Jetting cum splattered the ceiling of his blind. Like a swaying cobra spitting deadly venom to blind its prey, his foot long cock sprayed jism skyward that was tainted with rage.
Doc grinned lewdly, knowing that beautiful Rita would not be the only one to feel the heat of his rage. Before it was over he vowed to have her daughters at his mercy. And someone else who was even more deserving. More deserving indeed!
Chapter 2
When Rita and the old man had caught their breaths, Doc spoke to her through the microphone: "Get up and put on your mink coat.”
She shuddered, rising unsteadily on her long legs. Doc savored thoughts of their meeting again after so many years. The tall, voluptuous widow would probably not recognize him at first.
He'd become a man repugnant to most women. In prison, his once-handsome face became thin and tightly drawn-a skull covered with taut skin so pale and thin it hardly seemed to be there at all. Emotional stress and poor diet had cost him his hair. Doc Watson was now completely bald. Even his eyebrows and lashes were gone. No hair grew on his chest or in his armpits, and none matted the bony ridge above his magnificent big cock.
Watson had also lost all his teeth. He wore prison-made dentures of stainless steel. Crazed by vengeful rage, he'd filed the silver-bright artificial teeth pointed and sharp so that now they looked like fangs.
The final grotesque touch was a hideous scar that began above his left eye, slanting out and curving down his cheek to the corner of his mouth. His warped, taut-lipped grin seemed to reach his forehead on the left side.
That scar was the result of a prison knife fight. A huge inmate had attacked him with a sharpened spoon handle, determined to beat Doc's ass his first day inside the bleak walls. Watson survived the slashing cut and beat the horny convict badly with a broken chair leg. That saved his ass but extended his sentence to twenty years, time all spent in solitary confinement-a lot of time to carefully plot his fiendish revenge.
Rita picked up the panties and bra she'd discarded and then looked around for her blouse. Doc thumbed the button on his control box and clamped the glittering necklace tight enough to stop her breath.
"Just put on your coat," he said. "Where you're going, you won't need the rest of your clothes. You'll be stark naked again soon enough.”
She shivered and cringed, not warmed at all by the luxurious fur wrapped and held snug around her ripe body. The sleek satin lining felt cold as ice against her bare skin.
"Get in your fancy car and drive to the corner of Third and Front Street," he told her. "Our old neighborhood.” "Oh, no. Not there! It's become a terrible slum!” "You don't have to tell me, I live near there now. Ex-cons aren't welcome in the nicer parts of town.” "B-b-but a woman alone isn't safe on Front Street," she moaned.
"You won't be alone. Dad will pick me up in his old truck and we'll follow to stay within range of the transceiver in your ear.” "What good will that do if I'm attacked?” "It will let us enjoy your torment. Now get going, bitch! There are men waiting along the waterfront who would happily kill for that mink coat and the rich beauty inside.”
Rita Wallford drove her classic gull-wing-doored Mercedes toward Front Street. She thought of using the mobile phone to call the police, but she knew Doc could hear every word she said. He would surely strangle her before help arrived.
She fumed in helpless frustration. This bizarre form of bondage made her blood run cold. Rita and her departed husband had often enjoyed innocent games of restraint to heighten their sexual pleasure. He would bind her to their bed with loosely tied ropes and flail her naked body with a soft whip.
Of course Doc knew that. He had the whole house bugged with miniature transmitters. She cringed at thoughts of things he'd overheard and knew what what he had in mind for her would not be painless, pretended bondage.
He was taking her back to the old neighborhood where their lives had begun. How strangely fitting that he had chosen a spectacular diamond necklace as the instrument of control. Since the days of her impoverished upbringing, Rita had been obsessed with luxurious things.
To own more of the lovely status symbols she craved, Rita had joined and supported her husband's plan to frame Doc and take control of the company they'd founded together.
They began manufacturing Doc's then-unheard-of miniature electronic inventions in an old warehouse on Front Street at Third.
"That's far enough," Doc said sharply. She was nearing Third. "Park the car, get out and walk down Front Street.” "Don't make me do this," she pleaded desperately. "Fuck me if you want. Take everything I own and make me your slave, but don't make me get out of the car here!” "You're already my slave," Doc said sternly, "and I'm telling you to get out and walk!" he tightened the necklace to make it plain that that was an order she must obey.
Rita cringed as she stepped out of the car. All of Front Street was now a bleak concrete canyon of poverty and bitter despair.
Wallford Electronics and other factories had long ago moved to more modern industrial parks on the outskirts of town, leaving the heart of the city to decay. It smelled worst than the gardener's sweaty crotch had.
Hawk-eyed men in ragged clothes leered hotly at the red-haired goddess of wealth who was naked and trembling beneath the folds of luxurious mink she kept tightly wrapped around her luscious curves.
She had not walked half a block when a dozen leather-vested members of an outlaw motorcycle gang surrounded her outside the rundown building that was their headquarters. Rita recognized the place at once. It was the bar where she used to dance and serve drinks, the place where she had met Wallford and hatched the scheme to frame his partner.
She had insisted on marriage before giving her body to the greedy businessman. Others had sampled her cunt, but Wallford was then a young tycoon on the rise. Holding out for a wedding ring and supporting the plot to get rid of his partner had seemed like a good idea then.
The motorcycle gang leader was a huge man with a leering dark eyes set deep in a face marked with scars and a badly broken nose. Coarse, wiry black hair matted the barrel chest that was naked except for his grimy leather vest.
He glared down at her ashen face with a lewd grin that showed two rows of stained and broken teeth. Tall and powerfully built, he looked like a bear standing on its hind legs…
"Where you going all dolled up in diamonds and furs?" he asked coldly.
Rita stood just an inch under six feet tall in her high-heeled shoes, but he towered over her, spittle dripping down from the corners of his mouth.
"You ain't answered my question," he said impatiently. A ham-sized hand went to her throat. Huge fingers fondled the diamonds admiringly.
Rita panicked. If he grabbed the expensive gems and broke the wire, a deadly poison would be injected into her neck.
"Don't touch that!" she cried. "Please-” "You got something else I'd rather have?" he asked roughly. "Like maybe a pair of big lush tits under all that slinky fur?”
Without waiting for a reply, he ran his hands down her chest and squeezed her tender tits. She groaned. One big hairy hand completely covered each fur-sheathed tit. He milked and mauled her tits until she wanted to scream.
Rita clamped her eyes shut and shed tears of remorse. She knew Doc Watson and his father must be watching, greatly enjoying her distress, "You got a nice set of knockers," the gang leader said with a rush of hot breath. "Real nice!" He whirled his thumbs in the silky dark mink and teased her nipples into aching hardness.
She felt a sickening pulse in the depths of her pussy. Rita's ripe body responded to the rough stimulation her mind detested. Her nipples bulged and tingled with heat. Her pussy leaked.