Then he pulled out of the slushy slit, and his limp shaft drooped as he fell over backward on the rug.
"Clean me off, Pal!" he commanded. She drew her breath in with a shocked hiss, thinking of the juices from Betty's pussy that were still clinging to him.
She hesitated too long, and Paul reached up and grabbed one of her distended nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He used his nails when he squeezed, and her scream could have shattered a closetful of china.
"Now!" he rasped.
Pal hastened to lean over him, and between sobs, she managed to lick and suck up all the liquids that covered his hairy loins and cock, and the wrinkled sac that drooped below.
The strange scent and flavor of Betty's sex was intermingled with the maleness of Paul's pollen-like fluid, and for a brief moment, Pal thought she might get sick thinking about it. But the longer she worked, the less it bugged her, until she finally could find no more flavor to vacuum up with her searching lips, or lick at with her questing tongue.
"Now clean Betty!" said Paul.
Pal shuddered as she shifted her position to poise her mouth over Betty's black-haired slit. She almost earned new punishment as she hovered overlong above the messy flesh of the brunette's crotch.
But there was a potent scent of Paul's seed which drew her to it before she could think too much about the other. When she had begun to lap up the sticky stuff from the wiry hair and the pinkly gleaming meat that ran through its center, she became fascinated with the tender texture of Betty's vulva. Soon she was licking and nibbling and sucking in earnest, and her excitement was building so fast that she could feel the fluids of her own passion running heavily down her thighs to lay in the folds of flesh behind her knees.
Betty was whimpering with delight at the tender caresses Pal was bestowing on her, and when the swiftly traveling tongue made a plunge into the well-fucked mouth of her vagina, the brunette gave a shrill cry of joy. It moved Pal to suck with all her might at the slippery opening of the deep passage. She sucked up a stringy mouthful of Paul's deposit, and then cleaned and cleaned at the scene of the discovery until nothing more could be found.
Betty and Pal both collapsed and lay there, while Paul sat up and chuckled at the perverted performance he had promoted.
When Pal could shake her mind loose from the red cloud of her passion, which had almost consumed her, it seemed, and she could force her mind to rise above the depths of her fatigue, she began to feel so ashamed and degraded that she just knew she was going to get deathly sick.
And then she passed out cold.
CHAPTER NINE
Pal was lying across her bed, miserable and full of loathing for herself and for Paul Harshman.
He had used pain to tear down barriers that she thought should never have been disturbed. She hadn't even known that they existed, much less suspected the animal lust which had lurked behind them. By forcing down these barriers, he had revealed to her the slut that she really was in her subconscious mind. Or so it seemed to her now, as she lay there.
There was nothing to do but think. Paul wanted no books or other diversions to relieve the monotonous boredom of her solitary confinement. And when she had nothing but her own thoughts, she kept coming back to the same ones, over and over. And by constantly dwelling on her humiliation, her degraded actions with Paul – and now, even with Betty – she could feel only shame for what she had become. She wished that he had killed her. Then it would be over.
As she lay there, belly down on the wrinkled sheets, her eyes followed the unusual pattern on the floor. She could see the small metal studs in the flooring, and knew that these somehow conducted the current which made her a prisoner on the bed, denying her even the freedom to move about this small room.
She knew it was a deliberate psychological pressure. By confining her to the small world of the bed except when she ate or bathed or answered the call of nature, she was kept in an unending state of boredom. Thus it was easier to force her across the fallen barriers into the only world where there was relief from boredom.
She damned herself for her weakness, and the tears rolled from her eyes onto the sheet as she tried to think of a method she could use to strengthen her resistance. If she could just hypnotize herself into fighting Paul's authority, maybe get him angle enough, he might beat her to death, and her worries would be all behind her.
But even as she thought of it, she knew she couldn't do it. It would take more guts than she had. Fear and pain, and then the knowledge of her shameful bitch-in-heat passion and its betrayal of the Pal she had thought she knew all these years all combined to tear the guts out of her, leaving her almost a puppet for Paul's effortless control.
She sat up with a determined motion. It was suddenly very important to concentrate on thinking up a method of escape. She had just remembered that – with all the other degradations and humiliations – she yet had her virginity. But Paul might put an end to that at any time.
She ran her hands over her body. It was still silky smooth and unblemished, despite the tweaks and bites of her captor, and the hot agonizing strokes of his lash. She felt her left nipple gingerly. It was still extra-sensitive from the punishment Paul's fingers and nails had exerted on it.
She moved her hand up and ran her fingers lightly over the less tender area of her shoulder. She could still detect the fine line of the healing lash-cut, but she was sure it would not leave a scar.
When she realized that she was concerned over her appearance, it gave her a small lift. She must be hanging on to some shreds of hope if she could care about how she might look in the future.
She wondered if that tiny hope remained because she still had her maidenhood. Orphaned early in life, she had been through many unhappy experiences. It had seemed as if every time she had something she treasured, it was taken from her. First her parents; then the pet terrier that they wouldn't permit her to take into the orphanage. Then Sue Ann, the only playmate she cared about, was adopted, and she was more alone than ever.
With Sue Ann gone, she kept to herself for months. When the new boy, Terence Patrick Monahan, turned out to be a loner, too, they began to notice each other and gradually came to be close friends. It helped her a lot at a time when she felt she had nothing left.
When the twelve-year-old Terry had been made responsible for the greenhouse at the orphanage, due to his precocious knowledge and talent with growing things, Pal had sneaked into the glass palace to keep him company on many occasions, risking severe punishment to share a few minutes with her only friend.
On her twelfth birthday, when she sneaked in for one of their chats, he had been despondent because he was unable to give her a gift. When his bitter tears welled up, and she instinctively embraced him, they had discovered some new emotions and sensations. Before they knew quite what was going on, or why, Terry was planting warm, wet kisses on her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, her bare shoulders and, by pulling at the straps of her sunsuit – a garment which was less than adequate for her early-budding ripeness the soft-hard swellings of her breasts.
They were equally surprised when the central pinkness of one maiden mound blossomed forth to raise a spongy erection under Terry's lips. But he wasn't too surprised to seize it and kiss and suck its tender springiness until it made a freight train roar down her body and jam itself in the tight tunnel of her crotch.
Frightened, she had pulled her breast away from him, and he had looked so eagerly into her eyes, still wanting to show his affection in some very demonstrative manner, that she was sorry she had withdrawn from his kisses. But the shock of the strange emotions in her changing young body had been a fearful thing, and she was reluctant to let it go on.