"Oh, I'm all right. It's n-nothing," she stammered nervously as he stepped toward her. She was afraid of him – she didn't like this new chilling hardness in his eyes. It was incredible – even when he talked so sweetly, it was still there. It couldn't have been there before… or maybe she just didn't see it then. "P-please, really, it's just a cold or something. I'll go on to bed and I'll be as fit as can be in the morning, honest!"
A menacing, yellow-toothed grin opened his face like it had been hacked with a cleaver. "Just the same, I better take a look. Can't be too careful, you know."
The rough-skinned man stepped toward her, and the terrified young blonde backed hastily toward the rear of the camper, as if some sort of security were offered by the wall at her back, though there was no way out except through the door behind Hawkins or through the tiny crawlway into the truck cab which was out of the question. She stopped moving backwards only when her back touched the back wall, her neck just below the edge of the bed that was above the truck cab. There was nowhere else to go. Suddenly, with no warning, he reached out to her and, with a coarse sneering laugh, gripped the flimsy gauze-like sheerness of her nightie in one calloused hand and, with a quick twist, yanked the thin garment from her smooth shoulders, ripping it in half like it was a strip of toweling. She stood all but naked before his eagerly probing eyes, as much confused and astonished as frightened, only the soft protruding mound of her drug-inflamed vagina still hidden from his cold appraising stare by her thin panties.
"Please, please," she begged, and her melon-firm breasts heaved with every agonizing plea. "You can't mean this, Mr. Hawkins! This isn't right, you just can't! Please!" Tears streamed from the corner of her eyes as she hoarsely begged for mercy, but there was not a hint of hesitation in the older man's eyes… he knew what he wanted, and he would get it. It was just a matter of time.
"Why, Missy, I reckon' I just don't know what you're talking about," he drawled, affecting his finest Georgia-cracker tone and looking not-at-all dumb and innocent of any wrong-doing. He grinned wider as his hand seemed to absent-mindedly roam along the inside of his pants leg. Sarah's eyes widened in genuine fright when she spotted the rapidly-swelling bulge that grew right before her eyes along the inside of his thigh.
"You oughta' be gettin' about right," he leered. "Notice anything different the last half-hour or so?"
Sarah's thoughts whirled dizzily… I haven't been poisoned, I've been drugged! That's why I feel so strange! I can see it now… he put something in my drink!
His open palm touched her nakedly quivering breast, his fingers brushing lightly against her upturned, quivering nipple. A shiver of terror and revulsion rippled through her chest and tied knots in her trembling belly. Maybe if she had been less frightened, less caught-unaware, she would have noticed better the still-growing, festering something that had plagued her senses earlier. But Sarah could not fully grasp it, could not begin to comprehend the depth of her ensnarement now… she was trapped, tied, and bound as surely as if by a dozen fetters – and fast on her way to the deepest, vilest depths of human depravity… and there was no way on earth to stop it!
"No… please, n-no, Mr. Hawkins," she trembled. "You've had too much to drink or something. You-you're not yourself… please, just leave me alone and we'll forget this ever happened, please!"
Sarah knew her plight was not totally hopeless; there was still a hope left for her. Maybe he would leave her alone after all. Maybe if she could just grit her teeth and let him touch her, just hold back the nausea and revulsion long enough to let his dirty fingers course over her warm, naked flesh, maybe that would satisfy him and the nice Mr. Hawkins she knew before would take his rightful place again. She knew even to think such things was wrong, but what choice was there? She could scream for help… but everyone within earshot was an employee of this man, dependent on him for bread and their very survival. How could they be expected to aid her, a total stranger, at the expense of their own livelihoods? Of course, maybe he would leave her alone and just go away if she screamed, but that would be the end of her job. That would mean being dumped up here, penniless, in the wilds of Northern Canada or worse still, having to go back to Jamie in Blackjack, head-hung, and begging for forgiveness. No, I won't go back there, no matter what, I can't go back to Jamie. That's over and done, and I've got to make this new life work or there's nowhere left for me to go. I've got to… got to!
Perhaps a more experienced woman, craftier in the ways of the world and of desiring men, would have seen the futility in those thoughts, seen the hopelessness of such a choice and have taken off on a new tack, leaving all this and her past, too, behind. Maybe even Sarah Olsen herself could have made a clearer-headed decision that night if she hadn't been doped on enough Spanish Fly to drive a dozen women insane with animal lust… but the decision was made, the die was cast, and Sarah Olsen took the one last step that catapulted her into a shadowy world she didn't know existed, one that might be the only one she would ever know.
CHAPTER SIX
Henry Hawkins was out of his pants and undershorts before Sarah realized what was happening. It was all like some kind of scene from a bad movie, all a quick dizzying blur as she watched the man disrobe through eyes glazed and heavy with the drug and with the strong liquor. He was naked now from the waist to his ankles, still wearing his black socks that fell down around the tops of his shoes in a tired heap. He made a truly ludicrous spectacle standing there, looking for all the world like a character in an ancient stag movie, only minus the mask and hair-line mustache. But Sarah was in no position to laugh… she was trapped through her own carelessness and stupidity and, short of running home like a scared little girl to Jamie, there was nothing to do but face up to him, do as he asked and hope that she could live with herself when it was over.
The whole front of his lower body looked to be covered with hair, a thick woolly fur that thickened and curled around his thighs and loins. His hand fondly rubbed his long dangling penis hanging from the coarse thicket and, as if he had given some secret inner command, it really began to swell and grow, leaping in spasmodic jerks into full, threatening rigidity. That same evil grin, only now more of a growingly triumphant sneer, spread lewdly across his face as his lust-hardened shaft grew even larger and thicker. "Not bad for an old man, huh, Miss?" he chuckled. "Bet that ol' man you left behind in California couldn't match it inch for inch in a million years, right?" There was no reply from the frightened blonde. "Answer me, bitch! It's quite a cock, huh?"
Sarah gulped down her fear and nodded. "Y-Yes, yes, it is," she murmured hoarsely.
"Come on over here and feel it, baby. You needn't be afraid."
Almost as if she didn't have a mind of her own Sarah obediently moved closer, reluctantly, both hands over her breasts still, as they rose and fell anxiously in her fright and apprehension.
"Go on, touch it!" He grabbed one of her arms and pulled it down close to his massively throbbing cock, and she opened her fingers just as his own tightened painfully around her delicate wrist. Her fingertips brushed along its hot, awesome length and the menacing monster seemed to grow even thicker, though that would have seemed impossible.
Sarah felt the proper revulsion, as she knew she ought to, but there was something deep inside her insides she couldn't quite define as yet, something that seemed like a candle lit far down in the dark sanctuary of her belly, only a tiny warm glow, but somehow bearing the threat of bursting into a raging inferno at any minute. That was the only way to describe it… she marked it up as fear and nausea, but in the back of her mind she knew there must be another explanation.