
God damn them both! This was supposed to be a rape and Harry wasn't even holding her down. He had retreated somewhere out of her line of vision and she was left only with the knowledge that somewhere he was surely watching, that a practice she had always seen as essentially private was now public: Not only was she about to be raped again-this time it was to be before an audience!
Though it was her first experience with a circumcised cock, Paula noted that it seemed to be beginning very like every other time she had been fucked. He knelt between her thighs, grasped her knees to bend them and tilt her ass up to the proper angle, and began working the bare bald head of his hammer up and down her secret slit, wetting and smearing it with the lubrication of love which had already rendered this rape suspect. How could a woman be raped when her pussy was streaming, giving the lie to her unwillingness?
God damn them both! How could they have guessed? Was she that transparent, so obvious in her need that even these burning-eyed, long-deprived lusters could see how badly she needed it, how neatly she had boxed herself into a corner of women's lib and locked herself into a prison even more confining than the Hotel Graybar they had just left?
This is rape, she reminded herself. This is invasion of privacy, invasion of pussy! Not only am I being raped, I'm being ogled and delectated by an eight-inch-cocked voyeur who'll be studying me for pointers so he can make me go even more insane when it's his turn to plough my garden again. God damn them both! God damn all stiff- pricked, conscienceless men! God damn myself for needing them so bad I can taste it!
As unhurried as if he'd spent the last few months or years of his life servicing a harem, the red-headed stranger was still slowly and carefully dragging his cockhead up and down the slick-smeared labia of her gaping vulva. Each time the rough skin of his cockhead rasped over her fibrillating clitoris Paula shuddered and barely managed to refrain from screaming. It hurt. But it hurt so gooooood she didn't know what she was going to do once he decided to drive his dong deep into the proper receptacle and no longer drag that rasping, thumping, throbbing bald head past her thrumming clit.
Finally the inevitable happened. Still kneeling, reared back where he could admire the full length of her stripped and perfect body, he drove his cock deep into her with a single smooth thrust which, thanks to his careful preparation, did not catch or pucker and try to drag her vulval lips inside out around a clinging dry cock shank. It didn't hurt at all, she realized. To the contrary, it felt nicer that anything else she had yet experienced in this two- hour-long fuck fest.
He bottomed out, driving so deep into her that she wondered momentarily if his cock was an optical illusion, if some subtle trick of dimension made it only seem shorter than Harry Riggs's eight unbelievable inches.
Paula gasped, held her breath, and hoped her assailant would interpret her look of delighted disbelief as another manifestation of outrage and pain. Jesus, what a cock! She wondered if the totally unyielding rock hardness of that bludgeon that was stirring her inner depths-was it because he was circumcised and his cockhead was hard- skinned, or did he just have a bigger, hotter, more needful hard-on than her first violator?
She struggled for sanity, struggled to remind herself where she was, what she was, that she was a parole officer, that these two men were parole violators, violating both their parole and their parole officer. Jesus!
If only his cock weren't so big, so hard, so deep inside her… He still held his body pressed against her ass, bottomed out and unmoving. She guessed reality had finally caught up with him. She had often suspected that these men in prison lived lives very like hers, so full of dream, of nightmare, of fantasy that it was difficult to separate fact from fancy. Even now unless she kept a strict grip on her awareness Paula's mind had a tendency to wander. She still had moments when she was sure this was all just another dream, that she would soon wake up sweaty and panting, her crotch wet as it was empty, once more a victim of her body which created its own sex life in the absence of any cooperation from her woman's lib mentality.
Then as the red-haired stranger began very slowly to grind his pelvis against hers and stir her slowly with great circular motions of his cock deep inside her Paula knew it was not a dream. In any kind of a dream this delicious she would have awakened flopping and sweating long ago. She was wide awake. She was getting ready to come. Already!
CHAPTER 13
Her eyes were wide open now and she knew perfectly well this was no dream. Dreams didn't hurt like this. It was not the kind of hurt that would make her complain, though. It hurt so nice she hoped it would never stop hurting, that he could stay forever balancing on the pivot point of some delicate pleasure-pain teeter-totter.
He was still grinding his pelvis in slow, lascivious circles, forcing the tip of his cock to move deep inside her in a rotary-stirring motion that promised to melt her, dissolve her, turn her brains to peanut butter and send them spurting and leaking out around the long straight shank of his bald-headed cock.
He was still in that unnatural posture too, reared back above her, only his cock touching her, far enough back so his eyes could focus on the full length, splendor of her nude body. It was awful. She felt so good it was sinful even if she was being raped-especially if she was being raped. Somewhere beyond her vision Harry Biggs would be witnessing her humiliation, his haunted eyes memorizing every inch of her seductive body.
But even worse was this calm, full-length perusal by the red-haired stranger who had plugged his outlet into her receptacle. Suddenly Paula realized she was blushing-blushing from the bulge of her belly past her deep navel, past her tiny waist, her twin pectoral mountains suffused with pink warmth that rose in a wave up her chest, up her neck to the roots of her long straight blond hair.
Blushing, for Christ's sake! She was being fucked-raped- and was a blush the best she could come up with? She ought to be kicking and screaming and struggling and raising so much hell the neighbors would stop watching television long enough to call the cops.
But she wasn't. Instead, she was lying here like a tremulous virgin getting long-cocked for the first time in her life-so caught up in the toils of eroticism that even though she could guess what these two weirdos might do to shut her up, she was still unable to resist, was able only to lie there and wish he'd stop staring down at her, that he'd stop that slow steady stirring and start in doing it right. Why couldn't he stop with this playing around, bend over her, bury his face in her lovely jugs, and start pushing.
God damn him! She wanted to kick her heels high, bring them in thudding over his kidneys, spur him like a rebellious horse but all she could do was lie here all fluttery and ready, waiting, willing-oh God damn it, wouldn't he ever start some honest-to-god fucking?
She closed her eyes and sighed and tried to still the quivering and trembling inside her belly. He was still stirring, stirring up a storm inside her that she knew was going to end in disaster. No matter which way things went it would end up in disaster. No matter how she might lust and pant for these twin outlaw cocks, she couldn't keep them. She lived in a fish bowl-especially since her involuntary strip tease this morning in City Hall.
My god, she thought with sudden panic, I'll bet the bushes are full of reporters and photographers right now! By now they'll have wormed my address out of somebody and they'll be hanging around just waiting and when these two sons-of-bitches walk out they'll walk right into reporters and photographers and-and I'll be avenged. They'll catch them while my body is still warm and bleeding and a lot of good it's going to do me. Oh god damn it!
But while she was thinking dire thoughts of death and dismemberment, the red-haired cocksman finally abandoned his studied verticality. Adopting a more human posture, he crouched low over her, kissed her
