"I-i-imm-m-m-m com-m-ming-ng-g-g!" she cried out, as he fucked hard on an in-stroke, and then she began to quiver and wriggle, impaled on the spindle of his sharp spike from the rear and the brutal twisting finger from the front.
"Squirt it in me!" she yelled. "Fill me full of it!"
Her pleas tore into his consciousness with a lusty, triggering thrill that pulled all his control away from him.
He held his dog-prick deeply imbedded in her bowels and spurted heavily into her depths, while pressing hard with his cunt-fucking finger and cupping the mound of her pubis tightly with the eager palm of his hand. Then Pal collapsed.
As the last jet of come forced its way achingly out of his tired tube, Jonas felt her falling away from him.
He let her go, and as her relaxed anus released its tension on him, it milked him down and let the bright red rubbery tip flip out of the depression between her cheeks.
He caught his breath, licked his lips, gave her lovely buttocks a few pats of pleasure, then got to his feet.
He gave her a final look, grinning at the picture of total exhaustion and humiliation she presented, lying there limply with juices flowing messily out of her openings.
"You'll do, my lovely Pal," he said. "You'll be old and worn out before your time, but you'll do!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The door to her room was closed when Pal awoke. It took her a while to get up the courage to test the floor, but finally she forced herself to rest a bare heel briefly on the surface.
The current was off.
She quickly went out into the hall and directly to the bathroom which was near the door to the exercise room. As she showered, she felt the tickling trickle of Dr. Stillwell's semen as it dribbled slowly out of her uterus and into her vagina.
Her sanity had returned as she awoke, but only now did she recall what had happened to her, and what it meant.
"My God!" she said aloud. "He got that dog-prick of his into my uterus and squirted his come all over inside me! I have to get it out of there, quick!"
She dashed all over the bathroom, looking for some means to douche herself effectively. There was no proper equipment anywhere in the place.
Then she stopped in her tracks as she remembered baring seen an open lab door nearby. She went out into the hall, dripping water from her skin and semen and cunt-juices from her crotch.
She looked into the lab, found it unoccupied, and entered.
Desperately, she looked around her at the equipment. In frantic haste, she finally grabbed a Bunsen burner, peeled from its inlet the rubber hose that fed it gas, then stuffed the hose end – with much fooling around and irritated mumbling – up inside her cunt.
When she had it up as far as she could get it, she reached over and turned on the gas. An aching, cold feeling filled her lower belly, and she almost shut it off right away, but the fear of what might happen if she didn't continue made her suffer the misery for several minutes.
When she finally decided she had forced the gas throughout all her inner tissues, and that her uterus must be well filled with the stuff, she could smell the odor of the inflammable vapor quite strong in the room. She pulled the hose out of her cunt.
She shut it off, then tore the hose loose at the valve and took it with her back to the bathroom.
It took her several minus to stretch the small hose over the luckily tiny nozzle of a lavatory faucet. In a few more seconds, she had a fairly satisfactory temperature in the flowing water.
Then she stuffed the flowing hose back into her vagina as far as she could. The water was flowing all over the tiled floor, but a large drain in the corner carried it off.
She let the soothing flow continue, watching the dribbling stream that poured down her legs for signs of what she was trying to rinse out.
Occasionally, she would spot a small blob of the whitish come as it rode the rapids down her legs and across the tiles. Finally, there seemed to be no more to wash loose.
She looked around, then found that there was no hiding plate for the precious hose in this bathroom. So she hurried back to her own room and tried to find a good spot for it.
She didn't trust the hospital bed. Too near the upper surface, and one of her visitors might detect its presence. Too near the lower surface, and it could get pinched by the springs or the positioning mechanism.
Finally, she narrowed it down to the only place where they were not likely to look. She coiled it up and stuffed it into the water closet of the toilet.
By this tune, with the exertion of her running about and her endeavors to kill the sperm in Stillwell's seed, as well as the nervous anxiety over her chances of being caught, had worked up a heavy perspiration.
She decided to go back and take a longer shower.
This time, with the worry of the douching behind her, she had a relaxing, pleasant bath. Now, she felt cleaner, inside and out. Then she remembered the semen Jonas must have pumped into her bowels, and she felt defiled again.
Shuddering, she went back to her room. This time, she closed her door, but not before pressing in the safety switch in the door frame.
Then she squatted on the toilet, determined to defecate the last traces of her defilement.
"How could I have enjoyed – actually enjoyed – such a filthy, humiliating thing?" she asked herself.
The longer she sat there, the more degraded she felt.
"What kind of a world is this that lets such things happen?" she wanted to know. "How did it come to happen to me?"
When she finally went back to sit on the edge of her bed, she couldn't seem to think clearly at all. She tried to convince herself that somehow all of this could be undone. That every one of the degrading and humiliating acts performed on her could be counteracted, magically, by some potent effort on her part.
But the self-hypnosis didn't work worth a damn.
"Oh, Terry! Terry Monahan, my love! Have I lost you forever?"
She fell over onto her pillow and began to sob. It was now beginning to soak into her mind that she was most probably doomed to whatever kind of future was planned for her by Paul Harshman and Jonas Stillwell.
"Oh, God!" she cried out. "Let me die now! Please! Let me die before I become even more degraded. Before they use the lust that seems to be hidden in me to make me even more depraved than before! Oh, God! Help me die!"
She sobbed loudly, then the toll on her body made itself known, and she tapered off into a sighing, then a quietly breathing rest. Just as she thought she might be able to go to sleep, she heard her door open.
"Hi, Pal baby!" said Paul. "I thought you might be lonely, so I came by to stir up your womanly juices for you!"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Paul made her vacate the bed, and he flopped down on it himself. He placed his coiled whip just above his head on the pillow.
"Come here and wake up this sleeping beauty, Pal baby," he said.
She studied his lean, bronzed body, and the way it gave the impression of potential anneal vitality, even in repose. Like a tawny lion, lazing in the tall grass, waiting for an already overworked lioness to do his bidding.
Or more like a maverick Indian buck, one of the shiftless ones that inspire the literary prototypes and create the unjust tribal image. Con some maid into taking care of his needs so he can be free and relaxed to pursue his lifelong adolescence.
Disgust filled her mind as she moved slowly toward the bed. Not the disgust she had felt at her initial contact with perverted lust, but a deeper vexation at the stupid waste he represented.
He had to have some intelligence and shrewdness to have acquired what he now had. If it had been used in the right way, such talent could have made him a social asset. The mystery was how he had perverted his talent; what had been the weakness, the rotten spot, that spread to his central intelligence, ruing him for all time as a valuable human being.