“Just a minute,” a sleepy female voice called out this time.
Archie kept peeling. Finally the door was opened. At last! It was the Helen standing in the doorway.
“Well, hello there, sweetie,” she greeted him. “I see you finally managed to get your pants on!”
CHAPTER SIX
TEN MINUTES later Archie was on his knees in a clothes closet with his eye glued to the keyhole. He wasn’t alone in his interest in the scene at which he was staring. Across the room from the closet in which he was hiding, two men were even more caught up in the happenings than Archie was.
One of the two men was grinding away with a portable movie camera. The other had just finished setting up some sound equipment, and now he was positioning the actors and giving them some last-minute instructions. He finished, joined the cameraman, and signaled for the action to begin.
Helen lay in bed, her eyes closed, simulating sleep. The light on the nightstand was on, and the sheet was pulled up around her neck. As Archie watched, she began writhing under the sheet, as if caught up in some erotic dream. Soon the sheet was tossed off and she was revealed in a transparent black nightgown.
Still she tossed, her blonde hair fanning out over the pillow. Her hands began moving over her body, caressing her hips and her thighs, and then moving up again to squeeze her breasts. She bent one leg at the knee, and the nightgown fell back to reveal the creamy smoothness of her thighs. She turned on her side, the camera following for a close-up as the strap of the nightgown slipped off her shoulder and one of her firm, missile-shape breasts was revealed. She rolled on her back again, and the breast pointed straight up, the long red tip trembling. She strummed it delicately with one finger, and her tongue peeped out from between her lips. Then it retreated again, and a small, satisfied smile shaped her mouth.
Prompted by the man who seemed to be directing, the cameraman moved back for a long, sweeping shot of the length of Helen’s body. The director made signs to her that she should roll over, and she complied. The nightgown was up over her derriere, and it rotated rhythmically as she ground her lower body against the bed. Then she switched over to her back once more and stretched both her legs wide apart and high in the air. The camera swept in for a close-up of the area the legs framed.
Now the camera switched to the window to catch a man in the act of climbing over the sill. The man was carrying a burglar’s kit and wearing a mask. He stopped short as he caught sight of Helen writhing on the bed. Her thighs were glistening now with the juices of her dream of passion.
The burglar lit a cigarette and stood over her, watching. One of her hands fluttered to her mouth. The other returned to her breast to trace the outline of the widening pink roseate from which the long, scarlet nipple rose. The tunnel of her lust seemed to have a life of its own now.
The burglar bent over and inserted the cork tip of the cigarette. The end of the cigarette glowed, and a cloud of smoke was expelled. This was repeated a few times, and then the burglar withdrew the butt and tamped it out in an ashtray on the night table beside the bed.
He opened his kit and took out a pair of pliers. He held a match to the jaws of the pliers until the metal glowed. Then he waved them in the air to cool them. Finally, he inserted them. Helen moaned deep in her throat and the handles of the pliers opened and closed, opened and closed. . . .
The pliers were replaced with a screwdriver which was swallowed up, then a larger screwdriver and finally a still larger one. These were followed by a series of wrenches. The final one found Helen, presumably still asleep, stretched taut with both hands manipulating the wrench until it was a blur of motion like a fast-moving piston.
“Oh! Ah! Ooh! EEYOW!” she screamed and finally subsided.
The burglar retrieved the tool and watched as Helen slowly started moving again. Then he nodded to himself and took some twine from the kit. He tied strands of it to all four of the bedposts with slip-knot nooses attached to each. He gently placed two of the nooses around each of Helen’s ankles. From behind the headboard, he grabbed each of Helen’s wrists, jerked them sharply into position, and pulled the knots tight.
The sudden roughness evidently awakened her. Her blue eyes opened wide and her nymphette face filled with fear. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Who are you?” Then, as she realized her predicament, she screamed. “Help! Rape! Help!"
“It won’t do you any good to scream. There’s no one to hear you,” her assailant told her. Now he stripped off his mask and was revealed as a not bad-looking young man. His hair was black and so was the obviously phony mustache he was wearing. He stroked the long ends of it as he surveyed his struggling prize. “There’s only you and me,” he said softly. “You’re mine to do with as I wish. And you’d better please me,” he added menacingly.
“What do you want of me?” Helen sobbed, her struggles against her fetters making her body all the more sensual.
“Only to fulfill your dreams,” he told her.
“My dreams?” She stopped struggling. Her face brightened as if with the memory of her recent dreams. Then she contrived a maidenly blush “But what can you know about my dreams?” she asked with girlish naivete.
“More than you think!” He twirled the mustache with an evil leer worthy of the unscrupulous banker in an old-fashioned morality play. “Isn’t this what you’ve been dreaming about?” He unzipped his fly and manhood jumped out as if propelled by a power spring. Truly, it seemed an outsized weapon eager to do battle. Watching from the closet keyhole, Archie knew a moment of envy.
Helen’s blue eyes grew even wider with awe at the sight of it. She trembled with fear, but at the same time she managed to contrive to lick her lips in a manner conveying lust. “Are you determined to kill me, then?” she asked in a quavering voice. “If you attack my poor body with such a giant club, surely I’ll never survive!”
“We‘ll see about that!” Taking himself in hand, the still-clothed burglar mounted the foot of the bed between the two posts and knelt so that his weapon grazed Helen’s exposed and vulnerable funnel of love. “Yes,” he mused, bending low to make the comparison, “we’ll have to see about widening things a bit first.” He drew back and then bent over so that the ends of his mustache tickled the insides of Helen’s thighs.
She laughed uncontrollably and began thrashing about as his lips found their mark. The camera moved in for a close-up of his tongue dipping into her treasure trove. It caught the little droplets of passion his eager mouth missed as they glistened on the blonde down.
Finally Helen began slamming her trussed body up and down in a series of powerful, uncontrollable jerks. He reached under her and forced her derriere into camera range. Then he dug his hands between the creamy halves of it as he continued nibbling wildly at the raw fruit of her desire.
Helen screamed aloud. It was an incoherent scream, starting as a protest at the indignity of his fingers’ probing and ending as an ecstatic wail of fulfillment when his strongly sipping lips drew forth the final nectar of her erupting body. She continued to shudder as he raised his head.
“Nobody ever did that to me before!” she told him.
“Did you like it?"
“Yes!” she blurted out. “No!” she denied it quickly. “You forced me! ”
“Ha-ha! And how you like to be forced, eh? Well, now you look to be opened up enough to handle my troops.” He sprawled over her, turning a little sideways so the camera could catch the full length of his manhood as he inserted it. Helen’s fingers stretched her sheath wide so as not to be upstaged.
Briefly, as they began moving, the camera panned in on Helen’s face. It was suffused with ecstasy. It stayed that way even as the camera moved back to concentrate on the juncture of their bodies. Finally she cried out once again.